“Yes.” Macleod didn’t bother to smile. He was staring into the middle distance, over Field’s shoulder. “I’m sure there is a great deal of excellent instruction, but I’m not sure they really tell . . .” Macleod cleared his throat. “I’m not sure that they equip Griffins with what they really need to know, if you see what I mean.”
“I think so,” Field said, not seeing at all.
“You’re a good man. Good family and all the rest of it.”
Field wasn’t sure if this called for a response.
“I wanted you to be clear about what is going on—what we face, if you understand my meaning.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Granger and I don’t always see eye-to-eye on this and . . . You’re a member of his department, so it’s perhaps unfair of me to talk to you like this, but I think it’s important . . . I feel it’s important that I get my view across to anyone who seems to be reliable and trustworthy.”
Field nodded.
“Granger views Lu as a fact of life that must be dealt with in an adult way; as he would see it, lived with, even compromised with. That’s his view and I suppose he’s entitled to it. I’m afraid I view Lu Huang as an evil that must be eradicated. Whilst he continues to exist, we are doing no more than trying to stem the tide of violent crime.” Macleod looked at him again. “Lu’s tentacles are long.”
“Yes.”
“They stretch even inside this building.”
“Caprisi said.”
“He has explained?”
“Yes.”
“It takes time to understand, of course.”
“I think I understand now.”
Macleod was fidgeting with the cross around his neck. He reminded Field again of his father, though, oddly, Field did not feel resentment, but a quiet respect.
“Good,” Macleod said, bringing their meeting to an end. “I suppose, in theory, you have been detailed to my department, or at least working out of it, so I thought it important to have a chat.”
Eighteen
Discussing Lena’s murder made Field feel like a caged animal, but despite his own sense of urgency, and Macleod’s approval, Caprisi and Chen said they had other things to attend to first.
While he was waiting for them, Granger’s secretary called down to the department to find out where he was. Field had forgotten that he was supposed to be accompanying him to the Hongkew district.
Granger was in a sullen mood. “Morning, son,” he said as Field climbed into the new yellow and gray Chevrolet and settled into the backseat. The leather was smooth to the touch, the walnut trim highly polished. Granger sat easily, his big legs stretched out in front of him. As Field tried to free a small stone that had become lodged in a hole in the sole of his shoe, he couldn’t help noticing the quality of Granger’s clothes.
As they raced along the Bund, past the Hong Kong Shanghai Bank and the Customs House, Granger took a small bottle of whiskey from a compartment built into the walnut dash. Field declined his offer and turned to look out of the window at the neatly laid-out gardens next to the imposing building that housed the British consulate.
They crossed Garden Bridge, the water beneath the iron structure teeming with sampans. The fog had lifted, but it was still warm and overcast and close.
The driver hooted loudly at another car as they passed the Soviet consulate, before entering the narrower streets around the Hongkew market. The signs and banners here were in Japanese, though the difference to the foreign eye, Field thought, was not marked.
Field had never been into the Hongkew station before; it was a cramped but well-organized building. The constables were mostly either Japanese or Chinese, and they all stopped talking, respectfully, in the corridors as Granger strode past.
The briefing was the same as the one Field had heard the day before, and afterward there were no questions, so they had saki with the Japanese S.1 officer who was attached to the station. Granger talked more about Borodin, becoming personal and abusive, still furious that the Russian’s diplomatic status allowed him to send his children to the American school and keep mistresses in different apartments around the city.
In the car on the way back, Granger said quietly, “Charlie tells me there was some trouble last night at the Majestic.”
“It was an accident.”
“Well, don’t do anything stupid, eh?” Granger smiled. “Can’t have you getting damaged before the match this afternoon.”
Field had completely forgotten about it. “You don’t play?” he asked.
Granger shook his head. “Not anymore.”
“But you did?”
“Might have for Ireland.” He lowered his voice, the laughter still in his eyes. “If there had not been a war on.”
“The Great War or . . .”
