“That paper is worth a hundred million,” Richard Buckingham thundered into the telephone.
Rip had to hold the instrument away from his ear. The old man sounded like he was in the next room.
“Bloody Chinks! A hundred million!” Rich ripped off a couple oaths, but the volume was going down. “All the bloody lies they’ve told the last fifteen or twenty years, about how great it was going to be in Hong Kong when they took over … Makes me want to puke!”
“Yessir,” Rip agreed.
“And the bloody Brits.” Richard added them to his list. “Believing those lies …”
“Maybe it’s time to pack it in,” Rip said reluctantly, trying to get back to the business at hand. “Maybe in a few years the government here will see the benefits of a free press.”
“They don’t really have a choice,” Richard rumbled. “The world has outgrown censorship. But you’re right—we can’t buck the bastards head-on. Pay off the Post employees. Send me the names and qualifications of everyone who wants to work for another Buckingham paper and is willing to move. We’ll see what we can do.” There was a second of dead sound, then he added, “Move at their own expense, of course.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’d like to see you and Sue Lin. Come on home.”
“In a few weeks. We have to wrap up some things here.”
“Righto, mate.”
“And Dad? Thanks.”
“For what?”
“For seeing this my way.”
“See you in a few weeks.”
Richard Buckingham hung up the telephone and sat staring out the window at the artsy-fartsy roof of the Sydney Opera House. He called in Billy Kidd, who had been his number two since Richard was the publisher, editor, and sports writer of the Wangeroo Gazette.
“The Commies have shut down the Post in Hong Kong,” he began. After Richard told Billy what he knew, he added, “I want a story about the shutdown and I want it on the front page of every paper I own. Call Rip at home and have him write it. Use a file photo of him.”
“Righto.”
“Top of the front page, Billy.” Richard picked up a legal pad and pencil from his desk and handed it to Billy, who could take a hint. He began taking notes.
“Billy, someday those Commie bastards are going to regret screwing with me. Bad press is the only lever I have, and by God, I’m going to use it.”
Richard Buckingham got out of his chair and paced the office. “Put the one-baby story on the telly chat shows again. More Falun Gong persecution stories. Bang the drum every day. And I mean every day, Billy. A new, different, bad slant each and every day.”
“Whatever you want, Richard. But I don’t think that—”
“And I want something about those hundred million migrants roaming around China that the Commies are cracking down on. I’m tired of reading about these lawless vagrants threatening the economic prosperity of the new China. The corrupt, venal Communist regime is threatening the economic prosperity of the new China. They are prosecuting the harmless kooks in the Falun Gong movement, jailing people whose only crime is to want a little bit of life’s sweetness. Massive pollution, sweatshops, child labor—China’s the last big sewer left on earth, and that’s the way we’ll write it from now on. Fax it to the managing editor of every paper.”
Billy finished taking notes and asked sourly, “Anything else?” He had been with Richard Buckingham too long to cower.
“Communism is as dead as Lenin. The Buckingham newspapers and television networks are going to trumpet that news loud and clear. Find a politico to write it, somebody important or somebody who wants to be important.”
“You—”
“And why does the free world tolerate the crimes against humanity that the Chinese government perpetrates on those who can’t defend themselves? Maybe an article, ‘Tiananmen Square Revisited.’ ”
Billy scribbled furiously. “You’re the boss,” he said.
“You’re damn right I am,” Richard roared. “Those bloody Chinks didn’t like the coverage they got from the China Post—they’re going to shit when they see the press they’re getting from now on. When anybody anywhere says anything bad about Red China, I want to read it in the papers and hear about it on the telly news shows. From this day forward Buckingham News is the world’s foremost voice urging the overthrow of the Communists in Beijing.”
Rich punched the air and sat down. “You and I are going to do at least one good thing before we go, Billy-boy,” he said conversationally.
Billy Kidd launched himself from Richard’s office. Billy knew that when Richard was on a tear you didn’t get many openings, so he bolted at the first one he saw.
An hour later Richard called Billy on the intercom. “Don’t we own a big piece of a direct TV company in Hong Kong?”
“That’s right. China Television, Limited. Very profitable.”
“Sell it as fast as you can. Maybe a competitor will buy it. Get what you can and let’s move on.”
“Richard, I know you’re angry, but China Television is worth serious money. Satellite television is here now; China is on its way to becoming the largest market on earth. Those little dishes are selling like Viagra.”
Richard Buckingham’s answer was matter-of-fact. “I’m going to piss on a lot of Commies, Billy. I don’t want something of mine hanging out where they can cut it off, throw it in the dirt, and stomp on it. Get rid of China Television—we’ll take the loss out of their hides.”
Billy refused to quit. “No one will pay what it’s worth,” he insisted.
Richard was patient. “Billy, with the Communists in power, nothing in China is worth real money. That’s the lesson the Americans and British and Japanese are going to learn the hard way.”
A man was waiting on the street when Jake stepped out of the hotel. He was standing under an overhang to stay out of the rain. As Jake walked along the sidewalk with Callie’s umbrella, the man got into a car that had been parked in the taxi space in front of the building.
Jake ignored the tail. He was acutely aware of the Chan tape in his pocket. For some reason he was relieved that he had ditched the wallet and pistol he had taken from the man who had followed him yesterday.
As he entered the ferry terminal, the car outside pulled to the curb, and two men got out of the rear seat.
Jake saw them board the Star of the West just before the gangplank came over. The second man aboard had a bandage on his head; this was the fellow whom Jake had relieved of wallet and pistol. He boarded on the lower deck. The other man came to the upper deck, where Jake was, but he stayed well away from the American.
Exiting the Central District ferry terminal, Jake hailed the only taxi he saw. He didn’t bother checking to see what the men following him did.
When Jake entered Cole’s office, Cole came around his desk and shook hands. “We have a choice,” he said. “We can have lunch served here, go to the cafeteria, or slip down the street to a restaurant with wine and all the trimmings. What will it be?”
“Here, if that’s okay with you?”
“Here it is. Have a seat and let me talk to the secretary.”
In a few minutes Cole was back. He sat in one of the black leather guest chairs beside Jake.
“I guess I should have leveled with you last night,” Jake said. “I’m here on official business. A lot of Washington bigwigs are getting nervous about the situation in Hong Kong. More to the point, they are getting nervous about China Bob Chan and your relationship to him. They managed to talk the White House into sending me over here to talk to you, see what I can find out, and report back.”
A look of puzzlement crossed Cole’s face. “Why you?”
“Someone found out that we flew together way back when, the politicians are embarrassed about China Bob, I was getting on a four-star’s nerves at the Pentagon, someone with some stroke at the National Security Council thinks I can work miracles. It all happened at once, so here I am.”
“Uh
-huh.”
“When this trip got suggested, I initially said no. Then Callie was asked to do the culture conference, sort of as a cover … .” He shrugged.
“Ask your questions.”
“Are you or your friends having me followed around town?”
“You’re being followed?”
“Two men followed me here this morning. Presumably they’re outside somewhere, waiting for me to come out.”
Cole looked genuinely surprised. “Jake, I have no idea.”
“I guess it all boils down to this: Are you or are you not a member of a conspiracy to overthrow the government of China?”
Cole whistled. “Jesus! You flew all the way over here from Washington to ask me that question?”
Jake Grafton scratched his head. “Well, I think the folks in Washington expected me to be a bit more circumspect, but, essentially, yeah. If the answer to that question is no, the next question is, Have you ever given advice or anything of value to anyone whose goal is the overthrow of the government of China?”
Cole pinched his nose, looked at Grafton, and grinned. The grin started slowly and spread. Jake knew he didn’t grin often.
Finally Cole broke into a laugh. He was still chuckling when the secretary came in with a tray. On the tray were two bowls of soup, several sandwiches, and a couple cans of Coke. Tiger Cole’s face returned to its normal detached expression. As the man left the room the consul general muttered, “I always serve American drinks to guests. Today is Coke day. Tomorrow is Pepsi.”
Cole tasted the soup. “You are a rare piece of work, Grafton. When they taught you to go straight for a target way back when, you learned the lesson well.”
Jake tried the soup himself. It was something Chinese, a watery vegetable, okay but nothing to write home about. No crackers in sight. He popped the can of Coke and took a sip. At least the drink was cold.
Cole pointed his spoon at Jake, then decided to use the spoon on the soup. Once a chuckle escaped him.
They ate in silence. Finally Cole finished soup and sandwich and leaned back in his chair to sip on the soft drink.
“Do you know how ironic this is, that of all the people on this planet, you, Jake Grafton, are the one who comes flying out of my past to ask about my future.”
“I haven’t asked about the future,” Jake shot back. “It’s the present the weenies in Washington are worried about.”
“Ah, yes. The present.”
Cole walked around the desk and stood at the window looking out. He couldn’t see much, merely a gloomy forest of skyscrapers with glass sides on a dreary, rainy day.
“This warm front is supposed to get out of here tonight,” he said. “The next three or four days will be bright and sunny.”
“Uh-huh.” Grafton finished his Coke and set the empty can on the tray along with the dirty dishes.
Cole returned to the desk, sat in his regular chair, folded his arms on the desk, and looked Jake Grafton in the eye. “Some ground rules. We’ll play this game my way or not at all.”
Grafton adjusted his position in his chair. “What are the rules?”
“I’ll answer your questions completely, frankly, truthfully, but you can’t tell a living soul for one week.”
Jake thought about that. “The problem,” he said after a bit, “is that you are in the diplomatic service of the United States. If a private citizen wants to saddle up and ride off to a revolution, that’s between him and whoever is running the universe this week. If a diplomat does it, that’s a different case altogether.”
“A point well taken,” Cole said. “I gave this some thought while we ate. Let’s do this: If you will agree to the conditions I stated, complete silence for a week, I’ll write out a letter of resignation, leave the date blank, and give it to you. You fill in the date anytime you wish and see that the people in Washington get it—no sooner than a week from today.”
Now it was Jake Grafton’s turn to go to the window and look out. “Why don’t you just tell me some lie to get me out of your hair?”
“Ooh boy, that’s rich! Coming from you. When they asked you way back when whether or not you had ever bombed an unauthorized target, what did you say?”
“I said yes.”
“Indeed you did. You were the rarest of rarities, a truly honest man. Sorry, but I don’t have it in me to lie to Jake Grafton.”
“Listen, Tiger. I can’t stay silent for a week. Not if you tell me you’re up to something you shouldn’t be up to.”
Cole cocked his head and looked at Jake with an odd expression. “What should I be up to?”
“Don’t give me that!”
“Do you know what these Communists are? Do you know what they represent?”
Jake Grafton leaned across the desk toward Tiger Cole. “If the government of the United States told me to pull the trigger,” he whispered hoarsely, “I’d be willing to personally send every Communist in the world straight to hell. But as long as I’m in the United States Navy I don’t have the luxury of choosing that course of action without orders. Neither do you when you’re representing the United States of America. Write out that resignation and date it today. I’ll send it in for you.”
Cole leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes.
After a bit he asked, “When are you going to send it in?”
Grafton threw up his hands. “I don’t know!”
Cole spun around to the PC that sat on a stand near the desk, turned it on, put stationery in the printer tray, and started typing. Three minutes later a letter rolled off the printer. Cole read it through, signed it, then handed it to Grafton.
Jake took his time reading the letter, then folded it carefully. “Got an envelope?”
Cole got one from a drawer and handed it across the desk.
Jake put the letter in the envelope, then stowed it in an inside breast pocket of his sports coat.
“Any more questions?” Cole said.
“Want to tell me why?”
Cole leaned back in his chair and stretched. He looked out the window at the slabs of skyscraper glass while he collected his thoughts, then turned his attention back to Grafton.
“I should have died that December day in 1972 when I was lying in the jungle muck in Laos with a broken back. Would have died, too, if I had been flying with an average mortal man. But no! As fate would have it I was flying with Jake Grafton, the warrior incarnate. Jake Grafton wasn’t leaving that jungle without me—it was both of us or neither of us. So he fought and we both lived. I can close my eyes and remember it like it was yesterday. That moment was the most important of my life.”
Cole turned toward the window and the gloomy, rainy day. “And I remember the day I became a millionaire,” he continued, speaking softly. “We did an initial public offering. I went from owing thirty-three thousand dollars in student loans and two thousand on an old Chevy to a net worth of twenty-three million bucks just like that!” He snapped his fingers, turned back toward Jake, and snapped them again.
“One day in September three years ago I became a billionaire. The tech stocks were going up like a rocket, the valuations were … but you know all that. You see, we designed software for complex data networks and wireless telephone systems and burglar alarms and car security systems and toys that talk … magic technoshit. Stuff. In a world full of stuff, we were the kings of the new magic stuff. The world beat a path to our door.
“So there I was, filthy rich, able to buy anything on the planet … and none of it meant pee-squat. My boy died of dope, and I got the hell out. That was where I was when I was asked to help overthrow the Communists.”
Tiger Cole leaned forward in the chair. “I’ve been in Hong Kong two years and gave a hundred million or so to the revolution, and the value of my stock holdings has just kept climbing. I’m worth two billion dollars, Jake. Two billion! I’ve squandered my life on bad marriages to stupid women. Wasted it, and the system gave me two. .. billion … dollars.”
Cole spread his
hands, as if that explained everything. Obviously he thought it did.
“Who asked you to help overthrow the Communists?” Jake Grafton said.
“Ahh …” A trace of a smile appeared on Cole’s face. “You already know or you wouldn’t have asked.”
Jake Grafton stood, went to the door of the office, and pulled it open several inches. He looked back at Cole, still sitting behind the desk. “Some dreams are bigger than others,” he said.
Cole nodded.
“The sandwich was okay. The soup’s terrible.”
Jake Grafton pulled the door completely open and walked out of the office.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Rip Buckingham was on a squash court batting balls against the wall when Tiger Cole arrived at the athletic club. “I heard the governor shut down the paper,” Cole said after he closed the door to the court.
“Yep. I spent a couple of nights in the can.”
“You’ve been begging for it for years.”
“Already I feel cleaner, closer to God. I’m going to try to get arrested more often, work up to once or twice a month.”
They played hard for twenty minutes, then returned to the dressing room. They were the only men in the shower. As the water ran, Rip told Cole, “The rain is supposed to stop tonight. Wu says tomorrow is our day.”
“Okay.”
“Kerry is counting on your help with the computers.”
“I can’t guarantee anything. We need another week to verify our methodology.”
“We don’t have a week.”
“I didn’t think he’d wait.”
“Hard to believe the time has come.”
Cole just nodded. He thought, life’s transitions always come at the worst possible time.
“How about the governor? What is he saying to Beijing?” Rip knew that Cole had had the CIA bug City Hall.
“He doesn’t have a clue,” Cole said. “If the Chinese government knows what’s going down, they haven’t told him or Tang.”
“I’d like to bring Sue Lin and her mom to the consulate,” Rip muttered, barely loud enough for Cole to hear above the sound of running water.
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