A Loyal Character Dancer

interviews?”
     
    “Yes.” She looked him in the eye.
     
    “I don’t see any reason why not, except that most people speak the Shanghai dialect here.”
     
    His answer was a diplomatic one, she thought, but nonetheless an excuse.
     
    “I had no problem talking with my fellow travelers in the airplane. They all spoke Mandarin to me. Can’t we ask our interviewees to do the same? And you can help me out, if need be.”
     
    “I can try, but do you think people will talk freely in front of an American officer?”
     
    “They will be more earnest,” she said, “if they believe we mean business—an American officer plus a Chinese one.”
     
    “You have a point, Inspector Rohn. I’ll consult Party Secretary Li.”
     
    “Is it part of your political culture never to give a straightforward reply?”
     
    “No. I’ll give you a straightforward answer, but I need to get his permission. Surely some procedures have to be followed, even in the U.S. Marshals Service.”
     
    “Granted, Chief Inspector Chen,” she said. “So what do you want me to do now, while I await his permission?”
     
    “If Wen’s disappearance was caused by the phone call from her husband, you’d better check for possible leaks in your department.”
     
    “I’ll talk with my supervisor,” she said, aware of the direction he was trying to lead her in, which she had anticipated.
     
    “I’ve asked the hotel to set up a fax machine in your room. If there’s anything else you need, do let me know.”
     
    “I appreciate your help. Now just one more question,” she said on the spur of the moment. “Last night, looking out at the Bund, I thought of a classical Chinese poem. I studied an English version several years ago. About a poet’s regret at being unable to share a transcendant scene with his friend. I cannot remember the exact lines. By any chance, do you know the poem?”
     
    “Um—” He eyed her in surprise. “I think it is a poem by Liu Yong, a Song dynasty poet. The second stanza reads like this. Where shall I find myself / Tonight, waking from a hangover — / The riverbank lined with weeping willows, / The moon sinking, the dawn rising on a breeze, / Year after year, I will be far, / Far away from you. / All the beautiful scenes are unfolding, / But to no avail: / Oh, to whom can I speak / Of this ever enchanting landscape?”
     
    “That’s it.” She was amazed at his sudden metamorphosis. His face lit up when he recited those lines.
     
    The CIA information was credible. He was a chief inspector and a poet too—at least he was familiar with both Eliot and Liu Yong. That intrigued her.
     
    Chen said, “Liu’s one of my favorites during the pre-Eliot period.”
     
    “What makes Eliot so special for you?”
     
    “He cannot decide whether to declare himself to his love. At least not in The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.”
     
    “Then Eliot should have learned from Liu.”
     
    “And I’d better go to Party Secretary Li now,” he said, smiling as he arose.
     
    On the corner of Sichuan Road they had to stand in the street as the sidewalk was filled by illegally parked bikes. They shook hands, ready to part, when she suddenly became aware of a motorcyclist dressed in black jeans and a black T-shirt, his face covered with a black helmet, on a powerful cycle heading straight at her at high speed. The rumbling monster would have crashed right onto her but for Chen’s reaction. Still holding her hand, he yanked her onto the pavement and spun himself around to shield her. At the same time, his right leg kicked out backward, pivoting like in a Kung Fu movie. Missing Chen by a hair’s breadth, the motorcycle dodged, swayed, but did not fall. With its tires screeching, it kicked up a cloud of dust and sped onto Nanjing Road.
     
    The whole thing was over in a few seconds. The motorcycle disappeared in traffic. Several passersby gaped at them and moved on.
     
    “I am so sorry, Inspector Rohn,” he said, letting go of her hand. “Those reckless motorcyclists are dangerous.”
     
    “Thank you, Chief Inspector Chen,” she said. They walked on.

Chapter 7
     
     
    O
    n his way to Party Secretary Li’s office, Chen checked the bureau fax folder. There were several for him from the Fujian Police Bureau—additional information about the Flying Axes. He was pleased to find a cellular phone number for Detective Yu on the cover sheet as had been promised by Superintendent Hong the previous night. He