On Tuesday evening, the Manhattan sky was so overcast it looked heavy with rain. A November cold snap blew in from the Hudson River, carrying a bone-chilling wind.
Li Wei had come to visit the mole person who called himself Arthur. He parked his black Cadillac Escalade in a hidden corner near Riverfront Park.
He didn't get out of the car right away. Instead, he reached over to the passenger seat and picked up several brown paper bags, still warm to the touch. Inside were a few roast beef sandwiches, steaming hot black coffee, several pairs of thick thermal socks, and some brand-new packs of AAA batteries.
Pushing the door open, Li Wei deftly slipped through a wire fence and climbed down a rusty ladder, re-entering the freight tunnel that reeked of mold and piss.
The moment he got down, Li Wei paused, taken aback.
