Heart of Lies (12 page)

“Payoffs?” A pause was the only confirmation Leo received.

“These people, with whom he is dealing, are peasants. They do not trust paper money, and silver
taels
are quite cumbersome to move around the country. Gold, is, of course, an alternative, but it would seem that a quantity of stones, such as these, could also prove to be a convenient way of transferring funds from my friend’s hands to the greedy hands he must placate.”

“What do you mean by a quantity?”

“As many as you can obtain.”

“I see.” Leo’s mind was racing. Liu’s story sounded plausible, but it had been his own gullibility with respect to Károly’s scheme that had landed him in this predicament in the first place. On the other hand, what did he have to lose? If Liu intended to see him arrested in order to collect some kind of reward, then he already had enough evidence to connect Leo to the stolen stones. Maybe his best alternative was to dump all of the damn things now and hope Liu did not turn him in.

A lull of awkward proportions was starting to develop when Liu asked, “Are you a gambler, Mr. Hoffman?”

The nonsequitur took Leo off guard. He answered with some hesitation, wondering where the question would lead.

“I’ve been known to play an occasional game of chance.”

“Good. I, also, enjoy a game of chance from time to time. All Chinese do. It is in the blood: the desire to take risks. To seek a shorter path. For most Chinese, the long path leads only to suffering. Most of the Europeans who come to Shanghai are also seeking a shorter path. Or running away from something. Or both.”

Leo interpreted this as an opportunity for him to explain the reason for his own presence in Shanghai, but Liu did not seem inclined to wait for an answer.

“There are times when one’s path crosses another’s at a mutually convenient time. Perhaps this is such a time for the two of us. Perhaps we should take a chance, together. What do you think?”

“I’d like to know the terms of the wager.”

“Of course.” Liu brought the tips of his fingertips together and rested them under his chin for a moment before continuing. “Your diamonds are lovely. And very valuable. But I have found that there is nothing as valuable as information. I will give you a choice; you may receive, for your diamonds, the full value of what one could buy them for from a jeweler on Nanking Road…what do you call it…”

“Retail value.”

“Yes, retail,” continued Liu with a small nod, “or, I will pay half of that amount. In the latter case, I will also give you a piece of advice on how to invest the proceeds. This information could prove much more valuable than the diamonds themselves, but that success is not guaranteed.”

Leo tried to consider all the possibilities. The man must at least suspect that the diamonds were stolen. But in that case, why would he bother to offer anything more than street value for them? Where was the catch?

“I can obtain no more than forty diamonds,” he said crisply. “Does that affect the terms of your offer?”

“No. I had hoped for more, but forty diamonds could prove very useful.”

“And what is the nature of this ‘investment advice,’ that you mentioned?”

“One cannot, as you Europeans say, expose too much of one’s hand, Mr. Hoffman. I will say only that I genuinely believe the information to be of tremendous value, if handled…properly. Does the possibility of multiplying your investment in your diamonds intrigue you?”

“Did I ever say that they were my diamonds?”

“Ah, my mistake. I did not take you for a broker. Perhaps it is the owner of the diamonds with whom I should speak.” Liu issued this suggestion matter-of-factly as he rose from his chair. Startled, Leo raised his hand.

“There is no one with any greater negotiating power than I.”

The words had the desired effect. Liu resumed his seat.

“So, now it is time for a decision. Will you take what you and I know the diamonds to be worth, or will you take a chance?”

The eyes did not flicker. Leo had never met anyone so unreadable. But there was something about Liu that seemed trustworthy. Not because he seemed morally upright; it was as if lies were simply not worth his time.
Honor among thieves.
“I will take the information, and two-thirds of what the diamonds are worth.”

This time Liu did smile, conveying satisfaction at a bargain well
made, rather than pleasure. “A brave choice, and an intelligent one. I did not misjudge you. Tomorrow evening at eight o’clock my associate, Mr. Lee, will meet you in the lobby of the Palace hotel. He will accompany you to a place where the authenticity of the diamonds can be verified. You will then receive your money, and a letter containing the information of which I spoke. And now, forgive me, but I have other affairs to which I must attend.”

Liu rose, extending a hand to Leo. The tough, thin fingers felt like the claw of a bird.

A moment later he was back in Liu’s limousine, oblivious of the driver, ignoring the scenery that had fascinated him only a short time ago. He wondered why Liu agreed so readily to the higher price. He wondered if the diamonds were the real reason that Liu had wanted to meet with him; after all, Liu could have ordered Mr. Lee to handle the entire transaction. He wondered if Mr. Lee was going to lead him straight into the welcoming arms of the French police. What sort of investment opportunity had he bargained for? And when, and how, would he be able to see Martha again?

Two days later Leo received another letter on Mr. Lee’s stationery. He was to bring his “merchandise,” that night, to an address located in the old Chinese section of the city.

An hour before their scheduled appointment, Leo emerged from the warmth of the Palace Hotel into a brutally cold, damp night. For this trip he preferred to be responsible for his own transportation. It was difficult to escape from a moving automobile. Wary even of the miserable rickshaw drivers huddled outside the hotel’s entrance, Leo made his way on foot into the contorted maze that was the original city of Shanghai.

The neighborhood did not inspire confidence. Unlike the welcoming European face of the Bund, this part of Shanghai retained a hostile countenance that made all but the most seasoned China hands feel ill-at-ease. The layers of ancient buildings, crouched along their narrow, winding streets, provided the perfect setting for an ambush. Leo moved cautiously, senses alert, trying to discern whether he was being watched or followed. The bent and shrouded figures shuffling quickly along the twisted, windswept streets revealed nothing. The only apprehension he could detect was his own.

The address led him to what appeared to be a money changer’s shop. The sparsely furnished store looked deserted, but the ever-punctual Mr. Lee responded instantly to Leo’s light tap on the heavy wooden door.

Once inside, Leo handed the man a small leather case containing forty diamonds from the Cartier necklace. Nodding and smiling politely, Mr. Lee pulled a bell cord, and, within seconds, invisible hands lowered a small wire basket through a circular hole in the low-slung ceiling. Lee then placed the unopened satchel in the basket, which promptly disappeared in the same fashion. During the day, unseen clerks in the upstairs room would normally count currency, convert it, and extract a commission. Tonight, in the tiny room above their heads, an expert was carefully examining each diamond to make sure that Liu Tue-Sheng was not cheated.

Leo managed to make polite responses to Mr. Lee’s chatter. His nerves were stretched to the limit. The minutes ticked by, and he waited. It was worse than waiting for a screaming mortar shell to find its point of impact.

After what seemed like an eternity, the basket came back through
the hole in the ceiling. The satchel was still there. Smiling once more, Mr. Lee retrieved it and handed it back to Leo.

“Please examine contents, to note that all is satisfactory.”

Leo did as he was asked. The diamonds were gone. In their place was what seemed to be an enormous quantity of cash in pounds sterling, and a small white envelope.

“Everything looks in order.” He wondered if he should count the money.

“Please, count,” Mr. Lee said.

Leo did so, examining each note for signs of genuineness. He did not intend to be paid in counterfeit notes after what he’d been through.

“There does not seem to be a problem with the money.”

“And, the envelope? Please?”

Again, Leo followed Mr. Lee’s suggestion. The envelope contained a small white card. Printed on it, in English, were the words:

Rubber makes a nice birthday gift.

Buy some today.

He stared at the message. “What does this bloody riddle mean?” Mr. Lee’s polite expression did not change. “The information is there.”

“Information? What information? I was supposed to receive some information I could use to enhance my profits. This is just—”

“The information is there,” Mr. Lee said again, his face still bland. Leo stared at the sparse words. Rubber. Birthday. It clicked. Leo knew what he was supposed to do. He’d gambled. Now he must act on this tip, and see if the gamble would pay off.

On a balmy evening in early June, Leo accepted an invitation from Lawrence Cosgrove to dine at the Shanghai Club. As a non-English person of ambiguous origin, Leo could never become a member of the stolid British institution, but the mere invitation to dine as the guest of a member demonstrated a certain level of prestige in Shanghai society. Leo accepted with pleasure.

The chef at the club prided himself on providing traditional English dishes for its members, whose palates were unabashedly unadventurous; that night they enjoyed a hearty meal of roast mutton. Leo was in the process of warming his brandy over a candle, placed on the table for precisely that purpose, when he decided to bring up the subject that he’d been dying to address all evening.

“Lawrence, ever done any trading on the commodities markets?”

“Good Lord, no.” A touch of self-righteousness crept into Cosgrove’s voice. Leo knew he was about to receive a lecture.

“Commodities? I don’t even venture into the stock market. No better than a trip to the Derby, all that nonsense. Hoping the price of this will go up, so that will come down. Ridiculous, I say. A bank is the only decent place to keep your money. Solid interest. That’s the only sensible way to hang onto what you’ve got.”

“What if you want to do more than just hang on?” Leo asked with a grin. By now he knew Cosgrove well enough to tease him a bit. When aggravated, Cosgrove rumbled and sputtered like a tea kettle boiling over. Leo found it an entertaining spectacle.

“Then invest in something you can control, not a piece of paper worth no more than what someone else is willing to pay for it at the closing bell. Who knows what your money will be worth the next day?
Why, look at what’s happened with the rubber market. First, the financial pages eat up the news that the Bolsheviks are stirring up trouble on the Malay Peninsula, causing unrest on the plantations, destabilizing production. Next the word’s out that Japanese troop ships have been seen in the area, and in the Philippines. Then it’s not the Japanese or the Reds, it’s some disease threatening the whole region. It’s not as if any of this can be verified or disproved in time to prevent wild market fluctuations, for the world’s full of greedy bastards who lunge at the rumors like starving hyenas. I say leave the whole bloody mess alone.”

“Wise advice, but too late.”

“Oh, no,” Cosgrove replied, not without sympathy. “What did you get into?”

“Rubber futures.”

“Good God. How long ago?”

“About five months ago. In late January. Right after I arrived.”

“Whatever for?”

“A hunch.”

“Hunch? Bloody shame. I wish you’d talked to me first. How badly have you been hit?”

The smile Leo had been trying to suppress finally emerged. “So far, so good.”

“Really?” Cosgrove looked skeptical. The rubber situation had been one of the major topics of conversation at the club for three months. Like a bucking bronco, the gyrations of the rubber market had tested the nerves of many a seasoned trader. Most of the men bold enough to jump in when rumors of an imminent supply disruption sent prices leaping up sold out the moment the market headed south. The last dive devastated several prominent Shanghai Club members, who dumped
their devalued positions only to see the price soar back to an all-time high within ten days.

“So you’re not out yet?”

“Not yet.”

“Brave cuss, or stupid. How much longer do you plan to give it?”

“I’m not sure.” But this response was disingenuous. Leo knew exactly when he was going to sell his holdings. Tomorrow morning, June 10th, and for no better reason than the fact that it was Liu Tue-Sheng’s birthday.
Rubber makes a nice birthday present.

It had been easy for Leo to find a simple biography of Liu among the many newspaper articles lauding the man’s noncriminal achievements; he’d found one after spending a couple of hours in the archive room of the
North China Daily News.
And even if the details revealed to the public about the gangster’s life were mostly hogwash, Leo assumed that the June 10th date that he’d uncovered was accurate. At least he hoped it was.

It awed him to think that Liu was behind the rumor mill that had played havoc with the rubber market for the past five months. Maybe he was giving the gangster too much credit; could one man actually manipulate the market for a commodity vital to world trade? Still, Leo had played his part, making a significant purchase just as the market started to rise. He’d held on through the agonizing months of spring, watching as his investment doubled, then quadrupled, then crashed, then soared.

From time to time during those tumultuous months Leo felt a vague sense of guilt, but his own desperation soon silenced his raw conscience. After all, he did nothing more than invest and hang on. He took the same risks as any other investor. He had no guarantee that Liu’s plan, if
it was Liu’s plan, would succeed. He had nothing to cling to other than hope and patience.

His patience, and his gambler’s instincts, had paid off. Men whose nerves were not as strong had been broken. But Leo was rich. Very, very rich. Tomorrow he would cash in his chips, and send for Martha.