Heart of Lies (10 page)

Torn between his desire to cling to the safety of anonymity and his hunch that Cosgrove could prove a useful acquaintance, Leo decided that he could not pass up the opportunity to gain a potential entrée into Shanghai’s upper crust. By the time the ship lowered its anchor, they had arranged to meet in two day’s time, for what Cosgrove called “a rousing Shanghai evening.”

“I’ll just leave a message for you at the Palace. It’s been a pleasure,” Cosgrove said as the two parted, and Leo felt comfortable with his decision to pursue the man’s acquaintance. Information translated into confidence, confidence into security, and security into sending for Martha.

Hours later, settled into a comfortable suite at the Palace Hotel, he
tried to come up with a feasible plan. With a small pocketknife he removed the Cartier necklace from its hiding place in the lining of his vest and laid it out on the bed. The stones shimmered, cold and beautiful, unaffected by bloodshed, by heartache, by flight. He lifted the heavy necklace to eye level, dangling it gingerly from the clasp. The diamonds caught a stray sunbeam and fractured it into hundreds of tiny rainbows, scattering them around the room.

Now he understood the true reason that Károly had been interested in this particular necklace. He saw the logic of buying a necklace made up of smaller, but perfect, stones. A single large gem would have been easier to trace. While the individual stones would never fetch the same price as the original Cartier necklace, their simplicity rendered them fungible. Marketed discretely, they would never be traced back to the original piece. And there were over forty of them.

Leo was no longer interested in working for a paycheck. For Martha, he needed security. He needed money. He needed a lot of money, money that could be used to build an impregnable wall between his new life and his past. But to obtain that kind of wealth, he would have to take risks. Leo studied the necklace. It was his ticket to freedom, or his writ of execution. He had to use it correctly.

“Well,” he said to the stones, “until I discover the best way to use you, my little friends, I had best take care of you.” He carefully stitched the necklace back into the lining of his vest. It was very cold. Wearing a wool vest all the time would not appear unusual.

After bathing and changing, Leo ventured into the hotel lobby. He had long since learned that the best way to attract money was to convey the impression that you did not need it, hence his decision to stay at a fine hotel, rather than economize. The pennies he would save by
staying at a lesser establishment would not matter, in the long run. If he went broke, they would not matter; if he succeeded in converting the necklace into significant wealth, they would not matter. What mattered were the opportunities he seized upon right now.

Leo could see that the Palace was an establishment worthy of the name. It sat on the corner of the Bund and Nanking Road, where the financial world and the shopping district converged. The proud hotel catered to the well-to-do, itinerant population of Shanghai. Japanese, French, British, American, and Chinese businessmen lounged at the bar. Busy wives and mistresses flitted through the lobby, where impressive piles of hat boxes, suitcases, and steamer trunks testified to the financial success of their mates. High heels clicked on the marble floor. Telephones rang. Ice clinked musically inside the crystal glasses served by slim Chinese waiters clad in white. To Leo, it was an engagingly familiar scene.

He approached the concierge’s desk. According to Cosgrove, the Brits seemed to carry the most clout. He launched into a breezy, upper-class British accent.

“Hello, good man. I’m a new arrival here. Need some advice. Any ideas on where to buy a rather nice piece of jewelry? Something a bit out of the ordinary?”

“May I suggest Katiana’s? Her shop is about a mile down the way, near the big department stores, on Nanking Road. She has an unusual collection of quality items, including quite a few pieces of Russian and Chinese imperial jewelry. Just give her my card and she will be sure to show you her best.”

“Wonderful. Actually, come to think of it, I suppose I need to pick up some of the local currency first.”

“The cashier will be happy to oblige.”

“Very good. Thanks much.”

Once outside, Leo turned left to head up Nanking Road, and was immediately engulfed by the crowd. Herds of people, mostly Chinese, crowded the sidewalks, the street, and the storefronts. There were quite literally people everywhere, along with dozens of different ways of transporting them, their wares, and their purchases; there were rickshaws, wheelbarrows, ox-carts, pony-carts, handcarts, pedicabs, scooters, and bicycles. Human beasts of burden trotted along with bamboo poles slung across their shoulders, bent double by the weight of the baskets full of fish, firewood, or bricks that dangled from each end of the pole. The tram clicked and hummed its way up the avenue. A few automobiles chugged arrogantly through the maze of wheels and faces. A turbaned Sikh directed vehicular and pedestrian traffic at each major intersection, making no real distinction between the two.

And then there were the stores. Cosgrove had been right. You could buy anything on Nanking Road. Leo passed the American Book Shop, the Chocolate Shop (advertising its “famous American ice cream sodas”), and the Lao K’ai Fook silk shop, bursting with bolts of shantung, pongee, and iridescent silk. He walked by jewelry shops and optometrists, shoe stores and a store that sold nothing but baby carriages. Exactly one mile from the Bund were the department stores, Sincere, Sun Sun, and Wing-On, where one could buy German cameras, French perfume, English leather goods, and Japanese pearls; or play ping pong, billiards, or roller skate; listen to music; or just have a drink and watch the sea of faces roll by. It was bedlam. But, at least for the immediate future, it was home.

Later that day Leo was back in his hotel room, necklace in hand, prying the first of the stones free with a pair of pliers he’d picked up at a hardware store. By studying Madame Katiana’s inventory and inquiring rather directly about prices, he now knew, roughly, what one of his own stones was worth. Now he would sell one. Selling more than one might be dangerous, for he had no idea what type of information, if any, would be available about the theft. One transaction would test the waters.

He also knew where to go to sell his diamond. He’d go straight to the place Madame Katiana had warned him to stay away from: Avenue Joffre, the heart of the “White Russian” district in the French Concession. Leo had no doubt that she found some of her own pieces there, or she wouldn’t have tried so vigorously to steer him away from the “crooks and cheats on Avenue Joffre” when he inquired about other dealers in estate jewelry.

The following morning he hired a rickshaw to take him there. Skirting the boundary of the old Chinese walled city, the even trot of the sinewy coolie brought Leo, with surprising speed, to the heart of the French Concession and the lengthy boulevard that had earned the nickname, “Little Russia.” The road was lined with dress shops, fur salons, Russian restaurants, and questionable nightclubs. Here and there a small knot of shabby men clustered around two compatriots playing chess. Banners advertised instruction in mathematics, Russian, French, and tutoring for musical instruments of all kinds. Leo was surrounded by Russian music, Russian writing, Russian voices, and Russian faces. He felt like he’d turned a corner and crossed the border.

He elected to investigate the neighborhood on foot. Stepping down from the rickshaw, Leo tossed the driver a tip he did not yet realize was far too generous. Rather than express gratitude, the cunning Chinese
leveled several loud curses at Leo, decrying his stinginess, hoping that he could embarrass the uninformed foreigner into giving him even more; but Leo, intent on his mission, was already walking away. When the driver could see that no more coins were forthcoming, he picked up his poles, added a few more curses for emphasis, and retreated.

Leo’s frosty breath created a mist half a foot above the heads of most of the men and women he passed. He walked down alleys and side streets, looking for the Cyrillic characters indicating a jeweler. He needed a man of talent, and a man who could be trusted.

At last he saw a sign that intrigued him. The Russian word for jeweler decorated a small silk banner, hung over the door to the basement entry of a nondescript two-story building. Leo descended the uneven stairs and knocked on the plain wooden door.

“Da,” a voice called out from behind the door. Leo walked in.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dark, for the small half window let in little light. Leo could make out an armchair, a small Franklin stove, and a workbench displaying the delicate tools of the jeweler’s trade. For an instant he thought he saw a large, long-haired animal crouched on the stool at the bench. Then the creature turned toward him, and Leo could see the face of an old man peering out of what appeared to be a fur cape.
Muskrat
, thought Leo.

“May I help you in some way?”

Something in the old man’s voice put Leo at ease. It was not the voice of a shopkeeper waiting to pounce upon a prospective client, but the welcome of a humble artist, looking to be of service.

“I hope so,” Leo replied, the Russian words flowing effortlessly from his lips. “I have an item I would like to sell. It will, I think, interest you.” He removed a silk handkerchief from his breast pocket.

With a patient expression the old man extended a pale, wrinkled hand from underneath the mound of fur engulfing him, and beckoned for Leo to come closer. He did so, and placed the handkerchief on the table. He unfolded it to reveal the diamond.

Wordlessly, the jeweler lit a candle, then put on a bizarre pair of glasses; two cone-shaped magnifying loupes were positioned where ordinary lenses should have been, giving him the visage of a monstrous insect. Holding the diamond close to the flame, the jeweler inspected it. A sharp intake of breath caused the candle to flicker, letting Leo know that he was impressed.

“If it is what it appears to be…” Putting the stone back on his table, he removed his glasses and picked up a small brown bottle from which he extracted liquid with a dropper. The acid splashed harmlessly off the diamond, then hissed softly as it ate into the varnished wood of the workbench.

“A marvelous stone. A beauty. Emerald cut, five carats, colorless, and perfect. I am afraid that I do not have the resources to pay you what it is worth.”

“What could you give me for it?” Leo was ready to counter any offer.

“What I could give you is irrelevant, unless you are desperate, and you do not strike me as a desperate man. Not yet, at any rate. Believe me, my son, I have given many desperate people the help that they needed. But I cannot help you. I could cheat you, but I cannot help you.”

Startled, Leo realized that the man was not adopting an artful bargaining strategy; he was speaking the truth. His frustration quickly crowded out any sense of gratitude. “Do you know of anyone who would be interested in such a stone, and willing to pay a fair price for it?”

For a moment there was no reply, and Leo was about to repeat the question, when the old man spoke.

“There is a man, a Chinese, who comes here to my shop, for he knows I occasionally acquire worthy pieces. His name is Lee Wusong. He works for an influential man. A rich man. This man, for whom he works, is very difficult to impress. But even Liu Tue-Sheng is impressed by perfection, and he has three wives to satisfy. Do you have three such diamonds?” The old man smiled, revealing teeth that Leo wished had remained unseen.

“Perhaps.”

“Even better. I will give you Mr. Lee’s address. You may tell him that Olanavich sent you. He will speak to you. When he finds the time.” The wrinkled hands appeared again to scribble a name and address on the back of a calling card, which the jeweler then courteously offered to Leo.

“Thank you.”

“It is of no consequence. Thank you for sharing with me an object of such rare beauty.” The old Russian carefully wrapped the diamond back into its temporary home and handed the handkerchief back to Leo, who thanked him again, and turned to leave. Just before opening the door, he stopped short.

“This gentleman, Liu Tue-Sheng, is he discreet?”

Another brief silence. Then, a nonanswer.

“You are new to Shanghai.”

Leo stepped back into the center of the tiny room. “Yes. Is there something I should know?”

The old man shrugged. “If you do not yet know of Liu Tue-Sheng, you soon will. They say he is the head of the Green Gang, an ancient and
secret organized crime society. They say he is responsible for gambling, prostitution, kidnapping, and most of the illegal opium trade. They say that he has compromised the integrity of the entire police force of the French Concession, and the French ambassador as well. They say that he has a private army. I know that he serves on the board of two banks and several charities; I know that he keeps his word and pays his debts. I would say that you can trust him to be discreet about where he acquires his diamonds.”

This time Leo did more than thank Olanavich. He took a handful of silver coins out of his pocket and laid them on the table. Then he went back out into the cold.

Leo decided to delay his call on Mr. Lee until after his meeting with Cosgrove. He wanted to run Liu’s name past the Englishman to see if he could confirm any of the information the Russian jeweler had given him. He was not disappointed.

For their night on the town, Cosgrove took Leo to Mina’s, a club that, judging from the crowd, seemed to appeal to affluent British bachelors. The Russian hostesses were eager to please; the food was good, and the drinks only slightly watered down. A raucous floor show consisting of scantily clad, long-legged women provided intermittent entertainment. Cosgrove was thoroughly enjoying himself.

After giving his companion a brief, fictional account of his own life (he admitted to being “in the hotel business,” and said he was from Vienna), Leo spent a long evening listening to Cosgrove recount the history of Shanghai, and elaborating in excruciating detail the engineering challenges encountered by the intrepid settlers willing to build a European city on the muddy swampland bordering the Whangpoo.
Leo congratulated Cosgrove on his brilliant architectural achievements, and then brought up Liu Tue-Sheng