When the elevator door opens on the thirty-eighth floor, a Chinese woman in her early thirties is waiting for Jake and Ben. She wears a plain white blouse and a navy blue skirt. Her shiny hair is pulled back into a bun.
A set of rosewood furniture takes up most of the reception area, ornate and uncomfortable as possible because no one will expect to feel at ease here. A long bench sits against the wall with two chairs on each side of a low table, all arranged under a large tapestry of the Great Wall snaking over hills of autumnal foliage. On the opposite wall, east-facing, floor-to-ceiling windows provide an expansive view of sunlight-tinted smog with only the closest buildings visible as silhouettes.
“You must be Jake and Thomas,” the woman says in Mandarin-accented English, approaching them with an outstretched hand. “I’m Director Liu’s assistant. Please call me Anna.
They enter a conference room where Director Liu is waiting. Liu is pale and plump, probably the result of a regular schedule of dinners with central government officials whom the man must court.
“Director Liu,” Anna says. “We are welcoming two journalists from the financial news company Toeler News.”
“Please come in. Please sit,” Liu says, offering his card to Jake with both hands. Jake knows the card is useless but takes it graciously with both hands and offers his in return.
“Thank you, Director Liu, for your time,” Jake begins in Chinese. “We’re very grateful.”
“You’re too polite,” Liu says. “Please sit anywhere you like.”
“Thank you, Director Liu. My colleague here, Tuo-ma-si, is based in Kuala Lumpur but we’re hoping to transfer him here to Beijing because he speaks Mandarin. He’ll just be taking some notes.”
Jake moves away from the head of the table where Liu will inevitably sit. Rummaging in his bag for his recorder and note pad, Jake moves to a seat at the side of the table, closest to Liu. He places the items on the table and arranges them while waiting for Liu to settle into his chair.
“Welcome,” Liu says.
“Thank you, Director Liu,” Ben says obediently.
“I’m glad Toeler News is taking an interest in our operations in a way that’s not negative,” Liu says with an ingratiating smile.
Liu claims the head of the table and bids Jake, again, to sit. Jake nods respectfully and thanks Liu once again. He moves slowly as he positions himself between his chair and the table, allowing Liu to sink into his chair first. Jake then sits and hits a button on his voice recorder.
Ben puts his laptop on the table, in front of the seat next to Jake. He opens it, plugs a device into its USB portal, and begins typing. In his peripheral vision, Jake sees a cascade of data pouring down a screen.
“Director Liu, many foreign investors are interested in the policy lending you’re directing in the Western provinces and we are grateful that you have granted us this opportunity to better understand the opportunities for foreign banks.”
With his left hand, Ben begins to tap his pinky, signaling to Jake that the search for user names and passwords is just starting. They had worked out the signals the day before, on a subway ride, with their phones powerless. Ben will tap with his ring finger when the data pull is underway and stable. Jake needs to keep the interview going until he sees the thumb tap, which means that he’s reached the point of diminishing returns and can stop the data pull.
Jake gradually works through a list of ten questions, stopping for clarification of details he’ll never need and looking at the time display on his phone. Every five minutes that he thinks has passed turns out to be only one or two.
Twenty-five minutes into the interview, as Ben is still tapping his middle finger on the table, Jake asks the last question he had prepared. They only have thirty minutes with Director Liu and Anna, who’s sitting across from Jake, starts checking her watch.
Liu is explaining how the high-speed rail system, now under construction throughout the country, will make investments in the Western provinces more viable because enterprises there will have better access to markets.
“And, more importantly, people will be more willing to live in cities like Xining and Chengdu,” Liu says. “People are the key. An industry can’t run without qualified engineers and researchers. We’re financing so many projects, like high-speed rails, to make these places more attractive to people with the skills to make enterprises competitive.”
Jake is no longer taking notes. Every additional second that Ben spends tapping his middle finger ratchets up an alarm that’s sounding in Jake’s head, making it impossible to concentrate on Liu’s answers.
“Frankly speaking,” Liu continues, “we can’t afford to let the Western provinces fall any further behind the east coast. The government is earmarking billions in the west and we’re increasing our lending there at the same pace. From that perspective alone, foreign banks should feel more confident about lending to industries there.”
Ben starts tapping his index finger and Jake exhales. Ben had told him he would probably have enough login credentials by the time he’s on the fourth finger, although Jake should keep things going until he’s tapping his thumb just to be sure.
“Director Liu,” Jake says. “I’m so very grateful for your answers. Could I ask just one follow-up question?”
“I’m afraid that Director Liu’s schedule is very busy today,” Anna says, interrupting. She repeats this in English, giving Jake time to think of a question to lob.
“Just very quickly, Director Liu, could you let me know which hinterland industries will get the most lending from International Bank of China this year?”
Looking first at Anna and then back at Jake, Director Liu smiles.
“I’m afraid I can’t answer that question. All I can tell you about that is that we’re looking at a wide variety of industries.”
Ben begins tapping his thumb.
“Thank you, Director Liu. Thank you, Anna.”
*****
3:50 p.m.
Twenty minutes into the meeting Diane set up at NICB and Ben is still tapping his pinky. At the same time, Diane has been taking a small group of policy lending directors at the bank through a deck of case studies. Five case studies in all and she’s nearly through number four. The group is led by Director Zhang, a senior vice president somewhere in his mid-fifties.
“As you can see, this one shows the problems that we experience when we don’t get all of the documentation we request. Our overall net return when joining the domestic banks in policy loan syndication is on the rise. But this is what happens when we bypass certain requirements in the due diligence phase.”
Diane traces one of three lines in a chart. One line, rendered in green, shows revenue assumptions provided by the company in question. Another, in blue, shows repayment obligations on the syndicated loan that Diane’s bank helped to arrange. The last line, bright red and thicker than the others, shows actual revenue. That line starts out on par with the green line, begins descending shortly after the mark labeled ‘loan initiation’ and then drops precipitously over the next several months shown on the horizontal axis. Less than one year into the life of the loan in question, the red line falls below the blue line. The lines turn from solid to dotted once they pass March, 2007 with the red line continuing its plunge until it runs into a question mark.
“So, you can see why we need to insist on audited numbers for every metric used in our modeling,” Diane says. “Our policy is tightening up here, not just in China but worldwide. There’s some growing concern about commercial paper exposure in North America. We all know that China is a different story but we’re under pressure to lower our exposure to risky assets everywhere.”
The red line mirrors the tension caused by Ben’s lack of progress. His pinky is still tapping. Diane decides to spin her talk into more positive territory in order to keep her hosts engaged.
“I intend to keep our plan to increase our engagement in syndicated policy lendin, but I’d like to ask that you steer us towards c
ompanies that will be able to provide the audited numbers so that we have some recourse to the collateral.”
Diane notices the white roots of Director Zhang’s otherwise jet-black hair, roots that reveal the effort that so many mature Mainland Chinese men go through to look like the country’s leaders. Two managers in Zhang’s department sit on either side of him, expressionless and deferential. One is a woman who looks to be about the same age Diane was when she worked at NICB. The woman, of course, is taking the notes. Zhang just rubs his chin as he ponders Diane’s presentation.
“Your request is reasonable,” he says. “And, in fact, we’re implementing the same restrictions on our end.”
Ben is now tapping all of the fingers on his left hand at once. Diane looks at his hand and winces. This means he’s stuck and they need to do anything possible to get to a different part of the building.
“I really appreciate your understanding, Director Zhang,” Diane says, looking back up at her counterparts. “Since we’re proposing to work more closely together, I thought we should share with you some of the data we’ve been tracking here.”
“Charles, can you pull that up for us,” Diane says to Ben, whom she introduced to their NICB counterparts as a Frankfurt-based colleague. To cover the lie, Diane had told them Charles forgot to bring his business cards. As a former NICB employee, she was able to get Ben in without ID.
“I’m so sorry, all of you,” Ben says in perfect Mandarin as he looks at his screen and taps out bogus commands. “I can only access the data through our secure network and the mobile signal in this room isn’t strong enough. Sometimes it’s just a matter of moving down the hallway. I wonder if I could trouble someone to lead me somewhere else in the building. We may not need to go far.”
“I’m sorry about this,” Diane says to the NICB directors. “This is sensitive information that I can only show you on our screens because we’re not supposed to be showing it to anyone outside of the institution. I’m legally bound and our system will detect when something gets printed. Otherwise I’d give you all a copy.”
“We understand,” Zhang says as he taps a few numbers on the conference phone that sits in the middle of the table. “Xiao Tang, can you come in and lead one of our guests to one of the conference rooms on the east wing?”
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to use the washroom,” Diane says as the administrative assistant, a young woman in a charcoal pantsuit paired with a white blouse, steps in. “Is it okay if we take a quick break?”
“Sure, I can get someone else to lead you…” Zhang says.
“Oh, no need, Director Zhang,” I’ll just go with Xiao Tang and Charles and stop into the washroom on the way back.
“Is there a washroom on the way back?” Diane asks the woman, who nods back.
“So what’s the problem? Are you going to be able to pull the data?” Diane asks Ben in English as they follow Xiao Tang down the hall.
“All I can say is that I’m hoping for better luck wherever we’re going,” Ben says, tight-lipped.
Seated again in front of the NICB team, Diane finds herself stammering and repeating the same point several times as she makes her way through the final case study in her deck. She’s drawn it out for 15 minutes, more than three times the amount of time she would normally spend on this material with barely enough meat to draw out more than a couple of high-level insights. Concern about Ben’s progress trips up her thoughts further. She wonders if Ben is getting the credentials he needs. It’s close to the end of the workday. More employees would be logging out than in. What if they get nothing? Would the data they get from IBOC provide enough ammunition?
“So, um, you can see that it took a longer time for the, um, reality of this revenue scenario to become clear,” Diane says, pointing to another line chart.
The director sitting next to Zhang looks at his watch, prompting Zhang to look at his own. Feeling nauseous, Diane glances up at the door, trying to pull Ben back in through the sheer force of her will.
“Despite all of this, um, I believe we’re much clearer on what leads to these scenarios and I’d like to propose we move ahead more aggressively,” Diane says.
The comment revives her audience’s interest. She’s bought a few more minutes but the bullish message she’s put out, disingenuously, deepens the pit in her stomach. She’ll never get such clearance from her bank and will eventually need to back away from these promises, possibly putting her employer in a bad light, not to mention the risk to her career. But like a kayaker paddling through rapids, her only choice is to follow through. The fate of her brother, Diane reminds herself, might be hanging on this bid to pull login credentials from wireless signals coursing through the NICB’s headquarters.
A light knock comes through the conference room’s door and Diane stops talking.
“Excuse me, Director Zhang,” Xiao Tang says. “Your guest is back.”
Ben enters the room, expressionless.
“Sorry if I’ve caused any delay,” Ben says, taking his seat. “I’ve pulled the documents we want to show you.”
He strides into the room and gives Diane a nod. She exhales. Ben takes his seat and opens his laptop. Diane looks at his left hand as he begins pulling up a presentation they threw together the previous day.
He begins tapping his index finger.
*****
4:30 p.m.
INTERNAL INVESTIGATION:
The Public Security Bureau, Beijing Municipality, is currently investigating revenue sources for one or more documentary films about sensitive political subjects, including events around counter-revolutionary activities in Beijing in 1989. These film projects distort historical facts and should be considered subversive activities that potentially threaten social stability and order. Our department has been asked to support the investigation into these matters by scrutinizing the producers we advise in the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region.
Details of the case now under investigation are included in the attachments to this file.
Please ask your contacts in Hong Kong whether they’re aware of any effort to fund documentaries about the property development in Beijing or events surrounding Tiananmen Square in 1989. Your immediate supervisor will notify you about when a meeting will be called to discuss intelligence gathered about this matter.
In accordance with Section 34.6.12 of the National Intelligence Act of the People’s Republic of China, all of the information surrounding this matter must be kept confidential. Any violation of this confidence will be dealt with in the strictest measures.
Zhihong scans page after page of documents related to the investigation of Sun Qiang, a Chinese national with an American green card. It seems strange that someone who claimed to have worked in the technology sector in California would give up such a promising career to work in an industry that rarely pays well. Qiang is a homosexual who has apparently never tried to hide this fact. Zhihong can’t help but have mixed feelings about this fool. Driven apparently in equal parts by bravery and stupidity, Qiang has pursued dreams that Zhihong has never had the guts to chase. Zhihong himself has flirted with escape plans for years. This guy Qiang put his plans into action and look what’s happened to him.
Why dredge up an issue like 1989? Why not focus on a cause that matters now? At least he would have been detained for something worthwhile. Zhihong knows the Chinese government can be thuggish. They stifle so many forms of expression and expect a nation of 1.3 billion people to spout the same drivel, to contribute to a ‘harmonious society’ that’s neither harmonious nor civil. Washington can be just as bad, if not worse. With their senseless war in Iraq and their constant meddling, talking about democracy out of one side of their mouths and then supporting fascist policies through the other. They’re either propping up dictators or toppling them. It keeps their military in business. If the US government really acted in defense of its ideals, the world might be a better place and China might have no choice but to stop cracking down on people lik
e Qiang. But instead, both countries waste lives and money.
The only real difference is the degree to which ordinary Americans fool themselves. No one in China talks seriously of harmony. They know it’s just a slogan, useful only as a reminder of the presence of a massive bureaucracy that will, at least, keep 1.3 billion people from killing each other. Americans, it would seem, believe the rhetoric of their leaders. Qiang seems to believe it also.
Zhihong reads further into the file, about Qiang’s friends, Chinese and American friends, trying to help him. One is an American journalist, a Mandarin speaker credentialed to work in Beijing. Jake Bradley has been in the country since the early 1990s when he was a student. Also gay. Qiang has a sister, a wealthy woman in a successful career with a European financial group. There’s another American, named Benjamin, but the details about him are redacted. Strange. There’s another character somehow involved with the American journalist. His name is Chen Dawei.
Zhihong sits stunned for a moment. He reads the name again. Chen Dawei is a common name. This couldn’t be the same person. How many people named Chen Dawei live in Beijing? There are probably thousands. But just as this thought starts to settle him, Zhihong remembers Dawei telling him that he left the screenplay with an American journalist. How many people named Dawei could be friends with an American journalist? The number would probably shrink by 99%.
The PSB hasn’t figured out how this Dawei character is involved. There are only theories so far. He’s been seen sleeping on park benches and doesn’t have a cell phone. It’s very unusual, the report says, for an itinerant to be friends with a foreign journalist. Perhaps the lack of an address and phone helps to keep his role under wraps. He might be acting as a courier of money or information. Recordings from the American’s apartment suggest that the two have had some kind of relationship for the past two years.
“Wo de tian,” Zhihong says to himself. Oh my God.
The Wounded Muse Page 24