Foresight

by Ian Hamilton

  “Kwok, Sonny Kwok.”

  “Should we keep him?”

  “He’s been with us for only three months, and until today he was making a sound impression,” Wang said. “He’s big, tough, follows orders well, and is intensely loyal. I think he’ll make a great forty-niner as long as he can learn to keep his temper under control.”

  “Talk to him about it, see how he reacts, and then decide if you want to keep him or not.”

  ( 17 )

  Uncle woke up to see light pouring through his bedroom window. He sat up, surprised, looked at his watch, and saw it was ten past seven. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept so late. He was normally awake before six and greeting the sunrise as he made his way to Jia’s Congee Restaurant. His mouth felt like he’d been eating mud and his head was thick. You idiot! Six beers was too many, he thought.

  He couldn’t remember when he’d gone to bed. After talking to Wang he had made phone call after phone call to Mountain Masters, some of whom had already heard from Wu. On balance he thought it had gone well and that they believed his version of the events. That didn’t mean they all agreed with him or that Wu didn’t have some sympathizers, but his intent had been to blunt any excuse Wu might have to retaliate, and he thought he had accomplished that — with one caveat. If the triad in hospital died, he knew some of the Mountain Masters would turn a blind eye to whatever Wu chose to do.

  After the last phone call his mind had still been churning. Knowing he wouldn’t sleep, he opened the racing form and started to burrow into its numbers. He had left the chair three times — once to get a fresh beer, the second time to pee, and the third to get his last beer and a fresh pack of cigarettes. He had dozed off at one point but roused himself and did at least another hour of work on the form before making his way to the bedroom. When he put his head on the pillow, he had fallen asleep almost at once, the combination of beer and factoring countless numbers in his head having driven the Liu family and Wu from his thoughts.

  Uncle went into the kitchen. The light on his answering machine wasn’t on, but he checked for messages anyway and was pleased there were none. He phoned Wang. “Is the Tai Wai guy still alive?” he asked when Wang answered.

  “He was an hour ago.”

  “Good. And it was a quiet night in the town?”

  “Nothing out of the ordinary happened.”

  “I spoke to just about every Mountain Master, so they know our side of the story. That might be enough to inhibit Wu.”

  “Our men will stay on alert.”

  “At some point I’ll have to call Wu, but not until we’re sure the guy is going to live.”

  “What will you tell him?” Wang asked.

  “Exactly what I have been telling him. Hopefully what happened at the massage parlour will demonstrate how serious we are.”

  “Are you going to the office this morning?” Wang asked.

  “I’ll go after breakfast.”

  “I’ll see you there.”

  Uncle put down the phone, took a jar of Nescafé instant coffee from the cupboard, put a heaping teaspoonful into a mug, and poured hot water into it from the Thermos that sat on the counter. As he sipped, he made a mental list of things that needed to be done that day. Because of Xu and Fong’s frequent absences from the office, he had been doing more administrative work than was typical for a Mountain Master, but he didn’t mind, since it kept him in touch with the nuts and bolts of the business. Speaking of which, he thought, one of the people he had better talk to was John Tin, president of the Kowloon Light Industrial Bank. The gang did nearly all its banking there and had multiple accounts, including those for the warehouse operations.

  Uncle finished his coffee, made his way to the bathroom, and half an hour later left the apartment freshly showered and shaved, wearing a freshly cleaned suit over a crisp white shirt, and holding the racing form in his hand. About halfway to Jia’s he stopped at a newsstand and bought the Oriental Daily News and Sing Tao. He quickly scanned the front pages; when he saw no mention of Peng or Lau, he tucked the papers under his arm.

  “You are late this morning. Are you feeling well?” Jia asked when he reached the restaurant.

  “I drank too much last night.”

  “You aren’t as young as you used to be,” she said.

  Uncle smiled. Jia always said that the only two men she cared about were him and her husband. “Did you keep my table?” he asked.

  “Of course. I’d never let anyone else sit there until you’ve had your breakfast.”

  He followed her to the booth farthest from the front door. “I need something substantial this morning that isn’t too spicy,” he said as he slid into it. “I’ll have Chinese sausage and diced pork belly, a hundred-year-old egg, and scallions, and bring me a double order of youtiao.”

  “There isn’t anything better for a hangover than youtiao dipped in congee,” she said.

  He opened the Oriental Daily News, then moved it to one side as Jia brought a pot of jasmine tea to the table and poured him a cup. He picked up the cup and sipped repeatedly as he read the paper more carefully; still he couldn’t find a word about Peng, Lau, or Shenzhen. Sing Tao was equally lacking in news about any of them. Uncle wasn’t sure if that was good or bad but, his curiosity satisfied, he turned to the racing pages in the Daily News. The newspaper’s handicapper was very good, but because his recommendations were closely followed and backed, they rarely generated decent payouts. As a result, Uncle was more interested in what the handicapper had to say about Uncle’s preliminary picks. To his chagrin, he and the News handicapper agreed on three races. This didn’t mean Uncle would abandon his selections, but he would consider other choices if the odds were too short.

  Jia’s arrival at the table with the congee and its add-ons interrupted Uncle before he could see what the Sing Tao selector had written. He put aside the papers and focused on his food. “The youtiao was freshly made for you,” Jia said, putting a plate with three pieces on the table.

  He smiled as he picked up a stick of golden-brown fried bread and found it warm to the touch. He added the scallions and white pepper to the congee, dipped the bread into it, and took a large bite. The bread was so soft he hardly had to chew. He finished the entire stick before turning to his meats and egg.

  By the time he had finished eating, Uncle felt almost normal and his head was clear. When Jia came to take away the congee remnants, he asked for a second pot of tea and then lingered for ten minutes reviewing what the Sing Tao horse-racing expert thought of Sunday’s card. He had picked only one of Uncle’s horses to win. It was with his mood much improved that Uncle left Jia’s for the walk to his office.

  Fridays were typically hectic as the gang prepared for a pickup in business at the massage parlours, mini-casinos, and street markets, so Uncle wasn’t surprised to arrive at the office and find it humming. He greeted the staff and asked them if there was anything urgent he had to attend to. When there wasn’t, he told them he needed privacy until they heard otherwise. With that he went into his office and closed the door behind him.

  He sat at his desk and looked at the income reports from the day before. Normally, reviewing them was how he began his day, but this wasn’t a normal day. He reached for the phone and dialled Shenzhen.

  “Director Liu’s office,” a woman’s voice answered.

  “This is Mr. Chow from Fanling. Could I speak with Director Liu, please?”

  “Just one moment,” she said.

  “Uncle, how are you?” Liu said seconds later.

  “That depends partly on how you are.”

  “Considering the circumstances, I’m okay.”

  “Did Meilin and Ms. Gao go back to Beijing last night?”

  “They’re leaving this morning.”

  “Has Ms. Gao decided where she wants me to send her money?” Uncle asked.

  “
Not yet. I imagine she’ll talk it over with my uncle when she gets back to Beijing.”

  “That makes sense,” Uncle said, surprised that Liu had mentioned his uncle. It was the first time Liu had acknowledged his direct involvement.

  “Did you speak to your colleagues in Zhuhai and Xiamen?” Liu asked.

  “Yes, and everything was calm there.”

  “I was told the same by my contacts, so it appears that this anti-corruption campaign is limited to Shenzhen.”

  “Has anyone been arrested beyond Peng and Lau?”

  “Not that I’ve heard, but the contacts in the PLA I spoke to were reluctant to discuss the matter in any detail,” Liu said. “One of them did tell me that the orders to pick up Peng and Lau came from the top, but other than knowing that, he said information is being tightly contained.”

  “Is that normal?”

  “With the PLA one is never sure what’s normal.”

  “Maybe things are simply on hold until they finish questioning Peng.”

  “That is a possibility,” Liu said. “I have no doubt they’ll get everything out of him he has to give. But as to where that will lead or how vigorously they’ll pursue his information, I have no idea.”

  “It sounds like this could drag on for some time.”

  “For days most certainly, and maybe even weeks, though I can’t imagine Peng will resist answering their questions for any length of time — if at all.”

  “I agree, but what matters is if their interest in him ends when he incriminates himself or if they decide to take it further,” Uncle said.

  “Well, regardless of how that plays out, in the meantime all we can do is run our businesses the same as usual.”

  “So you’ll still be directing shipments to the warehouses?”

  “Of course. They’re necessary to the economic well-being of the zone. There’s no reason not to keep them busy.”

  Uncle hesitated, not sure he should raise the concerns that had nagged at him the night before. Then he thought, What the hell. “I have to say, Leji, that Ms. Gao didn’t seem quite so positive about maintaining the status quo.”

  “My aunt is very cautious. She’s also highly suspicious.”

  “Suspicious? Have we done anything that would cause her to doubt our commitment and trustworthiness?”

  “It has nothing to do with you,” Liu said quickly.

  “Then what does it have to do with?”

  “It isn’t something she would like me discussing.”

  “Hey, we’re partners or we aren’t. And our necks are on the line far more visibly than yours. If there’s a chance someone wants to chop our heads off, I expect some kind of warning,” Uncle said. “Leji, you don’t let partners get blindsided.”

  “Believe me, if there was something definite I could tell you, I would, but there isn’t,” Liu said. “My aunt has survived — and helped my uncle survive — their ups and downs within the Party by anticipating trouble. It’s true that she often imagines threats where there are none, but in the past, when the threats turned into reality, at least she and he were prepared.”

  “Who would threaten a member of the Politburo Standing Committee, or his wife?”

  “You could have asked that same question thirty years ago, when he was Deng’s assistant and they were running the Chinese economy. Their positions didn’t protect them them from being demoted to nothing jobs that were meant to humiliate them,” Liu said. “You could also have asked that question twelve years ago, when they were running the economy again, only to find themselves exiled to labour camps for years and their immediate families being subjected to abuse by the Red Guard.”

  “But Deng is premier now.”

  “Yes, but he’s only one member of the Politburo. There’s no more Mao, no more chairman with almost total power.”

  “Are you saying that Deng is being challenged?”

  “No,” Liu said loudly. “I’m simply trying to explain that there are twenty-five members on the Committee, and not all of them are aligned with the premier and not all of them agree with opening up our economy the way he’s done. But even if they do disagree with him, it’s highly unlikely that any of them would dare to take him on.”

  “But your aunt is afraid they might go after him indirectly, by targeting your uncle. A man who’s been joined at the hip with Deng for fifty years.”

  “It was her first thought,” Liu said with an uncomfortable laugh. “She can’t see a shadow without imagining something terrifying lurking behind it. Both Meilin and I have told her she’s being too dramatic; trying to connect the downfall of a couple of minor party officials to a broader conspiracy is completely far-fetched.”

  “Still, it’s her past experiences, not just paranoia, that are behind the way she feels,” Uncle said.

  “That’s true. And although times have changed, her need to be cautious hasn’t.”

  “Which helps explain why she wants me to move your money out of our bank accounts.”

  “Only some of our money.”

  “Whatever the amount, I think I understand her better now. I’m grateful to you for sharing that information with me.”

  “Information that perhaps I shouldn’t have shared, and which I never want you to repeat, not even to your closest colleagues.”

  “You have my word on that.”

  “Good. Now I need to get back to my work here,” Liu said. “Once I have her banking instructions or if I hear anything else of interest, I’ll call. And I’ll expect the same from you. But other than that, I suggest you stay in Hong Kong and go about your normal activities until the situation is absolutely resolved.”

  “That is my plan.” Uncle put down the phone and sat back in his chair.

  Liu’s forthrightness about his aunt had surprised him, but as he thought about what Liu had said, it started to explain why Ms. Gao had reacted so suspiciously. She knew first-hand how fickle and brutal the Chinese Communist Party could be. Being on top or in a position of power didn’t mean you were immune to swings in mood or policy. She had seen her husband’s career and fortunes collapse twice before. It was only natural for her to be wary, and Uncle silently chided himself for not being perceptive enough to grasp that.

  With that in mind, he called John Tin at the Kowloon Light Industrial Bank and was immediately put through to him.

  “Uncle, how nice to hear from my favourite customer,” Tin said.

  “Except you may not like what your favourite customer will be wanting you to do,” Uncle said.

  “I can accept anything other than your closing all your accounts and moving to a new bank.”

  “Well, I’m not going to do that, but I will need you to move a substantial amount into what I expect will be a foreign bank account,” Uncle said. “I don’t know how much yet or where it’s going, but I wanted to give you fair warning.”

  “Do you have any idea how much?”

  “Just a second,” Uncle said as he opened a desk drawer and took out the latest bank summaries. “The money will be coming from our five warehouse accounts. According to my quick calculation, it will total about ten million HK dollars.”

  “If you’re sending the money overseas, do you want it sent in HK dollars or converted to American dollars?”

  “What makes the most sense?”

  “I’d be surprised if the overseas bank didn’t prefer American dollars, and if that’s the case you’re better off converting them here, because I can give you our preferred rate.”

  “Okay, I’ll let you know what we decide,” Uncle said. “Now, one more thing, since I’m moving the money from five accounts, should we send it in five separate transactions or can we combine the funds and send them in one shot?”

  “The five accounts represent five different registered companies. I would maintain that integrity. It’s much cleaner from an
accounting and tax viewpoint. You don’t want to raise any red flags at Internal Revenue.”

  “That was my thinking as well.”

  “When do you expect to make this transfer request?”

  “Sometime in the next few days, maybe even later today. Is that a problem?”

  “No, we can handle it.”

  “Thanks, John.”

  “Uncle, I have a few questions that you might think are none of my business, but we’ve known each other a very long time.”

  “Ask away.”

  “Are you starting to wind down these companies?”

  “No.”

  “Do I have any reason to worry about the loans we’ve made to you?”

  “No.”

  “Is this kind of transfer going to be a regular occurrence?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Good, because those companies and the Ming factories have been making you more money in the past year than during the very best years of doing business the old way.”

  “I know, and they’re nice clean businesses that are of no interest to the police.”

  “I didn’t want to say that,” Tin said.

  “But you’ve been thinking it.”

  “I have.”

  “Me too. Now let’s just hope we can keep things going in the same direction,” Uncle said.

  He was sitting back in his chair feeling satisfied with the way the morning had gone when Wang suddenly appeared in his doorway.

  “I just spoke to the hospital. The guy is hanging in there.”

  “That isn’t particularly encouraging.”

  “My experience is that if they’re going to die, they usually do it quickly,” Wang said. “Every hour this guy survives adds to his chances of making it.”

  ( 18 )

  The next three days passed so slowly that Uncle wondered if time was playing tricks on him. The businesses in Fanling almost ran themselves and didn’t need his involvement. He touched base with Ming and a couple of their warehouse managers in Shenzhen and was told that everything was operating normally. He phoned Xu and Tse every day, but they had nothing new to report. He did not hear from Liu or Ms. Gao, but given how calm things were in SEZs, he saw no reason to reach out to them. Once he called the Lisboa Hotel in Macau to talk to Fong, but there was no answer in the mama-san’s suite and he didn’t phone again.