by Fritz Galt
“Look what’s at stake. Not Taiwan. Taiwan is a tiny island. All of China hangs in the balance. If Taiwan’s model of democracy fails, we’ll set back the struggle for democracy in Asia another century. China might stay red forever.”
Natalie sipped her coffee to block out the conversation and allow a nagging thought to come to the fore. Ah, yes.
She stepped up. “I agree with Bill.” Everybody turned to her with surprise, including Bill. “But there’s more.”
She looked at the ring of curious faces and then confronted Bronson, who had a particularly skeptical look.
“This can be our opportunity to track down the real culprits. You think the Chinese government is behind this invasion.”
“Which it is.”
“And as you know, I disagree. Here’s my idea. And Bill, you’ll appreciate the subterfuge. We’ve got the transaction documents, right Bronson? They may be the key to all the money, but at the very least they are evidence of the general’s involvement. We can wave the money and documents under everyone’s noses and see who tries to snatch it back. Then we’ll learn, on no uncertain terms, who started all this.”
Bill was grinning. “My, you are devious.”
“But why risk losing the money and evidence just to make a point?” Bronson said. “We’re lucky if we can save Taiwan’s butt in all this.”
“If we find out China isn’t behind all this, we won’t declare war on them.”
“Sugar, they’re gonna invade anyway. They’ve announced it. They’ve got their troops ready. Who cares who’s behind it? We’ll have to declare war eventually just to defend this sorry place.”
Natalie heaved a sigh. He’d never change. “Well at least we would have solved our little dispute.”
Gabe faced Bronson, his nervous eyelid quivering uncontrollably. “Sir, it’s a small chance. But there isn’t much else we can do from here to defuse the situation.”
Bronson hesitated, then wagged his head. He strolled past the service line and grabbed the chain link fence.
Finally, he turned back to the group, and snarled, “Well, what’s in those goddamned documents anyway?”
Chapter 35
Eli set the metal briefcase down on Stephanie’s desk in the consulate. His fingers jittered as he flipped open the dual latches.
She smiled at him and leaned forward eagerly.
“Like money?” he asked, and lifted an eyebrow.
“Just open it.”
He lifted the lid.
Inside was no cash. But there were financial documents with enough digits to make Mao Zedong blush.
Eli dropped into a chair.
$300,000,000 had been transferred from a HongkongBank account to over twenty Chinese accounts. The printout recording the transfer was attached to a personal letter of authorization from one General Li of Taipei, ROC.
“General Li,” he said. “You’ve been a very bad boy.”
As he sifted through the stack of papers, Eli grew lightheaded. The pages bore specific account numbers, along with the bank names, account holders and access codes. With the simple click of a computer button, three hundred million dollars could end up sitting on Stephanie’s desk.
But the money wasn’t the important thing.
The banks were scattered all over China. Three accounts were in the name of PRC negotiator Leng Shi-mung. According to the information, he was also president of the PLA-owned Global Services Group.
“Bingo. Hand me the phone.”
He dialed Harvey Talbot’s office.
“Harv, it’s Eli. I called Taipei and DC, but I need to talk to you specifically. We intercepted the transaction before it went through, thanks to your tip.”
“You should take the credit.”
“And Harv, we confiscated the actual evidence. I opened the briefcase just now and guess what? We’ve got everything. We have General Li’s authorization, records of transfers, bank accounts, access codes, everything. Now the ball’s back in your court. It turns out that your friend Johnny Ouyang was doing business with good old Leng Shi-mung, the negotiator for China’s cross-strait commission. And get this, Leng is in charge of the Chinese military-owned Global Services Group, which owns Johnny’s brokerage firm. If Leng shows up in Hong Kong, nab him. Personally, I have a few questions I’d like to put to him.”
“Slow down,” Harvey said. “We only want the money.”
“Huh? Don’t you want proof to show how the Chinese government provoked the invasion?”
“I just got off the phone with Bronson Nichols. He says the only thing that’s important now is to get the money back.”
Eli stood up clutching the key to the twenty different accounts containing all the general’s money. “I’ve got the access codes, but how’s that going to stop the invasion?”
“You’ve already done that. You’ve intercepted all the evidence that could be used to blackmail the general. Taiwan won’t invite in the Chinese army.”
“But we’ve got to nail the Chinese. They had this whole thing plotted out.”
“The only important thing now is the money,” Harvey said. “All Bronson needs is the access codes.”
The line clicked dead.
“Damn chiselers.” Eli slammed the phone down.
He tossed the stack of papers back into the briefcase. “Taiwan is destroyed, armies are poised to fight over it and all Taipei wants is the dough.”
Stephanie smiled. “We’re invited to lunch by Pete Cavanaugh. He’s our consul general. You can bring it up with him.”
“You bet I will.” He grabbed the briefcase with the evidence that incriminated both Taiwan’s general and the Chinese. “I’ll show him this.”
He put the briefcase under his arm and followed her up a rounded staircase to a private dining room on the third floor.
Pete Cavanaugh was a pleasant, slim, athletic-looking man who knew nothing about the circumstances of Eli’s visit. Nor did he show any interest.
From the first turn of the conversation, Eli gathered that the dapper man’s primary focus was on trade. The consul general had fought tooth and nail to open up the Shanghai market to American goods and services.
“Now the floodgates are open,” Pete said. “Hilton and Sheraton are here to stay. The New Pudong Area across the river is already filling up with new skyscrapers, apartment buildings and warehouses, all for foreign businesses. Shanghai is quickly regaining a prominent role on the world stage.”
They ate a sizzling hot grouper in sweet and sour sauce. The courses of green vegetables and clams and the lion’s head soup flooded Eli’s senses. For a moment, he could even forget the urgency of his mission.
Halfway through lunch, they heard a soft knock on the door.
“Sir, I’m sorry to interrupt your lunch.” A nervous young man stepped in.
“Not at all. Come in. This is Percy Gu, in Commerce.”
The small Chinese-American nodded at them.
“The stock market is going berserk this morning. Some rumors of foreign investors in the A Share market.”
“That would certainly raise demand,” Pete said.
“This morning alone, Kuang Hua Petrochemical gained thirty-five percent based on pure speculation. The Shanghai Class A share index now stands at 850 points.”
“Gracious,” Pete said. “Either the government stepped in, or some outsider pumped in money.”
“There are rumors of foreigners taking advantage of the low prices. If they have, they’re now thirty-five percent richer.”
“And one hundred percent closer to jail. Thank you, Percy.”
Eli looked at the metal briefcase at his feet. In four hours’ time, the money in those accounts would have increased by over one hundred million dollars.
“Mr. Cavanaugh,” he said when Percy had left. “I believe we have a partial explanation for all of this.”
He recounted his and Stephanie’s role in stopping the stock transaction. “The confusing thing is that the price went up any
way. And not a dime changed hands.”
“Someone wanted to see the stock market jump no matter what,” Stephanie said.
“For the profit?” the consul general asked.
Eli was not so sure. “Perhaps not. Judging from the story Mick Pierce gave me, this might have some harmful affects on Taiwan.”
“Taiwan? What does this have to do with Taiwan?”
Eli stood up to leave. “This has been a fascinating conversation and a delicious meal, but I have to send out a red alert.”
Pete Cavanaugh and Stephanie stood over Eli as he waited for the phone to connect.
“Bronson,” he said. “This is Eli Shaw in Shanghai.”
“Eli!” The connection was weak, but the voice was strong. “Sending us the money?”
“There’s a new wrinkle.” Eli launched into news of the surge in Shanghai’s stock prices.
“What’s that got to do with the price of tea?”
“The market reacted even though there was no transaction. The spike might lead people to believe that the transaction had gone through. It would send a green light to Beijing to invade.”
“That explains the ultimatum.”
“What ultimatum?”
“The Chinese already issued the ultimatum this morning. I told General Li that there’s no evidence of China supporting the market to increase the value of the general’s shares. But now it appears there is.”
“Only appears, sir. It’s an erroneous assumption. I’ve got the papers in my hot little hands.”
“What do you mean papers? I thought there was money.”
“No, sir. Just account numbers and access codes.”
“Well, I’ll explain the situation to the general. In the meantime, I need you to get me the evidence, complete with account numbers and access codes.”
“With all due respect, isn’t that a bit risky? It’s safe here at the consulate. If this information ends up in the wrong hands, the Chinese will have all the evidence they need to put the screws to your general.”
“That’s why I need the money. I want to buy the general. Here’s the bottom line: he’ll get his money, we’ll destroy all the evidence and issue him a visa, and he’ll enjoy luaus on Maui for the rest of his life.”
The sight of Eli vigorously shaking his head must not have transmitted over the phone. “I’ve got the key to three hundred million dollars here. Should I send it by diplomatic pouch?”
“That takes too long.”
“Okay. I’ll fax it.”
“Won’t work. We need the actual evidence to convince him.”
“It includes his authorization letter.”
“Bring it, along with everything else you have.”
What a hard-ass. “You want me to hand-carry it out of China?”
“You’ve got diplomatic immunity.”
“With all due respect, you and I both know that the Chinese don’t give a rat’s ass about diplomatic immunity.”
“In any case, it’s your job. Bring it out. Now let me talk to Cavanaugh.”
Eli relinquished the phone to the dapper consul general.
Stephanie led him gently out of the room.
Maybe he should be coaching his sons’ Little League game, instead of shouldering the burdens of the world.
President Charles Damon swiveled back and forth in his office chair. Normal business of the day seemed overshadowed by the specter of nuclear weapons flying across the Formosa Strait.
At last he called Vic Padesco into the Oval Office.
“What have we learned so far? It’s been over twelve hours and I haven’t heard squat.”
“We’ve landed boots on Taiwan.”
“I know all that. I want to know what the CIA has found out.”
Vic shrugged with frustration.
Beyond him, Charles caught a glimpse of CNN Financial News wrapping up the day on Wall Street. The top story, however, was not the Dow Jones closing figures. Instead, they broadcast from a Chinese city where a reporter stood in a raincoat with wind whipping his face.
“While Chinese troops and ships gather just south of here on the eastern seaboard,” the man reported, “China’s largest stock market is going through the ceiling.”
Charles frowned. “Is this related to the illegal investments?”
Vic raised an eyebrow.
“Damn it,” Charles said. “Why isn’t anybody talking to me? Our boys have only twelve hours left to come up with the verdict on China before I declare war.”
“Sir, perhaps a strongly worded message…”
“I gave a strongly worded message to the world this morning at the press conference. Plus, we’ve sent in a carrier battle group.”
“They’re two days away. If the Chinese launch now, their troops could reach the island in six hours.”
“We have long-range missiles.”
“That isn’t the same thing. We’re talking about a Chinese flotilla of thousands of sea craft. Look at all the signals the Chinese have to read. They’re all positive. Taiwan’s calling for their help. The U.S. apparently relinquished defensive protection of the island. The Shanghai stock market is taking off. It’s a great day for China.”
“Sorry to rain on their parade.”
“If you want a military message, maybe a few well-placed missiles across the bow might stop them.”
He considered it for a moment.
“Get Park Bunker on the horn.”
Mick patted the cassette tape in his shirt pocket. Rocky Ouyang’s recorded words were a staggering confession of his brother having caused the earthquake.
Outside the radio station, he heard only static coming from his car radio. He checked the dial. The radio was tuned to the right station, but even to Mick it was hard to believe that Rocky’s unrelenting torrent of words had finally been stopped.
“Did you hear what Rocky said on the radio?” he asked the scientist, who followed him out the building.
“I heard your voices on the radio, so I went in,” Morisot said somewhat defensively.
Morisot didn’t understand Chinese. He must have detected fear in Mick’s voice and come to his rescue.
Before sitting down, Mick leaned into the back seat to check the radiophone. It was warm.
“Were you using this?”
Morisot squeezed into the passenger seat. “I couldn’t get it to operate.”
How did Morisot even get himself dressed in the morning?
Mick dropped into the driver’s seat and looked at the scientist, who stared away evasively.
“Before we go anywhere,” Mick said, “tell me exactly why you went into the radio station.”
“It sounded like you were in trouble.”
“I didn’t need that much help. I didn’t need two key suspects killed.”
Morisot shrugged and said nothing.
Mick started up the car and drove in silence to the brink of Yang Ming Mountain. In the middle of the road, an old man sat weeping beside a fallen electrical pole. Then Mick saw why. A woman’s inert body lay trapped beneath. The man held her face in his hands and convulsed like a child.
Ahead, a mud slide had knocked over a row of houses and carried the road down the face of the mountain.
Mick turned off the engine.
A stout, post-typhoon breeze had scattered the clouds and created a clear view of the city.
He sucked in his breath.
From the skeleton of the Grand Hotel’s burnt-out hulk across the cardinal grid of streets, past the supports of bridges that had washed away in the flooded Tamsui River, to the blackened ridges of Wuko smoldering against the Taiwan Strait, he began to perceive the extent of the damage.
Trails of white smoke drifted from scores of city blocks that had finally burnt themselves out. Floodwaters eddied in the major streets.
Towering office buildings had caved in or leaned against each other for support. Like a symbol of the ruined city, the monolithic fifty-story office building by the West Gate had lost sev
eral floors of its concrete crown.
Residential neighborhoods had fared even worse than the modern office buildings. Walls had peeled off apartment blocks like someone pulling dollhouses apart. Old wooden structures lay in charred ruins. Colorful piles of bodies were stacked in the streets.
He shook his head. The misery couldn’t have been worse. The damage could only have been deliberate.
He glanced at Morisot sitting silently beside him. How could he remain so calm?
Mick was gritting his teeth. A single bullet was too kind a fate for Rocky Ouyang.
If he ever came face-to-face with Johnny Ouyang or any other perpetrators of the holocaust, he would rip them to pieces.
Then a cold river flooded his veins.
Was Natalie dead, too?
Suddenly, he wasn’t avenging the death of thousands. He was pleading for the life of one.
He was pitiful. He was mush.
Could he face killers eye-to-eye and pull the trigger? Or would he fall on his knees and beg for mercy?
He found that he was looking at his reflection in Dr. Morisot’s glasses. And he didn’t like what he saw.
But beyond the scientist was a ruined city.
When all else failed, he had a job to do.
“Before we start walking…” he began.
“Walking?”
“You heard me.”
He reached behind him and punched in the only phone number he knew he could reach.
“Wei? General Li?” he said in Chinese.
“Who’s this?” came the voice of a busy man.
“I talked to you before,” he continued in Chinese. “I’m calling on behalf of Nan-an.”
There was an abrupt pause. “Let me talk to the old man. I need to hear his voice.”
“I’m transporting him to the Adventist Hospital. You can see him there. In the meantime, he needs to check on the status of things.”
There were several more seconds of silence. He watched Morisot step out of the car.
“They’re blackmailing me,” the distraught voice crackled in his ear.