The Call of the Thunder Dragon by Michael J Wormald Page B

Haga-Jin was surprised at the speed the men
vanished into the darkness. Haga-Jin’s chin rose, he was pleased
with Soujiro. He had not only found the town in the darkness, -
first through thousands of rows of tea bushes, but then down the
correct valley into the town. He had obeyed his orders without
hesitation, he was a credit to the Japanese army Haga-Jin
decided.
    Haga-Jin turned to his agents
then with a slight nod, led them silently into the town to find
accommodation suitable for a colonel.
    They fanned out, they knew what
to do. In plain clothes, they would seek out the hotels and
restaurants. All the clubs and bars in the area, looking for
foreigners, travellers, - any person out of place.
    Haga-Jin circled slowly taking in
the market town’s wide street. The market may have packed up for
the night, but the town was full of people walking and laughing.
Young couples strolling beneath the bright lights. Strings of
lanterns lit the corners and alleys, big red lanterns were lit over
the doors of the bigger establishments. The colonel could hardly
believe it, despite the morning’s air raid a few valleys away,
despite years of war the Chinese carried on regardless. Haga-Jin
headed towards one of larger establishments to inspect it.
    The colonel lit a match,
deliberately letting it burn he dropped it to the ground, a
pre-arranged signal. In moments, his agent was by his side.
    “Meet me back outside that hotel
in one hour. I will find rooms for us.”
    He entered the hotel boldly.
Heading silently straight for the reception desk, he reached for
the large register open on the desk. The dutiful Chinese hosts were
after him in moments. A boy to take his hat, a girl to greet him
with a smile and the manager to check him in.
    Before anyone spoke, Haga-Jin
turned the register around and was hurriedly scanning the latest
page. All Chinese, accept one Bhutan woman and servant, a tea
trader no doubt, he was disappointed.
    “Can I help you?” The voice of
the boy behind the desk discreetly interrupted.
    “Of course, I need two rooms. One
for myself and one for my staff, there will be three of them along
shortly. I’ve given them the rest of the night off. Interesting
town you have here, very lively this evening?” Haga-Jin lied as he
relinquished the register to the boy.
    The young Chinese man noted the
room numbers down and passed the register back. “If you could sign
here Mr..?”
    “Chan, Moy Chan! Thank you so
much.” Haga lied.
    “Do you have any luggage,
sir?”
    “No, tomorrow it will catch up
with us.” Haga lied.
    Following the manager up the
short steps into the hotel he looked around, a tiny frown quivering
on his brow. How he hated China. He failed to see the closeness or
similarity in their cultures. He saw only imitation and
mockery.
    “The maid will bring tea
immediately.” The boy opened up the room. “I hope you enjoy your
stay, Mr Chan.”
    “Thank you I will.” Haga
lied.
     
     
    An hour later and refreshed
having had tea with soup Colonel Haga-Jin met his agents.
    “Have you found anything?” He
enquired hopefully. He found the little bright town annoying.
    “There is a little gossip to be
had. The fishermen are resting or eating in the bars in the back
streets.” One agent started to report.
    “The rest of the people are
travellers, traders come here for tea, the market or the baths and
the waters.” He put in. “Most, if not all, here are foreign to
these locals.”
    Haga stiffened. “There was no
trouble? No one suspects?”
    “There was some trouble, I was
picked out. Insulted, called ‘Miao’. But that bar seemed empty, so
I left.”
    “Good, don’t be concerned about
it. Miao is an insult in Chinese. It is generally aimed at Miao
Hmong people? They are emigrating refugees, coming and going
between here and Burma or Hanoi. There’s more of them now; moving
back over the border.”
    Haga-Jin stiffened the thought of
unregistered people emigrating across his border riled him.