by Fritz Galt
Suddenly, he was staring into two bleary blue eyes.
“What are you looking at?” Natalie sounded more exhausted than sleepy.
“I’m studying our two friends,” he said, eyeing her chest.
She ignored his answer. “Did you ever make it back last night?”
“You don’t remember?”
“Remember. Hmm. All I seem to recall is a bizarre dream I had. I was being attacked repeatedly. The bed was rocking like a boat. I was drowning in pillows and blankets.”
“Sounds like a nightmare.”
“The guy was relentless, I tell you. I began giving in, against my will.”
“Against your will. Right.”
“And then—” she stared blankly at him.
“Then what?”
“He mysteriously disappeared. When I woke up, he was gone, and I couldn’t find him. I even walked down the street in my panties, but he was nowhere to be found.”
“He must be a real gigolo.”
“Then I found myself looking into a koi pond. It was lined with old men sitting and holding their fishing poles erect.”
“Weird.”
“I’ll say. Then each fisherman stood up in turn like a Busby Berkley musical, and they were all handsome and young, and they caressed me as I walked past them.”
“Give me a break. You’re making this up.”
“Well, I did make up the part about the fishing poles.”
He rolled on top of her. “Don’t you worry, honey. I won’t let you wander the streets like that. You won’t find me disappearing anywhere.”
“How about last evening?”
“I made it up to you, didn’t I?”
She smiled a sleepy, happy smile.
Then the boat began to rock, again.
General Li looked out his office window and contemplated the early morning light.
As supreme commander of Taiwan’s armed forces, he had a view to suit his status. He could look upon a swimming pool and officers’ club, or swivel his chair to another picture window and look across the Keelung River at the skyline of Taipei.
In his ten years as supreme commander, he had seen the distant downtown grow taller and brighter, all while the resolve of his nation sank ever lower.
Finallly, his telephone rang. He smiled. The call would change all that.
Banks would open at 9:30, and the vice president was a punctual man.
“Zao, Vincent,” Li said immediately. Good morning.
“Good morning, General,” Vincent Chu said with mild surprise. “You own three new destroyers.”
As welcome as the news was, the vice president’s perfect Mandarin diction irritated Li. Li had grown up under Japanese occupation, been taught in Japanese at school, and spoken Taiwanese at home. Therefore, he felt culturally distinct from the vice president, who had been born and raised on the mainland.
“The money is in place?” Li asked.
“Yes. Our central government has transferred three hundred million dollars into your holding account at HongkongBank. You may now transfer the money to Blohm+Voss’s account at Deutsche Bank.”
“I appreciate it,” Li said.
Blohm+Voss was the German shipyard that had just completed construction of the ships.
“Remember that Taiwan law stipulates that the money should be in your personal account for no more than two days.”
Li nodded to himself. “Of course. I will send it to the Germans today.”
He hung up the phone. The three hundred million dollars in his Hong Kong bank account was his to enjoy for a couple of days. Of course, he needed a bit longer to play with it, but the central government had no way of tracking it once they sent it to the large commercial bank. And he would pay for the German destroyers, eventually.
He eyed several officers’ wives, who peeled off their towels and stretched their limbs before plunging into the pool.
It was his favorite time of day.
His fantasies were interrupted by a knock on the door.
“Come in,” he shouted.
Captain Leng, his personal adjutant, stepped in. A small, unextraordinary-looking man, Leng was an efficient workhorse with unusual connections.
“Have we received the money, sir?” Leng inquired.
“Just now,” Li said, straightening his shoulder boards.
“Shall I tell the Germans that there’s a delay?” Leng asked.
“Yes, as we discussed. Use the excuse about the imperfections in the radar system.”
“Of course.”
Leng bowed and left.
Li picked up his phone and was about to ask his secretary to put a call through to Hong Kong when he stopped himself. He didn’t want to leave an electronic trail.
Instead, he dug a note out of his shirt pocket and punched in the number himself.
Two rings later, Johnny Ouyang picked up his personal line in Hong Kong. “Wei?” Yes?
“Johnny, this is General Li in Taipei. How are you?”
“Feeling much better, now that I hear your voice.”
“Good,” Li said. “Everything is on track. The money is in my holding account at HongkongBank. You have the access codes to transfer it.”
“Yes, but first I need your written authorization to transfer the money,” Johnny said. “Can you get that to me?”
Li frowned. He was no wizard at bank transfers and high finance. In fact, his wife did all the bookkeeping in his household.
“Fine,” he said at last. “What do you need?”
“Just a letter authorizing me to transfer money out of your account.”
“I’ll have a military courier deliver it to you today.”
“Not a military courier,” Johnny warned.
“Okay. I’ll send it by personal messenger. And you’ll buy the stocks?”
“No. Not me. I’ll disburse it to twenty or so separate international accounts, and a broker in Shanghai will buy the stocks.”
“Covering your tracks,” Li said.
“Exactly. But I’m sure that you’ll find Chinese stocks highly profitable.”
“I’ll send you my authorization right away.”
Li hung up. What a cautious man Johnny Ouyang was. But in those uncertain days, with Taiwan’s government flabby and her military vulnerable, one needed to be vigilant.
He swiveled away from the young wives who were plowing laps in the chlorinated water. He swung around to study the City of Taipei. In the full morning sunlight, the glass and steel buildings glistened like sabers. They were swords for a new type of battle: financial warfare.
Money would either save the proud nation or destroy it.
Black and white images flashed on a small television set high above Mick’s table at the breakfast stall. Breaking news showed the highest-level bilateral talks in the history of China-Taiwan relations.
And no one stopped to watch.
Beside him, the visiting inspector of endangered species coughed and covered his nose as a passing truck belched diesel fumes into his face. Then the man jabbed a thick finger toward the television image of Taipei’s airport where the talks were taking place.
“Hey, I was just there,” Dr. Morisot said, still gagging.
It was the VIP lounge at Chiang Kai-shek International Airport. On the television screen, China’s envoy and Taiwan’s deputy secretary general shook hands across a negotiating table. Cameras clicked and television lights flooded the room. There were smiles all around.
Mick strained to hear the announcer’s excited voice over the clatter of plastic dishes, the sizzle of frying luo bo gao turnip cakes, the abrasive cacophony of voices and the indifferent roar of motor scooters speeding by just inches from his rear.
“What did they decide?” Morisot shouted with a constricted voice and a slight French accent.
“Agreements on fisherman’s rights upon detention. Also, they worked out an extradition agreement on repatriating hijackers.”
Just then a bright young woman we
aring an apron and chef’s hat nudged their shoulders apart and inserted several plates of breakfast between them.
“Chow down,” Mick said.
“What is this stuff?” Morisot clutched his briefcase in one hand and used his other hand to press his heavy black frames of his glasses against the bridge of his nose.
“If you’re going to survive on this island, you’ll need to learn some breakfast vocabulary,” Mick said. “Start with this long stick of fried bread called you tiao. You wash it down with dou jiang.” He shoved a plastic bowl of tofu milk toward the endangered species inspector.
Mick turned back to the television set.
A pale, thin face smiled in the wash of television lights. Leng Shi-mung, visiting dignitary from Beijing, was the highest-level negotiator ever to visit tiny renegade Taiwan. His finely tailored business suit and shy smile had won over many people of Taiwan. They might not normally approve of an enemy on their soil, but they felt comfortable with an honest face in a good-looking suit.
“Did they sign a treaty?” Morisot asked.
“They’re calling it a joint press release.”
“That’s right. I knew that. So is it important?”
Mick dissected him with a glance. “It’s as important as you can get between two warring factions.”
Morisot wiped his forehead. “Can you turn that fan this way?”
Already the air was damp and clingy. Clouds of incense permeated the food stall from the street. Gold-colored ghost money, printed slips of paper bought at the temple and offered to ancestors, flamed in a low red brazier.
Mick stood up and nudged the floor fan. That stole the cool air from a table occupied by an unlikely combination of people. Cramped together were a grandfather watching a chubby preschool emperor, and a dapper young couple that had just stopped by on the way to work.
The fan blew smoke from the grill into Morisot’s face.
“That’s better,” he said.
Mick returned to squat on his metal stool.
While it was entertaining to watch Morisot fumble with the chopsticks, Mick had to check up on another operation. He unhooked the cellular phone from his belt and dialed the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.
Morisot stared at him.
“Just use your fingers.”
Morisot looked dubiously at the oily slick stick.
Mick waited for the line to pick up. When it did, he said immediately, “Wei? Has he left yet? Okay, I’ll call back in ten minutes.” He snapped the handset shut.
“If you have more pressing business, don’t let me hold you back,” Morisot said.
“No. Rhino horns are my top priority.”
Mick was jostled, and the business-like waitress squeezed in a plate of fried turnip squares doused in soy sauce.
Morisot followed the woman with a glare. “Pretty rude, isn’t she? I prefer service with a smile.”
Mick didn’t care either way.
“So these young ladies—” Morisot said, his eyes roving across the sunny lane where slender young women strolled under sun parasols. “Do we foreigners stand a chance with them?”
“Unfortunately, it happens.”
“What do you mean ‘unfortunately’? I’m a single man.”
“Yeah, but you’re a heartbreaker.”
“Who, me?” Morisot drew back and tried to suck in his massive gut. His tight-throated laugh carried over the other voices.
“You’re a foreigner,” Mick said. “You can break a heart. Now you do want to ruin your country’s reputation?”
“But winning hearts is our reputation.”
Mick turned his attention back to the television.
Typhoon Ivan was located 700 kilometers southeast of Taiwan. A satellite image showed it brushing up against the eastern shores of the Philippines. Center winds gusted up to 200 kilometers per hour.
Morisot was still chuckling while an abrupt silence fell over the restaurant
“Look.” Mick pointed to the broadcast. “Ivan has just been upgraded to a super typhoon. The projected storm track shows it sweeping right up the middle of Taiwan in two days.”
“I’ll be long gone by then,” Morisot said.
“If the airport stays open.”
The customers returned to their food. They endured storms each year, but each one was different.
“Now, about tomorrow’s trip,” Mick said.
They spent several minutes reviewing the Taiwan Coastal Police’s impending bust on the high seas. It was important for the world’s major powers to see that Taiwan was serious about protecting endangered species. To that end, Taiwan had called in an expert to witness the arrest. All Dr. Morisot needed to do was show up and bring his eyeglasses.
“What I don’t understand,” Morisot said, “is why the police don’t crack down the hoods who deal in rhino horns. Crime must run rampant.”
“Not petty crime,” Mick said. “Look around you. Each alleyway is a neighborhood. The cash box stands open. Young women ran family businesses alone at night. All guns have long since been banned from the island.”
“Then where are the crooks?”
“The word ‘crook’ is a relative term,” Mick said. “There aren’t enough policemen on Taiwan to catch all the owners of unlicensed shops, tear down illegal cable hookups and borrowed telephone and electrical lines, and jail under-age bar girls, not to mention confiscate ripped off products and the proceeds from gambling dens and pirated movies. There’s plenty of room for illegal activity, but why rob a store when you can pirate and sell audiotapes? Economic opportunity tends to create its own law and order.”
“I can’t imagine how my laptop was made here,” Morisot said.
Mick stood up to go. “Let’s drop by a few traditional pharmacies this morning. That will show you how rhino horns are sold.”
“Excellent idea,” Morisot said. He pushed his plate away and tucked his briefcase under his arm. “Take me out of here.”
Natalie Pierce stepped out of the official government van, speech neatly tucked in hand, and stared up at the palatial Grand Hotel. It had wonderful feng shui. The concept of “natural orientation” had intrigued her early on in her study of Chinese culture.
The hotel’s enormous red columns positively dwarfed her five-and-a-half-foot frame.
Then she remembered how important it was for Chinese not to stand out in the crowd. Perhaps it was for the better that the building cut her down to size. The few inches that she did have over her Chinese counterparts would be less noticeable. However, her shoulder-length auburn hair and sky-blue eyes could not be helped.
Once inside the lobby, she peered through large, tinted windows at the city below.
Practitioners of the ancient art of geomancy had positioned the graceful hotel with its front door facing due south, its view high and commanding, and its back protected by the prominent hill that overlooked sprawling Taipei.
The sunlight was bright, but the buildings and traffic below were obscured in haze. She felt she was in a lofty palace that overlooked clouds in some far-flung province.
The hotel was also positioned to avoid typhoon winds and the perilous floods that often accompanied them. The building might be in harmony with nature, but the coming super typhoon might still wreak enormous damage on it. For instance, it might break the picture windows and wash the overstuffed furniture and Oriental carpets away. But the structure would remain.
A young female representative from the hotel touched her elbow. “This way, please.”
Natalie was led to the Western restaurant where she was due to speak before the group of locally based foreign businessmen. She was surprised to see the biannual Joint Chambers of Commerce had already finished their main course and were beginning dessert.
As the keynote speaker, she took the seat beside two colleagues, the economic counselors from the British and French missions. Waiters carried in trays of mimosas followed by platters of sliced mangos and watermelon, pointed cross-sections of star fruit
and perfume-like litchis stuffed with chunks of pineapple.
While she consumed her dessert, she let her eyes wander over the tables squeezed between the pillars.
As an economics officer, she spent all day reporting on commercial deals, trade laws, and economic conditions back to Washington. And from that experience, she knew that foreign businessmen had increasingly come to find Taiwan a tough nut to crack. High import duties and near-monopolies in some industries kept many foreign products out of the marketplace. Furthermore, Taiwan citizens were only beginning to experiment with Western brands and tastes. Once the source of cheap and efficient labor, Taiwan’s escalating labor costs no longer made the island a manufacturing mecca. Taiwan was thus in the process of retooling to become a service hub, giving customers access to China with her enormous workforce.
The men and women assembled before Natalie were experts at transportation, banking, insurance, motherboard design and quality-control services.
She glanced at her speech. As she suspected, there wasn’t anything in it but gross economic generalities.
Of course, people weren’t there looking for insider information. There was no novel approach that Natalie could suggest to people who had already spent decades working in Taiwan. For the most part, they were there to see old friends, share U.S. Grade A steak and enjoy lively conversation among professional acquaintances.
In stark contrast to the talkative crowd sat five tables of casual, even indifferent, representatives of military equipment manufacturers.
Four of the five tables were American company reps in Taiwan to sell helicopters, submarines, missiles and aircraft.
Few foreign governments could bail out the American arms industry and help it maintain its edge in technical superiority better than Taiwan.
Their serious demeanor didn’t arise from the grave task of defending freedom, rather, they profited from conflict.
And in that vein, Natalie set her speech aside.
She had some very bad news to report.
Chapter 6
Mick helped Dr. Morisot shuffle between parked cars onto the busy street.
Morisot inhaled deeply and belched. “How can you eat like that every day?”
