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“Precisely.”

* * *

Despite his efforts, Benedikt ended up sitting on a rooftop across from Zhang Gutai’s apartment, entering the third hour of their stakeout.

It was growing cold. He had accidentally stepped in a puddle on his way up too, so he was doing his job while hovering in a strange half crouch, wanting to rest but not wanting to spread the damp stain on his pants any further.

Marshall had laughed himself out with how ridiculous Benedikt looked. Benedikt thought he would never stop. But at least laughter was preferable to silence. At least Marshall’s mirth upon Benedikt’s misfortune was a signal that they should forget the strangeness that had bloomed between them in the alleyway.

“Hey,” Marshall warned suddenly, pulling Benedikt out of his daze. “Someone’s coming in.”

Straightening from his ridiculous crouch, Benedikt hurried close to the roof’s edge. There he joined Marshall, eyes narrowed.

“It’s another foreigner,” Benedikt remarked, leaning back with a sigh. From the location they had chosen, they had a perfect view into the sliding doors that separated Zhang Gutai’s living room from his mini balcony. The balcony itself was barely big enough to fit two pots of flowers, but the glass doors were wide enough to allow Benedikt and Marshall a full view of foreigners coming and going on the hour. It was a mystery. Zhang Gutai wasn’t even home. Yet foreigners continued arriving at his front door, ushered into the living room by a man who bordered middle-aged onto elderly—Qi Ren, his assistant, if Roma’s debrief was correct—to sip tea for a few minutes and leave soon after. The buildings in this district were built closely enough that when the wind didn’t howl too heavily, Benedikt could strain his ear and pick up bits and pieces of the conversation ongoing inside the living room.

Qi Ren’s English was not great. Every two words, he would lapse into Chinese, then start muttering about how much his back hurt. The foreigners—some American, some British—would try to discuss politics or Shanghai’s state of affairs, but since none of them managed to get anywhere, it was no surprise they would leave so soon.

Why would Zhang Gutai assign his assistant to take these meetings? They all sounded like they wanted something from the Communist Party. Qi Ren sounded like he hardly cared what they were talking about. He wasn’t taking notes or anything of the like to pass on to Zhang Gutai.

By now the foreigner who had walked in was already standing, preparing to leave when Qi Ren started to doze, midsentence. With a roll of his eyes, the white man strolled out the door, disappearing into the rest of the building to make his way down the winding staircases.

“Did you catch that?” Marshall asked.

Benedikt turned to him. He didn’t speak for a moment. Then: “Catch what?”

“Honestly, Ben, you’re here looking so pensive and I’m paying more attention than you are,” Marshall pretended to chide. Jutting his chin in the direction of the building, he said, “He introduced himself as a designated official of the French Concession. Scarlet-assigned. This is White Flower territory. Do we rough him up?”

It wasn’t a serious question; they didn’t have time to be stirring trouble in the streets. But it did give Benedikt an idea to figure out exactly what they had been witnessing all afternoon.

“Stay here,” he told Marshall.

“Wait. Are you really going to rough him up?” Marshall called after him, eyes wide. “Ben!”

“Just stay here!” he replied over his shoulder.

Benedikt moved fast, afraid that he would lose the English-speaking Frenchman. Fortunately, when he rounded the corner to come to the front of Zhang Gutai’s apartment complex, the Frenchman was just coming out, busying himself with the buttons on his vest.

Benedikt grabbed the man and hauled him into the nearby alleyway.

“Ey!”

“Be quiet,” Benedikt snapped. “What is your business on White Flower land?”

“Why, I’ll be…,” the man hissed. “Get your hands off me.”

Briefly, Benedikt wondered if the people coming and going from the apartment had anything to do with the monster business. What if they were all keepers of the creature, giving reports disguised in code to Qi Ren? But he took one look at this Frenchman and brushed it off. Men this brusque could not pull together such an intricate scheme.

Benedikt retrieved a knife from the waistband of his pants and pointed it. “I asked a question.”

“My business with Zhang Gutai is none of yours,” the man replied sharply. He wasn’t as scared as he ought to be. Something was changing in this city.

“You stand on White Flower territory. Zhang Gutai cannot save you here.”

The Frenchman laughed coarsely. It was like he hadn’t even noticed the blade aimed to his chest. To him, his neatly pressed suit was as good as a suit of armor.

“We could invade this entire city if we wished,” he spat. “We could have this country sign another treaty, hand over all this land. We only refrain because—”

“Hey!” A policeman blew his whistle from the other end of the alleyway. “What’s happening over there?”