by Allan Topol
“Can you go yourself ?”
“I could. Obviously, money’s not the issue, and I’m not beholden to any bureaucrats, but I wouldn’t be able to accomplish a damn thing. I’ll need governmental authorization to see the Singapore banker. Winning the race in Stresa won’t do the trick. I’m stuck.”
Her eyes were closed. He guessed she was deep in thought. Craig didn’t want to interrupt her. Meantime, he was thinking about Zhou Yun. Craig was glad the Chinese industrialist was involved. Craig was now convinced that Zhou Yun, and not his brother, had been responsible for the death of Francesca, Craig’s daughter. It was Zhou Yun who had been in Calgary meeting with Canadian oil companies. But his brother was in Beijing at the time of Francesca’s death. Zhou Yun must have given the order to murder the nosey reporter. Now Zhou Yun had given the order for Federico’s murder. And would Alberto be next?
Craig decided he had to come out of hiding. He couldn’t let this evil man continue.
Elizabeth opened her eyes and said, “I have an idea for you. Use your relationship with Betty Richards. She’s still the CIA director. Fly to Washington and have her authorize your trip as a US representative.”
“You think there’s enough United States interest?”
“I know there is. What happens in Europe and Italy always affects the United States. You just told me about the threat to NATO. Besides, they’re paranoid about China in Washington. Lots of Americans fear it’s only a matter of time until China overtakes the United States as the world’s dominant superpower. Or at least pulls even. China’s advance into Europe would feed that paranoia. Anything that would slow down China’s march toward dominance would gain the approval of those people.”
“I’m convinced. I love your idea. I’ll fly to Washington tomorrow.”
She smiled and said, “I hope you don’t take an early plane.”
He moved his hand beneath the table, reached under her skirt, and stroked her thigh. It was warm and soft. “I remember that Air France had a flight around four in the afternoon.”
“They still do. It leaves at 4:25.”
“Sounds perfect.”
Craig paid the bill and they left the restaurant. Walking the six blocks back to the Bristol where he was staying, along the Rue St. Honore, they had their arms around each other, like a couple of young lovers. Alone in the elevator, on the way to the sixth floor, he pulled her close and kissed her. Her arms were tight around his back.
In the corridor, she whispered, “Oh Craig, I’ve missed you so much.”
“And I’ve wanted you.”
Once they were in the room, Craig kicked the door shut. He held her tight, kissing her passionately. She was clutching him. They were both on fire after twenty-one months apart. She pulled away. “Oh Craig. Oh Craig.”
He ran his hand over her arm, gently caressing her skin. Then the back of her neck. He unzipped her dress and let it slip to the floor.
She was wearing a gorgeous and sensuous yellow silk bra and bikini panties. He remembered buying them for her in Corsica.
As he ran his fingers over her back, she undid his belt and unzipped his pants.
Craig unsnapped her bra and caressed her breasts. He lowered his hand down and took each of the nipples into his mouth—first one; then the other. He reached into her silk panties, to her moist folds of skin. As he touched her, she moaned, “Oh Craig, that feels so good.”
His erect prick was poking out through his shorts. She slipped them down and wrapped her hand around it.
“To bed,” she said with urgency. “To bed.”
She stretched out on her back and he entered her, while giving her a long, deep kiss. When he pulled his head away, their fused bodies moved together. Faster and then faster.
Being inside of her felt wonderful. Fabulous.
He could sense she was on the verge of climax and he held back, waiting for her. When she cried out in ecstasy, he exploded with her.
Moments later, he rolled off and she snuggled in his arms. “I’m so happy,” she said. “So happy.”
“You can’t believe how much I missed you.”
They woke up at eight, made love again, and had room service bring breakfast.
“Don’t you have to go to work today?” he asked.
“Not until you leave for the airport.”
It was a gorgeous summer day. A time for lovers in the city of love. They walked through the Tuileries holding hands. They crossed the Pont Neuf to the left bank. Then walked along Boulevard St. Germain. They ate mussels, washed down by Meursault, at a small bistro near St. Sulpice.
She checked her watch. “You better get going.”
They took a cab back to the Bristol where he stuffed his clothes into his wheelie suitcase.
At the front door, they kissed one more time before he climbed into the cab to the airport.
Beijing
Zhou had received a call from McKnight, still in Turin, following the Hong Kong banker’s meeting with Alberto Goldoni. “I’m sorry,” he had said. “I wasn’t able to reach an agreement for the investment you wanted.” An angry Zhou cursing under his breath ordered McKnight to fly directly to Beijing. “Don’t even stop in Hong Kong. We have to discuss next steps.”
Their meeting had been set for ten in the morning, but at that time Zhou was in his private gym adjacent to his office pedaling on a stationary bike. Following Zhou’s instructions, his secretary led McKnight into the exercise room.
By forcing McKnight to stand in front of him to conduct their conversation while he pedaled, Zhou wanted to humiliate McKnight.
“You’re a failure,” Zhou shouted at McKnight. “I give you one simple job to do, and you can’t do it.”
McKnight stood up straight and stared at Zhou.
“Goldoni’s not willing to sell. He promised his grandfather on his deathbed that he’d keep the bank stock in the family.”
“I don’t care about Goldoni’s grandfather. How much did you offer?”
“Sixteen billion.”
“I told you to offer 20.”
“There was no point going any higher,” he said defiantly. “Goldoni made it clear that money wasn’t the issue.”
“Did you let him know if he didn’t sell, he’d end up like Federico?”
“I made a reference to Federico.”
Zhou stopped pedaling and stared hard at McKnight. “You made a reference,” he said contemptuously.
“That’s right.”
“You’re a fool. You should have done more than make a reference. Goldoni has to understand he’ll be dead if he doesn’t sell.”
“I thought that would be too much for our first meeting. I left him enough to think about.”
“Humph. I want you to go back to Turin, meet with Goldoni, go up to 20 billion, and make it clear what will happen to him if he doesn’t sell. Do you understand?”
“I doubt if it will work.”
“Do it anyhow. And I’ll give you an incentive to close this with Goldoni. If you don’t, you’ll lose your position as CEO of Victoria bank and I’ll make sure that you’re criminally charged with illegal currency transfer and thrown into a Chinese jail.”
Zhou paused for a moment to let his words sink in. McKnight’s usually ruddy face had turned ashen. “Now I think you understand what’s at stake.”
“I understand.”
“Good. Get out of here. I want you to go back to Italy and get the job done. And to help you, I’m sending Qing Li, one of my people, with you. Talk to my secretary. She’ll handle the flight arrangements for both of you.”
Ten minutes after McKnight staggered out, Zhou’s secretary called to say, “Arrangements have been made for Mr. McKnight and Qing to fly to Turin. Also, the United States Secretary of the Treasury, Winston Tyler, just arrived for his meeting with you.”
“Fix him coffee. Tell him I’m in a meeting. I’ll be there shortly.”
Zhou was wondering why Tyler had wanted this meeting on short notice. He hadn’t bee
n willing to disclose a topic. He said it was better if they spoke in person.
That was fine with Zhou. He had something he wished to extract from Tyler at the meeting. Zhou finished his hour on the bike, showered, dressed, and went back to his office.
The heavyset American with a shock of gray hair and wire frame glasses, dressed in a three piece navy suit, was seated in the secretary’s suite, dozing.
“Ah, Winston,” Zhou said in a booming voice.
Tyler woke up with a start and sprang to his feet looking embarrassed. He straightened the gold chain running across his vest. “Long flight,” he said. “I can never sleep on them. The plane was late so I came here right from the airport.”
“I understand. Come in to my office. Would you like some coffee?”
“No thanks. I’ve had quite a bit.”
When they were seated at the conference table, Zhou said, “You were very mysterious about the reason for this meeting. What do you have in mind?”
Tyler coughed and cleared his throat. “The United States has a large quantity of bonds maturing on August 1st.”
“I’m aware of that. It’s 3.3 trillion dollars worth, to be precise. The Chinese government owns 65 percent of those bonds.”
“We plan to roll the maturing bonds over with new issues totaling the same face amount.”
“I anticipated that. You’ve made no strides in reducing your deficit. So you have to continue borrowing to keep your government operating.”
Zhou loved goading Tyler, who looked annoyed but didn’t respond to the barb. Instead, he said, “I wanted you to know about our plans. I was hoping to obtain a commitment from you that China would roll over its holdings, investing the amounts coming due in the new issues.”
“If we didn’t,” Zhou said, “your government would be in big trouble. We’re by far your largest creditor. If we took the cash from the maturing issues and didn’t invest in the new ones, you couldn’t pay your bills.”
“We’d find another purchaser,” Tyler said. His words had a hollow ring.
“Perhaps, but only at a much higher rate of interest, which would damage your economy. You may act as if you’re in control of your financial destiny, but we both know you’re not. So let’s not play games.”
For a moment, Tyler looked flustered. Then he recovered. In a bold tone, he responded, “The leverage you believe you have is meaningless. Our two economies are so interwoven. I’m sure you read the book I wrote on the subject when I was still a professor at Princeton. If you damage our economy, it will boomerang back to yours. I don’t have to remind you that the United States is far and away the largest consumer of goods manufactured in Chinese plants, which employ millions. If our economy suffers, your factories will have to lay off people, and you will face massive unrest. So for better or for worse, our economies are joined together.”
“The difference is we could manage unrest caused by economic decline. You could not,” Zhou said confidently.
“You mean with tanks in the streets again. We still remember what happened in Tiananmen Square.”
“And we have gone on from there to a massive economic surge, while your economy has barely expanded. It’s only a matter of time until we pass you in GDP.”
Tyler coughed and cleared his throat again. “This isn’t the kind of talk we should have among friends. Let’s return to the purpose of my visit. I would like your commitment to invest in the new issue at the same level of your maturing bonds. It’s in both of our economic self-interest.”
Zhou was ready to use his leverage on Tyler who was here as a bond salesman. “On two conditions. First, your new issue must primarily be short term. We fear inflation and increased interest rates and do not want the value of our investment eroded.”
Tyler hesitated for a second, and then said, “I can live with that. Most of the bonds will be five years or less. What’s your second condition?”
“You may have heard about investments in three banks in Italy by foreign banks.”
“Yes. The ones in Milan, Bologna, and Verona.”
“Precisely. And there maybe others as well. I want you to make certain your government does not intervene or work with the EU to stop these purchases. Rather, you will let the free market take its course.”
Tyler looked bewildered. “Are you behind these purchases?”
When Zhou didn’t immediately respond, Tyler answered his own question. “Of course you are. Or you wouldn’t have raised the issue. But these matters are outside my jurisdiction as treasury secretary. I’m not the president or the secretary of state, and I can’t control them. If they decide to become involved, then—”
Angrily, Zhou pounded his fist on the table. “If you want the People’s Republic of China to purchase your bonds on August 1st, then you had better make certain that the US government does not intervene in Italy. Am I making myself clear?”
Zhou was bluffing. He was well aware of the damage that would be done to China’s economy and resultant civil unrest in the country if the American economy were to go into a tailspin. The consequences for China would be devastating. Zhou could never let it happen, but Tyler didn’t know that. Zhou stared hard at Tyler to reinforce the bluff. He wasn’t sure how Tyler would respond.
The American tapped his fingers on the table. “You have to understand how our government works. These are issues of foreign policy, and I only deal with—”
“Are you telling me, Professor, that you never meet with the president or the secretary of state?”
“Yes, but,” Tyler sputtered.
“Then talk to them. Persuade them.”
Tyler puckered up his lips. For a full minute he didn’t respond. He’s weak, Zhou decided from Tyler’s anguished expression. This man is a university professor. He doesn’t belong in a powerful position as treasury secretary.
“I’m not sure,” Tyler finally said, “they’ll listen to me.”
“Then I’ll give you an incentive to make them listen.”
“What’s that?”
“If you don’t persuade them to listen, and your government intervenes in Italy, China will not buy your bonds.”
Tyler looked pale. “I’ll do my best to keep them from intervening in Italy.”
“Doing your best is not enough. You must succeed. Otherwise you can find another customer for your bonds.”
Washington
Craig met Betty in her CIA director’s office on the seventh floor of the agency’s Langley complex. The office Craig had occupied for a few short weeks, twenty-one months ago.
When he signed in at the reception desk as Enrico Marino and showed his ID. George Thomas, the broad-chested African American with whom Craig frequently discussed the Nationals, didn’t bat an eye. Craig had avoided saying anything for fear George would recognize his voice.
“Someone will escort you to the director’s office, Mr. Marino,” he said.
Craig nodded. He followed his escort along the corridor to the elevator and then to the director’s office.
Betty was waiting for him at the entrance to the suite. With her secretary watching, and listening, she said, “Well, well, it’s Enrico Marino. The famous race car driver.”
Again, he nodded.
She led him into her office and closed the door. She was shaking her head and smiling as they sat on a sofa and chair in the sitting area in one corner.
“Listen Craig,” Betty said, “I understand you had a good dinner in Paris with Elizabeth.”
Craig was flabbergasted. “You already heard from her.”
“To use one of your favorite expressions, the sisterhood at work. I like Elizabeth.”
“I like her, too! What else did she tell you we did together?”
“She didn’t. I can only imagine. What brings you to Washington?”
“I’m surprised Elizabeth didn’t tell you that, too.”
“Not a word. I’m anxious to hear.”
“I need your help in saving Italy.”
Craig felt as if he had dropped a live grenade into Betty’s lap. Her expression was grim.
“I didn’t know that Italy was in danger.”
“Well it is.”
“That’s what I like about you, Craig. You never deal with the normal small issues I’m used to facing, like a terrorist planning to hijack an airplane or blow up an embassy, or the Russians spying on our embassy in Moscow. With you, it’s always whole countries at risk.”
“Actually, if we don’t do something, other countries in Europe could be as well.”
“Okay. I’m ready to listen. Start at the beginning and take it slow. After twenty-one months in this job and forty-four trips to the Hill to testify before congressional committees, my brain neurons are beginning to calcify.”
“They don’t calcify. They just stop reproducing.”
“Thanks for pointing that out. It makes me feel much better.”
Craig talked for almost an hour about Federico’s murder, Italian bank takeovers, and Chinese involvement in Parelli’s campaign. At the end he said, “I know Zhou is heavily involved in the bank takeovers. I suspect he may be supporting Parelli.”
“But you don’t have any evidence of that.”
“Correct. However, based on Elizabeth seeing a Chinese man in Parelli’s suite in Venice, there is some Chinese involvement.”
“He could have been delivering carryout for all you know.”
“No delivery man ends up in the boss’s bedroom.”
She sighed.
God, she seems to be tired, he thought. The job must be getting to her.
“What would you like me to do?” she asked.
“You sent me to Argentina as your special representative. Now I’d like you to send me to Singapore—as your personal representative, in order to compel Lin Yu, a Singapore banker, to tell me who was behind his investment in the bank in Milan and who was responsible for Federico’s murder.”
“And you don’t have any personal motives here. Do you? You’re not hoping Lin Yu points the finger at your old enemy Zhou Yun so you can nail Zhou for Federico’s murder and gain revenge for Francesca’s death and for disrupting your life.”