The Far Side of the Sky Read online

  Sunny brought her hand to her mouth as she gaped at the graphic images. In one photograph, a naked boy knelt in front of a hulking man. In another, the man’s flabby buttocks faced the camera as he gripped the hunched-over boy by the hips. “The boy,” Sunny muttered. “How old is he?”

  “Lok is thirteen but, of course, he passes for much younger.” Jia-Li shrugged. “Lok has been with us at Chih-Nii’s for almost a year now. He’s very popular with certain clientele.”

  “It’s … it’s unimaginable. That poor, poor boy.”

  Jia-Li tapped one photograph, a close-up of the same sweaty man who appeared in all the other shots. He had a bulbous nose, protuberant forehead and close-set dark eyes. “Meisinger?” Sunny asked.

  “Hideous, isn’t he?” Jia-Li wiggled the snapshot. “I wonder what his superiors would make of this.”

  Sunny’s disgust receded as the significance of the photographic evidence sank in. “Are these the only copies you have?”

  “Our photographer took several others.”

  Sunny swept them into a stack and eased them back into the envelope. Gripping the envelope tightly, she rose from the table. “Where are you going?” Jia-Li asked. “To the Cathay Hotel.”

  Jia-Li’s eyes widened. “You intend to confront Meisinger?” “What else can I do?”

  Jia-Li slapped a hand to her forehead. “Drop him a letter at the hotel with your demands. Include one of these photographs. That is how the Green Gang does it at Chih-Nii’s.”

  Sunny shook her head. “I have no time for letters. I need to see him.”

  “Then I’m coming with you.”

  “No, bao bèi? Sunny smiled gratefully as she leaned forward and hugged her best friend. “You have done more than your share. Stay with your mother and Hannah.” She touched Jia-Li’s face. “For me. Please.”

  Sunny’s hands shook as she applied her lipstick in front of the mirror. She dreaded the prospect of confronting Meisinger. She had no idea how to approach blackmail. She desperately wished there was another way.

  What if he refuses? Will I panic in the heat of the moment?

  “There is no choice,” she assured her reflection. “You have to do this for Franz and Hannah.”

  She felt nauseated as she stood up and smoothed out the front of her light blue cheongsam. Tucking the photographs into her handbag, she took a deep breath and then headed for the door.

  The morning sun had risen over the tall buildings that fronted the Whangpoo. Hurrying along the Bund, Sunny worried that she might already have missed Meisinger for the day.

  As Sunny was crossing Nanking Road, she caught sight of a familiar face. Ushi! The hulking Chinese man in the black suit stood a few feet from the entrance of the Cathay Hotel with his tree-trunk arms folded across his chest.

  Sunny had known Ushi for years. He was reputed to be the toughest and most intimidating bodyguard at the French Concession brothel where Jia-Li worked. Sunny also knew that behind his fearsome exterior, Ushi harboured a lifelong crush on Jia-Li. He would do anything for her.

  As Sunny passed Ushi, he flashed a gap-toothed grin before resuming his fierce stare. Sunny smiled back as she silently thanked Jia-Li for sending Ushi ahead to watch over her.

  Sunny had not been inside the Cathay Hotel since her wedding. Banishing the happy memories to focus on her task, she stepped through the revolving door and into the sprawling marble lobby. She glanced at the hotel’s clock, which read 7:11. She walked into the restaurant and scanned it discreetly. Several Japanese men and women sat at the tables, but Sunny did not see Meisinger or any other Nazi official.

  Sunny sat down at the corner table and ordered tea. She pulled out Jia-Li’s envelope and chose the photograph that best captured Meisinger’s face and the boy in the same shot. She turned it over and wrote in German: “Meet me alone in the hotel restaurant. Corner table. Blue dress.” She tucked the photograph into a separate envelope and addressed it to Colonel Meisinger.

  Sunny asked the waiter to send over a bellhop. Moments later, a skinny Chinese teenager in a white uniform and matching hat hurried over. She produced a photograph that showed only a close-up of Meisinger’s sweaty face. A trace of fear crossed the bellhop’s features as he recognized the man. Sunny offered him a generous tip and, warily, the bellhop agreed to take the envelope to the man’s room.

  Her stomach flip-flopped as she waited. After twenty minutes, she assumed that either she had missed Meisinger or he was ignoring her request. Disappointed but also relieved, she was gathering up her handbag to pay for the tea when she sensed a pair of eyes on her.

  Sunny’s heart slammed against her breastbone as she looked up to see Meisinger. Wearing an ill-fitting grey suit instead of a uniform, he glared from across the room, more rabid dog than high-ranking military officer. He jerked his head, looking from side to side, and then dropped his chin and marched over to her table. He stopped and stood at her side, hovering so close that she picked up a whiff of his rough alcoholic aftershave.

  “Wouldn’t you prefer to sit, Colonel?” Sunny’s voice cracked.

  With a sneer that set his ugly face further askew, Meisinger dropped heavily into the chair across from her. The waiter approached but was angrily waved away. “Who are you?” Meisinger growled in a deep baritone as he slammed his hands down on the table.

  Sunny glanced at his ragged fingernails before meeting his hostile eyes. “That is not important.”

  “I will be the judge of that,” he said through gritted teeth.

  “Colonel, we have other photographs.”

  The veins in his temples pulsated visibly. “So what?” he hissed.

  Sunny willed herself to speak calmly. “If those photographs were to find their way to Berlin and Tokyo …”

  “I have been a policeman my whole career,” he said in his clipped German. “I track people down. I am very good at my job.” He exhaled his sour breath into her face and then looked down at her wedding ring. “You have children?”

  Sunny thought of Hannah with a stab of fear. “No. No, I don’t.”

  Meisinger squinted. “Listen to me, you half-Chink! If those photographs are not immediately destroyed, I will personally see to it that your husband and your children—and anyone else you consider family—die in front of your eyes. Perhaps I will beat them to death. Or bleed them. Or … or electrical shock. Ja, ja! Have you ever witnessed a prolonged electrocution? You will!”

  Sunny’s heart leapt into her throat. He’s bluffing. Don’t let him turn the tables. You have the control, girl.

  “This is Shanghai, not Germany, Colonel,” Sunny said evenly. “We have other photographs. Consider how your superiors in Berlin and Tokyo would react to them. It would destroy your career.”

  “I will kill you and your family long before that ever happens,” he breathed.

  Sunny pressed her palms against the table to prevent them from trembling. “I have come here with protection. Besides, whether I live or die, the photographs will still be sent. My friends holding the other copies will see to it.”

  His lips twitching, Meisinger glowered at Sunny for several moments without speaking. “What do you want?” he finally grunted. “I want you to leave.” “Shanghai?” “Yes. Immediately.”

  Meisinger’s thick mouth curved downward and he shrugged. “All right, I will return to Tokyo today.”

  Sunny shook her head. “And I want you to take the rest of your SS men with you.”

  Meisinger didn’t respond.

  “And your canister of poison gas too.”

  His jaw dropped in surprise. His pocked skin wrinkled as though he were on the verge of laughter. “I should have known it!” he spat. “You work for the Jews! Of course you do. Who else but Jews and Chinamen would resort to such underhanded tactics?”

  Emboldened by her own anger, Sunny leaned closer. “Listen to me, Colonel. We know all about your plans for the refugees—”

  His face twisted again in rage. “How do you know that?”
/>   She shook her head. “Go back to Tokyo, Colonel. Tell your superiors that the Japanese refused to co-operate. And then forget about the Jews in Shanghai. Forever. And we will forget about you.”

  “You think the fatherland can just forget about twenty thousand Jews who slithered out of Germany?”

  “You had better persuade them to, Colonel. Otherwise the fatherland will learn all about your perverse interest in Chinese boys.” She folded her arms across her chest. “I doubt those photographs conform to the führer’s image of an Aryan super race. And I do not think the Japanese would view them in any better light.”

  Meisinger’s eyes iced over. “All right, you half-breed cow.” He exhaled so heavily that his breath whistled. “I will do what I can to help you save those rotting Jews. But you must understand that I am not the only one involved. I can only do so much.”

  “Do what you have to, Colonel! If you do not, those pictures will find their way to your superiors, Tokyo, the newspapers and anywhere else we think to send them. I promise you that.”

  He pushed himself up from the table, rocking the cutlery and spilling the last of Sunny’s tea. He turned to go and then wheeled back to her. “One day, Chink! I will find you …”

  CHAPTER 51

  Franz woke up on the damp floor with the knee of another prisoner digging into his back. His right forearm throbbed so steadily that he knew his torturers must have fractured it with the rod. His tan pyjama trousers were stained beyond recognition. The most pungent stench wafted off his own body now. He had lost all track of time. Is this the sixth day or the seventh?

  Dragging himself up to sitting, Franz inadvertently kicked the woman in front of him, who grunted in pain. “I’m sorry,” he croaked. But his apology served no real purpose, since the woman, like all the other prisoners stuffed in the cage, spoke only Chinese. Franz suspected that the Kempeitai had deliberately separated him from other Westerners. He thought of Simon. A few days earlier, he had heard his friend’s muffled voice calling out to him from another cage. Franz had shouted back, but it had only drawn a quick beating from the guard. There had been no contact since.

  Franz focused on the mental image of Sunny and Hannah. Only the memory of their smiling faces kept him going. Death no longer frightened him. On the contrary, it seemed more and more like the only possible reprieve.

  “Adler!” the tall Kempeitai officer barked from the door to the cage. Not again. Please. Not so soon.

  “Up, Adler!” the man repeated as he opened the door.

  Franz’s legs wobbled as he climbed unsteadily to his feet. He stumbled over his cellmates’ bodies and limbs as he wove his way to the door. He felt the light pressure of a woman’s hand patting him surreptitiously on the back and smiled slightly: it was one of the few signs of compassion he had encountered at Bridge House. As soon as Franz stepped through the opening, the officer grabbed his right arm, launching a wave of pain through his entire right side.

  Instinctively, Franz turned toward the torture chambers, but the guard yanked him in the opposite direction. Refusing to let his hopes rise, Franz hung his head and shuffled along the corridor until they emerged into the bright light of the main lobby. The guard dragged Franz over to the check-in desk.

  “Adler, Franz,” the guard informed the clerk, who sniffed in distaste.

  Franz felt a flicker of anticipation as he watched the clerk flip through the stack of forms and pull out a sheet with his name near the top. The clerk rose and disappeared into the room behind him. A minute later, he returned with Franz’s folded clothes and dropped them on the desktop. He opened an envelope and casually tapped out its contents on top of the pile.

  Franz’s eyes filled with tears when he saw his wedding ring. The clerk waved to the alcove behind him. “You change clothes. Leave uniform inside!”

  Franz hobbled as fast as his bruised legs and feet would carry him. He pulled off the stinking soiled pyjamas and left them on the floor. His own clothes had never felt more comfortable, but he had trouble doing up the buttons with his broken arm and swollen fingers, six of which were missing fingernails.

  By the time he stepped back into the lobby, the tall guard was gone. Franz stood in the middle of the foyer awaiting instructions, but none came. He waited another five or six minutes and then, with trepidation, inched toward the door. None of the soldiers showed the slightest interest. His pace quickened as he slipped through the door and out to the sidewalk. The bright sunshine burned his eyes. His legs were so weak that he could walk only a block or so before he had to stop and rest. But his relief at being out of Bridge House—if only temporarily—far overshadowed any other sensation.

  Franz hobbled home, stopping at each corner, sometimes having to hang on to the street signs or lampposts until his muscles and lungs would co-operate again. It took him over an hour to get home. He did not expect to find Sunny or Hannah there, but he was still crestfallen to walk into the empty house.

  Franz picked up the phone in the hallway and dialed Simon and Esther’s number, but their phone went unanswered. His eyes wandered to the shelf beneath the telephone, and he spotted Sunny’s telephone directory. He stared at it, trying to resist the urge to look up Jia-Li’s phone number.

  Franz had no idea whether the Japanese had responded yet to Meisinger’s proposal. For all he knew, they might have already begun rounding up the refugees. He reminded himself that the best way to keep Sunny and Hannah safe was to stay away from them. They would be far more likely to stick to their escape plans if they thought he was still imprisoned, or worse. But Franz had to know that they were all right. He grabbed for the directory and tore through the pages until he found Jia-Li’s number. He dialed and let the phone ring repeatedly. He hung up and tried a second time, but without success.

  Franz rifled through the phone book looking for a phone number for Jia-Li’s mother. But it was hopeless. He did not even know her name.

  Frustrated, Franz trudged to the bathroom and drew a warm bath. As soon as the tub was half-full, he eased his raw body into it. The sting of the hot water against his open wounds and bruises felt minor compared with what he had just experienced at Bridge House. He gingerly scrubbed every inch of skin he could reach as the bathwater turned progressively darker.

  Franz had just climbed out of the tub when he heard the phone ring. Dripping a trail of water, he hobbled out to the hallway and grabbed the receiver. “Yes? Hello?”

  “Dr. Adler, this is Mr. Silberstein,” Schwartzmann said.

  “Oh, hello, Hermann,” Franz mumbled.

  “Something is wrong, Dr. Adler?”

  “Excuse me. I was expecting my wife.”

  “Ah, of course, I would be disappointed too.” Schwartzmann laughed softly. “Frau Adler? She is well?” “I … Yes. Fine.”

  “Oh, good. Herr Doktor, would you have time to meet this evening?” “I am not certain I will be free.” “It is rather urgent.”

  Please, God, no more grim news! “I cannot promise, Herr Silberstein.” “I understand, Dr. Adler, but if your schedule does permit … Are you familiar with the Woo Sing Ding tea house in the old Chinese quarters?” “Yes, of course,” Franz said.

  “One of my favourite sites in the whole world,” Schwartzmann sighed. “I will be there at eight o’clock tonight, regardless. I hope you will have a chance to join me.”

  Franz hung up and tried Jia-Li again. Nothing. He called Esther and Simon’s home again, but they did not answer either. Frantic with worry, Franz changed into clean clothes, agonizing over each button. Tying his shoes was almost impossible.

  Light-headed and dizzy, he realized that he was starving. While other prisoners devoured the buckets of rancid rice that the soldiers slammed down in the cage every morning, Franz had been unable to eat.

  In the kitchen, he discovered that the cupboards were almost bare. In the pantry, he spotted a small box hidden on a back shelf. He opened it to find a package of food, carefully wrapped and sealed, that Yang had obviously prepared fo
r him. The sweet rice ball, stuffed with vegetables, almost brought tears to his eyes. Three hard almond cakes, which Yang knew he loved, were wrapped in one of Sunny’s handkerchiefs. He grabbed the package and, eating as he walked, headed for the street.

  He limped the six blocks over to the “establishment,” as Sunny had euphemistically referred to the brothel where Jia-Li worked. The tasteful Spanish villa was set back on the property among shade trees and blooming gardens. Franz opened the steel gate and trudged up the footpath toward the door.

  Before he reached the house, a brawny giant of a man in a black suit stepped out and blocked the pathway. The Chinese guard slipped his hand menacingly into his jacket pocket. “May I help you?” he rumbled in clear English.

  “Yes, I am Dr. Franz Adler. A friend of Jia-Li’s.”

  The man nodded his block-like head. “Do you have an appointment?”

  “No.”

  The guard took a step forward. “Then I need for you to leave, sir. Now.” “Please tell Jia-Li that I desperately need to see her.” The guard puffed out his chest. “The lady only accepts appointments.” “I am not a client! My wife, Mah Soon Yi, is Jia-Li’s best friend.” The man’s expression suddenly softened. “You are Sunny’s husband?” “Yes. Franz Adler.”

  “Wait here, sir!” The guard turned, lumbered up the pathway and disappeared into the villa.

  A few minutes later, the door opened and Jia-Li burst out. She ran down the pathway toward Franz in a short red cheongsam and high heels. She threw her arms around him and hugged him tight, sending a wave of pain through his broken ribs. “I couldn’t believe it when Ushi told me you were here!” she cried. “They released you!”