The Samoa Seduction

by Alan L. Moss

  Today was different. Galeai Matautu, her supervisor for the past eighteen months, asked Ianita to stay in the office until he released her. He was expecting a call that could require her to type an urgent memorandum and then fax it to the Mainland. If no call had come in by twelve fifteen, she was to check with him.

  As the clock on her desk hit the designated time, Ianita buzzed Matautu on the intercom.

  “Yes, Ianita,” Gale responded.

  “Is it okay to go to lunch?”

  “Sure, and by the way, could you pick up an order of fish and chips for me from Simi’s Restaurant behind the market? I’m going to stay in the office in case that call comes in.”

  This request was unusual, Ianita thought. In the time she had worked for Gale, he never asked her to get him lunch and he almost never ate in his office.

  “Of course,” Ianita answered. “Can I get you something to drink?”

  “No, I’ll get a Coke from the machine. Come on in and I’ll give you some cash to cover both our lunches.”

  Matautu always seemed distant. His treating for lunch might be a sign that he started thinking of her more as an individual than just a secretary. Ianita put the twenty dollars he gave to her in her purse and thanked Gale. She freshened up and walked down the wide circular stairs from the government center’s second floor to the lobby.

  “The Lord works in strange ways,” she whispered to herself as she left the building. Then, she rubbed the ornate cross that hung from a gold chain around her neck.

  If she could become friends with a man with Matautu’s credentials and contacts, maybe she could find a way to put her children through college. She heard of scholarships going to those in Samoa with friends in high places.

  With Maria already gone to lunch, Ianita walked away from the building alone, admiring the glorious day. She would sit outside at an umbrella table at Jack’s Restaurant and enjoy the view of the harbor, treating herself to a fine lunch of Hawaiian-style palusami with pork. Then, she would walk around to the market and get Gale his food.

  Crossing Route No. 1 was always a challenge for her. She was almost fifty, overweight, and not in good health. The kids teased her to lose some pounds and again look like the slender chick she was in her wedding pictures, but it was too difficult to work full time, take care of the house and the children, and find time to focus on her weight and conditioning.

  Both ways looked clear, so Ianita stepped into the street. Across the road a street vendor was counting the dollars he received from his lunch customers.

  In a narrow side street just off Route No.1, a young man sat in his car watching the woman crossing the road. He checked the snapshot he was given along with two thousand dollars.

  He pulled a green baseball cap down over his forehead and rubbed the index finger of his left hand over the thin scar on his cheek. He shoved the 1981 Chevy into gear, crushed the accelerator to the floor, and spun around the corner.

  In seconds the bumper crashed into Ianita’s legs, throwing her body high into the air as the Chevy accelerated. The car left the scene before she hit the pavement and got struck again, this time by a construction truck that came out of nowhere and stopped thirty yards down the road.

  The Chevy’s driver sped out of sight down Route No. 1, pushing the speedometer to ninety miles per hour. Before reaching the cannery, he turned right and snaked his way down to the water. At a deserted dock, he met his tall homey waiting in a nearby canoe. He was instructed to lower the windows and run the bucket off the end.

  The car lurched forward, hit the water, and hesitated as the driver slid through a window. He swam to the canoe and climbed in.

  Together, the two young men watched as the car sank slowly to the bottom, bubbles of trapped air rising to the surface. The blood that splattered across the hood of the Chevy disappeared into the sea.

  They paddled out into the calm waters, eventually casting their lines in the hope of catching something good for dinner. Waiting for the fish to bite, they each lit cacho.

  ***

  Sitting at his desk, Galeai Matautu heard the ambulance siren cover downtown Pago Pago with alarm. Now, no one could contradict his story. The loop had been closed.

  He remembered yesterday’s call from Joe Schmuckler, tipping him off that the Feds would be asking him about the disappearance of their private investigator, George Partain. Matautu would describe his meeting with Partain years ago concerning a woman from San Diego. Since then, he would say, he hadn’t seen or talked with the private detective.

  CHAPTER 46

  THE VOTE

  June 9, 2001

  Pago Pago, American Samoa

  The Special Industry Committee was returning from lunch, getting ready to talk through the evidence and reach some decisions. Pecura went jogging along a trail that snaked through the Rainbow’s grounds. Echaveste failed to return from his cigarette break, his whereabouts unknown. Redferd and Eni ate lunch together at a restaurant in a row of shops near the Fono, while Fau sat on a bench in a small park just across Route No. 1.

  As Pecura called the afternoon deliberations to order, Echaveste appeared and sat down at the table. The men said they heard a siren during lunch and Fau explained there had been a traffic accident. A large construction truck hit an older woman attempting to cross the highway.

  Sitting at the head of the table, Pecura began the session. He asked each Committee member to provide his general perspective on the evidence that should be given the greatest weight.

  Eni said the most important evidence was the slipping value of Samoan minimum wages, the Island’s growing poverty, and the continued expansion of the tuna cannery.

  James Redferd believed increases in the cost of living and gains in tuna productivity seemed important. Also, he considered the small increases in minimum wages in the past and reduced Samoan incomes to be important.

  Fau was concerned with how small businesses in Samoa could survive if the Territory’s citizens continued to have less money to spend. Echaveste was worried about the growing competition from foreign tuna processors, the coming elimination of tariff and tax incentives, and the inability of tuna processors to raise prices.

  Pecura was most concerned with the future financial health of the American Samoan Government. If the Government couldn’t meet its payroll and had to lay off a lot of workers, the overall welfare of the Territory would be jeopardized. Furthermore, he feared if rates were raised too high, the tuna cannery might leave, undermining the Island’s future development.

  Pecura also had cautionary words about the tax certificate.

  “If we issue a minimum wage increase of more than two percent and the Government fails to receive its sixty million dollars, this would have dire consequences on employment. To be responsible, we must consider the impact of the tax certificate.”

  In spite of Pecura’s advice, subsequent discussions revealed a majority of Committee members favoring substantial increases. When the Chairman asked for proposals, James answered the call. Depending on his extensive experience with labor negotiations, he framed a rationale favorable to Samoa’s workers.

  “I’ve been in this business for years and the excuses are always the same — too much competition, falling prices and profits, and all the rest. Of course, their profit data are proprietary information, but, my best guess is the cannery is making big profits and, like most global corporations today, is making those profits on the backs of their workers.”

  James leaned back in his chair. Although fatigued from the grind, he seemed energized.

  “The usual formula we apply is inflation plus productivity gains. According to the Samoa Economic Report, that would be the decade’s average of three and eight tenths percent inflation plus two percent productivity, or five and eight tenths percent per year for the next two years.

  “With regard to the tax certificate, I don’t buy it and I resent the cannery and the Government getting together to limit wage increases. If the Government’s in such terr
ible shape, the legislature should channel some of their taxes to support bureaucrats instead of lawmakers who only work a few months out of the year.”

  Pecura swallowed hard and Echaveste froze. It was obvious Eni and Fau would support that proposal. If they did, the game would be over.

  For Echaveste, the easy retirement he imagined would disappear before it began. He could no longer count on plum assignments from the cannery to supplement his pension.

  For Pecura, all of his work for Matautu would go down the drain, along with his political war chest. What would Dr. Jacobs do with the fifteen desperate diabetes patients waiting for the stem cell cure? How would he explain that the cure would not be available despite the millions each had placed in escrow? Those funds couldn’t be released until the patients were cured and Health-Cell wouldn’t release the cure-kits until they received their funding.

  Before long, Health-Cell would demand its fifty-one million dollars. Initially, it wouldn’t be Pecura’s problem. Matautu might find enough dollars to compensate the treasury for the money already borrowed, but, if he were found out, an inquiry would follow and Pecura could be implicated. His public life would be over, with prison his likely destination.

  They might try to convince Health-Cell to provide the cure kits first and accept payment from the escrow money after the patients had been treated, but in all likelihood, such an exchange would be out of the question. Without insulation from the patient money, the odds that Health-Cell would be implicated if things went badly would go up exponentially. At the same time, such conditions would delay Health-Cell’s cash infusion, threatening the company’s survival.

  During a break in the conversation, Eni glanced around the table. It was time for him to act on his convictions.

  “I support my colleague’s proposal. Given the rising cost of living in American Samoa, I can’t understand the paltry minimum wage gains of the past fifteen years. How can you justify average minimum wage increases of less than one percent per year while the cost of living rises an average of almost four percent?

  “A two percent increase over two years is an insult to the Samoan people. How can we expect women who work so hard all day to be satisfied with an increase of two dollars and fifty-six cents a week? What can you buy for that sum, especially when the cost of living is going up by a higher rate? What will Lydia Gabriel think of two fifty-six per week? Mr. Redferd’s proposal makes perfect sense. If the tuna cannery can’t afford to pay their workers a living wage, let them go.”

  The three remaining Committee members stayed quiet, waiting to see who would reveal his position first. After making some hurried calculations on his legal pad, Fau broke the silence.

  “An annual increase of almost six percent seems a bit high to me, but I could support an increase of five percent per year. That would mean the rate would go up immediately from three twenty an hour to three thirty-six and next year to three fifty-three. So, after the first year, the rate would be up thirteen twenty a week or almost seven-hundred dollars for the year. It isn’t a fortune, but it would help the workers catch up from the inadequate rates of the past.”

  Without a pause, Redferd called for a vote.

  “Mr. Chairman, I request you put Fau’s proposal to an immediate vote.”

  Echaveste had to stop Fau’s proposition from getting to the floor. Aside from the impact on the tax certificate, this increase would cost the tuna cannery millions and break their seventeen-year hold on raises. What might happen next, union organizing, real fringe benefits, and costly pensions? The threat to abandon the Territory would be revealed as a cruel bluff and the cannery would lose their most important bargaining chip.

  “Mr. Chairman,” Echaveste said, “I apologize but I have had a stomach problem for a few days and I wonder if you could hold off for just a short while to give me a chance to go to the restroom.”

  “Of course,” Pecura answered, obviously relieved. “Let’s take a fifteen-minute break and then we can vote.”

  Echaveste left the conference room and headed into the Fono building. Pecura also left the room, walked to a pay phone on the sidewalk, and called Matautu. His hands shaking, he appealed for help.

  “Gale, this is Paul. I don’t have much time. We’re in deliberations and we’re in real trouble. There’s a three-vote majority for an annual five percent increase. I need some guidance here.”

  “Stay calm,” Gale said. “Who are the three in the majority?”

  “The two Samoans and the guy from organized labor.”

  “Okay, just stall. You put on a great front during the hearings. Now, you have to deliver. Just don't let that proposal or any proposal that gives tuna workers more than two percent come to a vote. I don’t care what you have to do to stop it, just stop it. I’m on the other line with Echaveste and Owen. We’ll have a solution in the next ten minutes.”

  Pecura was about to betray the people he pledged to help, to abandon the promise he made to the memory of his ancestors. Of course, when he made those commitments, he didn’t think an opportunity for significant raises would ever become available.

  With his head in his hands, Pecura slouched on a bench in the courtyard outside the deliberations room. He pictured young Tino hanging from that tree and wondered if his actions would put another young boy in that position.

  Although he couldn’t deny his guilt, he knew Matautu’s scheme remained the only way he could ever raise the kind of money needed to run a successful campaign for Congress. Feeling a little woozy, he got up and walked back into the conference room.

  All but Echaveste sat at the table, quietly organizing their papers for the vote and an early exit from the deliberations. Several more minutes went by when Echaveste appeared at the door.

  “Eni and Fau,” he said quietly, “could you step out for just a minute?”

  The two men appeared dumbstruck. Why would Echaveste need to see them in private? Reluctantly, they walked outside.

  Holding up his cell phone, Echaveste asked Eni if he would talk to the Lieutenant Governor.

  “You have the Lieutenant Governor on your cell phone?” Eni asked.

  His tone and twisted mouth revealed shock and rage.

  Eni put the phone up to his ear and whispered hello and Matautu’s ally made his pitch.

  “Look, Eni, do what you feel is right. The Governor wouldn’t have nominated you for this Committee if he didn’t trust your judgment. Know, however, if the tuna minimum wage increase exceeds two percent, we’ll lose sixty million dollars in early tax payments, threatening the existence of your Government. Our payroll problem this week was no accident. We need a lot more cash to keep operating. These canneries have been our partners. Don’t force them to abandon the Territory.”

  Eni stared at the ground and passed the phone to Fau. Seething, Eni walked back into the conference room. Five minutes later everyone was seated at the table. The Chairman, trying to disguise his quivering lower lip, addressed the group.

  “During the break I phoned my cousin, the Governor’s top aide, to review our status with him. He believes the combination of raising the minimum wage and causing the tuna canneries to cancel their early tax payments will bankrupt the Territory. Therefore, I would like to propose an immediate two percent increase to cover the next two years. Half that increase would take effect on October 1 and the other half would kick in a year later.

  “If you vote this proposal down, we can proceed to the motion put on the table before the break. However, I can tell you in all honesty, I don’t want to be known as Chairman of the Committee that drove the tuna industry away and bankrupted the Government.

  “Let’s go around the table and see where we stand. Mr. Echaveste.”

  “Your proposal is the only responsible way to go, so, I vote aye.”

  “Mr. Redferd.”

  “I vote no,” responding in a loud, clear voice.

  “Fau.”

  A long silence filled the room as Fau searched for a way out.

 
; “I have to vote yes,” he whispered, giving in to the Lieutenant Governor’s unknown threats.

  With Fau’s vote, followed quickly by Pecura’s, they had done it again. The modest increase had won a majority of the Committee. Somehow, tuna and the Government prevailed, despite overwhelming evidence of the need for a significant wage increase. They prevailed despite every indication the cannery would stay on the Island for years to come. They prevailed despite impassioned testimony describing the human costs of perpetual poverty.

  Even though the battle was lost, Eni, his face flushed with anger, spoke up.

  “No. I vote no,” his voice dripping with contempt. “I object to the Chairman’s failure to conduct these deliberations in a proper way. I object to the sidetracking of the previous proposal and the Government’s underhanded lobbying. It’s an insult to the oath we took and to the Samoans we swore to represent.”

  Pecura, once again exuding the confidence of a learned Chairman, addressed the group.

  “Given it’s late in the afternoon and we have a lot of work to do on our final report, I suggest we adjourn. I’ll write up our decision and the reasoning behind it. Tomorrow morning, I’ll have our counsel and economist incorporate our decision into the final Committee report. Then, they’ll present us with the completed report, which we will sign. That will finish our work.

  “Hearing no objections, this Committee session is adjourned.”

  CHAPTER 47

  LAST CHANCES

  June 9, 2001

  Pago Pago, American Samoa

  While the Committee deliberated, Michael and Claire spent most of the day drafting the generic portions of the final report. At lunch, Claire convinced Michael to help her find a local jeweler named Sammy Finn. During a break from the hearings on Tuesday, Claire saw a beautiful carved turtle with diamond eyes. An exquisitely dressed woman walking out of one of Samoa’s finest boutiques wore it on a gold chain around her neck. Claire went into the shop to see if that’s where the turtle was purchased. The saleslady told Claire to find Sammy Finn.