by Mary Moylum
“And lot of people will get hurt. It could even touch you, Grace. No, I’ve worked long and hard to make sure that our community has people all the way to the top.”
“What do you mean?”
“Not all the money I contributed was mine. Someone asked me to make a campaign donation on their behalf.”
“Who?”
“Excuse me, my dear, the less you know the better.”
“Why didn’t this person make the contribution himself? He could have gotten a hefty tax credit for a political donation. Why?”
He brushed off her question with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Grace, that’s not why I asked to see you.”
A young, blond waiter appeared and Wa Sing gave the order for two Singapore slings.
“I’ll have a Sambucca straight up instead,” said Grace to the waiter before returning her attention to the old man.
“It’s only a matter of time before the rift between the U.S. and China is healed. Then China will join the World Trade Organization — and that’s the outcome we want.”
“Who’s we?”
“Grace, please don’t interrupt me when I’m speaking. Listen, please. The Prime Minister’s trade mission to China is important. It sends the right signals to the right players.” He fixed his pale, old eyes on her. “Grace, your mother’s country has 1.2 billion people, a hundred million unemployed. It’s an impending disaster. Cities all across China have already eliminated 190,000 state jobs. Job creation is a priority for some very powerful people in those cities.”
“Those are staggering numbers. Finding jobs for a million people is already an insurmountable task, let alone a hundred million,” said Grace.
“I’m glad you see my point. Massive unemployment in China concerns everyone because China is now one of the biggest players on the world stage. That’s why I’m here. To ask for one small favour.”
The waiter set down a tall glass adorned with fruit and paper parasols, and a shot glass of clear liquid. Mechanically, Grace put out a hand and wrapped her fingers around the shotglass. Deep down in her stomach, she already knew what he wanted.
“I’m so very glad you’re taking Sun’s case. He is one of us. He is of our background. And he’s now a millionaire who can make a difference in his mother country. I feel that with his money, skills and connections, he’s one of the few Chinese who can alter the course of Chinese history to bring us success in the twenty-first century.”
She didn’t respond. She knocked the Sambucca straight back, savouring the sensation as it went down her throat.
Wa Sing continued, “Sun Sui has not always been a credit to our community. As the black sheep, he brought shame to his parents when they discovered that he had only two interests — dating girls and making movies. But this dabbling in nightclubs and entertainers won’t go on forever. He’ll settle down and become what he is capable of being: a serious and established businessman. You know, the Suis are very well connected.”
It was a horrible feeling to be manipulated. Still, she asked, “Well connected? How? With the Chinese government?”
“Yes.”
“But how can the government be his ally and the agent of his persecution at the same time? That affects his asylum claim.”
“Tell me what he wrote in his asylum claim.”
“I can’t do that. I took an oath when I assumed public office.”
Again he waved her words away, as if they were buzzing flies. “Grace, please listen. I’ll give you a little history lesson on our people. Sun’s father was purged as a rightist for speaking his mind in 1957. Then his family was purged again during the Cultural Revolution. I know from a mutual friend of ours that his father and first brother spent a good many years in the countryside cleaning latrines and tending pigs instead of working as engineers and scientists. Today, all those who were on the out are sitting pretty inside the Politburo because their technical skills were needed. But after Sun was arrested for his part in the democracy movement his father was pushed into retirement.”
“Other than that, his parents didn’t really suffer the effects of Sun’s participation at Tiananmen Square?”
“Yes, they did. The leadership wanted to strip the family of all privileges and to execute Sun. But then the regime changed hands and Deng Xiaoping took over.”
“If he’s rehabilitated, why can’t he return home?”
“Deng’s no longer in power and Sun, unlike his father, has bad-boy ways. The movie business in Hong Kong is the worst of Chinese culture.”
“You mean, he’s only interested in making kung fu movies and porno films?”
“Yes, his parents feel disgraced by that. Worse, his latest film was banned inside China because it was critical of the new leadership.”
“So it didn’t pass the Ministry of Culture and Censorship test. That’s just one ministry that dislikes him,” said Grace.
“That current minister of culture would like to sentence him to the gulag.”
“Then, please, explain to me how he can help his people in China if they perceive him as an enemy.”
“Because they need him. The new Chinese leadership think he’s highly connected to the Canadian government.”
“Ahh. I get it. He’s used his advisory role on the trade junkets to China to build a higher insider profile than he really has.”
“Something like that, Grace.”
She nodded as she turned her glass in the wet ring on the paper placemat. That was true, regimes around the world were no longer executing the well-educated and the well-connected from governments they had overthrown. In her own work, she had been turning down Amharic peoples in their refugee claims because the Tigreans who had wrested control of Ethiopia were no longer persecuting them. They needed the expertise of the Amharics to run the country.
“In other words, the regime would still do business with him?”
“Yes.”
“Then I suggest he drop his asylum claim!” said Grace, her voice rising.
“Lower your voice.” Wa Sing was suddenly icy. “I’m asking you to overlook certain anomalies in his asylum claim.”
Arms crossed, she said, “You know I can’t do that! That would be serious professional misconduct! I’d like to help you, but this is impossible. In fact, it’s inappropriate for me even to discuss the merits of his asylum claim with you.”
“Grace, listen to me. Since China took over Hong Kong, Sun has nowhere to flee…”
“What did he do to? Who did he piss off?”
“His wife’s family. They’re high ranking party members and they’re sick and tired of hearing stories of his infidelity. Not to mention, they’re not pleased about his movie business.”
“What can they do to him except push for divorce?”
“A lot. But that’s another story. Right now, Sun needs to get his Canadian citizenship. Remember he’s one of us and needs our help.”
But I’m not one of you, she almost said. But she couldn’t. It would sound very ungrateful considering how much he had helped her. She felt no allegiance to the citizens of the People’s Republic of China. And certainly none to those with a taint of criminality.
“Why not claim asylum in the U.S.?”
“You know it’s much tougher down there. It’s great to do business with them but that doesn’t mean they want us on their doorstep.”
She diverted the conversation. “What is your exact relationship with him?”
“I met him through friends last year when I was in Taipei. He approached me to come in on a joint venture to make serious money. How could I say no? I who have two wives, five daughters and eleven grandchildren. My estate must be sizeable when I die. Not to mention the need for money while I’m still alive.”
“What’s this partnership of yours?”
Wa Sing pulled out a glossy brochure and a stack of photographs from his jacket pocket.
“Real estate. Business is booming. Shanghai, the Paris of the East, is full of skyscrapers desi
gned by Canadian and American architectural firms. I can honestly say that I would be nothing without his Shanghai government contacts. And they love him because he brings a ton of business to the city.”
“But everything you’re telling me weakens his asylum claim. If he has such good government connections, then the very same government can’t be his agent of persecution.”
“In a bloated bureaucracy, it is both. You can have enemies and friends within the government.”
“Then surely his friends in high places can protect him,” she argued.
“Look at Russia. It’s a game of musical chairs,” the old man sighed.
“Tell me about your partnership.” Grace flipped through the colour photographs and slick brochure.
Wa Sing leaned across the table. “Listen, Grace. I need Sun. Right now, we have a three-way alliance between me as the front man, Sun with his money and connections, and a West German architectural firm to do the actual work. Without him, I would not be as successful as I am today.” He handed her another brochure.
She read it: Three hundred condominiums, a hotel complex with roller skating and ice rink, two swimming pools and a complete health spa facility. The ground level was occupied with a shopping arcade. The nineteen-hole golf course project sat on almost four hundred acres of prime land outside Shanghai.
“See here,” he said pulling out a photograph from the pile. “This will be a country club condominium project, worth close to six billion dollars. Think of how many thousands of jobs that creates. And the spin-off effects.”
Nice work if you can get it, thought Grace. She caught the bartender’s attention and pointed at her empty glass.
“Tell me, how did he make his first million? Was it honestly?”
With a brief laugh, the old man said, “Grace, no one gets rich honestly. If you want to know more, ask him yourself.”
Grace was starting to understand what it was all about. Sun Sui was playing the two governments, of Canada and China, off against each other, promising the politicians on both sides access to trade and wealth. Everything was going without a hitch until Nick’s colleague died, and Nick learned that the Flying Dragons used Sun Sui’s club as an operating base. That implicated him as the club’s owner in the Dragons’ smuggling of illegal aliens. Nick had lost the case to deport Sun, but he wouldn’t give up. Grace knew the man all too well. He would find another angle. He would find enough evidence and build a criminal case through the criminal justice system, and sooner or later he would win. There was more than one way to skin a cat.
She could see the hurt and anger in Wa Sing’s eyes. It suddenly struck her that neither of them really knew the other. They had known each other for years, but as stereotypes — she as the opinionated and rebellious second-generation woman, and Wa Sing as the hard-working immigrant who had made good in his adoptive country. Beyond that, what did she know? Nothing.
A long silence enveloped them. He tossed back his drink and reached into his jacket for a cigarette, then he spoke without looking at her, as if he was speaking more to himself.
“I know what you’re thinking, Grace. What you must understand is, our community is like any other community. We are not all heroes. You’ve been placed in a position where you can protect this man.” He looked at her darkly. “Sun Sui is of our community. And he can save China from becoming a country of sellers. Of old women sitting on streets selling their worldly possessions for a few yuan. What is the future of a country if everyone is selling and no one is buying? Just look at Russia today.”
“Sun Sui has committed crimes,” said Grace, thinking about Nick’s exclusion order and package of documents on Sun’s criminal activities.
“No, Grace, you don’t understand,” Wa Sing replied condescendingly. “The establishment wants to make a symbol out of him. He is no worse than the successful French or English businessmen of this country. Like any tragic Greek hero, he has built his success on virtues that are inseparable from his flaws. Yes, he has the ambition of half a dozen men. And yes, he behaved badly towards those entertainment girls in his Mandarin Club, took advantage of them sexually. But that’s our cultural flaw. We value sons above daughters. And remember, he brought those poor girls out of China, out of their rice-bowl poverty.”
For a moment Grace was speechless. Could he not guess her feelings about such behaviour? Finding her voice, she protested, “It’s more than that. He’s been linked to three murders. An immigration officer, a gang member, and an employee of his nightclub.”
Wa Sing made a dismissive gesture with his hands. “Those allegations are not true. How could I do business with such a person if they were true?”
How indeed? She searched his face for an answer, but found none.
His eyes narrowed as he looked at her, but his voice grew softer. “In any case, if one of our group does something wrong, do we immediately cast them out into the cold? No, like good Buddhists, we must stick together and help him find his way into the light.”
Tired and angry, she lashed out, “Don’t bring Buddhism into this. You used me, didn’t you? You deliberately introduced me to him that night at the Yung Kee reception, trying to win my sympathy for him, knowing if push came to shove and he needed to file a refugee claim, there would be a good chance for me to hear the case.”
“Grace, how could you think that? At that time I didn’t know he was in trouble with the immigration authorities.”
She heard the lie in his voice, and realized this wasn’t the first time. She wanted to think carefully of all he had told her. She rose to leave.
In the gravel parking lot, he said, “Grace, you’re like my daughter. What we spoke of just now, we won’t speak of again.”
“That’s for sure. I’m in a conflict of interest situation already.”
“Grant him asylum, Grace. Many people will be grateful to you. And others won’t care. There’s no need to waste taxpayers’ money by conducting a two-week hearing.”
How did he know that the case was scheduled to last two weeks? He knew all about the case and expected her to do as she was told. She had no one to blame but herself. Four years ago when she had accepted his help to get her appointment on the bench, she had made a pact with the devil. She was in a hell of a fine fix.
Wordlessly, Grace turned and walked toward her car. He walked beside her, silent too. She was angry, but her feelings were confused, and regret stabbed at her. She was sorry she had spoken so coldly to him. After all, his values were those of another country. And he had been a friend for too long. She stopped abruptly, and turned to him, thinking she would try to make peace with him.
Instead, he grabbed her roughly by the arm. “You’re like my daughter. I don’t want you to get hurt. I’m telling you now, Sun is a man who always gets what he wants.”
With that remark, he was gone. She watched his car moving out of the lot. Just beyond him, she caught sight of a man with a camera. He looked like everybody else, with his baseball cap backwards, and a moment before he had been taking a picture of the sailboats. But now he was taking a picture of the back of Wa Sing’s car. Or was he? The man turned and aimed his lens at the river again.
It was crazy to be suspicious of everybody. She got into her car and drove home.
It rained for much of the day. Nick sat in his office, watching the water pour down from the sky. In the middle of his desk was a salami sandwich and the Law Reporter. He held down the corner of the page with a bottle of mineral water. Once a week, he tried to keep up with the legal issues and how the courts were voting, particularly in immigration law. Verster’s win had not made it into this month’s issue. He hated to admit it, but yes, he felt the pinch of his self-imposed need to win. And right now, he was not winning. Philip Wong had sent him an e-mail that morning: no luck in tracking down that travel agent’s snakehead contact. Moreover, Verster had won the first and second round of their match. Most of the girls were released from detention, and were back at the Mandarin Club with their entertainmen
t acts. He listened to the street sounds through the open window. The weather matched his mood. The growing pile of files on his desk only made his mood lower. Trying to take his mind off Sun Sui, he sorted through crime scene reports on another case, and leafed through detention certificates of inadmissible aliens.
By two in the afternoon, he was making headway on a third of the files sitting on his desk. The phone on his desk buzzed. “What?” he shouted into the receiver.
“Nick, it’s Jon Keiler,” said his secretary. “Shall I put the call through?”
“Yeah, do that.”
“Hello, Nick. I hear you’ve been trying to reach me.” Jon Keiler was the immigration manager at the Canadian embassy in Hong Kong.
“Where the hell are you, Jon?”
“I’m on holiday.”
“Must be nice. When are you back at work?”
“Next week. It hasn’t been a great vacation. I dropped three grand to stay at this exclusive resort in Thailand, and it’s rained every day.”
“Jon, it’s been a long two weeks for me, too. Right now I have my own problems to deal with. I really don’t want to hear how disappointed you are in your vacation.”
“Sorry, Nick.”
Changing gears, Nick said, “I’ve sent you several e-mail messages concerning an application you processed a couple of years ago. The applicant’s name is Sun Sui. Look into it for me, will you?”
“I’ll look into it when I get into my office next week.”
“We’ll talk then.”
At the end of the day, Detective Kappolis called. “Bad news. Sun’s alibied up to the neck. Girls in and out all day and night when Gee Tung got whacked. They’ve all vouched for him.”
“How convenient.”
“Yeah. And we got diddly on his wiretap. Like he knows we’re listening in on his conversations.”
“What about his visitors’ list?” asked Nick.
“Mostly girls.”
“Maybe it’s a front. We should start getting their names and particulars.”