Chapter 88: Father's Assistant

The carriage traveled a certain distance before coming to a halt. Zhou Sen opened the door. A slender figure hurried up behind; she wore a dark gray woolen coat, a newsboy cap, and a gray-and-white plaid woolen scarf. Who could it be but Suzanna, disguised as a man?

“How did you know I was following you?” Suzanna climbed into the carriage, a note of surprise in her voice.

“Chief Shibuya assigned you to protect me from the shadows. I wasn’t sure if you were there, but if you were, you’d inevitably show yourself,” Zhou Sen replied coolly.

“The day before yesterday on Carpenter Street—how did you spot me?” she pressed.

“I didn’t. I just realized that all of you knew my whereabouts far too well—just like that staged kidnapping before the New Year…”

“That kidnapping was meant to test you, to verify your identity, and to find a reason to restore my freedom,” Suzanna explained, her eyes reflecting a hint of suspicion—she didn’t quite believe Zhou Sen’s words, but she explained nonetheless.

“You don’t need to explain to me. I’m not your superior,” Zhou Sen interrupted. “Where do I go next? What am I supposed to do?”

“Chief Shibuya instructed that, until you’re sent for special training, you’re free to arrange everything as you see fit,” Suzanna replied.

“And your face…”

“I’ll disguise myself further so no one recognizes me,” Suzanna assured him.

“Then you’ll need a new name too. You can’t keep calling yourself Suzanna.” Zhou Sen nodded. If Suzanna appeared openly at his side, both her familiar face and name would have to be discarded.

“Why don’t you give me a new name, Young Master Vasim?”

“Let’s call you Anna,” Zhou Sen decided after a moment’s thought.

“All right. From now on, my name is Anna.”

“You suspected Sherkin was a Soviet undercover agent and killed him. But how did you discover he was my adoptive father Anthony’s assistant?” Zhou Sen asked, speaking in Russian throughout the conversation with Anna—he had no fear that Wun would overhear, as he didn’t understand the language.

“After we killed him, we found through searching his belongings that he had an extremely close relationship with Mr. Anthony. Sherkin managed many secret overseas bank accounts. Every quarter, a large sum would be transferred out via these accounts and the Dalbonk Bank’s system. That money was surely the operating funds for the infiltrators.”

“So you could have traced those accounts and directly identified the list of infiltrators?” Zhou Sen asked in confusion.

“It’s not possible. The money would change hands at least three times, pass into a third country, and then be funneled into the Soviet Union by various means, eventually reaching the infiltrators…”

“It isn’t that you can’t trace it—it’s just that the cost is too high, isn’t it?” Zhou Sen understood. Old Anthony and Sherkin had set up an extremely intricate channel for the funds. If the Japanese wanted to investigate, there were too many links; the resources and manpower it would consume would be staggering, and even if they managed to expose one, it wouldn’t mean much.

Why would the Japanese bother with such a thankless task?

Anna remained silent.

“You must have taken quite a few things from Sherkin’s estate before anyone else got to them, didn’t you?” Zhou Sen pressed.

“If you need them, Young Master Vasim, I’ll bring them to you later,” Anna nodded.

Zhou Sen laughed lightly. “If you all couldn’t find anything, what could an outsider like me hope to discover?”

“You’re not like us,” Anna replied.

After considering, Zhou Sen said, “If you don’t mind the trouble, bring them to me. But I can’t promise I’ll find anything.”

“All right.”

“I’m going home now. Are you coming with me, or…?” Zhou Sen asked.

Anna hesitated, then told Wun to stop the carriage. Shibuya Saburo had instructed her not to press Zhou Sen too hard.

…

“Brother, who is this woman?”

“That’s not for you to ask. Don’t mention her again. And don’t say a word about her in front of Bai Yulan, Ah Xiang, or even Old Gu and the others,” Zhou Sen warned.

“All right, Brother,” Wun agreed.

After dropping Zhou Sen off at home, Wun drove the carriage back to the Ningxiang Pavilion.

…

Although the Japanese didn’t restrict his movements, their surveillance and shadowing never ceased. They simply didn’t trust him.

If they wanted to investigate his relationship with Jiang Rou, it probably wasn’t a secret either.

He truly didn’t want to drag anyone else connected to him into this mess. He even regretted getting Bai Yulan involved.

What kind of karma had he created?

Once home, Zhou Sen went straight upstairs and lay down on the bed.

Meow!

Lucy called as she entered, leaping onto the bed. She crept over to her little master, her round eyes filled with confusion as she gazed at him staring blankly at the ceiling.

“Lucy, you can’t talk, but you understand me best. Tell me, what should I do next?” Zhou Sen stroked Lucy’s snowy fur as he spoke.

Meow!

Lucy replied, stretching out her rosy tongue to lick Zhou Sen’s cheek. He hurriedly pushed her away half a foot.

“Lucy, I need comfort, not a tongue bath.”

Lucy looked at Zhou Sen, aggrieved.

“All right, it’s not that I dislike you. It’s just not hygienic. I’m human, you’re a cat. We can’t do that, you understand?”

The Japanese were pressing him hard. He couldn’t just sit and wait for death. He couldn’t afford to delay finding “the organization.”

But where to begin?

Zhou Sen racked his brains but couldn’t think of a good solution. He couldn’t exactly publish an ad, could he?

He knew the Japanese were holding Communists in the Daowai prison, but could he approach them? Even if he did, there was no guarantee he’d win their trust.

Moreover, those people were all locked up, barely able to protect themselves—how could they help him?

Of course, there was also Chongqing, but he truly didn’t dare to trust them. If he wasn’t careful, they’d sell him out, and he wouldn’t even know where to cry.

If all else failed, he’d take the risk of contacting the Soviet consulate. He knew very well that the consulate in Harbin was the headquarters for Soviet intelligence in the city. Only diplomatic immunity kept the Japanese from acting openly.

The problem was, how could he convince them to trust him?

Anyone joining their ranks had to offer proof of loyalty, especially someone with the mark of “restoring the Russian Empire” on his record.

Now, Zhou Sen almost hoped that Old Anthony was the Soviet mole within the action team.

That would solve his identity problem completely.

But Old Anthony had risen so high—could he really be that man?

Sherkin had been Anthony’s assistant. If Anthony trusted him with the crucial task of moving funds, perhaps something valuable could be found among Sherkin’s belongings.

Details determined everything.

He’d already moved everything from Sherkin’s study into his own house. Unless something was still hidden in a corner, and the Japanese had certainly searched once. The Japanese were small and nearsighted—maybe he should check again?

Would that seem a bit too eager?

Better to find the organization first. For now, he could muddle through, and if he couldn’t, he’d just drag his feet.

Lost in thought, Zhou Sen actually drifted off to sleep until Yin Lina came upstairs to knock and call him for dinner.

…

Yigu Zhai.

The sky was a bit overcast in the afternoon.

A graceful young lady walked in, heading straight for the counter where the proprietor, Qiao Sanlang, was dozing in his chair.

The sound of footsteps woke Qiao Sanlang. He opened his eyes, quickly stood, and greeted her, “Miss, may I help you?”

“Boss, do you have the 1935 Shanghai Commercial Press edition of the Kangxi Dictionary?” the young lady asked, lowering the brim of her hat.

“That edition is quite rare. My little shop doesn’t have it, but if you need it, I can keep an eye out for you,” Qiao Sanlang replied, his smile beaming. At last, the one he’d been waiting for had arrived.

“No matter. As long as you find it, I’m willing to pay a high price.” The lady nodded slightly, took a slip of paper from her bag, and handed it over. “This is my contact information. If you find it, call me.”

“Of course. May I ask your name, miss?” Qiao Sanlang bowed and scraped.

The young woman hesitated, then replied, “My surname is Zhou.”

“Miss Zhou, rest assured—if I hear anything, you’ll be the first to know.” Qiao Sanlang quickly slipped the note into his sleeve.

“Goodbye.”

Not long after the woman left, Yigu Zhai hung up a “Closed for Inventory” sign. The owner, Qiao Sanlang, wheeled his bicycle out the back door and pedaled swiftly out of the alley.

…

Zhiyou Barbershop, Xuefu Second Street.

By now, dusk had fallen. There weren’t likely to be any more customers, and the barber was cleaning up, ready to close shop.

Just then, a bicycle sped up to the door. The rider braked, put both feet on the ground, and dismounted.

“Boss, I’d like a haircut.”

The barber glanced at the newcomer, narrowing his eyes. “You’re a bit late, brother. I was just about to pack up and go home for dinner.”

“I’ve just been busy. The timing didn’t work out. Can you do me this favor?” Qiao Sanlang pleaded.

“All right, come in quickly then.”

Once inside, Qiao Sanlang swiftly closed the door and turned to the barber. “Old Yang, someone from the organization came today. But I think it was a woman.”

“What difference does that make?” Old Yang said sternly. “A woman can be a revolutionary too. Don’t say such things again.”

“Yes, I understand.” Qiao Sanlang pulled out the note the young lady had given him.

There was only a phone number written on the slip—nothing more. Of course, that was just on the surface. Old Yang retrieved a small bottle from a tin box, dipped a brush into the liquid, spread out the slip, and brushed it over the surface. Very soon, lines of writing appeared.

After reading the message, Old Yang’s expression grew grave. “These are instructions from Central. They must be sent to the mountains at once.”

“What about comrade ‘Pine Needle’? How should we reply?”

“No need. Comrade ‘Pine Needle’ is on a special mission. She’ll contact you if necessary,” Old Yang replied, putting the note away with a solemn air.

“All right, I understand,” Qiao Sanlang said. “By the way, Old Yang, about that matter I mentioned last time—any word from above?”

“They’re still considering it…”