Shanghai Story: A WWII Drama Trilogy Book One

by Alexa Kang

  Eden and Charlie looked at each other. Both were caught by complete surprise.

  Charlie was the first one to recover. “Well, Eden. Looks like this is just the job for you. Get right on it.”

  Elated, Eden stood up. “Yes, sir.”

  Back on the floor, Dottie had left Eden’s desk exactly as it had been. Eden took her seat before the typewriter. Funny how she’d grown so fond of this little space in only a few short months. This was exactly where she belonged.

  Beside the typewriter, someone had left her a note. Clark had called. He asked that Eden call him back. The note was marked with today’s date.

  How did he know she’d be here?

  It didn’t matter. If it were anything important, he could always call again. If not, she really shouldn’t be getting too close to someone else’s fiancé.

  She put the note in the lower drawer of her desk and got ready to head to the press conference to find out what had happened to Roland Vaughn.

  At the ballroom of the Park Hotel, SMP Commissioner O’Reilly announced that the body of Roland Vaughn had been discovered sprawled over his table. Vaughn had died from what appeared to be a self-inflicted gunshot wound to his temple. On the table, he’d left a suicide note, in his own handwriting, detailing how he raped and murdered Lillian Berman.

  A flurry of questions from the reporters followed.

  “Commissioner, was Roland Vaughn a suspect in your earlier investigation?”

  “He wasn’t a suspect. There was nothing to indicate he was related to Miss Berman’s murder.”

  “What about China Press articles? They claimed Roland Vaughn was behind the murder.”

  “That was their theory, yes. We had no solid evidence pointing to Vaughn at the time.”

  “Commissioner, does Roland Vaughn’s suicide vindicate Johann Hauser? Do you still think Johann Hauser is guilty?”

  “We’re looking into it. We have not confirmed Roland Vaughn’s death as a suicide. We need to make sure there was no foul play. It is possible the Wehrmacht staged this to frame him based on the theory alleged by the China Press . . .”

  Eden shook her head. This was unbelievable. Even now, O’Reilly was still playing politics to make the Germans look bad.

  She closed her notebook and left it to the authorities to play their media games of manipulating public opinion. The truth could only be discovered somewhere else.

  What happened to Roland Vaughn? Not for a minute did she believe he’d developed a conscience and decided to repent by killing himself. Perhaps he’d had run-ins with his own enemies. But if so, why leave a suicide note confessing to the crime he’d committed?

  She walked out of the Park Hotel and headed toward the tram stop. A Hispano Suiza parked on the street honked at her. “Eden!” Ava called out from the window of her new car.

  Eden turned toward the car. “Ava. What are you doing here?”

  “I heard Roland Vaughn’s dead. We have to go celebrate.” She pushed the car door open. “Get in.”

  Without hesitation, Eden got into the car. Today was definitely a day for celebration.

  Lin Shifu, Ava’s driver, drove them to Sambuca in Blood Alley. The hours were still early and the cabarets and bars nearby had not yet come alive. Sambuca itself was quiet except for the staff setting up the place for the night and a few of Mauricio’s customers who had come to join him for a few late afternoon drinks.

  “Eden! Ava!” Mauricio left his friends and greeted them with a wine bottle in his hand.

  Ava went straight to the bar. “Champagne, Mauricio. We need champagne.”

  Mauricio came behind the bar and popped open a bottle of Perrier-Jouet. He poured them each a flute, and one for himself.

  “Cheers!” Ava held hers up for a toast. “What did I say? Everything would work out in the end.”

  Eden ran her finger down her glass, wiping away the condensation formed on the surface. “Don’t you find it odd though? Roland Vaughn doesn’t strike me as a man who would commit suicide out of regret.”

  Ava took a sip of her champagne and narrowed her eyes. “No. Not on his own initiative. But he might with a little help.”

  The implication behind Ava’s words dawned on Eden. “What do you mean?”

  “Mauricio’s been saying a man like him ought to get a taste of his own medicine. Mauricio, you don’t have a hand in this, do you?” She arched her brow and flashed him a complicit smile.

  “Me?” Mauricio gasped. “Why would you think that?” he protested, his face innocent as an angel until his lips curled up and he gave Eden an intent, meaningful look in the eye.

  “Personally, I think a bullet was too good for him.” Ava put down her glass.

  Eden shifted her eyes from Ava to Mauricio. Thinking back to SMP Commissioner O’Reilly’s comment about the Germans staging Roland Vaughn’s suicide, she asked, “Mauricio, did the Germans have a hand in this?”

  Mauricio drew back, looking slightly surprised. “No. Not that I know of.” He finished his own champagne. “Now, in Manchester, on the other hand, there are people who would love to see him dead. They would cross the ocean and come to Shanghai to kill him if they could. But they don’t have to. Shanghai has its own way of dealing out justice.” He looked Eden in the eye again.

  Eden looked away. Her hands began to tremble. Ava reached across and held her steady. “He deserved it. He’ll never harm anyone again.”

  37

  The Xian Incident

  In his office, fielding call after call, Clark finally decided to stop. He sat and let the phone ring. Corporate directors and factory owners in a state of panic. American bankers in fear of total loss of investments in currencies. The U.S. consulate badgering him for updates and speculation about whether Generalissimo Chiang would be killed.

  He had no answer. Earlier in the month, Chiang Kai-shek had gone to Xian to meet with Zhang Xue-Liang and the commanders in the northeast provinces. Chiang’s demand for Zhang and his troops to annihilate the Red Army in Shaanxi-Gansu had backfired. Mao had won the hearts and minds of the people up north with his call for the Chinese to rise up and drive out the Japanese. Last week, anger against Japan reached a feverish height. Masses of students took to the streets, calling for a united China to wage war against Imperial Japan and reclaim the territories lost to the enemy. Subsequent attempts by the police to suppress the riots ended with a gunshot critically injuring an elementary school student who had joined in the protest.

  On December 12, in the middle of the night, Zhang’s guards had kidnapped Chiang, demanding that he agree to unite with the Communists to fight the Japanese. It had now come to light that Zhang had been colluding with Mao and his people to plan the abduction. They wanted to force Chiang to end his crusade to wipe out the Communists and to redirect his forces toward resisting the threat of Japan.

  Five days had passed since. Chiang had so far refused. The two sides stood at a standstill. As of yesterday, Wang Jing-Wei, Chiang’s leftist arch-rival within the KMT, called for the Nationalist Revolutionary Army units to mobilize to rescue Chiang. The only thing that held him back was Soong Mei-Ling’s insistence on negotiations.

  Clark threw his pen onto the desk. He went down the corridor and knocked on Tang Wei’s door. “Any word from Sītu yet?”

  “No,” Tang Wei answered. Sītu had gone to Nanking since the crisis broke out. For now, everyone in their office could do nothing but wait.

  Tang Wei put down the newspaper. Clark didn’t envy his job. What propaganda messages could Tang Wei disseminate to cast Chiang’s abduction in a positive light?

  “You think Nanking will get behind Wang Jing-Wei and send troops up north?” Clark asked.

  “If they do, it wouldn’t be such a bad thing.” Tang sat back in his seat and folded his hands.

  “I think it’ll end up a disaster. Wang Jing-Wei doesn’t really want to rescue Chiang Kai-shek. He’s using this as an excuse to take over the Party.”

  “If he does, would it be w
orse than our situation now? The Japanese are at our borders. If Chiang can’t fend them off, maybe someone else needs to do it.”

  “What makes you think Wang could resist the Japanese any better than Chiang?”

  “Nothing. But he might have better ideas for how to deal with the Japanese threat. Chiang’s policy is to not deal with it at all. What are we all to do? Sit and wait to be killed? Or would you rather Chiang fold to Zhang Xue-Liang and make peace with the Communists?”

  Clark frowned and shook his head. “There is no peace with the Communists. It’s an illusion. He’s right to worry about Mao. The more I know about this Mao Ze Dong, the more I think he’s out for his own power.”

  “They’re all out for their own power.”

  “It’s not the same. The things he wants to do are dangerous. His idea of reform is to bring about a national uprising, a class warfare. He fans the flame to the people least able to understand the consequences. If he gets his way, he’ll ruin this country.”

  “Chiang may have no choice. He’s locked in a room right now at his own underlings’ mercy. How humiliating. Remember I told you before, if any big changes happen, look out for yourself.”

  While Clark could ignore the calls at his office, he had no way to escape the questioning at home. His father, his mother, his sisters, even some of the household staff. Everyone wanted to be reassured. Everyone thought his words meant proof. All for the sole reason that he worked for the government. What he had to do now was calm their minds. There was no point in having them panic.

  He arrived home to find Peng Amah returning with imported soaps, French laces, and pajamas bought at the Sincere Department Store. Peng Amah had been planning her retirement for months. Next week, her son and his family would come to take her to Nanking where she would live after she left Shanghai.

  “Young Master, you’re home.”

  “Peng Amah.” Clark went to offer her a hand. “So many bags. Must be heavy. Let me help you.”

  She grinned and nodded. In the past, she would never have let him or his family do any work, let alone carry her bags for her. These past few weeks, she’d stopped fussing with formalities. Partly, she’d tired herself running around buying supplies that she was convinced could not be bought anywhere else except in Shanghai. Mostly, the prospect of leaving Shanghai and all the people she knew saddened her.

  “Then I’ll trouble you.” She let him take her bags inside and walk her to her room.

  When he put the bags down and turned around, he saw her eyes welling up. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m going to miss you.” She wiped her eyes. “I’ve been looking after you since you were born. You’re like my own son.”

  “Peng Amah.”

  “You turned out so good. The two xiao jie too. I only want you all to have a good future.”

  “I know.” He patted her on the shoulder. “You can come back to visit anytime. Stay with us. If I have free time, I’ll come to see you in Nanking.”

  “You’re kind to say that. You hurry up and get married. I’ll come back and drink your wedding toast.”

  Why did she have to bring that up? The crisis in Xian gave him enough of a headache as it was.

  “Get some rest,” he told her. “I’ll go tell Ma I’m home.”

  “Eh, I told Xiaochun to make you tang yuan. Ask her to bring them out for you. You must be hungry after work. I told her she needs to have snacks ready for you every day when you come home. I hope she remembers. She’s so dumb sometimes. What will happen when I’m not here to remind her?”

  Clark laughed. “Don’t worry anymore. I’ll go get some tang yuan now.”

  He shook his head and left her to rest. In the back of the house, his mother was lighting incense for the family shrine.

  “Ma.”

  “Guo-Hui? You’re back?” She took a step aside. “Come. Light incense for your great-grandfather.” She handed him several burning incense sticks. He took them and bowed before the shrine, then stuck them into the jar of dust in front of his great-grandfather’s framed portrait. He lowered his head as his mother began to pray.

  “Gong Gong.” His mother closed her eyes and mumbled in prayer. “I plead for you to bless us and protect our family. Keep the Japanese at bay. Drive away evil people. Watch over Guo-Hui, your only great-grandson, your hope for succession for our family. Keep our family rich and prosperous. Bless us and help us live our days in peace.”

  He let her finish and joined her to bow again. If nothing else, this ancient ritual would give her a little peace of mind.

  “I’m worried to death,” she told him. “Are the Japanese attacking Shanghai yet?”

  “No, Ma. The Japanese are not attacking Shanghai.” She had completely misunderstood what was happening.

  “I hope Heaven will protect and save us. I should say a prayer for Chiang Kai-shek. Pray for his safety. If he dies and the Japanese invade, I won’t know what to do.”

  “Don’t worry so much, Ma,” Clark said, all the while feeling the hollowness of his words. “I’ll go get changed.”

  In the living room, Wen-Ying sat listening to the latest news report. She glanced up when he walked in. “Ge, have you heard anything new?”

  “No. Nothing yet.” He went upstairs to his room. If the Xian crisis didn’t come to a peaceful resolution soon, he might have to join his mother and pray for real.

  From her desk, Eden gazed across the room while she tried to draft her next piece. In November, Germany had signed the Anti-Comintern Pact with Japan. She wanted to write an article to alert the international community to the potential danger this alliance could pose.

  Not that the community would pay attention. Here, in the protective enclave of foreigners in Shanghai, people seemed to believe that nothing could touch them. The festive green wreaths hanging on the windows and poinsettias on the staff’s desks looked oddly out of place given the recent events in northern China. The leader of the Chinese government, Chiang Kai-shek, had been kidnapped, held hostage by his own subordinates. In Xian, more than fifteen thousand students marched in protest against the Japanese, calling for an end to Chinese fighting against Chinese and a unified effort to resist Japan. The Nationalist government was standing on the brink of collapse. And yet, the Shanghailanders behaved as if none of this would impact them. They continued with their Christmas balls and planning their New Year fun. They were partying like there would be no tomorrow.

  If they would only see where the world was heading. With Germany rising and mobilizing their army, and Japan expanding further into the heart of Asia, there could be no tomorrow when they all woke up.

  Still, they couldn’t see the dangers on the horizon. The International Settlement belonged to Britain and America. Frenchtown belonged to France. China could fall apart, but the foreign concessions would stand, right?

  Surely, the Germans and Japanese wouldn’t dare to infringe upon their territories in Shanghai. Why worry when you could be merry?

  “Eden.” Charlie Keaton came by her desk. “The news just came in. Chiang Kai-shek’s being released.”

  “He is?” Eden sighed a huge breath of relief. “That’s good news.”

  “Yes. You know, it’s really annoying I can’t read Chinese. I don’t trust all these translated reports. Would you do me a favor? Can you give your friend Clark Yuan a call and see if you can set up an interview with him? I want the inside story.”

  Eden’s stress returned again. “You want me to interview Clark?”

  “Sure! He works for the Foreign Affairs Bureau. He’s a member of the KMT. You can’t waste a resource like that. Go get an exclusive. Find out what happened. Is Chiang staying in power or not?”

  “Do I have to?” She really didn’t want to be the one initiating contact with him again.

  “Yes. Do this. What’s the matter? You don’t think he’ll give you what you want to know?”

  “Nothing. It’s fine,” she said.

  It’d be fine, she told herself. She
would be calling him for official business. Everything would be fine.

  At the Shanghai Foreign Affairs Bureau, Clark came to work in an unusually good mood. After days of negotiations, Zhang Xue-Liang had finally agreed to release Chiang. The only condition for his release was Chiang’s agreement to join forces with the Communist Party to resist the Japanese. Zhang had demanded nothing for himself. No rise in government rank, no money, no expansion of territorial command. All he asked for was a united China against their enemy. In a world where everyone was out for himself, Zhang’s action was admirable, even if he’d defied authority and crossed the line.

  In his office, Clark’s phone continued to ring. Everyone wanted to know if everything would now return to normal. This time, he gladly answered each call. It was always easier to deliver good news.

  One call vaulted his spirit high into the sky. Eden. She wanted to come to his office. Her boss wanted an article about Chiang Kai-shek’s release.

  No problem, he told her. It was a simple favor he was more than delighted to give.

  Why hadn’t he heard from her until now? He thought she’d be overjoyed when she got her job back. He wanted to see her surprise, but she never called him back. With the crisis in Xian, he hadn’t followed up either.

  A staff member brought her into his office. “Miss Levine’s here to see you.”

  “Eden.” He stood up at his desk. “How are you?”

  “I’m good. Yourself?”

  “Couldn’t be better. Have a seat.” He motioned at the seat across from his desk. “Can you bring us some tea?” he asked the staff member.

  “Yes, Counselor.” The staff member closed the door.

  “You got your old job back,” Clark said.

  “I did,” she said. Her voice sounded unusually formal. “I was very lucky. And now I’m here. Thank you for agreeing to this interview.”