A Loyal Character Dancer

Yang’s suffering during the antirightist movement. “If you need to have a private room, pay for it. Don’t worry about the expense. We can draw on the special fund.”
     
    “Is Gu connected with the secret societies?”
     
    “Connected, yes. You will have to watch out.”
     
    “So, is this about the body in the park or the other case?”
     
    “Both, perhaps,” Chen said, ending the call. Catherine Rohn might be right. Before he was able to do some more thinking along these lines, the phone rang again.
     
    This time, it was Party Secretary Li.

Chapter 16
     
     
    C
    atherine returned to her hotel alone.
     
    Slipping off her shoes, she rubbed her ankle for several seconds before she walked to the window. Along the river, vessels moved against the eastern shore, shining under the inflamed clouds. Below her, people hurried along the Bund, in one direction or another, looking straight ahead. Chief Inspector Chen might be among them, walking toward the hotel with his briefcase.
     
    Turning from the window, she stared at the thick dossier on her desk. That she looked forward to his company, she assured herself, was entirely professional. She wanted to discuss the new direction for the investigation after their visit to the Dynasty Karaoke Club. There was something else suspicious about the Hong Kong visitor.
     
    She also wanted to show Chen that her attitude was free from Western prejudices and that, in spite of their differences, they had their common goal. Stories of forced abortion were not new to her, unfortunately. She knew he was a Chinese cop, working within the system.
     
    Wen was probably no longer in Fujian. The Flying Axes must have reached a similar conclusion. So what could she do in Shanghai, working with Chief Inspector Chen? He had invoked yiqi with Gu. She hoped this approach would succeed, and quickly.
     
    She started to dash off a few words on a pad, crossed them out, and was thinking hard, when the fax machine began to emit a roll of paper. It was from Washington.
     
    The cover page bore only one line: Information about Chen, from the CIA.
     
     
    Chief Inspector Chen Cao is an emerging Party cadre, touted as a successor to Superintendent Zhao or Party Secretary Li of the Shanghai Police Bureau. It is said that last year Chen was on the top candidate list for the position of Shanghai Propaganda Minister. He also served as the acting director of Shanghai Traffic Control and attended the Seminar of the Central Party Institute. The last event is seen as an unmistakable sign of his further promotion within the Party system. As one of the “liberal reformists” within the Party, Chen enjoys a connection with powerful people at a higher level.
     
    As for his professional performance, he has recently been in charge of several politically important cases, including the national model worker investigation last year, and a recent one concerning the vice mayor of Beijing.
     
    Chen majored in English literature in college in the late seventies, but for some unknown reason, he was assigned to the police. Chen is on the invitation list of the U.S. News Agency as a writer.
     
    In his mid-thirties, Chen remains a bachelor. He has his own apartment in a good location. Like other emerging cadres, he keeps a low profile in his personal life, but it is alleged that the father of his (ex?) girlfriend, Ling, is a leading politburo member.
     
     
    Catherine put the fax into her file. She made a cup of coffee for herself.
     
    An enigmatic man. She was intrigued by the part about his relationship with a politburo member’s daughter. One of the High Cadres’ Children. She had read about that prestigious group, privileged by their family connections, corrupt, powerful. Were they still seeing each other? The CIA data was vague. She wondered whether a spoiled HCC would make a good wife for him. If he married an HCC, would he turn into one?
     
    Catherine caught herself. Chief Inspector Chen was just a temporary partner in China. It was the CIA’s business to be concerned with his life, not hers. The information about Chen was irrelevant now; what she needed was a clue to Wen’s whereabouts, which she did not have.
     
    She was jolted by the ringing of her phone. It was Chen. There was traffic noise in the background.
     
    “Where are you, Chief Inspector Chen?”
     
    “On my way home. I had a call from Party Secretary Li. He invites you to a Beijing Opera performance this evening.”
     
    “Does