Wuhan, 1926. Civil war has reached the Yangtze. Foreign gunboats ride at anchor off the Hankow bund, and inside the concessions the great powers watch one another across the river.
Jack Gaines, a young Marine officer, came to guard a few square miles of foreign ground, not to involve himself in other men's secrets. Then he meets Natalya Rosenberg, an American reporter with a sharp tongue, leftist sympathies, and a past she keeps to herself. Together they begin to pull apart a blackmail scheme far larger than it first appears, one that runs through the city's gangsters, Japanese and Soviet intelligence, and the upper reaches of the diplomatic world.
It turns on the Dragon Gate Teahouse, and on a locked safe holding photographs and ledgers that more than one government would rather see burned. As the warlord regime collapses and old alliances come apart, Jack and Natalya have to take what is in that safe before the men hunting it reach them, and before the city falls around them.
Historical espionage set in a China most Western readers have never encountered: as exacting on its period as Patrick O'Brian, and built on the scale of James Clavell.
Wuhan, 1926. Civil war has reached the Yangtze. Foreign gunboats ride at anchor off the Hankow bund, and inside the concessions the great powers watch one another across the river.
Jack Gaines, a young Marine officer, came to guard a few square miles of foreign ground, not to involve himself in other men's secrets. Then he meets Natalya Rosenberg, an American reporter with a sharp tongue, leftist sympathies, and a past she keeps to herself. Together they begin to pull apart a blackmail scheme far larger than it first appears, one that runs through the city's gangsters, Japanese and Soviet intelligence, and the upper reaches of the diplomatic world.
It turns on the Dragon Gate Teahouse, and on a locked safe holding photographs and ledgers that more than one government would rather see burned. As the warlord regime collapses and old alliances come apart, Jack and Natalya have to take what is in that safe before the men hunting it reach them, and before the city falls around them.
Historical espionage set in a China most Western readers have never encountered: as exacting on its period as Patrick O'Brian, and built on the scale of James Clavell.
Hankow: Weeks Earlier, August 26, 1926
Jack Gaines felt a bead of sweat trickle down his spine, pooling in the small of his back and darkening the khaki twill of his summer uniform. Its damp, high collar chafed every time he moved his neck. He squinted from under his âcampaign cover,â the wide-brimmed hat already soaked and stained with salt. As he gazed across the shimmering Yangtze River from the deck of the gunboat USS Patuxent, the tri-cities of Wuhan drew closer.
Hankow, with its foreign âconcessions,â lay dead-ahead. The tall, occidental buildings of Hankowâs semi-colonial enclaves gleamed white in the haze. The walled city of Hanyang sat beside it on the northern bank, the Han River winding between the two cities before emptying into the Yangtze. Across the broad water to the south sprawled the larger, walled city of Wuchang.
Collectively known as Wuhan, the tri-cities were Chinaâs Pittsburgh. Factory smokestacks and steel mills shared the skyline with pagodas. The green rise of Kueishan, âTurtle Hillâ to foreigners, loomed at the confluence of the Han and Yangtze rivers, commanding the three cities.
Jack marveled at the scale of the place, three cities on three sides, teeming with humanity, vibrating with energy and noise. A thrill surged within him. He had become a Marine Corps officer to escape the soul-crushing banality of the family business and the prospect of marriage and children with the âright sort of girl.â Until he had raised his right hand to take his commissioning oath a few months earlier, that fate had stretched out before him like rails. Now, he was charting his own course.
The Patuxent slowed its approach, mindful of the crowded river. Junks, steamships, and small boats bustled on both sides. A Chinese gunboat belonging to the local warlord chugged past at a respectful distance. Chinese hawkers in sampans rocking in the gunboatâs wake shouted to the Americans, urging them to buy melons and porcelain, cigarettes, and carved âjade,â with equal and indiscriminate enthusiasm.
Jack smiled and glanced over at the crew, scanning the Sailors manning the rails. Many of them were seasoned âriver rats,â veterans of the Yangtze River Patrol, or âYangPat.â Comfortably clad in their loose-fitting, summer-white uniforms, they bantered in the local pidgin with the traders but kept their places. Until liberty call was sounded, and they could go ashore, the Sailors were content to heckle the Chinese hawkers bobbing on the tea-colored river.
In contrast to the good-natured, wise-cracking Sailors, Jackâs small party of Marines stood stoically on the quarterdeck. They were on loan to the Patuxent from the Asiatic Fleet to reinforce the American naval presence upriver in that turbulent summer of 1926. The Marines sweated in silence under the gunboatâs white canvas awning. It offered some shelter from the sun, but not the August heat. The mercury still showed ninety-five degrees in the shade.
Dressed in khaki twill beneath their felt campaign covers, they stood at parade rest, feet shoulder-width apart. Their Springfield rifles and the two Browning Automatic Rifles, or B.A.R.s, were slowly rusting in the dayâs humidity. This was despite the protective coating of oil they applied earlier that day.
Jack took all this in with satisfaction, proud of his Marinesâ resilience in the heat. His Platoon Sergeant, Sergeant Evans, stalked down the ranks, daring anyone to breach discipline. Evans, a stocky Welshman in his late twenties, had survived the Great War in France and Cacos guerillas in Haiti. Jack had to admit to himself that he felt a bit in awe of the old-timer, just as his Marines did.
Evansâ vigilance was rewarded. With a crash, a beet-faced Marine pitched forward, his rifle clattering on the white-scrubbed teak deck. His fellow Marines stared ahead impassively, thanking Christ it wasnât them. Sgt. Evans looked down with disgust upon the heat-prostrated man, Private Shaw. He motioned to a Navy Pharmacistâs Mate and his two Chinese coolies to carry the human wreckage to the sickbay.
Sgt. Evans reluctantly turned and met Jackâs gaze, sheepish, his professional pride wounded. Equally embarrassed, Jack rolled his eyes in reply. He glanced over at the shipâs Executive Officer, Lieutenant Thaddeus Hope.
The âExec,â or âXO,â was grinning like the Cheshire Cat.
âLooks like you owe us the first round when we go ashore for liberty, Mr. Gaines!â said the Exec.
Jack, both mortified at the unprofessional occurrence and concerned for the Marine, conceded he was right.
The âPax,â as she was affectionately known to her crew, moored in-stream just off the French Concession, in which the United States Consulate was also located. In his hot, claustrophobic stateroom, Jack sighed with relief as he peeled the sodden, high-collared tunic off his lean body.
âYouâd think Iâd be used to it by now â itâs been six months!â he said to the world in general while running his fingers through his wet, blond hair.
âCanât take the heat?â
Jack turned to see that the remark came from Lieutenant Reuben Isaacs, the shipâs dark-haired Medical Officer who lived next door to Jackâs tiny stateroom.
âHell, Rube, we serve âin every clime and place,â or so the song says,â Jack grinned as he toweled under his arms. âAt times like this I tell myself I could have been sent to some mosquito-infested jungle in the Caribbean, so I shouldnât complain about a little Chinese sunshine.â
In answer to Jackâs concern, the M.O. allayed his fears about his Marine with heat prostration.
âPrivate Shaw will be fine â an Irish kid from Boston takes a while to get used to this climate! Didnât you ever fall-out of ranks from the heat â maybe when you were at Vuh-ginia Military Institute?â
Jack grimaced and shook his head, groaning in mock outrage.
âYou really canât pull off a southern accent, Rube! I suppose you imagine us drinking mint juleps and picking banjos,â he chided the smirking medical officer from New York.
The conversation was ended when Mr. Lee, one of the Chinese mess boys, announced his presence with a discreet knock. Reuben stepped backwards out onto the catwalk outside, squeezing past Mr. Lee, and stood in the doorway to free up space in Jackâs tiny stateroom.
Jack nodded to the small table by the door and Mr. Lee placed a drink from the tray he carried on it. He thanked the âboyâ (Mr. Lee was at least in his thirties) and gratefully took deep pulls on his glass of iced tonic water with lime. These days, Jack barely noticed the tonic waterâs quinine bitterness.
On a foreign warship, Jack would have had gin in his tonic or drank a tumbler of wine. However, alcohol had been banned from U.S. Navy vessels for the last fifteen years. Moreover, the Volstead Act had prohibited alcohol in the United States in 1920. Mercifully, it did not apply when ashore overseas.
âA broken matchstick, Mr. Lee?â asked Jack, holding up the object that he had found on the tray alongside his glass.
In the days before American ships were âdry,â a broken match on a tray signified an invitation to drink with the shipâs captain. The Paxâs tradition-conscious mess boys continued the old practice.
âCapitan speakee all officer man must come-come see him when clock makee five chop afternoon time,â replied Lee briskly in pidgin, a patois of English and Chinese.
âWhatâs the gouge, Lee? You mess boys savvy all proper ting along this river before ting happen-happen!â Jack questioned in the same language.
The Chinese smiled and shook his head dismissively.
âTonight, you chow-chow topside British man ship, HMS Bee,â he said.
After picking up Jackâs empty glass, the Chinese âboyâ left.
Jack leaned out of his stateroom, where Reuben Isaacs was standing on the narrow walkway outside.
âSo, Reuben⌠we have dinner aboard the British gunboat HMS Bee tonight at seventeen-hundred hours. Did I get that right?â Jack asked, checking his comprehension of Mr. Leeâs pidgin.
âExactly right, and your pidgin is number one â much better than when you first joined us a month ago. Weâll make a China hand out of you, yet!â grinned the medical officer.
Jack smiled, proud that his study of pidgin was paying off. Pidgin had developed over centuries of contact and allowed the foreigners and Chinese in the treaty ports to communicate. Few foreigners could comprehend Chinese in any of its dialects, and few Chinese would deign to learn the various languages of the âbarbarians.â
HMS Bee was moored at a pontoon off the Bundâthe riverfront embankment running the length of Hankowâs foreign concessions. The Bee was much larger than the USS Patuxent in size and configured as the British Admiralâs flagship. It was one of a growing flotilla of foreign warships sent that August to protect their countriesâ investments and citizens along the 1,700 miles of the Yangtze River that were navigable.
Every radio news bulletin, newsreel, and foreign newspaper Jack came across was dominated by Chinaâs political volatility. The âRoaring Twentiesâ had been a worrying time for the Taipan, the foreign business executives who dominated the China trade, and their various governments. From their perspectives, 1926 looked to be worse for trade and investments than the first half of the decade.
After the Chinese revolution of 1911, the ancient empire was replaced by the Republic of China, with its capital remaining in Peking. It was the internationally recognized, âlegitimateâ Chinese government. However, in practice, China had devolved into a series of regional fiefdoms controlled by warlords who vied with each other for power.
Far to the south in Canton, near Hong Kong, a faction led by General Chiang Kai-shek had consolidated its power. This Cantonese faction was the part-nationalist, part-communist National Peopleâs Party, or Kuomintang. The KMTâs National Revolutionary Army was marching north from Canton on its âNorthern Expeditionâ to unify China under their rule.
As the distant storm of civil war approached Hankow that muggy August, the USS Patuxentâs motor sampan carried its officers with the swift Yangtze current, careening along at four miles per hour to keep their appointment aboard HMS Bee off the nearby British Concession.
Though roomier than the Paxâs officersâ wardroom, where Jack was used to taking his meals, HMS Beeâs oak-paneled version was crowded. The Americans from USS Patuxent sat elbow-to-elbow, almost touching knees with the British contingent facing them across the dining table. White-jacketed Chinese mess boys added to the congestion as they fussed around the diners.
After dinner, once the dessert dishes were cleared away and the port and cigars were served, the diners heaved a collective sigh of contentment and leaned back from the table. The wardroom was soon enveloped in a blue haze of tobacco smoke.
A spoon rang on a glass, and the floor was given to Rear Admiral John Cameron, the Royal Navyâs Senior Officer on the Yangtze.
Jack looked at the admiral with keen interest and leaned forward, a poised cigar forgotten in his hand.
âGentlemen, the Cantonese forces of the Kuomintang have defeated the local warlord, General Wu Pâei-fu. Wuâs troops are falling back here. If the KMT captures Wuhan, he is finished, and all China knows it,â the Admiral announced to grave nods around the table.
âTo prepare the way for their army, the KMT has dispatched Bolshevik-trained agitators â Russians, Germans, and other such foreign rabble â to Wuhan. They are stirring-up factory workers, students, coolies, and even shopkeepers against us. Seditious posters and handbills are appearing in the concessions,â he warned darkly.
The group murmured. Jack set down his cigar. He had heard rumors aboard the Pax, but he had no idea the situation was so precarious. Cameron continued.
âMy information is that we can also expect large public-order disturbances in Hankowâs foreign concessions. Strikes, refugees trying to push into the concessions, crowds ready to boil over, the whole place is a tinderbox!â he warned, stabbing the air with his cigar for emphasis.
Lieutenant Commander Holcomb, the Patuxentâs captain, looked pensive. The Americanâs weathered face and prematurely gray hair made him look older than his thirty-two years. He drew deeply on his pipe, which he favored over a cigar.
âWhat orders have you received, Admiral? What is His Majestyâs government prepared to do?â he asked.
The Englishman grunted as he drained his port glass, which a Chinese mess boy silently replaced with a snifter of brandy. Jack was impressed by the smooth transition.
âWell, itâs the same old story â Prime Minister Stanley Baldwinâs cabinet is shillyshallying,â he said in a disgruntled tone.
âWe canât take sides; we canât get decisively engaged... but we can jolly well defend ourselves and British subjectsâ lives. Oh, and Yanks, too, which is practically the same thing!â declared the admiral with a chuckle.
He slapped Holcomb heartily on the back, causing the American to spill his port as he joined in the loud guffaws around the table.
âVery well, Admiral!â replied Holcomb, dabbing the red port wine from his white jacket with his napkin in mild annoyance.
âThe U.S. Navy canât take sides, either. However, like you, we can intervene to protect American lives and property, and other foreign lives in peril. Defending the British Empire is another matter, though,â he said evenly.
Jack felt a palpable chill descend over the wardroom, and the others shifted in their seats. The remark from USS Patuxentâs skipper was an uncomfortable reminder that the British could not take the Americansâ support for granted.
The two navies were remarkably close. Jack had heard the Royal Navy privately counted U.S. warships in China as British naval assets. However, despite their two nationsâ interests in China overlapping greatly, they did occasionally diverge, much to the chagrin of the British.
The Americans looked downward, embarrassed, while the British sipped their drinks and feigned nonchalance.
âDonât be downhearted, gentlemen! Weâll pitch in and save your bacon, as usual!â LCDR Holcomb smiled.
Everyone chuckled at the exchange, banishing the chill.
âWhat do you bring to the party?â asked the Admiral.
âOh, the usual, Admiral. Patuxent has two six-pounder guns; six Lewis machine guns; and twelve of my crew can be spared as blue jackets for a landing party. Plus, twenty Marines that the Commander of the Asiatic Fleet was kind enough to lend us. Donât worry, Jack, old man, I hadnât forgotten you!â smiled Holcomb, magnanimously gripping Jackâs shoulder.
Jack was both embarrassed at and proud of being singled-out for attention by the Patuxentâs no-nonsense skipper.
RADM Cameron nodded, seemingly pleased.
âWell, the Hankow municipal government has requested our support in the event the situation here deteriorates further. We wonât need to depend on you âsaving our baconâ for long. Depending on river conditions, we should be reinforced by three destroyers by Friday next week, along with their Royal Marine landing parties,â he said to murmurs of approval.
LCDR Holcomb nodded.
âThe American Chamber of Commerce has also been vociferous. In response, the Asiatic Fleet is sending reinforcements, too. Rear Admiral Hough, Commander of the Yangtze River Patrol, is coming by passenger steamer to assess the situation first-hand. Iâm told heâll be here next Tuesday,â he said.
âRight now, the U.S. Navy only has the Patuxent in Hankow, but three more gunboats are in the neighborhood. Well-informed scuttlebutt says two U.S. Navy destroyers with more Marines will also be ordered to Hankow next week. Depending on when the order is given, they could arrive about the same time as your Royal Navy ships,â Holcomb said, punctuating each point with the stem of his pipe.
The Englishman grinned smugly.
âWell then, when you include the other Powersâ contributions, we will have quite an armada! Now, join me in an old Royal Navy toast, which I feel is appropriate to the occasion,â he declared, rising from his chair.
When everyone was on their feet and their glasses charged, RADM Cameron raised his brandy glass.
âGentlemen, hereâs to a bloody war and quick promotion!â
The assembled officers, some chuckling, and all grinning, echoed his toast.
âA bloody war and quick promotion!â
Glasses were drained and thumped back onto the white tablecloth. After this piece of gallows humor, the evening came to a conclusion.
Jack staggered tipsily, following his Navy compatriots down the rope ladder into the Patuxentâs sampan. Shortly afterwards, LCDR Holcomb half-climbed, half-fell down the swaying ladder and landed in his officersâ arms. The sampan chugged laboriously against the Yangtzeâs powerful current, back toward USS Patuxent.
The Paxâs officers held onto each other for support, waving to their friends aboard the Bee as its lights drew away from them. They drank from the bottles they had brought with them from the British gunboat, toasting the Royal Navy, the U.S. Navy, the U.S. Marines, President Coolidge, and even King George V. They passed other ships along the river, oblivious to the latest arrivals in Hankow â the Japanese.
The Dragon Gate Conspiracy by J. R. Kendall was an extremely fascinating read. It is based in Hankow, China in 1926 when the KMT and the Imperial forces clash for control of Hankow and Yuchang. Lt. Jack Gaines of the US Marines is stationed aboard the U.S.S. Patuxent on the river alongside Hankow. While on liberty in Hankow he meets Natalya, Natty, Rosenberg who is a Russian American Socialist Journalist reporting in Hankow. Even as they embark on a new relationship things start happening in the background to put both it and them in mortal peril. Mr. Tanaka is a Japanese businessman currently working in Hankow who comes to the suspicious attention of both Jack and Natty. As they start looking closer and investigating deeper they realize that he may not be just a businessman and is instead the head of a blackmail scheme and they might be smarter to leave things alone, even though they both know they wonât.
I read a lot of historical fiction and even quite a few historical thrillers like this one but rarely have I come across one that is as well depicted as this one. The amount of detail that was provided to set the scene was immense and from what I could tell fairly accurate. I can only imagine the amount of research the author had to conduct in order to set the scene so well. There is one thing that will be a sticky spot, so to speak, for many readers. The characters show some prejudice, in many different forms actually, over the course of the story. I may not agree with that prejudice and often find it annoying myself but I can acknowledge it would have been accurate for the time period. The author even acknowledges that in the beginning of the book by saying that he only included that for authenticity and not because he agrees with it. However, it is still something to keep in mind before diving in. My only real issue with the story isnât even, technically speaking, a real issue. The character of Natty Rosenberg was a Russian American Socialist and that honestly fit the storyline incredibly well yet at the same time I also feel like that is a fairly common trope in similar stories and tends to be overdone. My only issue with this is that I see something similar so frequently and not because of how it was done in this particular story. It didnât feel forced or like it was made to fit. Overall, this story was a great read and did an awesome job of balancing the different storylines and events taking place. I am happy giving this book four out of five stars.
This book is a historical espionage thriller with a bit of military history thrown in the mix so it would probably appeal the most to readers who enjoy books with any of those themes. Considering the events taking place in the background there is some violence to be aware of in addition to references to adult content. Nothing seemed to be overly explicit though which was nice. There was also the mild prejudice that I mentioned previously as well to be aware of. None of this should stop readers but it is probably something to think about before diving in. A great read nonetheless and one I immensely enjoyed.