A Torn Picture

By James O'Leary

At thirty, Jim Wiggins was just finishing college, still dating his high school sweetheart, and content with his life. That is, until the unexpected arrival of an old torn photograph and a French reporter's journal sends him off on a daunting adventure. Presented with a ticket to China along with the old journal and torn picture, he is reluctantly tasked with discovering the fate of his distant cousin, a Catholic priest. Father Kevin, a missionary in China, vanished fifty years earlier, shortly after the new communist government came to power. Once in China, filled with trepidation and tormented by visions of worst-case scenarios, Jim pursues his quest. He teams up with an American businessman, a seminarian, and the beautiful but mysterious Lui Ling. Moving between present day dangers and intrigues of the past, he translates the French journal in hopes of gaining clues to his cousin's fate. Jim struggles to find the resolve he needs but as the trail seems to go cold and they've appeared to have drawn unwanted attention he finds what he wasn't expecting-spiritual truth and direction in his life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Covenant Books, Inc.
• Release date: Jul 16, 2020
• ISBN: 9781645594376

Book preview

2002 Characters

Jim Wiggins—on a search to discover Father Kevin’s fate

Sheila—Jim’s longtime and patient girlfriend

Rick Thomas—an American businessman living in Beijing who coordinates foreigners working with the Chinese Catholic underground church

Joseph—a young Chinese seminary student who helps Jim on his search

Lu Ling—a woman of mystery who bedazzles and befuddles Jim

1950 Characters

Father Kevin Farrell—a missionary priest in China who goes missing

Father Sheeran—Father Kevin’s senior pastor in Chungking

Felix Labiche—a French journalist

Fu Chen—an early convert of Father Sheeran

Sun Chen (Buster)—Fu Chen’s youngest son

Maio—Fu Chen’s oldest son and Buster’s older brother

Ming—the priests’ brave and devoted cook

Lang—a Chinese official determined to eliminate the local Catholic Church

Cueng—Lang’s second in command

My soul soars through the invisible on the wings of contemplation, trying to grasp the mysteries that lie beyond. At times, it almost pierces the veil, like clouds are separating, and soon I will behold the sun for the first time. It’s like I’m about to penetrate the impenetrable, to go through the curtain that divides time from eternity. It’s as if I’m about to behold God and the splendor of his kingdom.

—Father Kevin Farrell

Chapter 1

A Cathay Pacific flight attendant pushed a dinner cart down the aisle toward me. With increasing apprehension, I watched the computer screen mounted to the back of the seat in front of me as it projected the plane’s position against a map of North America’s Pacific coastline. It showed the plane was heading north instead of west. It wasn’t heading to China; it was skirting the shoreline of Alaska and heading toward the Bering Sea!

Something was wrong.

I pulled out my ticket and laid it on the plastic dropdown tray. There it was: Jim Wiggins, Cathay Pacific flight number CX881, LAX to HKG, June 29, 2002. This was my first flight to China, but I knew we should be heading west, not north. What was going on?

We’re being highjacked to Russia, my paranoid mind replied.

But why?

Terrorists from Chechnya plan to crash it into the Kremlin!

What should I do? I wasn’t an action-hero type of guy, but something needed to be done. Too many lives were at stake, including mine.

I sat, waited, and fretted. What was I even doing on this plane? Little more than a month ago, as I walked the line at my college graduation, I could not have anticipated that my mother would be sending me on a wild goose chase to another continent in search of a long-lost relative. And yet, there I was, an unemployed, unmarried thirty-year-old errand boy. Leave it to Mother to disguise the mission as a graduation gift! How could I refuse when she presented me with the airline ticket and a healthy dose of guilt? Somehow I had become obligated to locate the long-missing brother of my distant cousin Rose.

While growing up, my siblings and I had heard stories about Rose’s older brother, Father Kevin Farrell, a priest who had gone missing in China in the early 1950s. He was the family hero of sorts. He was everything I was not. His family was proud of the handsome young Ronald Reagan look-alike. From everything I had heard, he was athletic, charismatic, and quick-witted, but he also had a feisty Irish temper when provoked.

Those traits served him well when he dropped out of college to join the Navy shortly after the attack on Pearl Harbor. He served two years as a pilot flying off the aircraft carrier St. Lo until a Japanese kamikaze plane sank it in the Pacific. He was in the ocean for over twenty hours before he was rescued. During the ordeal, he did a lot of soul searching, and after the war ended, he entered a Catholic seminary for foreign missions. At age twenty-nine, he set sail for China.

I found it ironic that, at practically the same age as my legendary cousin, I was also bound for China, even though I was only going at my mother’s bidding. As far as I could tell, traveling to China was the only thing I had in common with Father Kevin. Even my height (five feet eight inches) didn’t measure up to his stature. I was as ordinary as they came—average height and weight with brown hair and brown eyes.

Just to be consistent with the description, my personality was also unremarkable. It was my nature to move slowly and purposefully or, to quote Mother, stubbornly and sluggishly. Unlike Father Kevin, I had never really had a purpose. After high school, I didn’t know what I wanted to study, so I delayed going to college and opted to work for a landscaping company. I did that for four years before starting college. Even then I took my time, doing one year of college followed by one year of work.

And now there I was, a college graduate with the unlikely degree combination of French and landscape architecture, on a mission to solve the decades-old mystery of my cousin’s disappearance in China—if I survived the hijacking.

The flight attendant seemed to be in no hurry. She asked a couple across the aisle something in Chinese. They replied, and she handed them each a dinner tray. Then she turned to me and asked in perfect English if I wanted chicken or beef for dinner.

Before answering, I motioned her to bend closer and pointed at the monitor, trying to keep my voice steady.

I don’t want to alarm you, but we’re heading north instead of west. Is that normal? Is everything okay? I’m not worried or anything, but I thought maybe you should know.

And maybe the security guys, if any are on board.

With a musical voice, she explained that going north was the best route to the east. Since Earth is spherical, its diameter is smaller near the poles. Therefore, taking a northern route was shorter than going straight west. Then she placed her finger on the monitor and traced the direction the plane would take. At a northern point, it would turn west and then loop back south. Her finger traced a horseshoe path across the screen. Her explanation caught the attention of some other passengers, who watched with interest.

I nodded sheepishly, ducked my head, and tried to sink lower into my seat. But she remained standing there, her sweet voice asking me again if I would like chicken or beef. I chose the beef with a glass of red wine.

Unfortunately, my seatmate had awakened from his catnap in time to observe my nervous exchange.

First trip to Hong Kong? he asked as he chomped on his meal.

My hopes for a peaceful trip had just been dashed. When I boarded, I was relieved to see most of the passengers were Chinese and spoke a language I did not understand. Just my luck, my nosy seatmate was a businessman from Atlanta.

Yes, I replied curtly, and then remembered my manners. Have you been before?

Oh, yes, sonny, many times. On business. You going for business or pleasure?

Uh, just visiting.

He took his eyes off his plate long enough for me to see the twinkle in them. Hmm…a pretty young woman, perhaps?

No. I could see this would be nonstop questioning and probing. I didn’t feel like talking, much less being grilled. I clenched my teeth and focused my attention on my meal, to no avail.

Oh, are ya married?

No!

I wished I hadn’t been concerned with being polite earlier. Look what it had started.

Got a girlfriend?

I’d had enough. My one-syllable answers would have given most people a clue that I would prefer the conversation to end. I decided to try a different tactic.

As a matter of fact, I do. Sheila and I have been going together for several years.

Several years! And still not married? What’s wrong? You afraid, son?

How had this man, who had met me only moments earlier, already figured me out? Yes, I was afraid. What if she wasn’t the one? Yet, in my heart, I knew she was. I had liked her since high school.

Unlike me, Sheila knew what she wanted in life and went after it. She taught high school French, English comp, and literature, plus she was working on her master’s degree in education as well as volunteering as a tutor. As Mother liked to say, Your Sheila has the patience of Job to wait on you. To which I usually mumbled, She’s going to need it if she has you as a mother-in-law someday.

I realized Mr. Nosy was waiting on my response.

No! I lied. I’m just not a rush-into-it kind of guy.

His next question was delayed as his belly danced in time with his jovial chuckle. So, why is it you’re going to Hong Kong?

I was relieved that he had decided to give my romantic life a rest.

I’m actually headed to Mainland China. I’ll just be in Hong Kong three days while waiting for a three-month tourist visa.

Three months! Your first time, and you’re going for three months? You must be one of those trust fund kids.

No, no, no, I said, shaking my head indignantly. As a matter of fact, unlike my siblings, I paid my own way through college. Because of that, my mother gave me a generous graduation present.

I didn’t tell him I had always hoped it would be a trip to France, where I could put my linguistic skills to use.

So this trip is a college graduation gift?

"Well, you might want to use the word gift loosely."

I was getting worked up all over again, and sweet Sheila was not there to calm me down.

It all started about a month ago, I began. My distant cousin, Rose, received a package from an attorney in France…

Chapter 2

Just after my graduation, Mother and I were invited to visit Rose. I must have been in a generous mood that day, because I didn’t protest, even though I found the invitation unusual. Rose lived just a few hours away from us, but we were not close relatives, so I had never been to her home before.

She proved to be a gracious Southern hostess. When we arrived, she seated us in her living room and then went to the kitchen to get us refreshments.

Across the room, I noticed a large photograph next to a statue of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. A small vase with a red rose stood between them. I leaned forward for a better look. The picture was of a young, smiling priest shaking hands with a man whom I assumed was his bishop.

Rose came back with a tray of cookies and iced tea. That’s my brother, Father Kevin Farrell, she said.

I thought so. What year was it taken?

Around nineteen forty-nine, I believe.

Was that before he went to China?

She invited us to sit, placing tea and cookies on the coffee table next to my chair. Then she walked over and picked up the picture.

Yes. He went to China in January of nineteen fifty as a missionary priest. He was one of the last ones in before the communists, who had just assumed power, barred entry to missionaries.

You mean they sent him to communist China? I exclaimed. I didn’t mean to interrupt. The words were out of my mouth before I realized it. Why would they send him to a communist country?

It was at his request, or more like his respectful insistence.

Wow! He must have been fearless.

She nodded. Yes, he was a very brave man. Her eyes drifted off momentarily, and then she chuckled. Well, fearless about most things. Even as an adult, he never outgrew his deathly fear of spiders and snakes!

I shuddered. I don’t blame him. So, when was the last time you heard from him?

We received letters regularly for about a year and a half, even after his house arrest. His missionary order had ways of getting letters out without them being censored or destroyed by the officials.

The letters he wrote, did they give any clue as to what might have happened?

She shook her head. None we could find.

What about his missionary order? What did they hear?

No more than us. They told us they tried to find out in every way they knew how. His last letter was dated nineteen fifty-one. He was imprisoned shortly afterward. The last we heard from his religious order was that he was released to say a funeral Mass, which they said was a very unusual thing for the communists to do. He disappeared without a trace after that, and that’s the last anyone heard from him. Despite our inquiries, we’ve come up with nothing, and, of course, the communist government did not cooperate.

Choked up, she pulled a Kleenex from her apron. I’m sorry, but he’s been gone for fifty years, and I still don’t know what happened.

At that moment, I did something I have rarely done. I got up and gave her a hug.

I’m sorry, Rose. I know it must be hard not knowing.

It is. She held me tight. That’s why I’m so relieved you’re willing to help. Your mother always has the best ideas!

I tried to lock eyes with Mother across the room, but she rattled the ice in her glass and hopped out of her seat.

Why don’t I get everyone a refill while you fill Jim in on the latest developments? Jim, are you drinking sweet tea?

Without waiting for my nasty reply, she scurried off to the kitchen. She was definitely drinking unsweetened tea!

I suppose your mother told you about the surprise I had? Rose asked.

Mother doesn’t tell me about surprises, I thought. She just springs them.

Seeing my puzzled look, she continued. Oh, it probably slipped right by you, as busy as you’ve been with finals and graduation and all.

I forced a smile. Probably. Maybe you can refresh my memory.

"A month or two ago, I received a registered letter from a lawyer’s office in France inquiring if I was the sister of Father Kevin Farrell. I told them I was, and they wrote again saying a man named Felix Labiche, who had been a newspaper reporter, had died. In his will, he requested that his personal journals be sent to me after his death.

A few days ago, they arrived. I was very excited, because Kevin mentioned Felix several times in his letters. He met him on the ocean liner going over to China. But when I opened the package, his journals were all in French, which I can’t read. Also, inside the package was the top half of a picture of Father Kevin standing in front of Saint Francis, his church in Chungking—I believe they have since renamed that city. Standing beside him was the altar boy he nicknamed Buster. Words were scrawled on the back of it. Going through a French dictionary, I was able to come up with a rough translation. Wait a minute and I’ll get it. I know you can probably read it. Her eyes misted over again. I’m so glad you’ve come to help me.

As soon as she left the room, I hurried to the kitchen, where I found Mother sipping tea.

You’ve set me up again.

Now, dear, don’t be upset. I’m certain you won’t mind helping out a dear cousin of yours.

I don’t mind the helping. I just don’t like the trickery. Why can’t you be up front with me?

Do you know what your dad said to me before he died last year?

Mom, you’re trying to change the subject!

He said, ‘Agnes, set a fire under Jim, he needs to get moving—have a sense of adventure in his life.’

Mom! You know I’m not the adventurous type.

But you are a caring person, aren’t you?

I don’t mind translating the French journals for her, if that’s what you’re getting at. But you could have at least—

Jim, there might be just a little more involvement than translating.

What do you mean?

What do you think of your cousin Rose?

She’s very nice. I like her, but what do you mean ‘more involvement’?

Has she told you about the torn picture?

Yes.

Did you see what was written on the back?

Not yet. She’s just gone to get it.

As if on cue, Rose came down the hall carrying a box. I shot Mother one more exasperated look before Rose handed me a tattered black-and-white photo.

I turned it over and saw Felix Labiche’s shaky handwriting. I read it aloud in English. The bottom half of this photo is in China. I have been sworn to secrecy for a reason. Now that my end is in sight, I am relieved of my oath. I believe it’s time for the truth. The holder of the other half, if alive, knows the rest. Present this half to him, and he will tell you the story.

It was dated March 12, 2002.

Well, what do you think? Mother asked on the way home.

"What do you mean? What do I think? What are you thinking?"

Don’t you think someone might have the bottom half who would know about Father Kevin?

That’s so remote. Do you know how big China is?

Silence.

Uh oh.

Mom, just what did you tell Rose I’d do for her? I’d be glad to translate. I’d even be glad to do some landscaping for her. But what in the world did you tell her I’d do?

Honey, I’d like to talk to you a little bit more about your graduation gift.

That’s not an answer.

Patience, sweetie. She glanced at me and smiled. I have tickets for you to go to China, and I will take care of all your expenses.

My gut wrenched. Did you tell Rose? If you told her I’d go, you’re going to break her heart, because I’m not going.

Jim, darling, can’t you see how much your aunt wants to know what happened to her brother before she leaves this planet? Do you want her to die with a broken heart?

"Mom, she’s not my aunt—she’s probably my twenty-fifth cousin—and yes, I can see how important it is, but what do you want me to do? I’m willing to write the missing persons bureau in China. That’d be more helpful than running around China with half a picture."

Honey, I trust that you’ll know and do the right and noble thing.

Chapter 3

How would a package from France send you to China? the businessman asked.

I pulled the torn picture that had set all of this in motion from my bag and handed it to him. This is why I’m going to China.

He took the picture and stared at it. I could see the wheels spinning as he tried to think of something clever to say.

Sonny, if you’re looking for religion, you should be headed to the Bible Belt, not China!

His belly bounced again as he laughed at his joke. This fellow was impossible.

I’m not looking for religion. I’ve already got all I need!

I took the picture back without further explanation, lifted my tray carefully so as not to spill what was left of my meal, and stood up.

I’m going for a walk now.

As I walked down the aisle, I tried to calm myself by recalling one of the stories Rose had told me about Father Kevin.

He was ordained at age twenty-nine. That same year, he sailed for China.

Wasn’t that rather quick to be sent out on a mission? I asked.

Yes, it was, and we were not happy about it. His mission society was none too pleased either.

Weren’t they the ones who sent him though? What happened?

You would need to know Kevin and his determination. He never walked away from a closed door without trying it. He wouldn’t knock it down, but he would sure go through a lot of keys.

And he found a key?

It was more like he made a key.

How so?

You must remember, nineteen fifty was about the time the communists were taking over China. He had been reading many of the missionaries’ reports from China. He wanted to be there to support them but also to spread the Gospel before the communists closed everything down. His superiors told him it was too late. The communists were not allowing any more missionaries in. In fact, they expected the ones there to be expelled, imprisoned, or killed.

Then how did he go?

He told them he sensed an inner call to go and wanted to be obedient. He proposed a fleece.

A fleece?

"In the book of Judges, Gideon was visited by an angel, who appointed him to be the leader who would free Israel from the Midianites. Doubting the authenticity of the apparition, he asked for a sign. He left a wool fleece out overnight. If the fleece was wet the next day and the ground around it dry, he would take it as a sign.

Sure enough, the next day, the fleece was wet and the ground dry. Still not satisfied, he reversed the proposal the following night. The next day, the fleece was dry but the ground around it was damp. So, putting a fleece before the Lord has become a term for trying to discern God’s will.

What was Father Kevin’s fleece?

That he would apply for admittance to China, and if he were accepted, it would be a sign of God’s approval.

So they accepted his proposal?

Yes. They were sure there was no way he’d be accepted, but somehow it slipped through the changing bureaucracy over there. She sighed. All we could do was say, ‘May God’s will be done.’

She fell silent at the memory.

Rose, in her sweet way, was able to shuffle the conversation so that she intermingled Kevin’s life with innocent inquiries about mine.

Your mother tells me you’re engaged to a young woman named Sheila. Tell me about her.

She leaned back in her chair with the special, tiny smile women seem to have when they talk about romance.

Mother! I groaned inwardly.

Mother, I managed to smile, has a tendency to jump ahead and often reads things that aren’t really there. No, Sheila and I are not engaged. We’re just…good friends.

Your mother says Sheila is very sweet. How would you describe her?

There was that smile again.

Yes, she’s very sweet.

Her smile faded. Well, Jim, would you say she’s fat? Ugly? Pushy? Does she have shaggy orange hair and purple eyes?

I scowled. She smiled. It worked!

Sheila is a very pretty woman. She has soft blue eyes and golden-brown hair that’s sort of silky. She’s about five foot seven and in very good shape—physically and, uh, structurally. She’s also gentle, patient, and kind. Everyone likes her.

Including you?

Of course!

Is that all?

Come on, Rose, I know where you’re going. These things have to happen slowly.

Of course they do. How long have you, uh, liked her?

Since high school.

The smile returned. You’re right. She is patient.

Chapter 4

The twelve-hour flight seemed like twenty. As the hours progressed, so did my anxiety. I got up often to walk around, frequenting the lavatory, just to give a purpose to my ramblings.

I decided the Chinese were great sleepers. Once blankets and pillows were distributed, shades closed, and lights out, most of them were in dreamland. Some Americans were reading with their seat lights on, and others were watching a movie. Mercifully, my seatmate was one of the sleepers, and I was spared more questions.

Finally, the seatbelt sign flashed on, and the captain announced we would be landing shortly. He thanked us for flying Cathay Pacific and said he looked forward to serving us again.

As aggravating as Mother could be sometimes, I had to admire her thoroughness. A priest in a neighboring parish had a brother named Rick Thomas who lived in Beijing. Rick worked for an American company there and had contact with the underground church in China. Mother made contact with Rick, who agreed to help me. He had sent an interpreter named Joseph to meet me when I arrived in Hong Kong.

Upon disembarking, I was relieved to see that the signs and directions were in English as well as Mandarin and Cantonese. I followed the crowd into a large open hall. Twenty or so lines led to booths manned by uniformed officials. Signs pointed to which lines were for residents, diplomats, and foreigners. I had never considered myself a foreigner before. I realized how quickly one’s status could change.

It had been twenty hours since I had left Atlanta, including a layover in California, but it was only 8:00 a.m. in Hong Kong. I was already punchy and groggy from lack of sleep, yet I still had a full day to go before bedtime. The fatigue only intensified my jittery nerves. I was apprehensive about getting through all the red tape and worried about not recognizing Joseph, my interpreter.

I fumbled for my passport and another form I had filled out, which provided my name, birthdate, the reason for visit, my passport number, air carrier and flight number, and where I’d be staying. An additional form required me to declare anything subject to custom tax. I was terrified they would examine my computer, learn my real purpose, and haul me off to a never-to-return place.

Somehow I got past the first uniformed official. He was only interested in my passport. He handed back the other papers and said I needed to show them at other stations. After checking his computer, he stamped my passport and motioned me on. I cleared the other stations without complication. They took my forms without giving them a glance, like it was all a waste of time.

I took the escalator down and followed the signs to the luggage area. I watched as the luggage popped up onto a conveyer and circled on the elliptical belt. After a few long, anxious moments, I sighed, relieved my luggage had made it. I loaded my bags on a luggage carrier and went into the main terminal.

I saw the usual greetings and hugs and handheld signs for tour groups, hotel limousines, and individuals. My heart raced as my eyes darted from one sign to another. The crowd began to thin out as they made connections with sign-bearers or merely moved on, knowing their own way around. I waited and watched, searching for a sign with my name on it. With a sinking, sickening feeling, I stood there, alone and forlorn, my mind racing.

Where was Joseph? I couldn’t do this alone. What should I do? I thought about booking a return flight, but I didn’t even know how to do that. This had been too weird from the start. Had Joseph been arrested? Did they know about me? Was there really such a person as Joseph? Good grief! Joseph wasn’t a Chinese name! What a setup!

Mother, how bizarre! You learn of a neighboring priest who has a brother who knows the underground church who will send an interpreter named Joseph, who may not even exist! How much crazier can this get? Thanks, Dad. How far out on the gangplank do I need to walk in pleasing Mother? Hey, world, look, I’m in China, fully armed with a journal and half a picture. What more do I need?

Sensing a panic attack approaching, I tried to formulate a plan. Too tired to think, I decided to see if I could get to the Caritaris Hotel, where Mother had made a reservation for me. Maybe after some sleep my mind would be clearer.

The airport employees were very helpful. Thank God Hong Kong had been a British colony for many years. English was still spoken there.

They showed me where I could exchange US dollars for Hong Kong currency. I exchanged fifty dollars. They said there were two locations outside for taxis. One was for Hong Kong Island, the other for the peninsula called Kowloon.

Outside, I found the two taxi areas were color-coded, but I didn’t know the code. I stood and contemplated the dilemma. If I chose one, I’d have a 50/50 chance of being right. On the other hand…

A uniformed official who had been observing me approached. I tensed and waited, having nowhere to hide.

May I help you, sir?

I’m kinda new here, I stammered. I just want to get a taxi to my hotel.

Where are you staying?

Fear jumbled my tongue. At the Contusion. No, not that, uh, the Cariocki…the Cari…something?

"The Caritaris?

Yes, that’s it. I’ll only be here a day or two and then go home.

See? I’m not here to make trouble.

Just follow me, please. He pointed to my bags. Here, let me help you with that.

I had to follow. He had part of my luggage. How clever! He headed for one of the color-coded sections, where the taxis were lined up. Other people were also getting taxis. He didn’t choose the first or the second but took me to the third one in line. He talked with the driver in Cantonese, that much I knew. The Chinese in Hong Kong spoke mainly Cantonese, while Mandarin was the official language in Mainland China. Why was that trivia flooding my mind at that moment?

The driver nodded, opened the trunk, put my luggage in, opened the back door, and motioned me to get in. He drove off on what seemed to be the wrong side of the road. Everyone else was doing it, too, so I assumed it was okay.

Obsessive fear began to rear its head once again. Why had that official been waiting for me? Why did he choose the third taxi in line? What did he tell the driver? Were they taking me to where they were keeping Joseph? Did Joseph even exist?

I closed my eyes and tried to calm down, but I couldn’t keep them closed; they kept popping open. The driver glanced back at me several times in the mirror. I was stuck. I decided to watch the scenery so I could keep calm and not have an anxiety attack.

We drove through a small mountain pass. Surely this couldn’t be Hong Kong—it was too rural. If not, where was he taking me? The meter was running; was this all a ploy to make money? What choice did I have? Jump out while we were driving at sixty-five kilometers an hour?

We entered heavy traffic. Maybe this was Hong Kong after all. Finally, he stopped in front of a hotel. I looked up and saw a word I recognized: Caritaris.

Chapter 5

When I checked in, the clerk asked for my passport and took information from it. So that was how they were going to keep track of me!

Yes, they had a reservation for me prepaid by Mrs. Wiggins, but since it was just a little past 10:00 a.m., the room wouldn’t be ready for another three hours. They said I could leave my luggage in the corner of the lobby if I wanted and go get breakfast.

Unfortunately, the dining room on the eleventh floor had just stopped serving food, so I walked several blocks to a McDonald’s. They had pictures with numbers of the various menu items. I choose an Egg McMuffin with coffee, even though I’m not much of a coffee drinker.

I set my tray down at an empty table. When I took a sip of coffee, I spilled some on my shirt. That’s when I noticed how much my hand was shaking. I knew my nerves were a jangling mess, but I hadn’t realized how much it showed.

Over the next few hours, I took short walks, making sure not to get lost. I went back to McDonald’s periodically to rest my fatigued body. I had several more cups of coffee during my routine, coffee my frayed nerves certainly did not need.

Back at the hotel, I picked up the card key to my fifteenth-floor room. As I turned away, the clerk called me back. Watching me closely, he asked if I knew a Joseph, who was also registered for my room, and if I knew where he was.

No, I answered, terrified. Do you?

No, the clerk said. It’s just that he hasn’t checked in.

I hurried to my room and locked the door. I needed time to think, to make a plan. I tossed my bag on the bed closest to the window.

Noticing my sweaty and wrinkled clothes, I decided to shower. I also hoped it would clear my head.

After showering and putting on clean clothes, coherent thoughts or plans still couldn’t get through my frozen brain. I turned on the TV and flipped through the channels. That’s when I heard a knock at the door.

I jumped, startled, as if it were a shrill, nerve-shattering phone ringing at 3:00 a.m. It could only be bad news.

Of course! The uniformed officer knew where I’d be staying. How cleverly he had asked! I looked out the window to the street fifteen floors below. No escape.

Reluctantly, I opened the door. Standing there was a short, thin, Chinese man, a bit younger than me. He was smiling widely and dressed in street clothes.

Mr. Wiggins?

Yes.

Although my insides were shaking, I knew I had to remain calm.

I’m Joseph Li, he said. I’m so sorry I missed you at the airport. My flight was delayed and—

Sir, I interrupted, do you happen to have some sort of identification on you?

I’m sure he was surprised, but he kept smiling. He opened his wallet. Half expecting him to flash a badge, I stepped back involuntarily as he held out a plastic card with his picture on it as well as some Chinese characters. I stared dumbly at it.

Smart move, Jim, for all you know it probably says Chief of Special Executions.

As he held out the license, he studied my face. Did I look guilty? We held this pose until I got a flash of inspiration.

You said your flight was delayed?

He nodded.

Delayed from where?

His smile faded. From Beijing. He shrugged and continued, It’s much cheaper to fly from Beijing to Shenzhen, then ride the hydroplane ferry to Hong Kong.

I remembered that Joseph was to fly in from Beijing. The Hong Kong police wouldn’t fly in a special agent.

Oh, Joseph, I’m so glad to see you, I gushed, but I’m afraid I’ve been compromised. They’re on to me. I’m going to have to leave.

He frowned.