by Alan L. Moss
“It may not be,” Michael responded.
“Well,” Owen asked, “do you have any reason to believe the statement is not as accurate today as it was in nineteen ninety-nine?”
Michael poured water into a glass beside his notes and took a drink.
“I don’t know how accurate it was in 1999. We’ve never been able to get profit data for your cannery, so how could we know?”
Owen began to boil.
“Well, it was published in 1999 by your U.S. Department of Labor. I’m asking you now, as a representative of that same U.S. Department of Labor, if you have any reason to believe it to be less accurate than it was when your Department published it two years ago.”
“I don’t know.”
“Does that mean you don’t have a reason to think it’s any less accurate?” Owen asked, his voice cracking with emotion.
“I don’t know how accurate it was then and I don’t know how accurate it is now,” Michael repeated. “I see there’s no footnote as to the source used for that conclusion.”
Owen swallowed hard, shifted the papers in front of him, and asked for a ten minute break.
It was six fifteen and the gallery started to thin. Stephanie walked down to the floor of the Fono and approached Michael. Her blouse was unbuttoned at the top and she stooped down by his chair so Michael could get a clear view of her breasts. Looking up at him, she spoke softly.
“Hey, sailor, what did you do to tuna to get them so riled? Usually, these hearings are so bland within thirty minutes you have to leave or nap. If this excitement continues, I might stand out in the street and sell tickets.”
“Nice to see you, partner,” Michael said, feeling some fatigue. “How are we playing in the gallery?”
Stephanie stood close and whispered her reply, her lips almost touching Michael’s right ear.
“Well, first of all, it’s very difficult to figure out what Owen is trying to achieve. I haven’t heard anything that would change the way I view the situation. Then, there’s his manner. His nasty attitude, showing no respect — it’s not the Samoan Way. I think many in the gallery are embarrassed by his demeanor, even though for the most part they have to support the tuna cannery.”
The Congressman walked back from a brief stroll outside and Michael introduced him to Stephanie. They exchanged small talk and before long the Chairman returned. Pecura asked those present to settle down and Stephanie made her way back to the gallery.
The Economist (cont’d)
Once again, Pecura called on Owen to continue his questioning and once again he was prepared with new inquiries.
It neared seven o’clock and Michael was drained. He believed he had scored more points than Owen but knew Owen wasn’t finished. As long as Michael was the witness, the pressure would continue.
While Owen hammered away at a table in Michael’s report, Michael looked around the room at the tired faces of the Committee members. At least Owen’s questions forced Michael to stay alert. For the rest, the slow pace and the length of the day had taken their toll.
The gallery was reduced to about a dozen people. Stephanie looked half-asleep. Searching his mind for a pleasant thought, he wondered if they would be together again. He knew their affair was wrong but he found himself relying on her. In Samoa, she was his only ally.
With a crooked smile, Owen broke from his monotone with a new energy.
“Now, Mr. Bloom, I’m sure the Committee will be happy to know I am ready to conclude my examination.
“Mr. Chairman, members of the Special Industry Committee, some would say the omissions in Mr. Bloom’s report are small. However, those of us who have worked with this Territory for years are sounding an alarm. Don’t be fooled by this slick report and live to regret the destruction of the Samoan economy. Tomorrow, listen to all the witnesses who will contradict this Samoa Economic Report and base your decisions on the counsel of those who know Samoa best.
“Mr. Chairman, I am finished with Mr. Bloom.”
***
After a quiet dinner with Claire and the Redferds at Larry’s Restaurant, they returned to the Parrot and Porpoise. Michael climbed into bed and just as he was about to fall asleep heard a light tapping. He rolled out of bed and opened the door.
Stephanie moved into his room and dropped her lavalava, revealing her warm, shapely body. Without exchanging a word, they crawled into bed and embraced. She cradled his head in her arms as they slept.
They woke at seven in the morning, looking into each other’s eyes. Shaking her hair off her forehead, Stephanie whispered.
“I don’t know how you did that yesterday. I timed it and you were grilled for almost six hours. You never blew your cool and you never failed to provide an honest answer.”
“It helped to know you were in the gallery,” Michael said.
“Everyone at the table and in the gallery knew exactly what Owen was up to,” she said.
“But enough about the hearings. What impresses me most is how comfortable I feel with you. We make a terrific team, you and me. Why don't you come over here and make love to me. Get us through another day.”
“That might be arranged.”
CHAPTER 40
CALL WAITING
June 7, 2001
Ashburton, New Zealand
Gregory Ponsonby walked out of the conference room holding a cup of tea, continuing his act of confidence. He took a sip of the sweet Madura green and papaya to steady his nerves.
He briefed his Directors on the financial status of Health-Cell and Project Advance as they dubbed their dealings with George Partain. Without question, they were cutting it close. Three loan payments totaling over four million dollars were due on the fifteenth of June. The firm had no money to make those payments, but the stem cell cure kits were being prepared and the last report from George indicated everything was in position.
The problem Ponsonby didn’t mention was George Partain’s failure to call. The two men agreed to talk daily beginning Monday. Ponsonby knew the fifty-one million dollars was tied to the minimum wage hearings underway in American Samoa. According to George, he and Matautu controlled the Committee that would set the rates. There should be no need for concern.
George promised to call Ponsonby each morning to confirm that the latest hearing sessions unfolded as planned and to see if any problems arose on the Health-Cell end. No call came in on Monday or so far on Tuesday morning. Ponsonby was beginning to worry.
George gave him his telephone and room numbers at the Agelu Lodge but Ponsonby was hesitant to call. On the other hand, if George encountered some kind of problem, Ponsonby didn’t want things to get out of hand.
Back in his office, he dialed the number.
“Agelu Lodge,” answered a female voice with a French accent.
“May I have room three, please?” Ponsonby asked.
A long silence followed.
“Sir, are you trying to reach Mr. George Partain?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I am.”
“Well, Mr. Partain is not in and we haven’t seen him since Saturday. Actually, we’re beginning to be con-cerned about him. Are you a relative or a business acquaintance?”
Ponsonby felt pressure against his chest and tried to take a deep breath. The last thing he needed to do was explain his relationship with George Partain. He hesitated for a second and hung up.
What if Partain had taken the money from the escrow account and disappeared? Matautu would have no way to repay the Samoan Treasury and wouldn’t be able to turn over the early tax payments to Health-Cell.
If Health-Cell refused to deliver the stem cell cure kits, the patients’ families would demand their deposits back and an investigation would ensue. Whether they provided the cure kits or not, the result would be instant bankruptcy.
Ponsonby took another sip of tea and tried to calm down.
On reflection, such a scenario made little sense. Why would George take the chance of screwing around with a payday that would
set him up for life? If he ran out with the money, sooner or later he would be found and either killed by Matautu or prosecuted by the law. It didn’t add up.
Several weeks ago, when the Portland attorney established the escrow account, George introduced Ponsonby to Matautu via telephone. Matautu would be the one to wire the fifty-one million to Health-Cell.
If the plan unraveled, Ponsonby needed to know now. He might still have time to take preventive action or develop an alternative.
He took out his wallet, found Matautu’s number on a slip of paper, and dialed.
“Office of the Special Assistant to the Governor,” answered the lady at the other end.
“Hello, I’m Gregory Ponsonby and I need to speak with Mr. Matautu.”
“May I tell him what it concerns?”
“Just tell him it concerns George Partain.”
Matautu sat at his desk pouring over the Samoa Press account of yesterday’s hearings. More than anything else, the paper played up information missing from the Samoa Economic Report. Matautu planned to buy Larry Wolfson dinner when all this was over.
Matautu’s intercom sounded and he picked up.
“Sir, a Gregory Ponsonby is on the line. He’s calling regarding a Mr. George Partain. I think Mr. Partain called you about a month ago.”
Matautu froze. One lousy telephone call had destroyed all his cautionary steps to avoid any link to the other conspirators. The fifty-one million wasn’t due to be transferred until June fifteen at the earliest. Why the hell was Ponsonby on the phone?
“Do you want the call?” his secretary persisted.
“Sure, put him through.”
“Mr. Matautu, this is Gregory Ponsonby. I know we’re not scheduled to speak but I’m concerned. I had an agreement with Mr. Partain for him to provide updates each day of the hearings but I have yet to hear from him."
Son-of-a-bitch, Matautu thought, that George was really on the ball. Too bad he designed the project to permit his own demise.
“Well, Mr. Ponsonby,” Matautu responded, “I wouldn’t worry about that. I know it may be hard to believe but George got himself in deep with a gang of Koreans over a poker game. He came up short and my guess is he’ll be missing until our business is completed. As I’m sure he told you, everything is in place.”
“It might have been better if George had informed us of his problem so we could have arranged for an alternative way of getting updates,” Ponsonby answered with doubt in his voice.
“Don’t worry; we know what we’re doing. This project has been thought through thoroughly. The attorney is in place, the doctor is standing by, the patient funds are safe in escrow, and the dollars we need to purchase the stem cell kits are as good as here.
“If you’d like, I’d be glad to call you each morning but I really don’t think it’s necessary. I don’t think we’ll have anything new to report until the hearings wrap up on Friday and the new minimum wage rates are published next week. Then, we’ll be in position to transfer your funds.”
“What role was George supposed to play in all this?”
“To be honest, the only thing left for George to do is collect his share of the profits. His active role ended once he put all the pieces together. Knowing George, he’s probably playing golf somewhere in Hawaii.
“Once the escrow dollars are freed up, he’ll collect his share, pay off the Koreans, and be long gone. He told me he planned on building a home in Hawaii near an exclusive golf course. Except for his gambling problem, he’s a great guy.”
“Well, I’m glad I called you,” Ponsonby said. “I hope you don’t mind but I’d appreciate it if you could fax me a bank statement verifying the escrow money is in place. Understandably, our Directors are getting a little jumpy, and please, call me Friday and let me know that the hearings concluded as required.”
“Of course, Mr. Ponsonby, I’d be glad to accommodate you on both counts. Talk to you Friday.”
Matautu knew as soon as Ponsonby hung up he would fear the worst. Even if Matautu’s story were true, Ponsonby wouldn’t believe George would fail to let him know what was going on. Matautu reasoned that if he were in Ponsonby’s shoes, he’d conclude that trouble erupted between Matautu and Partain, and Partain came out on the short end.
When Matautu hung up, he smashed his fist down on his desk. He had just eliminated any possible leeway in the project’s timing. Ponsonby was spooked and if delays occurred he had no doubt the CEO would shop his scheme elsewhere. The only thing in Matautu’s favor was the time it would take for Ponsonby to set up another plan.
Matautu regretted telling Ponsonby of George’s gambling debt but it was true. If the police investigated Partain’s disappearance, the picture Matautu painted had to remain consistent. The only problem he could see was if Partain told someone that Matautu was going to bail him out. If he heard that from one of Partain’s acquaintances, Matautu would deny it and speculate George planted the story to stall the Koreans and provide time for him to get away.
CHAPTER 41
DAY TWO OF THE PUBLIC HEARINGS
June 7, 2001
Pago Pago, American Samoa
AFTERNOON SESSION
Michael and Claire had just returned from lunch at Sadie Thompson’s restaurant. Claire’s probing questions about Michael’s home life led him to believe she suspected his extracurricular activities. While it would have been nice to talk things over with a sympathetic listener, she was the last person in whom he could confide.
There were too many times in Washington when she attempted to quash Michael’s program initiatives instead of finding ways for his proposals to conform to the law. If she couldn’t be trusted to help at work, why would he open up his personal dilemma to her?
The morning session began the parade of witnesses who opposed minimum wage increases. The Acting Director and Economist of the federal Department of Interior’s Office of Insular Affairs offered lengthy testi-mony. That agency provided the Territory with annual grants to stimulate economic development.
Interior’s economist re-stated their long-held position that “minimum wage gains in American Samoa should be limited in accordance with local economic conditions and the wishes of the American Samoan Government.” They cautioned that their agency would not cover any additional costs derived from minimum wage increases. Further, they warned that large increases could lead to loss of the tuna industry and its jobs.
Owen could have written this presentation, Michael thought.
While Michael decided not to question the Interior Department’s representatives, Eni Sagapolutele confron-ted them.
Waving a pen in his right hand, he looked at the witnesses with contempt.
“What bothers me about your reason for opposing an increase in the minimum wage is you’re giving in to the threat that the cannery might leave American Samoa. That same threat was there forty-five years ago and still these people are trying to push it down our throats. So I oppose your view.”
Filet of the Ocean
It was time for the tuna cannery executives to have their say. Pecura called on Robert Owen to introduce the panel representing Filet of the Ocean. The panel consisted of three men: Bob Richards, a retired employee who now served as a consultant on the global tuna market; Rick O’Neal, vice president of North and Latin American operations; and Andrew Haugen, general manager of the plant in Samoa.
Richards detailed their tough competition from Asia, where wages remained dirt cheap. He showed how rising wages in California and Puerto Rico had forced his firm and others to relocate. He documented how some competitors, unable to push productivity upward, had filed for bankruptcy. He described how free trade in the form of such laws as NAFTA and other agreements would remove the competitive advantage American Samoa enjoyed.
Rick O’Neal claimed that if the minimum wage rose, American Samoa could well find itself out of the game.
“Competition has become so pronounced in the tuna industry that firms like Filet of the Ocean must t
ake extreme measures to maintain profitability. Remember that the minimum wage in Ecuador is sixty-nine cents and in Thailand forty-eight cents. As international duty barriers are relaxed, American Samoa’s advantage will erode due to its higher minimum wage.”
Finally, Andy Haugen painted a picture of a concerned company that invested in its plant and equipment.
“In the past year, the company built a three-thousand-ton freezer, re-designed fuel tanks, installed bigger pre-cookers, and implemented new fish-sizing equipment. All this was done in spite of the fact that Filet of the Ocean had to absorb double-digit cost increases for electricity, water, and fuel.
“It’s obvious that in spite of the high cost of operations in American Samoa versus foreign locations, Filet of the Ocean has been aware of the well-being of its team members and continues to improve benefits. However, for the American Samoa tuna cannery to successfully fight low-cost foreign competition, I strongly request no increase in the minimum wage.”
The questioning began with Eni. Struggling with his English, he interrogated O’Neal about the advantages of Samoa.
“What about the fact that you do not pay a single penny in tariffs for goods you import, such as fish, machinery, or hydraulic oil? Why don’t you explain for us the empty containers that are stored in port areas for free for thirty days? What about containers that are filled with canned tuna that you can store in port areas forever at no charge? Aren’t these significant advantages that help you to be competitive here?”
O’Neal interrupted.
“Would you like me to address these factors?”
Eni, on a run, declined his offer.
“No. I just want you and the rest of the Committee to be aware that I know of such things.
