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Cheng elbowed his way towards the first-class
section and at last stood in the clear. A
'metallic' voice was broadcasting a newscast
through highly amplified loudspeakers.
Ordinarily Cheng would have spent a few minutes
listening, but a quick glance down at his feet
told him that he faced a minor crisis which
could become very large and dangerous unless he
did something about it. His boots were caked
with dried mud. Obviously they had become dirty
when he had been making his way through the
waterfront warehouse area to the heart of the
city. Equally obvious was the need to clean them
at once. The character he was assuming, the man
in charge of all espionage activities was too
high-ranking an official to appear publicly in
dirty shoes.
Cheng headed for the first-class washroom,
found it empty, and there removed the evidence
from his boots. He was relieved to discover that
there was no shortage of paper towels in the
country and, still cautious, he moved towards a
toilet, intending to flush the mud-smeared
sheets down the drain. At that moment an
infantry major stalked into the washroom. His
uniform was plain and he wore no decorations on
his tunic. His only insignia of rank appeared on
his cap. But his arrogant expression indicated
that he was a professional solder. He stood for
a moment staring at Cheng, his eyes hard and
suspicious.
There was only a split second in which to
make a decision. Cheng still held the dirty
sheets of paper toweling in his hand, and wanted
to be rid of them. But he knew that if he
carried out his original intention he would
succeed only in calling more attention to
himself. So he dropped the sheets into a wooden
bin, bowed politely, and forced himself to
stroll towards a basin to wash his hands. He
deliberately refrained from looking up, and by
the time he was clean again, the major had gone.
Then, presentable at last, he entered the
waiting room where he would speak to someone for
the first time since he smuggled into the
country.
The young woman behind the ticket counter had
jet black hair, worn in a shoulder-length bob.
Speaking a faultless Mandarin, Cheng requested
in sleeping compartment on the late-night train
to Beijing. The girl shuffled through his
identity papers, then thrust them brusquely
across the counter towards him. "Surely you
should know, Comrade Huang," she said in a harsh
tone, "that all first-class compartments must be
reserved three months in advance. She continued,
"I'm sure you'll claim it is on urgent business.
If I were given one hundred yuan every time
someone tells me he's transacting urgent
business, I'd soon be wealthy."
Cheng had been instructed to offer private
funds whenever necessary, but he wasn't certain
that his teachers had known what they were
talking about. The young woman behind the
counter might be extremely insulted if he tried
to bribe her. What was worse, she could cause
trouble for him if she reported him, as it was
against the law to give or take bribes.
He decided to probe the subject. "One hundred
yuan doesn't buy much these days."
The girl's eyes became guarded. "It buys very
little. I would need three hundred for the
cheongsam I'd need for my holiday. A cheongsam
of pure silk would cost even more. Four hundred
and fifty yuan," the girl said.
Cheng took his wallet from his pocket and
counted out four hundred and fifty yuan. He
casually placed the money on the counter and
left it a few inches from his hand.
The girl picked up a form and, copying data
from Cheng's false identity card, began to write
rapidly. She finished making out the form which
she carefully punched and stamped. Scooping up
the money with a discreetly practiced hand, she
handed him his ticket. They exchanged bows and
Cheng was careful not to smile. the slightest
sign of condescension would make the young woman
his enemy. |
