Night Angels(34)

“Good work, Fengshan.”

This was rare recognition from his superior. He was pleased. “I assume the meeting regarding the aircraft purchase will be arranged soon.”

“I’m not optimistic, but we should hope our effort will not be in vain.”

Fengshan cleared his throat. “Ambassador Chen, respectfully, I must report to you that after the devastating result of the ?vian Conference, I have heard some tragic news of the Viennese who wished to leave the country but were unable to receive visas. I’m aware I have inquired about the subject before, but I wonder if I could urge you to reconsider. Will it be of interest to you to modify the no-immigration-visa policy and extend visas to the Viennese?”

“Fengshan, as I’ve stated, our goal is to maintain a friendly relationship with the Third Reich. Do not forget that. Even Chamberlain and Daladier have made their intention clear that they prefer nonaggressive, peaceful relations with Hitler.”

Fengshan persisted. “Indeed, peace with Germany is imperative. The Americans are dedicated to keeping peace in Vienna as well, but it seems to me that they also value the Viennese highly. They have taken measures to place a few prominent scholars under their protection.” He mentioned Dr. Freud and Mr. Wiley’s attempt to help him with visas to England.

There was silence.

“A few visas won’t pose a direct threat to our relationship with Germany,” Fengshan explained, Grace’s voice in his mind.

There was a sigh. “Fengshan, you have put me in the good graces of Mr. Sun Ke because of the credit from the Americans. I will speak to Mr. Xu Shumo, the vice minister of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, regarding the immigration policy for the Jews. But here’s a word of advice: immigration policy is not our priority, and it will never be our country’s priority.”

“I understand perfectly well. Again, I’m only suggesting a small number of entry visas, and I shall vouch that they would be issued under the strict requirement of your guidelines.”

“In this case, you have my permission, and these visas must be issued in a small, acceptable number.”

Fengshan’s heart sang. He put down the phone and strode to the lobby. Near a wall of file cabinets, Vice Consul Zhou was yawning, a stack of paperwork in front of him. Fengshan asked him to come into his office. From the elevator appeared Grace, who had looked miserable since yesterday. “Come with me, Grace. I have good news about the visa issue.”

Her face lit up; she sprang toward his office and sat as he asked Vice Consul Zhou to explain the current visa-application situation.

The consulate of the Republic of China had only received a few applications for visas over the past year, the vice consul said, scratching his head with his long nail. China, after all, was not a popular destination for foreigners.

The category of immigration visa didn’t exist, since China was not an immigrant country. Tourist visas and student visas were also rare, given China’s slow economic development and the ongoing war. Visas related to marriage, which Grace had received, were similarly rare. Once in a while, the consulate approved visas for foreign missionaries, government officials, and businessmen who conducted business in China, but that activity had also ceased due to the war.

As consul general, Fengshan’s responsibility was generally related to the final step of the visa process: filling out the official certificate in both German and Chinese, writing down the visa numbers, signing his signature, and stamping it with the consulate seal. The lengthy pre-visa process of inspecting forms, collecting fees, and conducting interviews fell on the shoulders of Vice Consul Zhou, his subordinate.

Ambassador Chen had made it clear that the visas must not be related to immigration so he must not categorize them as immigration visas. But as consul general, Fengshan had the freedom to overlook the reason for visa application and issue the visa as a special entry visa, which would also give him the opportunity to waive the requirements such as sponsorship, to expedite the process.

But he would need to declare a port of entry in China to issue these visas.

This was a problem.

“My love?” Grace asked, unable to understand their Chinese.

He explained. China, after years of war with Japan, was no longer entirely controlled by his government. Northern China bordering Russia, a land called Manchuria, had been occupied by the Japanese. Beijing had been bombed and captured, and the ports on the northeast coast, which had been German territory before World War I, had been allocated to the Japanese after the betrayal of the Treaty of Versailles. Hong Kong in the south was a British colony, and Hainan Island, the French’s. He had no authority to send people to any of those points of entry; if he risked it, it would be a violation of international law that would cause an uproar. It would also jeopardize the safety of the visa holders, who would be interrogated, turned away, or imprisoned before they got through customs.

“A port,” she said. “Is Shanghai a port? We stopped there on the way to your hometown. I bought this dress there.” It had been nearly four years since they landed at the wharf in Shanghai. Grace had been delighted to see the cluster of European-style buildings near the Huangpu River, a lively area with jazz clubs and luxury hotels.

“Shanghai is now under the occupation of the Japanese.”

“That’s too bad. It looked like part of Europe.”

But it was not Europe; it was the International Settlement in Shanghai, leased to the foreign countries and controlled chiefly by the British and the Americans.