Foresight

by Ian Hamilton

  ( 15 )

  Liu walked awkwardly towards the table, where everyone sat in stunned silence. He sat down in a chair between his wife and Uncle, poured a glass of water, and said, “What I really need is a beer.”

  “Fong, get a waiter,” Ms. Gao said.

  Fong rose from his chair. “I’ll have a beer as well. In fact, bring enough for everyone,” Uncle said.

  No one spoke until Fong had left the room, and then Ms. Gao turned to her nephew. “How did you hear about Peng and Lau?”

  Liu furrowed his brow. “Peng’s secretary told me about him when I called there a couple of hours ago,” he said finally.

  “How did she know?” Uncle asked.

  “She was in the office this morning when a PLA officer arrived with a full contingent of soldiers. She heard the officer tell Peng he was under arrest, and then they dragged him out of the building.”

  “And how do you know about Lau?”

  “I called a friend who’s a captain in the PLA to ask about Peng. He confirmed that Peng was picked up as part of a campaign against corruption in the SEZ,” Liu said. “Then I asked him how many other people had been arrested. He was reluctant to talk but I pressed him, and eventually he told me that Lau was the other main target. Lau evidently knew the PLA were coming to get him. He tried to sneak out through the back door of his office building to avoid them. They caught up to him in the back alley, and some supposedly undisciplined soldiers shot him.”

  “Supposedly undisciplined?” Uncle asked.

  “My contact used the word undisciplined. But where the PLA is concerned, I don’t believe in accidents or happenstance. Things happen for a reason, and there’s usually an order attached to that reason.”

  “Was it just Peng and Lau who were targeted?” Ms. Gao asked calmly.

  “Peng and Lau were the priorities, but I’m told there’s a list of other officials and businessmen whose lives might get turned upside down,” Liu said.

  “How did Peng and Lau get to the head of the list?” Ms. Gao asked.

  “They’ve been fools, splashing money all over the city and drawing attention to themselves. The final straw was side-by-side mansions they’re building outside the city, near Wutong Mountain.”

  “That is so damn stupid it makes me angry,” Ms. Gao said.

  “Do you know who else might be on the list?” Meilin asked.

  “No, and I didn’t think it was wise to ask.”

  “Is it possible some of us could be on it?” she asked.

  “There’s no chance anyone from the family has been named. Your uncle would have been told if that was the case. Besides, we’ve had absolutely nothing to do with either of those men,” Ms. Gao said.

  “That’s not true for Uncle and Fong,” Meilin said. “They’ve often interacted with both of them.”

  “That is a fact, and even if the PLA doesn’t know that now, we have to assume they will after they’ve finished interrogating Peng,” said Ms. Gao.

  “And we have to assume he’ll talk,” Liu said.

  “Does Peng know anything about our business arrangement?” Ms. Gao asked Uncle.

  “Only three people on my side know about our partnership: me, Fong, and my administrator. No one else knows anything. Who have you told?”

  “No one.”

  “What about your husband?” Uncle asked.

  “We have quite deliberately told him nothing about the specifics,” Ms. Gao said. “He knows we’re doing business here, but he has no detailed knowledge about the nature of the business or our partners.”

  “If that’s the case, then it seems to me the only people at risk are those who have dealt directly with Peng, and that’s Fong and myself,” Uncle said.

  Ms. Ko’s eyes were focused on Uncle, as if she was weighing the ramifications of what he’d just said.

  Liu took a swig of beer and glanced sideways at his aunt, whose attention was still fixed on Uncle. “What was your arrangement with Peng?” he asked abruptly. “I know you were paying him, but how was it done?”

  “We made only cash payments and never anything of an ongoing nature,” Uncle said. “He set a price for approving whatever project we brought to him, we’d haggle, we’d settle, and then I put money for him into a Hong Kong bank account.”

  “The account was in his name?”

  “No, it was a corporate account. I never bothered to actually check its official company registration to see if his name was attached to it.”

  “Are you saying you paid him money to get his approval for our warehouses?” Liu asked.

  “Of course, and I’m surprised you would have thought otherwise,” Uncle said. “But we were careful. The payments were always in cash, in odd amounts, and the money was accounted for as part of our construction costs.”

  “I apologize. My question was for confirmation and not meant as a criticism,” Liu said. “From what you’re saying, there’s nothing to connect Peng to the warehouses other than that he approved their construction and your business plan, and that was his responsibility anyway.”

  “I’m not aware that he did anything exceptional or even slightly out of the ordinary in terms of evaluating and approving our proposals. We made sure our submissions met all the investment criteria, and all Peng did was process the paper.”

  “But is there anything to connect him directly to your organization?” Ms. Gao pressed.

  “No. As I said, we were careful. There’s no paper trail.”

  “Even if that is the case, there’s nothing to stop Peng attaching your name to his problem,” she said.

  “I can’t control what Peng tells the PLA or the Department of Justice, but I don’t know why we would be of any more interest to them than the other businessmen whose investments he’s approved. I imagine many of them have paid him far more than we did,” said Uncle.

  “Uncle is right,” Liu said. “Over the past few years Peng must have approved a hundred or more applications that he’s been paid for, so unless the PLA decides to round up every businessman in Shenzhen, it seems to me that we don’t have that much to worry about.”

  “I still can’t help feeling uncomfortable. I’ve lived through several government purges, and one thing I’ve learned is that it’s hard to predict who will get caught up in them,” Ms. Gao said. She turned to Uncle. “My husband was sent to a re-education camp during the Cultural Revolution. He spent six months there and another two years working as a farm labourer.”

  “I don’t see a similarity between the Cultural Revolution and the PLA going after a couple of corrupt officials in Shenzhen,” Uncle said.

  “All I’m saying is that when the PLA gets the bit between its teeth, sometimes it doesn’t want to let go of it. We need to be very careful,” she said, and paused. “I know we have capable people managing the warehouses, but can they maintain the status quo without Fong or Meilin being physically present?”

  “What are you suggesting?” Uncle asked.

  “I think Meilin should come back to Beijing with me and Fong should stay on the Hong Kong side of the border for the next week or two, until things settle down or become clearer,” Ms. Gao said. “Leji can keep his ear to the ground here and I’ll ask my husband to make some discreet enquiries in Beijing. We can stay in touch by phone.”

  “I have to say I agree with keeping a low profile,” Liu said.

  Uncle finished his beer and reached for a second. “I have a question along those same lines, and I want to apologize in advance if it gives offence,” he said.

  “Go ahead,” said Ms. Gao.

  “My understanding is that you’ve been thinking of buying a house in Hong Kong. We’re certainly holding enough cash on your behalf to make that happen, but I’m wondering if that would be a wise thing to do right now.”

  “It wouldn’t be wise and I won’t be doing it,” she s
aid. “But I am nervous about leaving all our money in your bank accounts.”

  “They’re company bank accounts, not my accounts.”

  “You know what I mean,” she said with an impatient, almost dismissive wave of her hand. “My point is that if your luck runs out and the PLA target you, they could find the money and convince the banks to freeze the accounts, or even seize the money.”

  “These are Hong Kong banks we’re talking about.”

  “They’re banks that are becoming friendly with China. And with the handover looming, I can’t imagine many of them are prepared to anger the Chinese government.”

  “I can’t argue with you there. I’ll do whatever you want me to do with the money. After all, it is yours,” Uncle said.

  “I’ll need to make some phone calls, but I should have things sorted out in a day or two as to what I want you to do.”

  “That’s fine. Let me know when you’ve made your arrangements.”

  “I’ll talk to Leji. He can pass on the information to you,” Mrs. Gao said.

  “Will you want all your money or will you leave enough to fund your portion of our expansion plans?”

  “I think we should put the expansion plans on hold,” she said, and then added quickly, “But for now, leave the money we’ve budgeted in the accounts. There’s no point in moving funds back and forth between banks and incurring fees.”

  “I’ll wait for your instructions,” Uncle said, and then smiled wryly. “Well, this meeting didn’t turn out the way we’d expected, but it’s undoubtedly a good thing that we were all here in Shenzhen when Peng took the fall. At least we had the opportunity to talk it out face to face.”

  “Hell, who knows, he might survive,” Liu said.

  “I don’t think that’s likely. It seems to me the only question that remains is whether he’ll take other people down with him,” Uncle said. “And with that front of mind, I hope no one objects if Fong and I leave now. I believe the sooner we’re across the border and back in Hong Kong, the sooner all of us can start to relax.”

  “That’s very sensible,” Ms. Gao said.

  Uncle pushed back from the table and stood up. Fong and Liu did the same, but the two women remained seated. “Stay in touch. We need you to keep on top of what’s happening with Peng,” Uncle said to Liu.

  “I’ll do everything I can, but I can’t be too intrusive.”

  “The moment you hear anything, I want you to call me.”

  “I will.”

  Uncle nodded and then said, “Ladies, have a safe journey back to Beijing.”

  Uncle and Fong didn’t speak until they had left the restaurant and were in the car. Then it was Fong who said, “Holy shit, what a mess this could be.”

  “Where did you plan to leave the car?” asked Uncle, ignoring Fong’s comment.

  “How long do you think I’ll be leaving it?”

  “We’d better count on a few weeks.”

  “Then Ming should have it.”

  “In that case, drive to Ming’s factory. He can take us to the train station,” Uncle said.

  “Okay, boss.”

  “And Fong, do me a favour and don’t ask me any questions for a while. I need to think through what just happened to us.”

  “What did happen?”

  “That is a question.”

  ( 16 )

  Uncle and Fong were on the train and halfway to Fanling before Uncle spoke again. “What did you think of Ms. Gao’s reaction to the news about Peng?” he asked.

  Fong turned away from the window and gathered his thoughts. “She didn’t seem especially rattled, but then neither did Meilin. Liu was the only one who displayed any sign of emotion.”

  “Maybe because he’s the one stuck in Shenzhen. He can’t just packs his bags and fly to Beijing.”

  “I can’t imagine the PLA laying a hand on any of them.”

  Uncle shrugged. “Ms. Gao said one thing that was absolutely correct: the PLA is hard to control. Once they start down a path, there’s no telling when or where they’ll stop. One positive thing is that both they and the Chinese legal system normally move quickly. Liu should know soon enough what will happen to Peng and should be able to give us some idea about what else could be in store.”

  “What’s the best-case scenario?” Fong asked.

  “We want the speediest possible resolution.”

  “How fast can it go?”

  “I’ve heard of people who were charged, tried, made an appeal, and were executed all within a week.”

  Fong stared at Uncle. “Do you really think they’d execute him?”

  “I have no idea, but it is possible — maybe even likely. In China, sentences sometimes have less to do with punishing the crime than helping the state send a message,” Uncle said. “The government has a lot invested, politically and otherwise, in Shenzhen and the other special economic zones. If they’re serious about ending corruption, then killing Peng would be a clear message. Lau is dead already, and that could have been deliberate.”

  “Then why didn’t they kill Peng?”

  “I’ve always suspected that the money flowed through Peng and that Lau was dependent on him. If that’s true, then they’ve kept Peng alive to get as much information out of him as they can. When they’ve finished milking him, they’ll get rid of him.”

  “That won’t be good for us,” Fong said.

  “That isn’t necessarily the case,” Uncle said. “Liu was correct when he said Peng extracted money from hundreds of investors in Shenzhen. We’re simply one of many. If the prosecutors or the army goes after every investor who paid a bribe, they might as well shut down Shenzhen, because there’ll be no one left doing business there.”

  “Does Peng know we’re triads?”

  The question surprised Uncle, but then he realized he’d never actually discussed with Fong how much their various partners knew. “I’m sure he has suspicions, especially after meeting Tse, but they were never voiced. I certainly never talked to him about our Fanling roots,” Uncle said. “The Liu family knows, and in a strange way I think that’s one reason why they chose us as their business partners.”

  “Why is that?”

  “I think they believe it gives them leverage if ever there’s a falling out between us.”

  “Well, it’s a good thing Peng doesn’t know about us, because for sure he’ll blab.”

  “Yes, he will, but I’m hoping the PLA has no interest in pursuing investors and will focus their questioning on which officials are taking bribes.”

  “Do you really believe they will?” Fong asked. The train was starting to slow as it neared Fanling.

  “If the government wants to keep investment money flowing into the SEZs, it’s the only approach that makes sense. Punishing investors whose only crime was to play according to the system would be stupid. As I said, it would drive investors out and discourage any new ones. The zones are too important to Beijing and the long-term economic health of the country to allow that to happen.”

  “You’ve convinced me,” Fong said. “Let’s just hope the powers that run Shenzhen think the way you do.”

  “I suspect we’ll know soon enough,” Uncle said as the train stopped at Fanling station. “If, in a week from now, Peng has been executed, I’ll be taking that as a positive — if gruesome — sign.”

  The two men left the train. It was late afternoon, but Uncle felt as if the day had gone on much longer. Normally he would have dropped into the office, but despite his conversation with Fong, his head was still full of questions about Shenzhen, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to concentrate. “I’m going to walk to my apartment from here,” he said to his Straw Sandal.

  “Do you want to grab something to eat?” Fong asked.

  “No, I’ll get something later from the restaurant downstairs. Besides, you can go to Maca
u tonight if you want — you don’t have to wait for the weekend. If you leave now, you can catch a jetfoil and be there in time for a late dinner.”

  “Okay, I think I’ll do that — but I want you to stay in touch. I’ll be staying at the Lisboa. The mama-san always takes a suite there when I visit. Her name is Jessie Ng.”

  “If anything happens, you’ll hear from me.”

  “Uncle, are you going to give Xu and Tse a heads-up about what happened in Shenzhen?” Fong asked.

  Uncle smiled. Fong’s breezy nature sometimes made it easy to overlook the fact that he had a fine mind. “Phone calls to both of them are the first thing on my list of things to do when I get home,” he said. “If everything is quiet in their zones, it’s going to make me suspect that Shenzhen is an isolated event, one that has more to do with Peng and Lau flaunting their wealth than it does with some broader government anti-corruption campaign.”

  “Let’s hope you’re right,” Fong said, and then checked his watch. “I’m going to take a taxi back to my place so I can pack. Do you want me to drop you off at your apartment?”

  “No, I’m going to walk. The exercise might help clear my head,” Uncle said.

  September in Hong Kong was still hot and muggy, with the late afternoons particularly vulnerable to sudden cloudbursts, but on this day the sky was cloudless and the humidity was low. Uncle’s route from the station to his apartment took him past a newsstand where he often bought the racing form, and a bakery that sold fresh buns stuffed with barbecued pork. On most days he would have stopped, but even the aroma wafting from the bakery wasn’t tempting enough to draw him inside. His mind was locked onto the events of that day in Shenzhen, and there was no room for distraction.

  His apartment was above a Cantonese restaurant that hadn’t changed much in twenty years. It still had the same owner and basically the same menu, and Uncle either ate there or bought takeout three or four nights a week. Thoughts of food did cross his mind as he walked past its front door to the stairs up to his apartment, but he decided to wait. What he needed first was a cold beer and an hour or so in his chair to do some thinking.