James clavell

He glanced at his watch. There was still time enough to walk the mile to the station. Reassured, he went on again, eased past a pile of garbage into a bigger alley that skirted the storm drain. The storm drain was five feet deep and served normally for sewer, laundry or sink, depending on the amount of water therein. Now it was overflowing, the swirling runoff adding to the misery of those below.

"Be careful, Fifth Niece," he said.

"Yes. Oh yes, Sixth Uncle. Can I come all the way?" the little girl asked happily.

"Only to the candy stall. Now be careful! Look, there's another piece of glass!"

"Is Honourable Grandfather going to die?"

"That's up to the gods. The time of dying is up to the gods, not to us, so why should we worry, heya?"

"Yes," she agreed importantly. "Yes, gods are gods."

All gods cherish Honourable Grandfather and make the rest of his life sweet, he prayed, then added carefully, for safety, "Hail Mary Mother and Joseph, bless old Grandfather." Who knows whether the Christian God or even the real gods exist? he thought. Better to try to placate them all, if you can. It costs nothing. Perhaps they'll help. Perhaps they're sleeping or out to lunch but never mind. Life is life, gods are gods, money is money, laws must be obeyed and today I must be very sharp.

Last night he had been out with Divisional Sergeant Mok and the Snake. This was the first time he had been taken with them on one of their special raids. They had raided three gambling joints but had, curiously, left five much more prosperous ones untouched even though they were on the same floor of the same tenement and he could hear the click of mah-jong tiles and the cries of the fan-tan croupiers.

Dew neh loh moh I wish I could get part of the squeeze, he told himself then added, Get thee behind me, Satan! I want much more to be in Special Intelligence because then I will have a safe, important job for life, I will know all manner of secrets, the secrets will protect me, and then, when I retire, the secrets will make me rich.

They turned a corner and reached the candy stall. He bartered with the old toothless woman for a minute or two, then paid her two copper cash and she gave the little girl a sweet rice cake and a good pinch of the bits of oh so chewy and tangy bittersweet sun-dried orange peel in a twist of newspaper.

"Thank you, Sixth Uncle," the little girl said, beaming up at him from under her hat.

"I hope you enjoy them, Fifth Niece," he replied, loving her, glad that she was pretty. If the gods favour us she will grow up to be very pretty, he thought contentedly, then we can sell her maidenhead for a vast amount of money, and her later services profitably for the good of the family.

Spectacles Wu was very proud that he had been able to do so much for this part of his family in their hour of need. Everyone safe and fed and now my percentage of Ninth Uncle's plastic flower factory, negotiated so patiently, will, with joss, pay my rent in a year or two, and I can eat good Ning-tok rice gruel three times a week free which helps eke out my money so that I needn't take the squeeze that is so easy to obtain but would ruin my future.

No. All gods bear witness! I will not take the squeeze while there's a chance for SI but it's not sensible to pay us so little. Me, 320 HK a month, after two years of service. Ayeeyah, barbarians are impossible to understand!

"You run along now and I'll be back tomorrow," he said. "Be careful as you go."

"Oh yes!"

He bent down and she hugged him. He hugged her back and left. She headed up the hill, part of the rice cake already in her mouth, the cloying tacky sweetness oh so delicious.

The rain was monotonous and heavy. Flooding from the storm drain carried debris against the shacks in its path but she climbed the path carefully, skirting it, fascinated by the rushing water. The overflow was deep in parts and here where the way was steeper, almost like rapids. Without warning a jagged five-gallon can came swirling down the drain and hurled itself at her, narrowly missing her, to smash through a cardboard wall.

She stood stock-still, frightened.

"Get on, there's nothing to steal here!" a furious householder called out at her. "Go home! You shouldn't be here. Go home!"

"Yes... yes," she said and began to hurry, the climb more difficult now. At that moment the earth just below her gave way and the slide began. Hundreds of tons of sludge and rock and earth surged downward burying everything in its path. It went on for fifty yards or more in seconds, tearing the flimsy structures apart, scattering men, women and children, burying some, maiming others, cutting an oozing swath where once was village.

Then it stopped. As suddenly as it began.

On all the mountainside there was a great silence broken only by the sound of rain. Abruptly the silence ceased. Shouts and cries for help began. Men and women and children rushed out of untouched hovels, blessing the gods for their own safety, adding to the pandemonium and wails for help. Friends helped friends, neighbours helped neighbours, mothers searched for children, children for parents, but the great majority nearby just stood there in the rain and blessed their joss that this slide had passed them by.

The little girl was still teetering on the brink of the chasm where the earth had fallen away. She stared down into it with disbelief. Eleven feet below her now were fangs of rocks and sludge and death where seconds ago was solid ground. The lip was crumbling and small avalanches of mud and stones cascaded into the abyss, aided by the flooding from the storm drain. She felt her feet slipping so she took a tentative step backward but more of the earth gave way so she stopped, petrified, the remains of the rice cake still firmly in her hands. Her toes dug into the soft earth to try to keep her balance.

"Don't move," an old man called out.

"Get away from the edge," another shouted and the rest watched and waited and held their breath to see what the gods would decide.

Then a ten-foot slice of the lip collapsed and toppled into the maw carrying the little girl with it. She was buried just a little. Up to her knees. She made sure her rice cake was safe then burst into tears.
44
11:30 AM
Superintendent Armstrong's police car eased its way through the milling angry crowds that had spilled over into the road outside the Ho-Pak Bank, heading for the East Aberdeen police station. Mobs were also clogging the streets outside all the other banks in the area, big and small—even the Victoria which was across the street from the Ho-Pak—everyone impatiently waiting to get in to get their money out.

Everywhere the mood was volatile and dangerous, the downpour adding to the tension. Barricades erected to channel people into and out of the banks were manned in strength by equally anxious and irritable police—twenty per thousand, unarmed but for truncheons.

"Thank God for the rain," Armstrong muttered.

"Sir?" the driver asked, the irritating screech of ill-adjusted windscreen wipers drowning his voice.

Armstrong repeated it louder and added, "If it was hot and humid, this whole bloody place'd be up in arms. The rain's a godsend."

"Yes sir. Yes it is."

In time the police car stopped outside the station. He hurried in. Chief Inspector Donald C. C. Smyth was waiting for him. His left arm was in a sling.

"Sorry to be so long," Armstrong said. "Bloody traffic's jammed for bloody miles."

"Never mind. Sorry but I'm a bit shorthanded, old chap. West Aberdeen's cooperating and so is Central, but they've problems too. Bloody banks! We'll have to do with one copper in the back—he's already in position in case we flush one of the villains—and us up front with Spectacles Wu." Smyth told Armstrong his plan.

"Good."

"Of course. It looks pretty dicey outside."

"I hope the bloody rain lasts until the bloody banks close their doors or pay out the last penny. Did you go liquid yourself?"

"You must be joking! My pittance makes no difference!" Armstrong stretched, his back aching. "Ah Tarn in the flat?"

"As far as we know. The family she works for is called Ch'ung. He's a dustman. One of the villains might be there too so we'll have to get in quickly. I've the commissioner's authority to carry a revolver. Do you want one too?"

"No. No thanks. Let's go, shall we?"

Smyth was shorter than Armstrong but well built and his uniform suited him. Awkwardly, because of his arm, he picked up his raincoat and began to lead the way, then stopped. "Bugger, I forgot! Sorry, SI, Brian Kwok called, would you call him? Want to use my office?"

"Thanks. Is there any coffee? I could use a cuppa."

"Coming up."

The office was neat, efficient and drab, though Armstrong noticed the expensive chairs and desk and radio and accoutrements. "Gifts from grateful customers," Smyth said airily. "I'll leave you for a couple of minutes."

Armstrong nodded and dialled. "Yes, Brian?"

"Oh hello, Robert! How's it going? The Old Man says you should bring her to HQ and not investigate her at East Aberdeen."

"All right. We're just about to leave. HQ eh? What's the reason?"

"He didn't tell me, but he's in a good mood today. It seems we've a 16/2 tonight."

Armstrong's interest peaked. A 16/2 in SI terms meant they had broken an enemy cover and were going to take the spy or spies into custody. "Anything to do with our problem?" he asked cautiously, meaning Sevrin.

"Perhaps." There was a pause. "Remember what I was saying about our mole? I'm more convinced than ever I'm right." Brian Kwok switched to Cantonese, using oblique phrases and innuendoes in case he was overheard. Armstrong listened with growing concern as his best friend told him what had happened at the track, the long private meeting between Crosse and Suslev.

"But that means nothing. Crosse knows the bugger. Even I've drunk with him once or twice, feeling him out."

"Perhaps. But if Crosse's our mole it'd be just like him to do an exchange in public. Heya?"

Armstrong felt sick with apprehension. "Now's not the time, old chum," he said. "Soon as I get to HQ we should have a chat. Maybe lunch and talk."

Another pause. "The Old Man wants you to report to him as soon as you bring the amah in."

"All right. See you soon."

Armstrong put down the phone. Smyth came back in. Thoughtfully he handed him a coffee. "Bad news?"

"Nothing but bloody trouble," Armstrong said sourly. "Always bloody trouble." He sipped his coffee. The cup was excellent porcelain and the coffee fresh, expensive and delicious. "This's good coffee! Very good. Crosse wants me to bring her to HQ directly, not here."

Smyth's eyebrows soared. "Christ, what's so important about an old hag amah?" he asked sharply. "She's in my jurisdic—"

"Christ I don't know! I don't give the f—" The bigger man stopped his explosion. "Sorry, I haven't been getting much sleep the last few days. I don't give the orders. Crosse said to bring her to HQ. No explanation. He can override anyone. SI overrides everyone, you know how it is!"

"Arrogant bastard!" Smyth finished his coffee. "Thank God I'm not in SI. I'd hate to deal with that bugger every day."

"I'm not in SI and he still gives me trouble."

"Was it about our mole?"

Armstrong glanced up at him. "What mole?"

Smyth laughed. "Come on for chrissake! There's a rumour among the Dragons that our fearless leaders have been advised to find the bugger very quickly. It seems that the minister's even roasting the governor! London's so pissed off they're sending out the head of MI-6—presume you know Sinders arrives tomorrow on the BO AC flight."

Armstrong sighed. "Where the hell do they get all their information?"

"Telephone operators, amahs, street cleaners—who cares. But you can bet, old lad, at least one of them knows everything. You know Sinders?"

"No, never met him." Armstrong sipped his coffee, enjoying the excellence, the rich, nutty flavour that was giving him new strength. "If they know everything, who's the mole?"

After a pause, Smyth said, "That sort of info'd be expensive. Shall I ask the price?"

"Yes. Please." The big man put his cup down. "The mole doesn't bother you, does he?"

"No, not at all. I'm doing my job thank you very much and it's not my job to worry about moles or to try to catch them. The moment you catch and snatch the bugger there'll be another bugger subverted or put into place and we'll do the same to them, whoever the them are. Meanwhile if it wasn't for this bloody Ho-Pak mess this station'd still be the best run and my East Aberdeen area the quietest in the Colony and that's all I'm concerned about." Smyth offered a cigarette from an expensive gold case. "Smoke?"

"Good for you. No, so long as I'm left alone until I retire in four years all's well in the world." He lit the cigarette with a gold lighter and Armstrong hated him a little more. "By the way, I think you're foolish not to take the envelope that's left in your desk monthly."

"Do you now?" Armstrong's face hardened. "Yes. You don't have to do anything for it. Nothing at all. Guaranteed."

"But once you've taken one you're up the creek without a paddle."

"No. This's China and not the same." Smyth's blue eyes hardened too. "But then you know that better than I."

"One of your 'friends' asked you to give me the message?" Smyth shrugged. "I heard another rumour. Your share of the Dragons reward for finding John Chen comes to 40,000 HK an—"

"I didn't find him!" Armstrong's voice grated. "Even so, that'll be in an envelope in your desk this evening. So I hear, old chap. Just a rumour, of course."

Armstrong's mind was sifting this information .40,000 HK covered exactly and beautifully his most pressing, long overdue debt that he had to clear by Monday, losses on the stock market that, "Well really, old boy, you should pay up. It has been over a year and we do have rules. Though I'm not pressing I really must have the matter settled...."

Smyth's right again, he thought without bitterness, the bastards know everything and it'd be so easy to find out what debts I have. So am 1 going to take it or not?

"Only forty?" he asked with a twisted smile.

"I imagine that's enough to cover your most pressing problem," Smyth said with the same hard eyes. "Isn't it?"

Armstrong was not angry that the Snake knew so much about his private life. I know just as much about his, though not how much he has or where it's stacked away. But it'd be easy to find out, easy to break him if I wanted to. Very easy. "Thanks for the coffee. Best I've had in years. Shall we go?"

Awkwardly, Smyth put on his regulation raincoat over his well-cut uniform, adjusted the sling for his arm and put his cap to the usual jaunty angle and led the way. As they went, Armstrong made Wu repeat what had happened and what had been said by the youth who claimed to be one of the Werewolves and later by the old amah. "Very good, Wu," Armstrong said when the young man had finished. "An excellent piece of surveillance and investigation. Excellent. Chief Inspector Smyth tells me you want to get into SI?"

"Yes sir."

"Why?"

"It's important, an important branch of SB, sir. I've always been interested in security and how to keep our enemies out and the Colony safe and I feel it would be very interesting and important. I'd like to help if I could, sir."

"Some stupid bastard's kicked over another stove," Smyth said sourly. "Christ, thank God for the rain!"

"Yes," Armstrong said, then added to Wu, "If this turns out as you've reported, I'll put in a word with SB or SI."

Spectacles Wu could not stop the beam. "Yes sir, thank you, sir. Ah Tarn is really from my village. Yes sir."

They turned into the alley. Crowds of shoppers and stall keepers and shopkeepers under umbrellas or under the canvas overhangs watched them sullenly and suspiciously, Smyth the most well known and feared quai loh in Aberdeen.

"That's the one, sir," Wu whispered. By prearrangement Smyth casually stopped at a stall, this side of the doorway, ostensibly to look at some vegetables, the owner at once in shock. Armstrong and Wu walked past the entrance then turned abruptly and the three of them converged. They went up the stairs quickly as two uniformed policemen who had been trailing from a safe distance materialised to bottle up the front. Once the narrow passageway was secure one of them hurried up an even smaller alley and around the back to make sure the plainclothes detective was still in position guarding the single exit there, then he rushed back to reinforce the undermanned barricades in front of the Victoria.

The inside of the tenement was as dingy and filthy as the outside with mess and debris on every landing. Smyth was leading and he stopped on the third landing, unbuttoned his revolver holster and stepped aside.

Without hesitation Armstrong leaned against the flimsy door, burst the lock and went in quickly. Smyth followed at once, Spectacles Wu nervously staying to guard the entrance. The room was drab with old sofas and old chairs and old grimy curtains, the sweet-rank smell of opium and cooking oil on the air. A heavy-set, middle-aged matron gaped at them and dropped her newspaper. Both men went for the inner doors. Smyth pulled one open to find a scruffy bedroom, the next revealed a messy toilet and bathroom, a third another bedroom crammed with unmade bunks for four. Armstrong had the last door open. It let into a cluttered, filthy, tiny kitchen, where Ah Tam bent over a pile of wash in the grimy sink. She stared at him blankly. Behind her was another door. At once he shoved past and jerked it open. It was empty too, more of a closet than a room, windowless with a vent cut in the wall and just enough space to fit the small string mattressless bunk and a broken-down chest of drawers.

He came back into the living room, Ah Tam shuffling after him, his breathing good and his heart settling down. It had taken them only seconds and Smyth took out the papers and said sweetly, "Sorry to interrupt, madam, but we've a search warrant."

'Wat?"

The woman's mouth dropped open. "Search!" she shrieked. "Search what? We obey the law here! My husband works for the government and has important friends and if you're looking for the gambling school it's nothing to do with us but it's on the fourth floor at the back and we know nothing about the smelly whores in 16 who set up shop and work till all hours making the rest of us civ—"

"Enough," Wu said sharply, "we are police on important matters! These Lords of the police are important! You're the wife of Ch'ung the dustman?"

"Yes," she replied sullenly. "What do you want with us? We've done noth—"

"Enough!" Armstrong interrupted in English with deliberate arrogance. "Is that Ah Tam?"

"You! You're Ah Tam?"

"Eh, me? Wat?" The old amah tugged at her apron nervously, not recognising Wu.

"So you're Ah Tam! You're under arrest."

Ah Tam went white and the middle-aged woman cursed and said in a rush, "Ah! So it's you they're after! Huh, we know nothing about her except we picked her off the street a few months ago and gave her a home and sal—"

"Wu, tell her to shut up!"

He told her impolitely. She obeyed even more sullenly. "These Lords want to know is there anyone else here?"

"Of course there isn't. Are they blind? Haven't they raped my house like assassins and seen for themselves?" the shrew said truculently. "I know nothing about nothing."

"Ah Tam! These Lords want to know where your room is."

The amah found her voice and began to bluster, "What do you want with me, Honourable Policeman? I've done nothing, I'm not an illegal, I've papers since last year. I've done nothing, I'm a law-abiding civilised person who's worked all her li—"

"Where's your room?"

The younger woman pointed. "There," she said in her screeching, irritating voice, "where else would her room be? Of course it's there off the kitchen! Are these foreign devils senseless? Where else do maids live? And you, you old maggot! Getting honest people into trouble! What's she done? If it's stolen vegetables it's nothing to do with me!"

"Quiet or we shall take you to our headquarters and surely the judge will want you kept in custody! Quiet!"

The woman started to curse but bit it back.

Armstrong said, "Now, what..." Then he noticed that several curious Chinese were peering into the room from the landing. He stared back, took a sudden pace toward them. They vanished. He closed the door, hiding his amusement. "Now, ask both of them what they know about the Werewolves."

The woman gaped at Wu. Ah Tarn went a little grayer. "Eh, me? Werewolves? Nothing! Why should I know about those foul kidnappers. What have they to do with me? Nothing nothing at all!"

"Me? Nothing at all," she said querulously, "I'm a respectable amah who does her work and nothing else!"

Wu translated their answers. Both men noticed that his translation was accurate, fast and easy. Both were patient and they continued to play the game they had played so many times before. "Tell her she'd better tell the truth quickly." Armstrong glowered down at her. He bore her no ill feeling; neither did Smyth. They just wanted the truth. The truth might lead to the identity of the Werewolves and the sooner those villains were hung for murder the easier it would be to control Hong Kong and the sooner law-abiding citizens, including themselves, could go about their own business or hobbies—making money or racing or whoring. Yes, Armstrong thought, sorry for the old woman. Twenty dollars to a broken hatpin the shrew knows nothing but Ah Tam knows more than she'll ever tell us.

"I want the truth. Tell her!" he said.

"Truth? What truth, Honourable Lord? How could this poor old body be anyth—"

Armstrong put up his hand dramatically. "Enough!" This was another prearranged signal. At once Spectacles Wu switched to Ning-tok dialect which he knew neither of them understood. "Elder Sister, I suggest you talk quickly and openly. We know everything already!"

Ah Tam gaped at him. She had only two twisted teeth in a lower gum. "Eh, Younger Brother?" she replied in the same dialect, caught off guard. "What do you want with me?"

"The truth! I know all about you!"

She peered at him without recognition. "What truth? I've never seen you before in my life!"

"Don't you remember me? In the poultry market? You helped me buy a chicken and then we had tea. Yesterday. Don't you remember? You told me about the Werewolves, how they were going to give you a huge reward..."

All three saw the momentary flash behind her eyes. "Werewolves?" she began querulously. "Impossible! It was someone else! You accuse me falsely. Tell the Noble Lords I've never seen y—"

"Quiet you old baggage!" Wu said sharply and cursed her roundly. "You worked for Wu Ting-top and your mistress's name was Fan-ling and she died three years ago and they owned the pharmacy at the crossroads! I know the place well myself!"

"Lies... lies..."

"She says it's all lies, sir."

"Good. Tell her we'll take her to the station. She'll talk there."

Ah Tam began shaking. "Torture? You'll torture an old woman? Oh oh oh..."

"When does this Werewolf come back? This afternoon?"