by Fritz Galt
“Trick is, I don’t eat out every day,” Mick confided. “I’m just trying to get you in the mood.”
Morisot groaned. “I was counting on room service at the Hyatt.”
“If this trip is going to be worth your while, you’ve got to see for yourself how things operate on the street.”
He stopped.
“Let’s try this pharmacy.”
Morisot looked around warily, but said nothing and followed Mick into the shop.
White porcelain jars lined the walls and were labeled with Chinese characters.
“Korean white ginseng,” Mick translated. “Royal Thai bird’s nest with rock sugar.”
“How can you eat a bird’s nest?”
“It’s an ingredient made from the saliva of swifts. People use it in soup and moon cakes. It’s known for its nutritional value.”
Mick turned to the man behind the lacquered counter. The young, but balding, guy began to ask him a series of intelligent questions.
Morisot sidled up to Mick. “What’s he talking about?”
“Do you have a cold?” Mick asked.
“I don’t have a cold, but I might develop heatstroke.” He whipped a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his neck.
The pharmacist continued to speak in Chinese.
“He says you have a fever,” Mick translated.
“It isn’t me. It’s the tropics.”
The young man approached a refrigerator and pulled out a blue can.
The label read, “Sweat.”
Morisot screwed up his face.
“Good for electrolyte replacement,” Mick said.
“I wouldn’t touch that stuff if my life depended on it. Let’s get out of here.” And he left the store.
In the middle of the street, Morisot turned on him. “What the hell was that all about? I didn’t come here for sweat and saliva.”
A car honked, and Mick directed Morisot toward a cluster of parked motor scooters. The car nicked Morisot as it squeezed past.
“I told the pharmacist that you had a fever. If you want rhino horn powder, that’s what you say.”
“But rhino horn is an aphrodisiac.”
“And a fever suppressant. You don’t tell a pharmacist that you want a bear paw, tiger penis or rhino horn because you can’t get it up. You say that you have a fever.”
“You mean he has rhino horn right there in his shop?”
“I’m sure he has something he calls rhino horn. He might be selling us ground up human hair, for all I know.”
“Let’s go back and I’ll test it,” Morisot said. He was ready to charge back into the shop.
Just then, a sharp report exploded behind the two men. Morisot ducked. Blue smoke descended onto the street.
Then there was another loud crack.
Morisot turned to run and stumbled over a scooter. “Someone’s shooting at us.”
One scooter crashed into the next, sending a long line of them sliding into the road.
Pedestrians modestly covered their mouths to hide their laughter. Morisot stood up slowly and waved the smoke away.
A low, hollow drumbeat throbbed in the heavy atmosphere. The wail of a primitive clarinet pierced the air. A temple procession rounded the corner, old men carrying a red and gold litter on their shoulders. Then came boys on stilts.
Another round of firecrackers exploded as the parade walked past.
“Can you get me to safety?” Morisot requested.
Mick sighed. “I’ll call in the cavalry.”
Natalie jumped up and settled in behind the lectern. After looking over her speech, she decided to set it aside. She would ad lib.
“Today I want to look beyond infrastructure problems, exchange rates and state ownership issues.”
The statement didn’t have the flavor of oft-repeated State Department policy. She glanced around the room to make sure she had everyone’s attention. She did.
“This morning,” she announced, “Taiwan reached an historic agreement with the People’s Republic of China.”
She heard a bored groan from several tables. Damn, they already knew the news. She held up a hand. She wasn’t finished yet.
“Granted, return of hijackers may not seem remotely related to the business community. But it is the first of many major new agreements between the two sides.”
They were listening.
“The U.S. has expressed its hope that relations continue to improve in this manner, which can only lead to eventual direct transportation and trade links between Taiwan and China.”
Okay, so she was backpedaling and quoting U.S. Government scripture. But she was applying it to the current context, and for this strenuous intellectual effort, she received a polite round of applause from most corners of the room.
While it was a rehash of the official government position on Taiwan, it did represent upbeat thinking. In Taiwan, good thoughts could only lead to good fortune, except of course for arms merchants.
In fact, optimism about direct transportation and trade links was as safe a statement as she could make and still keep the businessmen happy. Any thaw in relations was indeed good news for those companies based in Taiwan that owned plants in China. The expense of transporting goods and transferring money through Hong Kong and other third countries added considerable costs to manufacturing on the mainland. Businessmen dreamed of direct links to China.
She paused to acknowledge the polite applause.
“However, one must contain one’s excitement.” She was aware that their reaction hardly qualified as excitement.
Somehow she had to give the impression that the treaty was a monumental step in building Chinese-Taiwan relations.
“Any time Taiwan hesitates when the PRC offers a handshake is understandable and prudent. The United States Government stands solidly behind the principles of self-determination and self-reliance.”
She saw a yawn or two. She would have to ratchet it up a notch.
“However, any time Taiwan extends her hand to China, as in the case of repatriating hijackers, the Chinese government has eagerly accepted it. Using this blueprint, friendly overtures to China regarding trade will inevitably lead to a speedy normalization of trade relations.”
The businessmen erupted in spontaneous applause. Where was that coming from? Perhaps out of boredom, they had collectively decided to turn the luncheon into a pep rally.
Natalie checked herself. It was a fact that Taiwan had always been the reluctant partner in any formal relations with China. However, broaching improved trade ties with China was uncharted water. Taiwan had never tried it, although her hunch was that China would overwhelmingly accept good trade relations with Taiwan.
“And by ‘a speedy normalization of trade relations,’ I mean China’s virtual rubber stamp of approval.”
Huge applause from most corners of the room.
She smiled. She was parceling out her wisdom one nugget at a time and throwing it to those most eager to receive it. It was almost like being a politician, she thought with some irony. From the safety of the State Department’s ivory tower, she loved governing and hated just about every aspect of politics.
“Then there’s the downside,” she said, adding a note of sobriety. “What would Taiwan really gain by normalizing trade relations?”
The arms reps sat up straight.
“What would Taiwan gain by weakening her arsenals of democracy?”
It was surprising how much she enjoyed public speaking. It probably helped that she lived and breathed the subject matter every day.
“Will she trade her freedom for cash?” she asked rhetorically.
This brought raucous rumbles from the five tables in back, as Mr. Helicopter and Mr. Submarine and their pals hammered their tabletops with approval.
Okay, so she had evened things out. Now for the bombshell.
She held up a hand to quell the thunder. “I submit that today has taught us a lesson. Taiwan is beginning to discover an eager partne
r in the mainland. As relations continue to warm, despite inevitable ups and downs, we will achieve unprecedented harmony across the Taiwan Strait in all aspects of political, cultural and commercial life.”
She had everyone in the palm of her hand.
“By the new millennium, we will see linked governments, reduction of weapons proliferation and I guarantee in this very room we will be sharing a toast with our brothers from the Chinese Chamber of Commerce in Taiwan.”
The weapons dealers nearly fell out of their chairs while the rest of the room jumped to their feet in applause, as if it were some sort of historic moment.
What was this? She looked behind her in case someone back there was doing a striptease.
No. She was alone and they were clapping for her.
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a man slipping out a side door into the lobby. He looked like that reporter, Hank Lin, from Taiwan’s official press organization. Damn, she hadn’t expected to be quoted in the press. She was simply expressing her personal views.
An image flashed through her mind of an angry Director Bronson Nichols. He hadn’t cleared her remarks, nor had he asked to see them. He never made official speeches, so she should probably have known that the public was hungry for any sort of message.
She smiled weakly and slid back into her seat.
She had just predicted reunification by the end of the century. She also felt like she was going to lose her lunch.
Looking for a means of escape while the next speaker took the podium, she cast an anxious glance out the picture window.
Dark clouds were gathering on the horizon.
Chapter 7
The twin-prop Fokker cut her engines and began a lazy curving descent through blue sky to the small island below.
Alec set his Scuba Diving magazine down and scrutinized the volcanic shoreline. From his recent geological studies, he had learned to appreciate Orchid Island as a unique case.
Nestled in the wide Bashi Channel between Taiwan and the Philippines, Orchid Island was a mere blip on the map. Green Island was the other tiny sliver of land just on the horizon to the north. Together, they formed stepping-stones along the edge of the Philippine Plate as the massive Pacific Plate nudged it against the giant Eurasian Plate. The Kyusko Islands, including Okinawa, lay further to the northeast. Then there was Japan, another tectonic nightmare.
While Taiwan’s authority extended to Orchid Island, the local population couldn’t have been more disinterested. He already spotted the half-buried native dwellings of the Tao tribe. For the first time in months, he was escaping the canyons of the city for the simple life.
The sky was cloudless. It allowed him to see in great detail from high altitude. He spotted a dive platform and a small research vessel anchored just off the island’s southern tip.
He smiled to himself. May-lin was down there already. He could picture her underwater, her long, slender legs waving flippers gently up and down in the threads of sunlight that reflected off the surface.
He gulped down the last swig of guava juice. The Formosa Air stewardess would collect it on her final pass through the cabin. He caught her eye and she approached him.
“Did you have enough?” she asked.
He winked and nodded.
Her lips parted and spread across her beautiful teeth. Then he saw nothing but the part in her hair as she bowed.
Mick waved good-bye as an AIT van took Dr. Morisot back to his hotel. Morisot would always make a fool of himself. The world was full of people like that. But the Dr. Morisots of the world would somehow get the job done.
Mick flipped his telephone open and redialed the previous number. “Any news?”
“Yes, hold on,” the Chinese woman said.
He heard several clicks, then a low, circumspect male voice came on the line. “Are you there?”
“Yes. What’s the latest?”
“He headed for Ba-li, along coast,” the voice said. “Then he crossed bridge and turned off toward Peitou. Can you meet us there?”
“I’ll drive to downtown Peitou,” Mick said. “Then I’ll call you for an exact location.”
“Be quick.”
Mick jogged down the side street where his car was parked. The red convertible sports car was jammed between two light utility trucks. After a neat nine-point turn, he was free. He gunned the engine and aimed for the nearby hills.
He had been to Peitou several times. But his knowledge of the streets, intersections and landmarks was still sketchy.
Once there, he stopped to place another call. “I’m more or less in Peitou. Where are you?”
“Heading for cemetery. He is going to the one on top hill.”
“Do you mean the big one? Eternal Sun Cemetery?”
“Yes, Eternal Sun. He is on the street with small temples.”
“That’s right around the corner,” Mick said. “Wait at the last temple.”
He hung up. He had been to the burial ground before, an entire hill dedicated to the dead.
Why would a mainland Chinese diplomat want to go there?
“I think this is it, sir,” Hank Lin, reporter for the China News Agency, said excitedly into his mobile phone. At the foot of the Grand Hotel, he waved for his car and driver.
As an employee of Taiwan’s official news agency and hence the Nationalist Party, Hank had been trained to detect shifts in American policy. Any effort to reunify Taiwan with China would support the Nationalist government and deal a body blow to the independence movement.
“What did she say?” his boss C.Y. Lu asked with a note of suspicion.
“She said Taiwan and China would link governments by the end of the century.”
“Interesting. Do you have a transcript?”
“I wrote down what she said, word for word.”
“Excellent work.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“How soon can you get it to me?”
“I’ll phone it in and you’ll have it on your desk in fifteen minutes.”
Hank’s car arrived and he jumped in. “To the office,” he told the driver.
He punched in his office number and reviewed his handwritten notes. He had jotted down her words in abbreviated form. “Today taught lesson. Taiwan discovering eager partner in China. As relations warm, with ups and downs, will achieve unprecedented harmony across Taiwan Strait, all aspects of political, cultural and commercial life. By millennium, will see linked governments, weapons reductions and a Chinese Chamber of Commerce in Taiwan.”
Somehow the quote lacked the punch he felt that Natalie Pierce had delivered at the speech. What had made people jump to their feet?
She was describing a new American approach to Taiwan. Taiwan would no longer be “a separate, but integral part of China.” Linking implied a policy of elevating Taiwan to equal status with China under a shared government arrangement. It also amounted to diplomatic recognition of Taiwan.
With a small mark, he changed “will see linked governments” to “will see a joint government.”
His secretary finally picked up the phone.
“Get ready to take dictation,” he said.
“One moment.”
While he waited, Hank watched his driver merge with the thick flow of traffic crossing the Keelung River into downtown Taipei. Merging governments came to mind. Going with the flow. One China moving forward.
Taiwan’s independence movement was dead.
Intelligence officer Tony Chen was Mick’s closest contact at MOFA, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. When he noticed that China’s top delegate, named Leng Shi-mung, had suddenly disappeared from Beijing’s negotiating team, things had happened fast.
Now Tony stood in the diffused shade of a camphor tree, his arms folded across his chest. His white shirt might reflect the sun, but it showed the sweat.
A red convertible pounced over a rise, found him and pulled in under the tree. Out stepped Mick Pierce.
“You are just in time.” Tony jabb
ed a thumb toward a cluster of restaurants and temples. A path led up through the buildings to the cemetery.
“Leng walked up the path?” Mick asked.
Tony nodded. “He has a black suit.”
“Was his Taiwanese half-brother at the conference?”
“No chance. I did not see him.”
Mick looked around the parking lot. It was empty except for Tony’s antiquated Ford Telstar. “Is your partner following Leng?”
Tony nodded. “He has a white shirt like me. He is expecting you.”
Mick unhooked his telephone and threw it onto his car seat. He clasped Tony Chen around the shoulders. “Thanks, pal. You wait here, and I’ll see what Leng’s up to.”
Tony sighed and tugged at his armpits.
“She said that?” Hank Lin’s boss C.Y. Lu exclaimed. He looked down at the sheet of paper delivered by Hank’s secretary and rested his phone against his shoulder.
The typewritten sheet read, “Today taught America a lesson. Taiwan and China are eager partners. Their new, warm relationship will achieve unprecedented harmony across the Taiwan Strait. It will change all aspects of political, cultural and commercial life. By the new millennium, Taiwan and China will have a joint government, with reduced weapons and a Chinese Chamber of Commerce in Taiwan.”
“Let’s get AIT to verify this statement,” he said.
“No need. I heard her say it in front of the Joint Chambers of Commerce at the Grand Hotel.”
“Hmm. I will need to bring this up with the foreign minister.”
“Of course. But we need to put out the story at once. We can’t miss the evening news cycle.”
“Fine. It’s okay to release the text as is. Just don’t embellish or interpret it. Let the news organizations do their own evaluation.”
“I’ll have it on the wire in five minutes,” Hank said.
C.Y. hung up the phone and stared out his window. He knew a hungry reporter when he saw one. He also knew that Hank was as reliable as Taiwan’s reporters came.
It amused him to anticipate the reaction on the street to the quote. This would be a busy day for the foreign news desks. But he’d also have to carefully monitor his party’s reaction.