The Plot

by Irving Wallace

  Liang had come half out of his seat. “But that is absurd, if I may say so. Whatever gave you such a fantastic suspicion? The People’s Republic of China trades with private industry throughout the world, and pays its bills, and honors its agreements. No nation has a better record, and you know it, Mr. von Goerlitz.”

  “You are speaking of the past,” said Willi, “and I am speaking of the future.”

  Marshal Chen had pushed Liang back into his chair. Now he faced Willi. “You, sir, are also speaking insultingly of our honor. Unless, of course, you are joking in a manner I do not understand?”

  “I have never been more serious,” said Willi doggedly. “We are eager to construct and maintain the Nuclear Peace City for you, but not in Honan and not anywhere else in China. We will proceed to deal with you, but only if the site is so located as to give us better control of our share of the investment.”

  Marshal Chen’s face had hardened. “Your behavior, Mr. von Goerlitz, is unbelievable.”

  “My behavior,” said Willi, “is as believable as certain facts that have just been brought to my attention about China’s future plans concerning foreign investors.”

  “What plans?” demanded Marshal Chen. “And brought to your attention by whom?” His eyes darted to Earnshaw, then returned to Willi. “By capitalistic imperialists who conspire to destroy the People’s Government of China?”

  Willi looked helplessly at Earnshaw, but Earnshaw was sitting erect now, knowing the time had come, and he addressed himself to Marshal Chen. “The information was brought to our attention by your own people. The evidence was irrefutable that it is you, in concert with other Communist aggressors, who are the conspirators, conspiring to destroy, ultimately, foreign investors from abroad who have dealt with you in good faith.”

  “I was not speaking to you, Mr. Earnshaw, ,, said Marshal Chen harshly. “We know your record. I was speaking to Mr. von Goerlitz.”

  “And I was speaking for Mr. von Goerlitz,” said Earnshaw.

  Marshal Chen disregarded him. He turned to Willi once more. “I can forgive you, with your inexperience, for allowing yourself to be manipulated by others who are our enemies,” said Marshal Chen. “But I cannot forgive your disloyalty to your parent. Your father, before his stroke, had complete faith in our honor as we had faith in his honor.”

  “My father had no opportunity to become acquainted with the facts,” interrupted Willi.

  “Ch’i yo tsi li!” Marshal Chen exploded. Then, regretting his oath, he recovered his poise. “What facts?” he demanded.

  Willi began to reply, faltered, and paused.

  “I—I prefer that Mr. Earnshaw speak for me now,” he said.

  Marshal Chen’s gaze shifted to Earnshaw. “What facts?” he repeated.

  “I’ll be only too pleased to tell you, if you’ll permit me,” said Earnshaw calmly. “According to our information, you planned to have the Goerlitz Industriebau construct this nuclear factory complex and city, and to have them staff it, as per contract, with their German Operations Manager and his expert maintenance crew of engineers and physicists. But, according to our information, once the nuclear power plant was started up, you planned to nationalize the plant and factories, confiscate them, cancel your debt, throw out the German staff and replace it with equally experienced Soviet Russian scientists and—”

  “A lie!” Liang shouted.

  Marshal Chen remained imperturbable. “More than a lie, comrade,” he said quietly to Liang. “A typical American Wall Street slander and smear of truth.”

  “If it is a slander,” said Earnshaw evenly, “it is not American, but your own. The sources for this truth were the wives of two of your Chinese delegates, who happened to be indiscreet in a public place.”

  “Wives? Where are these wives? I do not believe your fable from such a source,” said Marshal Chen. “You are troublemakers, you Americans. You are warmongers breeding dissension among friends and allies for your own greedy ends. You are also fools. Surely, you could have been more clever, concocted a more logical fable. To what end would we ever dream of such a dishonorable plan?”

  Earnshaw remained unflustered. “Simple. You get a rare and costly nuclear reactor for nothing. Then you convert it from peace production to plutonium production to increase your nuclear arsenal.”

  Marshal Chen’s head swiveled toward Willi von Goerlitz. “I cannot listen to your friend further,” he said. “He speaks like a child. Mr. von Goerlitz, you have read the contract. You have obtained the approval of the International Atomic Energy Agency in Vienna to sell us the uranium fuel with the condition that we permit regular on-site inspections by IAEA representatives. They would see that our facilities are not converted to military use. Your father was satisfied with that protection.”

  “Well—” said Willi, bewildered.

  Earnshaw touched Willi’s shoulder. “Let me answer, my son.” He stared across the table. “I’m afraid you’ll have to listen to me, Marshal. Your agreement to on-site inspections doesn’t mean a damn thing, nor does the paper it is printed on, if you and your Russian collaborators gang up and refuse to admit the inspectors into China or Honan.”

  “You are not only fanciful, Mr. Earnshaw, but you insult the intelligence of every person in this room,” said Marshal Chen. “Why are we treating for world disarmament and peace at the Summit? To convince Goerlitz Industriebau to build us a plant so that we can nationalize it and make more bombs? To wage war with these bombs in partnership with the Russians, to whom we have not spoken in years, not since Khrushchev followed Tito in betraying Marxist ideals, to whom we speak now in Paris only to prevent imperialists from leading us all into a suicidal global war?”

  Earnshaw removed a cigar from his breast pocket, considered it, and suddenly pointed it at Marshal Chen. “Very well, Marshal,” he said. “If we are misinformed, if your intentions are indeed honorable, then you won’t mind making the change in the contract that Mr. von Goerlitz has advocated.”

  “What change? Tien ah! What is this change?”

  “Revision of the clause stating that the Nuclear Peace City must be built inside China. We are proposing a substitute clause that will safeguard the Goerlitz investment. We are prepared to hand you a list of cooperative neutral nations outside the Communist orbit, nations like Sweden, Switzerland, Bolivia, possibly even Hunza, Chile, Kenya, and we will ask you to select one such neutral nation as the site for your Nuclear Peace City. We will arrange with that neutral nation to accept your Government and Goerlitz Industriebau as foreign investors in their country. This is done, in many forms, throughout the world. You will have your nuclear reactor, your steel mills, your city peopled by your nationals,, and you will receive the peaceful products of this, industrial complex. Goerlitz Industriebau, in turn, will have its safeguard. This is complicated, but it can be worked out. Those are Mr. von Goerlitz’s terms. If your intentions are good, as I have said, you will accept these terms. If you refuse the compromise, then we are forced to regard the disturbing information we have received as entirely credible.”

  Marshal Chen tilted back in his chair, staring with hatred at Earnshaw. At last, his chair banged down and he sat straight. “I apologize to you for one miscalculation I have made, Mr. Earnshaw. You are not stupid. You are diabolically clever. You are an agent provocateur, an inciter, a pawn of the CIA sent to foment ill-feeling among allies in business and political affairs. You are one of the fanatical anti-Communist breed who would eradicate those who threaten capitalist wealth and those who desire bread and peace for the underprivileged. You are one of the racists who despise all those who are colored, be they black or yellow. You are one of the white devils who have spread their poison far and wide. You have infected many, temporarily, and many of these are in high places. You have managed to lead even the Russian Premier by the nose, coming between the Russians and ourselves, encouraging our disagreements. But I promise you, Mr. Earnshaw, you and your bankers shall not win. The Russian Premier and his people will
see through your machinations one day, and know who their real friends are, and who their real enemies are, too. And now, now you have captured the ear of young Mr. von Goerlitz, your Faust, but I promise you that in the end he, also, shall know who his real friends are, and in the end he will turn away from you.”

  There was a silence as Willi von Goerlitz helped Schlager gather together their papers and return them to the briefcase.

  Marshal Chen watched, and then he spoke again. “This is your last word, Mr. von Goerlitz? The word your American collaborator has given us?”

  “Yes,” said Willi. “Mr. Earnshaw has spoken for my father and myself. I think our proposal is eminently fair. It cannot hamper you, and it can protect us from harm. I do hope you will permit reason to overcome passion, and that you will accept the contract with the one clause revised. If you agree to do so, we shall make immediate arrangements to go ahead together. It is up to you.”

  Marshal Chen came to his feet. “If it were up to me,” he said angrily, “you would have my reply this instant. Unfortunately, it is not up to me. The final decision is up to Chairman Kuo Shu-tung. You shall have his verdict to cancel or not to cancel by next week.”

  “We shall await his reply,” said Willi von Goerlitz.

  “How ma—good day, gentlemen,” Marshal Chen snapped, and with that he turned on his heel and left the room.

  Five minutes later, Earnshaw, Willi von Goerlitz, and Schlager had departed from the Chinese Embassy and settled themselves in the security of the waiting Rolls-Royce.

  Not until the car rolled out of the Chinese Embassy courtyard did they abandon dignity to boisterous self-congratulations.

  “We’ve won!” Schlager chortled. “The minute he didn’t give us a flat no, mentioned going to Chairman Kuo, I knew we’d won. There will be a lot of shilly-shallying back and forth, but in the end we shall have our contract, I predict, and on our safe terms—your terms, Mr. Earnshaw—yours. You were brilliant, the way you handled Marshal Chen with such outspoken authority.”

  Willi enthusiastically nodded his agreement. “We would have been lost without you, Mr. Earnshaw. Whether we obtain the contract or not, you have saved us from a catastrophe, and, as well, you have let the Chinese know whom they are dealing with. Best of all, you have afforded them a face-saving device to let them revive our negotiations. We owe it to you. If it were in my hands, I would know how to thank you, but the attorneys have taken away the memoirs.

  According to my father’s old instructions, they are not truly in my hands, or anyone’s hands, until my father recovers sufficiently to communicate his wishes. The moment he does recover, I promise you, he will know what you have done for him, and for our family. When he is able to comprehend what you have done, I honestly feel he will repay you in the best way he can.”

  Earnshaw smiled, and sank wearily back in the car seat.

  Until this moment of the afternoon, he had entirely forgotten that his reputation lay in old Goerlitz’s hands and in the final disposition of the chapter about him in the ailing German’s memoirs. He had forgotten, in his single-minded dedication to besting the Chinese; but now (indirectly) Willi had reminded him of the literary sword over his head.

  What had Willi just said? Yes. The attorneys have taken away the memoirs. According to my father’s old instructions, they are not truly in my hands or anyone’s hands until my father recovers sufficiently to communicate his wishes. The feeble promise offered small consolation. The wait might be a long and discouraging one. And when Dr. Dietrich von Goerlitz did recover, the stroke might leave him in such a condition that he would be indifferent to the debt he owed Earnshaw and interested only in releasing his memoirs, his last testament, as originally written. Or worse, the attorneys might insist on proceeding with publication of the memoirs immediately and as they had been written.

  Yet, somehow, right now, assessing his own position, Earnshaw relegated what old Goerlitz owed him to petty debts. It seemed of little consequence, this radiant afternoon, considering the enormous gain he had reaped this important day.

  Pleased, he brought a light to his cigar and puffed contentedly. For suddenly, he realized that what pleased him most was not the way he had handled Marshal Chen, but that, during the crucial meeting and exchange, he had not once wished for Simon Madlock’s help. How proud Isabel would have been to know this, he thought.

  He enjoyed the sweet cigar. The new brand was an improvement, he decided, and he would have to try more of the same.

  JUST AS HE HAD PROMISED Lisa and himself hours earlier, Matt Brennan had gone to the Hotel Lancaster to call upon Earnshaw and seek his assistance in trying to save Medora Hart. He had waited in the lobby for Earnshaw and there had been joined by Jay Doyle, who had to see the former President about the next day’s column. After a short time, Earnshaw had returned, and together the three had gone up to his suite.

  During the entire past week Brennan had not seen Earnshaw so exuberant and confident. This transformation of a tentative and tired old bovine into a self-assured and lively lion had been remarkable. Like the ancient institutions of Paris, he seemed to have undergone a ravalement de façade, and as a result his real character had begun to show forth.

  Before Brennan had been able to bring up the matter of Medora, and before Doyle had been able to remind his employer of the daily column yet to be written, Earnshaw had launched into a detailed recounting of the engagement with Marshal Chen at the Chinese Embassy. Pacing tirelessly, waving his cold cigar to emphasize points, Earnshaw had gone on without a stop for ten or fifteen minutes.

  After Earnshaw had finished, and while Doyle and Brennan were still profusely congratulating him, Brennan’s mind was puzzling over both the mention of the presence of Ma Ming at the meeting and one other remark that the former President had made. Brennan thought about it as Earnshaw poured marc de Savoie in the liqueur glasses for the three of them. Brennan came forward in his chair.

  “One thing, Mr. Earnshaw—” Brennan began.

  “Emmett’s my name, Matt,” the former President called back cheerfully. “We’ve been too close these last few days to stand on formality.” Handing out the silver-thin glasses of liqueur, he added, “We’re friends.”

  “Thank you, Emmett,” Brennan said. “There was one thing you mentioned when telling us about the conversation with Marshal Chen. I wonder if I heard you correctly.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The part where Marshal Chen accused you and all Americans of propagandizing Communist nations, trying to generate ill-feeling among Communist allies so that you could split them and weaken them.”

  “Just what he said.” Earnshaw sat down with his drink. “Called us white devils.”

  “Right. I believe you then quoted him as saying something to the effect that the democracies had even corrupted certain Communist leaders with their propaganda, leaders like Russian Premier Talansky; that you were partially responsible for promoting the ill-feeling that has existed between China and Russia.”

  “His words,” said Earnshaw.

  “And if I remember correctly, you quoted Marshal Chen as saying China would overcome our propaganda yet, that—”

  Earnshaw raised his hand. “Here’s just what Chen said, Matt. He said that the Russian people and their leader would see through us yet and come to know who were their real friends and their real enemies.”

  “Exactly what I thought I heard,” said Brennan. He looked inquiringly at Earnshaw and Doyle. “Don’t you see the significance of what Marshal Chen was saying? I’m sure it’s something he’d never have let slip if he hadn’t been so damn angry.”

  “The significance?” Earnshaw repeated blankly.

  “Yes,” persisted Brennan. “You know how steadily I’ve been telling both of you about the little hints and rumors I keep picking up. By now, my ear is attuned to them. And inadvertently Marshal Chen added one more to back up my theory that while Red China and Soviet Russia continue to air their feud in public, they are privat
ely performing as friends and allies. Hell, Emmett, you went into the Chinese Embassy to tell them you know China intends to kick out their German staff one day and take in the Russians. Now you come out of the Embassy with the information that Chen himself warned you, in a moment of fury, that the Russians would soon know, or do already know, who their real friends are—not us, not the democracies, but the Chinese Communists.”

  Earnshaw slapped his knee. “By God, you’re right!”

  Pulling up his belt, Doyle said, “Of course, Chen’s remark or threat or whatever it was meant to be, may have just been wishful thinking, not to be taken literally.”

  “No,” said Earnshaw quickly. “Not the way he said it. I believe Matt has something there, although I’m not sure where it leads us to.”

  “Maybe right up to the Summit,” Brennan said. He could see that Doyle was restless, and he quickly added, “Well, there’s nothing we can do about it, at least for now. But anyway, I’m beholden to you, Emmett, for another piece of research.”

  Earnshaw stood up. “You’re beholden to me for nothing, young man.” He went to the tray of drinks to fill a goblet with Evian water. “I’m the one who’s beholden. No matter what happens with old Goerlitz, and it looks like nothing much will, I owe you a good deal, Matt. And I mean to make it up to you, possibly tonight. There’s a big soiree, or whatever you call it, a big one this evening at some kind of Paris hotel—”

  “It’s not really a hotel, even though it’s called Hotel de Lauzun,” said Doyle. “It’s a tremendous seventeenth-century mansion on the Île St.-Louis. The French use it as a sort of town house, for formal receptions the city of Paris gives for important visitors.”