The taxi dropped him off in front of the magnificent Mandarin Oriental Hotel on Connaught Road in the Central district of the island. Jeinsen knew it was possibly the most luxurious hotel in the territory, aside from perhaps the Peninsula Hotel in Kowloon. He was pleased that Mr. Wong had seen fit to treat him as a VIP and provide him with such flattering accommodations.
Yes! Jeinsen thought. The decision to defect to China is already turning out to be the right one!
The bureaucrats and military bigwigs at the Pentagon never appreciated Jeinsen’s talents. Sure, he was given a top-level security position, had carte blanche in the weapons design programs, and was respected by his peers. It was the moneymen that always gave him short shrift when his colleagues received higher advances. Jeinsen had asked for better raises time and time again. He got raises but they were never what he felt he deserved. Growing up in East Germany, Jeinsen had a delusion that anyone who defected to America could become rich. It had never happened. He had made a modest income, lived comfortably, but was by no means “wealthy.” Jeinsen firmly believed he was a victim of prejudice due to his former nationality. The thirty years in Washington ended up being a huge disappointment.
When Mr. Wong contacted him through a liaison in a government agency, Jeinsen was ready to consider any offers made to him. Wong promised him a fortune and secure passage to Beijing by way of Hong Kong. All Jeinsen had to do was hand over information concerning a special project he was working on and use a transmittal system that Mr. Wong specified. The process would take three years. Jeinsen didn’t want to wait that long but Wong convinced him to be patient. It would be worth it in the end. Thus, when Jeinsen’s role in the project ended recently and the task was complete, everything happened quickly. Wong made good on his promises, arranged Jeinsen’s travel plans, and quietly got the scientist out of the country.
Jeinsen approached the front desk and checked in under his new name.
“Welcome to the Mandarin Oriental, Mr. Lang,” the registration clerk said, handing Jeinsen a key and an envelope. “Oh, someone left this for you this morning.”
Jeinsen took it. It was a brown envelope addressed to him in care of the hotel. “Thank you,” he said.
The physicist nearly gasped when he saw the room. It was a full suite with a terrace. He had never before stayed in such lavish surroundings. Even when he had to travel for the Pentagon, they always pinched pennies and put up their employees in midrange hotels. Mr. Wong was truly a generous man.
Before unpacking, Jeinsen opened the envelope and examined the contents. There was a small silver key with the number 139 engraved on it, a phone number written on a piece of paper, and fifty Hong Kong dollars. Jeinsen picked up the telephone and dialed the number.
Mr. Wong answered, saying, “Welcome to Hong Kong, Mr., uh, Lang.”
Jeinsen chuckled. “Hello there. How did you know it was me?”
“No one else would be calling this number. How was your flight?” Wong spoke good English with a strong Chinese accent.
“Long. Very long.”
“Yes. Do you need some time to rest?”
“No, no, I slept on the plane. I think I’m ready to… well, whatever you need me to do.”
“Fine. Did you get the key?”
“Yes. What is it?”
“It’s to a safety-deposit box in the Bank of China. Do you know where that is?”
“I can find it.”
“It’s very close. You could walk there if you want.” Wong relayed directions. “You’ll find further instructions and the rest of your payment in the box. I look forward to meeting you finally.”
“Er, me too,” Jeinsen said. “Thank you.”
He put down the phone and rubbed his hands gleefully. Jeinsen felt like a young man again as he unpacked, freshened up, and changed clothes. In a half hour he was ready for the next great adventure in his life.
Jeinsen left the Mandarin, followed Wong’s directions, and walked south across Chater Road to Statue Square. He was impressed with the collection of fountains in the square but it was too crowded with Asian migrant workers. Apparently a lot of Filipinos and Manilans congregated there, hoping to obtain employment as maids.
The impressive HSBC bank building stood towering over the square to the south. Jeinsen skirted east beyond the monumental structure and headed southeast on the footpath along Des Voeux Road, past Chater Garden, and finally to the equally impressive Bank of China Tower. The seventy-story building, designed by Chinese-born American architect I. M. Pei, was apparently the third tallest structure in Hong Kong.
Jeinsen went inside the banking lobby, approached a teller, and showed the woman his key. “I’d like access to my safety-deposit box, please,” he said.
“May I have some identification?” the young Chinese woman asked. It seemed that everyone Jeinsen saw was Chinese. Most of the British minority that occupied the territory had left after 1997.
He showed her the new passport. She gave it a cursory glance, handed it back to him, and gave him a form. “Please fill this out and take it to the representative over there.” She pointed. Jeinsen thanked her and moved to a counter. He wrote down his new name and indicated the Mandarin Oriental as his address. When he took it to the uniformed bank employee, the man asked to see the safety-deposit key and then led him through a vault door.
The rep used a key of his own as Jeinsen twisted his key in the lock for box 139. The rep removed the box and handed it to Jeinsen, pointing to a private room. Jeinsen nodded and went inside. After shutting the door, he opened the box.
It contained HK $100,000 and a deposit slip indicating that two million more were in a special account with his name on it.
Jeinsen wanted to shout aloud. His hands trembled with excitement as he stuffed the cash into his pockets.
At the bottom of the box was a white envelope. He opened it and found another note from Mr. Wong. It instructed him to go immediately to the Purple Queen nightclub in Kowloon. There were instructions on how to take the ferry across the harbor and the address to give to a taxi driver on the other side. He was to leave nothing in the safety-deposit box and place the key and the note in his pocket.
Jeinsen was walking on clouds when he left the bank. He didn’t bother hailing a cab to take him to the Star Ferry pier. He preferred to walk, admiring the hordes of Asian people sauntering through the streets. For the first time in his life he felt superior. All these workers, these common folk! He was now a wealthy man. He could hire servants and maids. He could be the master for a change! Life was wonderful!
The ferry shuttled him across Victoria Harbor to Kowloon’s Tsim Sha Tsui district. Jeinsen’s earlier elation changed when he began to walk through Hong Kong’s tourist ghetto. He found Tsim Sha Tsui crowded, energetic, and bright. It was still daylight but already the multitude of neon signs overwhelmed his senses. The streets were full of countless restaurants, pubs, clothing stores, sleazy bars, camera and electronics stores, hotels, and people. Traffic was bumper to bumper and the noise was deafening. Jeinsen suddenly felt his age.
He hailed a taxicab and gave the driver the address. The car went east past the Peninsula Hotel, recognizable by the two stone lions in front, and into what was known as Tsim Sha Tsui East, a more upscale version of its western neighbor. The buildings were more modern and there seemed to be more breathing space between them.