at his place. I don’t think he’d appreciate it if I passed out on the carpet.”
“Do you want to go?” said Jake. He had a sinking feeling.
“I’m not terribly excited about going.”
“Why don’t you bag it, then?”
“I should be there. It’s part of my job.”
“How’s that?”
“One of my collateral duties is that I’m the CODEL control officer and-“
“Why aren’t you out controlling them now?”
“They wanted to go shopping, so I have some time off. Theoretically, they’re here to look at what differences Nixon’s trip has made in Chinese attitudes toward America. We always have a difficult time figuring out how to handle CODELS.”
“Handle ‘em roughly. Without mercy. Just the way the voters handle them.”
He enjoyed her laughter “Maybe take them on sightseeing tours.”
“You’re right. I’m sure we’ll roll out the red carpet but that red carpet is going to lead straight out of the consulate.”
“Smart. Keep ‘em busy and out of your hair. Probably all they want is to shop anyway.”
“That’s part of it, no doubt. But there’s political hay to be made, too.
If relations with China open up, they’ want to take some of the credit.”
The bastards, Jake thought, staring into his glass. They go on junkets while good men die going after targets that aren’t worth a pint of piss.
Callie said, “A penny for your thoughts?”
Jake looked up and met her eyes. “A plugged nickle would be more appropriate.”
“Is something wrong?”
He didn’t want to get into it. “No,” he said finally “What about your other work at the consulate? You work involving visas? How do you like it?”
“There’s a lot of paperwork, a lot of drudgery. But there’re things about it I like, too. I work in the nonimmigrant visa office and enjoy talking to the young people who want to study in the U. S. Often the people are recent refugees from Red China who unfortunately cannot prove that they’ll return to Hong Kong when they finish their education. And that’SARequirement for a student visa. These refugees give a picture of the mainland you can’t get elsewhere. Some of the stories they tell about how they escaped are awesome.” Callie had been holding her drink in her hands. Now she put it down and leaned toward Jake. “Let me tell You about a boy I interviewed last week. A nice looking boy, named Wang Chiang. Eighteen years old, small for his age but strong. He escaped six weeks ago by swimming across Deep Bay to the New Territories. He and his-“
“How far did he have to swim?”
“About seven miles.”
Jake whistled. “That took a lot of stamina. And guts.”
“A lot of guts,” said Callie. “Chiang, which is his given name, and his older brother-by a year, I think hid in the hills of China for days, waiting for the conditions to be right to swim the bay. They wanted a dark night so they couldn’t be easily spotted and not much wind so they wouldn’t have to fight the waves. On a night when the weather was overcast and drizzly like today, I imagine-they slipped into the bay. They didn’t take the shortest route, about three miles, because it’s heavily patrolled. Partway across, Chiang’s brother began to tire, then he got severe cramps.”
“Oh, no.”
“Yes. Chiang told his brother to float, to rest, hoping that the cramps would go away. But the cramps stayed bad. The brother swallowed water and coughed a lot. Chiang tried to hold him up, but eventually they both went under. Chiang couldn’t see anything-the water was black-and his lungs were about to burst. His brother was clutching at him. He had to fight loose of his grasp.”
“Jesus!” said Jake. “I don’t know how he managed to swim the rest of the way after that.” Jake could envision the terror in the darkness as the boy fought the panicky clutches of his drowning brother. He remembered that Morgan had also clutched at his arm. “At least Chiang’s brother knew what he died for.”
“I guess he did know. Mainly he wanted a better way of life. And the family had prepared both the boys. Their father had told each son to go on if the other ran into serious trouble. Chiang’s family was very practical. They knew the risks. At least they didn’t encounter any sharks.” She leaned across and touched the back of his hand. “Are you okay?”
Jake took a deep breath. “Oh, yeah. But Chiang didn’t really follow his father’s instructions-which I can understand. I’m not sure I would’ve either. Although I see that it would be much harder now on Chiang if his father hadn’t given him those instructions. Does the family know what happened?”
“Uh-huh, they know. There are ways of communicating across the border.”
He looked around the bar, at the tables, the British gentlemen in expensive suits tossing back their pint the Chinese bartender washing glasses, the mirror reflecting and enlarging the room. He thought of struggling to stay afloat at night in a running sea waiting for the sharks. “Can you get Chiang to the States?”
“I’ll do my best, Jake.” She sipped the last of her drink and sighed. “Well, I’ve enjoyed talking to you.”
“You have to go?” Jake said.
“Alas, I need to get home and change for the shindig tonight.”
“I’d like to see you home.”
“Thanks, but there’s no need to go through all that It’d mean two ferry rides for you.”
“No problem. Riding boats is one of the things they pay me for.”
“No, it’s really too much trouble.”
“I want to see you again.”
Callie looked down at the table. “I have a clear day tomorrow.”
“So do I.”
She raised her eyes. “Why don’t you walk with me to the Star Ferry? We can talk on the way.”
The rain had stopped. Callie and Jake passed by Rolls and Mercedes sedans parked in the curved driveway of the hotel. Although the harbor was only a short distance away, Jake could not see it, so thick was the fog.
Callie ran her hand through her hair. “Ugh! This weather. And I won’t have much time to do anything with my hair.”
As they crossed the street three teenaged boys came toward them. Their black hair was slicked down and they wore open-collared, long-sleeved shirts in bright, solid colors. They talked loudly and one tried to bump into Callie, who adroitly sidestepped him. “Teddy boys,” she said to Jake. “Hong Kong’s version of juvenile delinquents.”
They edged onto the sidewalk, which was packed with people. Callie and Jake, joining the crowd, had to slow their pace. High-pitched, sing-song voices beat against his ears. Jake felt clammy, and his stomach tightened. “So many people,” he said. “There are five thousand men on my ship and it’s never this crowded. How do you stand it?”
Callie laughed. “Did I say I could stand it? It’s like living in a closet with five million people. Stay with me; it’s not much farther.” Passersby jostled him, sometimes roughly.
There were fewer people as they neared the terminal landing, but directly ahead was a dense crowd that Jake assumed was waiting to board the ferry. He caught glimpses of the harbor. Callie stopped. “Look,” she said. “See that building? That’s the Ocean Terminal where the passenger liners dock and disgorge crazed shoppers.” Jake said nothing and they went on.
She told him as they walked about the excellent shops, the many fine things for sale in Hong Kong, and the restaurants-Maxine’s Boulevard was her favorite.
She talked about the Star House Arcade, next door to the terminal, where there were other interesting places to shop, including a store devoted entirely to Seico watches. If he wanted a good watch, that was the place to buy it. She chattered on, and Jake thought she sounded like a tour guide.
“Callie,” he said, interrupting her. “Cool it. I’m not some idiot congressman.” Callie stopped and looked up at him, astonishment spreading across her face.
He put his hands on her shoulders. “I didn’t come to Hong Kong to shop. I came to get away from the goddam war. Now all I want is to be with you.” He cupped her head in his hands; his palms pressed lightly against
