Ben furrows his brow and looks at Jake with a curious squint.
“At Cubana last week,” Jake says.
Ben scratches his chin and Jake sees that he’s holding back.
“Kai tian pi di,” Jake says, shaking his head. “The idiom you threw out at the bartender. I overhead it. I had to look it up. I’ve studied and used Mandarin for a few years and don’t have the ability to drop idioms like that. Where do you get that skill?”
Finally, Ben drops his head and laughs. “You’re a better reporter than I thought.”
“I don’t know about that but I do know that you couldn’t have learned Mandarin that well living in the U.S., even if Qiang was teaching you the language.”
“Yep.”
“So, how is it that you know Mandarin so well and why have you been keeping this a secret?”
“You know,” Ben says, drawing the words out as though he’s carefully constructing a response. “The irony is that I was about to tell you.”
Jake leans closer to Ben. “I’m all ears.”
“I’m working with Diane on a plan that will give us enough ammunition to resolve Qiang’s predicament. And our plan would probably bury this issue also,” Ben says as he waves the manila folder full of photos. “But we need your help.”
The talk of ammunition makes no sense. They are three people against countless. How large does a stash of ammunition need to be in order to subdue an opponent so strong that every Western country bows to it?
“Give me your phone for a second,” Ben says.
Jake hands the device over. Ben takes it, removes its battery and then hands it back.
“You know,” Ben says as he pulls the battery out of his own phone, “the paper trail to the IOC member?”
Jake stares at his now-powerless phone and then looks back at Ben.
“Oh yeah, there are now ways to turn phones into transmitters even when you don’t have an open line. Some of this stuff has been under development at my lab for a couple of years. So, keep that in mind when you’re talking. Even if we’re outside of our apartments, sitting here in a park, they might have the ability to listen in.”
“That’s seems crazy. And you think the authorities here have this technology?”
“I know the authorities here have this technology. At least they have the code for a lot of it. Whether they’ve deployed it, and who’s using it here, I don’t know. But it’s better to be safe.”
“How do you know they have the code?”
“I’ll tell you that later. Right now, I need to tell you how we’re going to get Qiang back.”
“Right. And it involves the story I delivered to Trask News?”
“Yes. Diane and I were able to put the trail together because she had access to some records when she worked at International Bank of China.”
“It’s going to look bad for China when that story is published, if it’s published, but I don’t see that it’s enough to help us.”
“No. It’s not, but we might be able to find several more if we can get access to remittance records back to 2001.”
“And where do I come in?”
“Get an interview with anyone at the IBOC and bring me in as your assistant,” Ben says.
“You can pull records just by being physically present in the building?”
“The technology that can turn your phone into a transmitter. It’s related to technology that can capture data running from cordless keyboards to computers. Much of it has been developed in one of the programs I’m part of at CSAIL. If I’m in close enough proximity, I can capture logins and passwords. Once I have login credentials for people in the right departments, Diane and I can figure out where to search in the bank’s database.”
The park’s lamps grow brighter as the last bit of daylight fades, throwing an amber glow on the concrete walkway. Slogans about next year’s Olympic Games hang from the light posts. “One World, One Dream.” “China Welcomes the World.” “Everyone Benefits From Olympic Glory.” As he reads the slogans, Jake realizes how damaging these paper trails could be. But only if they can find enough of them.
Policy lending, Jake thinks. That’s what would get him an interview quickly. He’s seen an uptick in announcements by the government about loans for projects in China’s Western provinces, all of which go ignored by the foreign media. The disparity between economic growth in the hinterland and the booming cities on the east coast has been a source of concern for government planners. The imbalances has prompted people in the countryside to look for better prospects in the eastern cities, where many of them end up on the street. Living on the margins, these migrants pose a threat not only to China’s image but also to the country’s stability. The government has launched countless initiatives to channel more wealth to the west but the disparity only continues to grow.
With each initiative, the foreign reporters show less interest because there’s nothing at stake for foreign investors, even when the government tries to talk up the opportunities. Jake could take the bait. He could feign interest and explain to the IBOC’s spokesman that he’s planning to write a feature on China’s policy lending in the west. More publicity about this might attract the attention of foreign investors and lenders. That’s what he’ll dangle in front of the IBOC’s communications director who wouldn’t suspect that he’s the one being baited.
“How much dirt do you think we’ll be able to turn up?” Jake asks.
“Your guess is as good as mine, my friend.”
“Once we’ve turned the tide against them, these photos will become our ammunition, not theirs.”
*****
The email arrives with a ping as Jake sits, exhausted after a long day, in front of his monitor.
TO: [email protected]
FROM: [email protected]
Wednesday, April 18, 2007, 13:14
Jake, I’m getting nowhere with McKee’s office. Andrews won’t take any of my calls so I visited the office in person and had to wait for him to leave the office for his lunch break to be able to talk. Here’s all he had to say when I followed him to the elevator:
“This issue isn’t a priority for us.”
When I asked him why he went from such strong interest to this complete stone wall, he said you might have an idea.
So, what happened? (!!!)
Kendra
Jake wonders how to explain what went wrong in Tianjin. The strategy seemed foolproof at the time. But hindsight clarifies the wisdom of his decision. Really, how else would a closeted Republican react to the sort of desire his world requires him to detest? Even without the shock of flash photography from behind a mirror, would he have remembered the experience fondly? No. Jake only needs to think about how he feels about most of the guys he sleeps with. He wants them gone, preferably before the first light of day. And that has nothing to do with his career or position.
Andrews lives at the centre of American politics. He’s probably been working on the blueprints for his path to power for years and none of the points along that road would have involved gay sex in Red China.
Disgusted with himself, Jake slides the last of his untraceable SIM cards into his phone and calls Kendra with the news.
As he dials, Jake notices the time stamp on the email. Kendra sent the message at 1:14 p.m. DC time. That’s 1:14 a.m. Beijing time. This message was sent almost twenty-four hours ago yet it arrived in his inbox just a few minutes earlier.
THURSDAY, April 19, 2007
Payment from Chinese Property Developer to IOC Member Raises Questions
By Gustave Risolli and Regine Taylor
GENEVA, April 19 – Remittances totaling $7.5 million from a Chinese state-owned property developer to a company tied to the relatives of an International Olympic Committee member are raising questions about whether China bought the committee’s decision to award Beijing the 2008 Summer Games.
According to documents seen by Trask News, Vegrette Holdings Ltd., a shell company based in Cyprus, receiv
ed three payments of $2.5 million each from another shell company, Tidebreak International, based in the British Virgin Islands, a month before the IOC’s decision was announced. Tidebreak received $7.75 million from Beijing Land and Property 10 days earlier, according to another set of documents. Vegrette’s owners, Gwendolyn Barsha and Gabriel Barsha, are, respectively, the sister and nephew of IOC member Julian Segre.
“We will investigate these remittances if the documents we’ve been sent prove to be authentic,” an IOC spokesman said about the remittances when contacted by phone for an interview.
The possibility that at least one IOC member was bribed adds to scandals that Beijing is already struggling to manage. The city’s Deputy Mayor, Liu Zhihua, was recently purged following revelations that he funneled millions of dollars from projects related to the Summer Games slated for next year.
Beijing Weifang Law Offices, based in China’s capital city, filed Tidebreak’s registration papers. Tidebreak’s ownership isn’t disclosed.
*****
2:30 p.m.
Jiang Yu, the Foreign Ministry Spokesperson, wears a Hillary Clinton-esque pantsuit with stiff power lapels. Hillary has always been popular here. Bootlegged copies of her memoir, Living History, translated into Chinese had turned up on the blankets of hawkers throughout Beijing shortly after the tome was published a few years earlier and are still available even though no domestic publishers can print it legally. The prohibition probably enhanced Hillary’s influence in China.
Regine’s news report, which ran just an hour before the press conference, will surely dominate the questions Ms. Jiang will field as she faces foreign reporters from behind the lectern that stands just below a map of the world featuring China dead centre.
“Thank you. Is the Foreign Ministry investigating the allegations in the Trask News report? The one suggesting that Beijing Land and Property may have tried to influence a member of the International Olympic Committee?” asks a female reporter, who then hands the microphone back to one of the event hosts.
She’s seated several rows ahead of Jake. He doesn’t recognize the voice and she hasn’t given her name or press affiliation. She must be new to Beijing’s foreign press corps.
“I’m not aware of the report you’re asking about but I can tell you that there have been many attempts to smear China’s image within the context of next year’s Olympic Games.”
Expressionless, Jiang speaks with the clear, formal cadence used by all high-ranking officials in formal settings. The delivery at these Foreign Ministry press events never changes, regardless of how challenging the questions are. Their speech is like a uniform, triple stitched along every seam.
Jake doesn’t normally cover the regular Foreign Ministry briefings but had to race over once he read Regine’s report online. This is the first time he’s happy to see a competing newswire run an exclusive story that has the entire foreign press corps asking questions. He looks around the auditorium and sees Regine ahead of him, in the second row.
“The report is very specific about payments made by Beijing Capital Land to a shell company with Chinese connections, followed by a similar amount of money going from that shell company to another one tied to one of the IOC members. Is this something that you think will warrant an investigation?” asks another reporter.
“China’s government will investigate any and all matters that involve corruption, assuming the allegations are credible. Are there any other questions?”
Another reporter asks about negotiations with Japan about visits to the Diaoyu Islands, an exchange that becomes background noise as Jake considers what he’s done. Jiang’s voice took on a harder edge as she dodged the last question about Regine’s story. Jake has made the government sweat, which invigorates him some but terrifies him more. His heart races as he wonders if there’s any way the story could be traced back to him. He mentally runs through the precautions he took. Then a deep breath. He made sure Regine understood not to call, email or text him any questions about the story. The documentation would speak for itself. Any indication that he or Diane have a connection to the production of the Trask News story would make it impossible to dig further.
FRIDAY, April 20, 2007
6:09 a.m.
Dawei’s train pulls into Beijing’s main railway station after a 36-hour trip from Guangzhou. Eyes half open, he waits for the jostling of the other passengers to die down before retrieving his jacket and backpack from the overhead rack. Once on his feet, Dawei is pushed out onto the platform and into a thicket of travellers carrying trunks and bundles held together with tape and rope. A woman’s voice rings out from loudspeakers. She’s saying something about ticket inspection but Dawei doesn’t understand because the vast space turns the anxious chatter of hundreds and the hum of machinery into a sea of echoes that swallow her words. He massages his neck to work out the stiffness that set in during a fitful sleep leaning against the carriage wall. His feet shuffle within a procession of hundreds of other pairs towards the station’s exit gates.
Dawei zips up the blue-hooded jacket he found in a dumpster in Macau. The jacket, in near perfect condition except for some darkening around the cuffs and the bottom corners where the zipper connects, was probably discarded by someone who didn’t want to be burdened with such a heavy article of clothing in the subtropical climate of Macau. When he salvaged the jacket, Dawei felt a wad of folded paper in one of the inside pockets. He remembers the sting he felt when the paper turned out to be a restaurant receipt instead of cash. He could read the characters for Shanghai, several of the dishes ordered and the number of patrons. More than 3,000 kuai spent on a dinner for five. And then another receipt in a different pocket, this one for the coat itself, purchased just a few months earlier for 2,600 kuai. Echoes of wealth, the receipt and the jacket itself.
A gust of wind whips up a cylone of Sytrofoam and bits of plastic wrapping just outside the station’s exit. An overnight storm has left large puddles for Dawei to walk around as he makes his way across the train station’s front plaza. His tennis shoes won’t keep the water out and a new pair would cost more than half of the cash that he carries in his front pocket, cash that he checks for every few minutes.
He must find the American journalist. Once he does, he’ll have more cash than he can fit in all of his pockets. How high, Dawei wonders, will a stack of thousands of 100 kuai bills stand? Would they fit in his backpack? Will he need to buy another bag just to carry the money?
He won’t need to carry it for long. He will go to a bank, wearing a Western-style suit jacket, a clean shirt and new shoes. The security guard won’t look at him suspiciously as he walks to the counter with his money and the woman behind the glass will call him “Sir” after she sees how much money he has. The scene plays out for Dawei in slow motion, like he’s seen in movies when the hero is rewarded for upholding justice. When the righteous warrior vanquishes the scheming regents. When the guy gets the girl.
He’ll open his own restaurant. No more unheated quarters on construction sites. No more overnight dishwashing shifts in the bowels of hotels and casinos where people leave meals on the plush carpet outside their doors, unfinished and abandoned.
Most importantly though, this money will put him on an even keel, able to make amends for the actions that left him homeless in Harbin and unable to return to Yongfu Village.
The front of the train station faces north. He’ll need to keep walking in that direction until he gets to Chang An Avenue which forms the east-west axis of the city. Once on Chang An, he’ll need to head east and keep walking until he gets to the apartment complex somewhere to the east of the Third Ring Road. He will need to rely on his sense of distance because he doesn’t remember exactly what the American’s building looks like.
Standing on Chang’an Avenue, Dawei notices that many of his landmarks have been replaced by oddly shaped glass towers. The weather front that left the puddles and the chilly gusts has blown away the city’s usual blanket of haze, leaving the air
clear enough to see details in the Western hills now illuminated by the sunrise. He stops and wonders how he never noticed them the last time he was in Beijing before. He turns and starts walking away from them.
*****
TO: [email protected]
FROM: [email protected]
Wednesday, April 18, 2007, 13:14
Jake, I’m heading to Adams Morgan for some interviews so I’ll be tied up until about 11:00 p.m. my time.
Kendra
Jake subracts 90 minutes from the time Kendra mentioned - 9:30 a.m. Beijing time. He can be outside then. “Adams Morgan” means he needs to use the number ending in “66”.
*****
Diane has been staring at the blank MySpace field for half an hour, assigning risk levels to every word she’s about to write and evaluating probable outcomes. She takes a deep breath and starts typing.
China is a just country and this is why I have hope for my dear brother, Qiang, who was detained three weeks ago for working on a project that only sought to create harmony between developers and ordinary citizens who comprise ideal communities. I appreciate the way the authorities are taking their time investigating him because it’s only through careful consideration that they’ll understand what a patriot Qiang is.
Pacing back and forth amid the lunchtime crowd in front of the China World towers, Jake listens for the remaining value on his pre-paid account. After half a standard promotional message about upgrading to a mobile plan, the automated voice finally divulges the information he wants. Just twenty-three kuai left. Jake ends the call as the voice starts in with some offer he’ll never need and a call rings in showing a number from Washington.
“Kendra, hi.”
“Good time to chat?”
“Sure. Let’s just keep it short ‘cos the minutes remaining on my unregistered account are ticking down.”
“Ok, long story short: McKee’s not going to do anything.”
The Wounded Muse Page 21
