A Certain Smile

by Judith Michael

  "But the police are on our payroll."

  "Not this time. They're under orders from the International Maritime Bureau."

  "The International.. . How did they . . . ?" But Sheng understood. Someone had tipped off the Maritime Bureau. Which meant that, aside from the murders, which made him queasy, he also had to face the fact that he no longer knew whom to trust in Beihai. Yesterday he had been sure that the mayor and the chief of police, handsomely paid, would provide help in unloading pirated ships in the harbor, and space in a shed on the beach where the ships could be repainted and sold for a profit. Now he could not be sure who was making the highest payoffs to whom. "And our men?" he asked.

  "You mean the amateur pirates you hired? Still on board. The police won't let them off."

  "And the sugar?"

  "There was no time to unload it."

  Sheng let out his breath, almost gasping. Terrible. Terrible. Worse than anything he had imagined. Murder was bad enough, but on top of it the partnership had lost two million dollars' worth of sugar. They had already paid the pirates half their fee for ambushing the Ana Lia as soon as she was in international waters, safely away from the plantation in Vietnam; they had paid the Beihai mayor and police chief their monthly fee; they had buyers waiting.

  Meng Enli's beeper went off. "A call from Pan Chao," he said. "I'll be in my office. When I come back you will have thought of a plan,

  which means, I would think, that you go to Beihai and settle things so this does not happen again."

  Alone, Sheng closed the door and switched on his desk lamp. He turned on the CD player on a shelf behind the desk and inserted a disc. He loved American jazz and country and western; they helped him relax more than anything else, including sex, since sex, like business, was a barometer of performance and endurance, and he could never let his mind wander from either one.

  Listening to Loretta Lynn's seductive twang, he sat upright, hands folded on the edge of the desk, eyes closed. A plan. But what plan could get around the International Maritime Bureau? WTiat plan could reinstate him in the esteem of his partners? Meng Enli was the son of a director in the Department of International Trade, and, through his father, had a job in the department, shuffling papers in the import/export division; Pan Chao was the son of a high-ranking mih-tary officer posted to the State Security Bureau, and he, too, had a job, basically a flunky with a desk and a title, through his father's influence. They were powerful men because their fathers were powerful, and Sheng needed their confidence, even their admiration, if he expected to triumph rather than merely survive, like his father and so many others.

  Well, then, a plan. Find someone to blame. Obviously, the people who were supposed to be working for them: the mayor of Beihai, the head of security, the Party member who was supposed to keep Sheng informed. And Fang Youcai, the chief of police. A smpid man and the greediest, thought Sheng. And as he thought that, he was sure that Youcai was the one.

  So here was his plan. Find the person who had betrayed them, probably Youcai, who had found someone to pay him even more than Sheng. Stupid, Sheng thought; did Youcai really believe that a policeman from a fishing village on the south coast of China could get away with betraying three sophisticated businessmen in Beijing? "Za zhong. Gou zai zi," he muttered. "Bastards. Mutts. They had a business arrangement with me. We knew where we stood. They have no honor."

  Well, he would take care of that. He would find Youcai and have him call the partners and confess. Then bribe the police to let them transfer the sugar from the boat to trucks, for shipment to the buyers waiting for it. If that did not work, the sugar probably was lost, but there were three more piracies planned for the next six weeks, and, with Youcai and everyone else cooperating, they would all be moneymakers, and the partners would be on track again.

  I'll have to hire more pirates, Sheng thought, and his heart sank at

  the thought of what a failure his first hiring experience had been. Well, not again. He would screen them more carefully, have someone keep their relatives as hostages, if necessary: whatever it took, he would not fail again. And with a new group of pirates, and his plan in place, his partners would once again see him as an equal.

  But ... go to Beihai! What a punishment, to have to go to that godforsaken place. A mudhole, a fishing village with no fine restaurants, no clubs or karaoke bars or cappuccino cafes, no women, not even a decent hotel. Sheng would have to stay in the mayor's house, suffer his company, sleep alone. But he had to go. His partners expected it.

  But he could not leave without telling his father. He was working with construction supervisors on buildings in Beijing and Shanghai, and they were about to break ground on a hotel in Hangzhou. He would have to tell his father he would be gone, and for how long. Which meant he had to find a reason.

  He riffled through file drawers and cartons, making notes on parcels of land in Guangdong Province that might be worth buying for later development. He would make this a legitimate business trip. His father would be proud of him.

  He was absorbed in writing when Meng Enli returned, opening the door without knocking. Sheng looked up, frowning, then thought better of it. "This morning I am going to Beihai," he said, forestalling questions, "and take care of everything. I am sure—" He stopped. "What is it?"

  Enh was leaning against the doorjamb. "Why is your father under surveillance?"

  Sheng stared at him. "Surveillance?"

  "For two days. You know nothing about this?"

  "Why would I know anything about it?'

  "You were talking to him yesterday, in front of one of your buildings; he was with an American woman. While you were talking, he became alert, as if you had warned him; since then he has looked to see who might be watching him."

  "I saw that he was being followed," Sheng said after a moment. "I don't know why. I suppose Pan Chao told you this? His department... the State Security Bureau ... does everyone there know about it?"

  "Who is the American woman?"

  "She's here on business. He was showing her the city."

  "He said."

  "She's a designer, working with garment manufacturers."

  "He said."

  "He doesn't lie!" Why am I defending him? Sheng wondered But

  it's true: he doesn't lie. I have never known him to tell anything but the truth.

  "Where is she staying?"

  "The Palace."

  Enli nodded, and Sheng realized that he had known that, obviously from Pan Chao at State Security. It had been a trap, then, to see if he were telling Enli the truth. Which meant whatever his father had done, or was suspected of doing, was already spilling over to Sheng. "Why is my father under surveillance?" he blurted out.

  "Why don't you ask him?"

  "He doesn't know! Ask Pan Chao!"

  Enli contemplated Sheng for a long moment. "They'll be calling him in, you know, to interrogate him. Now perhaps you will ask him why he is under surveillance."

  "I have. He doesn't know. Ask Pan Chao."

  As they were at a dead end, silence fell. Enli returned to his contemplation of Sheng. "Perhaps it is time for you to think about taking over the company," he said at last. "Your father is getting old; All-China Construction should be yours."

  Sheng's eyes widened. The words hummed in his ears.

  "We talked about this last year. Your father did well in beginning the company but now it needs young, dynamic leadership, which you could provide if you were independent of him. He keeps too close an eye on you. He does not treat you like a man. And now it seems he is in trouble, which places a new burden on the company, and who will end up bearing it? You, the new president, unless he leaves before his taint can spread."

  In the silence, with Enli's words humming and strumming into his very being, Sheng was startled by the double beep of his watch and Enli's. "Two o'clock," said Enli. "I'll be going. When will you be back from Beihai?"

  Sheng shifted his thoughts: the ship, sugar, the crew, murder. "I don't know. Two d
ays, probably."

  "We'll wait for your call." And he was gone.

  Sheng sat very still. His hands were folded on the desk and he saw the tremor that ran through them, a trembling just beneath the skin. He clenched them. Even alone, he would not let any weakness show.

  And it was weakness: to respond to a few words so strongly that his heart pounded and his hands trembled. Young, dynamic, independent, a man.

  Enli knew what to say; he knew the vital words.

  He keeps too close an eye on you.

  He did not say too much, or too little; he knew when to start and when to stop. He knew when to leave.

  You, the new president.

  But the beeping of his watch had, in a sense, awakened Sheng, and he understood just how carefully those words had been chosen, how shrewd was Enli's timing, how cunning the modulation of his voice: intimate, approving, helpful, conspiratorial.

  He knows me, Sheng thought. He knows how to ... what is it the Americans say? Push my buttons.

  As if I am his mechanical toy.

  No, he admires me. Respects me. He and Chao often tell me how quick I am, how clever, how sly. How well I know how to navigate in this new China.

  He swiveled his chair and put a new CD on the player, the volume turned low. Was it too late to call Wu Yi? He looked at his watch. Two-fifteen in the morning. She would not be amused. Well, then, he would think about business. He had plenty of problems to think about, to fill the time until he could call Li, and then leave for Beihai.

  He and Chao and Enli had been together for one year under the company name Dung Chan, making big plans. First had been the piracy, a great success, then the two nightclubs, soon to be successful, they were sure. And there were other plans: a factory to make Cuban cigars for young Chinese entrepreneurs who were always hungry for something new, a way to cut in on the McDonald's hamburger franchises springing up all over China, a scheme to provide protection for small businesses wanting to evade high taxes.

  But problems with the piracy sprang up. They needed a reUable place to store the pirated goods, and a way to transport them, in secret, to their customers. Chao thought of a way.

  "So simple," he said. "We'll use All-China Construction. Your father buys building materials from overseas and from all over China; often he returns or exchanges some of them; he even sells his own surplus to other companies. All these things are so legitimate they are boring, so we use your warehouse to receive the materials from the pirates and do the paperwork on them, then ship them out in All-China's trucks. Those trucks are back and forth all the time; it's no problem at all."

  But it was a problem, for Sheng. To his own surprise, he balked. "I don't think that will work."

  "Not work?" Chao echoed. "What does that mean?"

  "It would jeopardize the company."

  Enli's eyes narrowed. "You're worrying about your father."

  "No." But he knew that he was. He could not do this to Li. Why not? Since when was he worried about his father's feehngs, or reputation, or even his safety?

  He did not know. He only knew that he would not endanger his father, not even to please Chao and Enli.

  "Well, give it some thought," Chao said at last.

  And there they had left it. But Sheng knew that his partners were no longer sure that he was the one they wanted, as the partnership went into new businesses.

  He knew he had to come up with something to restore their confidence in him, and he brought them a complete plan. "We'll contract with factories to manufacture copies of American and European building components—windows, frames, doors, flooring, carpeting, plumbing fixtures, electrical parts—and sell them to contractors instead of the genuine ones."

  It was all displayed in graphs and charts. "Architects always specify high-quality, expensive building parts. At least foreign and joint-venture architects do, but they never check the deliveries. And what gets delivered will be our building components made in our own factory, with American and European labels on them. And we pocket the difference."

  His partners approved; they complimented him. "And what is best," Sheng went on happily, "is that all this hurts no one; not one building will collapse because of it; no one will die. Our products will wear out faster than the American or European ones would: carpeting will fray sooner, doors probably won't fit as well; windows won't close or open as securely. But none of this is dangerous. It is, however, very profitable."

  It was a moment of triumph, and it brought a smile to Sheng's face as he sat in his office, listening to the soothing sounds of Dolly Parton, and contemplating his future. Chao and Enli had congratulated him on his presentation and the three of them had gone to work arranging with other sons and daughters of military and government officials who owned small manufacturing plants to make the components. They detailed pricing; hired a printer for spec sheets, instructions, and brand-name labels; and found a manufacturer of cardboard cartons to copy those used for the American and European products.

  It was the kind of detail work that Sheng loved best, and it made him feel even closer to Chao and Enli. They were so different from his father! Men of action: ruthless, cunning, determined men who would exploit every opportunity to climb higher and higher: ultimately to rule China. There would be only two groups of people in China—in the

  whole world, Sheng concluded—those who held power and made things happen, and the powerless who, without even being aware of it, lived lives that were shaped and ordained by the leaders.

  There was no third group, no middle ground. So how could there be any doubt which he would choose?

  Sheng felt better now; everything was clear and simple; everything would be all right. He would handle Beihai and the pirates and the sugar. Wu Yi would greet him warmly when he returned. He would be president of All-China Construction.

  No, not yet; I don't know how to manage every —

  He crushed the thought. He could learn. He was smart and quick. He was his father's son.

  He tilted his chair and gazed at the ceiling, his thoughts drifting, waiting until it was time to call Li, to tell him he was going out of town. And precisely at seven-thirty in the morning, he sat up and dialed the number at the office. He would catch him just as he arrived. Unless he was wandering around someplace with that woman again. Taking risks. Putting all of them at risk.

  She's the reason he's being followed.

  Of course. What else could it be? Enli practically said as much, doubting everything about her.

  She 'II get him into trouble.

  Didn't Li know that? What was wrong with him? Where was his sense of responsibility?

  Of course he knows it. So of course he's not with her Too many risks, and, anyway, he knows I don't like her And he knows he's being watched. He wouldn 't dare see her again. He wouldn 't dare —

  His rage building, he listened to the telephone ring in his father's office.

  "Yuan Li's office," his secretary said.

  "Where is he?"

  "Who is this please?"

  "I expected him to be there!"

  "Oh, is this Yuan Sheng? I'm sorry, sir; I didn't recognize your voice."

  . Any secretary I hired would be a lot quicker, Sheng thought, or out she'd go. "I need to speak to Yuan Li. Immediately."

  "I'm sorry, sir, he isn't here. I expect him—"

  "Where is he?"

  "He hasn't come in yet. I expect him any minute. But he has a meeting on the bid for the new office complex, and after that—"

  "I can't wait that long; I have to go out of town. Tell him— " Sheng

  went through the story he had concocted; in fact, it was better than having to lie directly to his father. "And tell him I'll call tomorrow morning, just to check in."

  "Oh, I'm sorry, sir, he won't be here."

  "Again?" Sheng exploded. "I need to talk to him!"

  "He leaves tonight for Xi'an; he'll be there all day tomorrow. I don't expect him in the office until Monday. You can call him after ten o'clock
tonight at the Xi'an Garden Hotel; the number is ..."

  Sheng wrote it down, scowling. They had no projects in Xi'an. They had plans for an apartment complex not far from the museum of the terra-cotta warriors, but for now they were too stretched to move into another city. Perhaps his father had pushed that project forward. Or he was exploring another one before presenting it to their board of directors. But he would have told me, Sheng thought. He values my opinion.

  Suddenly he thought of the woman, and his father's face, looking at her just before Sheng came up to them. Different, somehow. Softer? More absorbed? Something like that. Something that made Sheng nervous.

  He's taking her to Xi 'an.

  What the devil was he up to? What was he plotting?

  It could be business: maybe she wanted to invest in All-China Construction, or start a joint venture with Yuan Li, or—

  The hell it's business. He hadn't looked at her like a business associate.

  He'd chosen sides. Chosen his American side, and he was using the woman to go to America, to defect. Leaving China. Leaving the company.

  Leaving me.

  He wouldn't dare, Sheng fumed. Wouldn't dare leave.

  But isn 't that what Enli was hinting ? That my father should go away and leave the company to me?

  "But I'd have to prepare for it," he muttered aloud. "And I'd be suspect, as the son of a defector. I'll bet he never thought of that. And why hasn't he told me his plans? Gao shi. Shit. The bastard doesn't tell me anything."

  It seemed to him that he had been angry at his father ever since the Cultural Revolution, when Li had been sent to Mianning like a common criminal. Sheng knew it wasn't Li's fault, but he felt abandoned, and thought that if Li had been more clever he could have stayed home and been a real father. From then on, even after Li returned, gaunt and frighteningly quiet, things had been harsh between them.

  And now, Sheng reflected, growing angrier, now that I'm becoming rich and important, he's messing me up again. Like a crazy man. Well, maybe he is.

  Unbidden, the image of the woman came to him again, looking straight at him with that silly American smile that pretended to be friendly, then looking away as he and his father talked and she was left out, since, of course, she could not understand a word they were saying. Stupid woman; why hadn't she learned Chinese before coming to China?