Siheyuan (traditional courtyard house): Starting with the Korean War, returning home to take charge

The list lay on the table for three days, and Old Sun crossed it out again and again with his red pen.

He Yuzhu stared at the last three names, his ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts. Forty-three people, three days of screening, and these three were the last ones identified.

"Sun Dehou." Old Sun pointed to the third name with the cap of his pen. "He returned from the United States in 1952, saying he had completed his studies to serve his country. But what he did there during those eight years is unknown."

He Yuzhu looked at the line of text: Sun Dehou, 47 years old, vice president of a research institute, in charge of technical data.

"His landlady when he was in the US was an elderly Irish lady," He Yuzhu flicked his cigarette ash. "During those years in San Francisco's Chinatown, his name was Sun Wenbin."

Old Sun looked up at him.

"You found all of these?"

"The materials just arrived yesterday." He Yuzhu stubbed out his cigarette. "The internal combustion engine data has already been leaked, and he also has the tank blueprints."

On the fifth day of surveillance, Lao Sun's men took photos.

Friendship Café, the third table by the window, every Wednesday evening at 7:30. Sun Dehou sits there for an hour, drinking a cup of coffee, never with sugar. The person he meets is a middle-aged man in a gray overcoat, who enters through the back door, sits for twenty minutes, and leaves through the back door.

"He's from Hong Kong, surnamed Ma, and specializes in trading technology." Old Sun pushed the photo over. "Sun Dehou took sick leave this afternoon and didn't come to work."

He Yuzhu looked at the blurry profile in the photo.

"We'll close the net tonight."

At 8 p.m., on the rooftop opposite Sun Dehou's house.

He Yuzhu lay prone on the waterproof layer, night vision binoculars pressed against his right eye. The curtains were drawn, the lights were on, and occasionally a shadowy figure would pass by. Old Lu and his men were guarding outside the back wall, while Old Sun's men were positioned at the two street corners.

A crackling sound came through the earphones: "He bought a train ticket for 11 PM tonight, to Guangzhou."

He Yuzhu didn't respond. Through the binoculars, the curtains moved slightly, but it wasn't the wind.

At 8:20, the back window was suddenly pushed open.

A figure flipped out, landing crouched down, and ran along the wall to the back. He Yuzhu's heart tightened, and he jumped off the roof. His left leg went numb when he landed, but ignoring the pain, he ran as fast as he could towards the backyard.

Sun Dehou ran to the base of the wall and had just climbed over it when Lao Lu pounced out of the shadows, grabbed his ankle, and pulled him down. Sun Dehou fell to the ground, rolled over, and surprisingly leaped up, kicking Lao Lu in the face.

Old Lu dodged to the side, but was kicked squarely in the shoulder, staggering back two steps.

Sun Dehou pulled a dagger from his pocket, held it in reverse, hunched over, and his eyes were red.

He Yuzhu rushed over and witnessed this scene. Without slowing down, he took a step forward, blocking the wrist holding the knife with his left hand and punching Sun Dehou in the ribs with his right. The knife fell to the ground, and Sun Dehou groaned. He tried to struggle, but He Yuzhu had already twisted his arm and kneed him in the lower back.

"Move again, and I'll break three of your ribs."

Sun Dehou's face was pressed against the muddy ground, he was panting heavily, and his whole body was stiff.

Old Lu walked over, clutching his shoulder, blood seeping from between his fingers.

"Commander, this kid has some training."

He Yuzhu picked the person up: "Take him back."

The interrogation room was dimly lit.

Sun Dehou sat in the chair, his handcuffs behind his back, his expression shifting several times. From initial panic to later composure, and now something else was added to it.

Old Sun threw a stack of photos on the table.

Sun Dehou glanced down at it but didn't say anything.

"Sun Dehou," Old Sun lit a cigarette, "during your eight years in the United States, you joined the Restoration Society. After returning to China, you used your position to sell internal combustion engine data to Hong Kong. Is that right?"

Sun Dehou raised his head: "You've arrested the wrong person."

Old Sun exhaled a puff of smoke and remained silent.

He Yuzhu leaned forward, staring into Sun Dehou's eyes: "You lived in Brooklyn, New York for three years, your landlady was an old Irish lady named Catherine. During those two years in San Francisco's Chinatown, you used the name Sun Wenbin. In 1951, you joined the Restoration Society, introduced by a man surnamed Qin who was running a restaurant in San Francisco at the time."

Sun Dehou's face turned pale.

"These... how could you...?"

He Yuzhu ignored him and continued, "After you returned to China, you exchanged three letters with the man surnamed Qin. The last one was in 1955, after which you lost contact. But last winter, someone contacted you."

Sun Dehou lowered his head, his shoulders trembling.

The interrogation room was so quiet you could hear the hum of the light bulb.

After a long while, Sun Dehou raised his head, his eyes reddening: "Yes. I sold the internal combustion engine data."

Old Sun stared at him: "Who else?"

"Just me."

He Yuzhu suddenly stood up, the chair leg scraping the floor with a loud screech. He walked up to Sun Dehou, looking down at him: "Sun Dehou, you're just a vice-dean, how could you get your hands on the tank master plan?"

Sun Dehou was startled.

He Yuzhu bent down, his face close, and spoke in a low voice, each word like a nail driven into wood: "You took sick leave this afternoon not because you were afraid we'd find out, but because you wanted to confirm if the package had arrived. Right?"

Sun Dehou opened his mouth, but no words came out.

"It was sent yesterday," He Yuzhu said, staring into his eyes. "It went through Hong Kong channels. The delivery address is Chungking Mansions, Kowloon, and it's forwarded to Mr. Ma. Is that right?"

Sun Dehou's face completely lost its color.

Old Sun paused for a moment, then quickly regained his composure.

Sun Dehou lowered his head, his shoulders slumped, and he looked as if all his bones had been removed. After a long while, he said in a hoarse voice, "The tank master plan... was sent out yesterday afternoon. The remaining part of the internal combustion engine was also sent out together. The man surnamed Ma promised that once this batch of goods arrives in Hong Kong, he will arrange for me to go to Taiwan."

Old Sun stood up and walked out.

He Yuzhu didn't move; he remained standing in front of Sun Dehou.

"Your superior," he said, "is surnamed Ma, but his real name isn't Ma. His original name was Ma Wenli. He went to Hong Kong in 1947. He has connections above him, but you don't know who they are. Right?"

Sun Dehou nodded blankly.

He Yuzhu straightened up, turned, and walked out. At the door, he paused, but didn't turn back: "Sun Dehou, what you sent out wasn't blueprints, it was your life."

The door closed behind me.

The corridor was dimly lit, and Old Sun stood at the door of the telephone booth, his face ashen.

"It was mailed yesterday afternoon, and the drawings have probably already crossed the Luohu Bridge."

He Yuzhu walked over, picked up the phone, and cranked it five times.

"Connect to the Ministry of Public Security, it's urgent."

While waiting for the train to depart, he glanced at the clock on the wall. 9:47. There was still more than an hour before the train Sun Dehou had bought a ticket for would leave.

The call was answered.

"This is He Yuzhu, from the Fifth Ministry of Machine Building. There's an emergency; we need to intercept a mail item sent from Beijing to Chungking Mansions in Kowloon, Hong Kong. The sender is…"

He gave his address and name and then hung up the phone.

Old Sun offered her a cigarette: "Can you stop them?"

He Yuzhu took the cigarette but didn't light it.

The night outside the window was dark, and the faint sound of a train whistle could be heard in the distance.