Sloan flashed another old photo of two overly happy looking employees with baskets of fruit and plants in front of the incinerator.
“In early 1960, a few months after Hawaii’s statehood, the USDA assumed responsibility for this facility and used it as much for plants found on farms as for materials stopped at customs. Currently, about half of the activities here are for observation of plants grown in Hawaii by local growers. The rest of the activities are pretty much split between various botanical research projects and inspection of materials confiscated by border agents. The facilities here consist of this luxurious office building, a small wet laboratory building, and the large greenhouse facility you saw coming in.”
Sloan showed additional images of a site map of the grounds and the interiors of the buildings he described.
“As you can see from the following pictures, the greenhouse has changed a great deal over the years. It doesn’t look like much from the outside, but inside it’s very sophisticated. We can alter the soil, the humidity, the UV exposure—pretty much anything we want in the twenty cells of the facility. Each cell is environmentally separated if we choose, although usually, we keep it all ambient and maybe have only one or two of the cells at a time in either very high humidity or in arid conditions.
“The seed room is similarly maintained for heat and humidity in the storage lockers.”
Sloan showed images of the room with rows of pullout storage bins, and additional images of a few bins containing seeds that were opened.
“That’s the facility. Plants are flown in here from all over the state, and occasionally, we’ll be sent materials to study from Samoa and Guam as well. We don’t process any specimens from the mainland. Any questions?”
“What about security?” Franco asked.
“There’s not much of that,” said Sloan. “The front gate is locked. It opens with a six-number keypad without a swipe card. The same combination opens the greenhouse and the seed room locks. The security camera broke about ten months ago and we haven’t been given the funds to repair the system. Seed and plant security are not at the top of Washington’s funding pyramid. Any other questions? Mike?”
“Yes, who are the staff here?”
“Beside me, there are four staff members. The supervisor is a Ph.D. botanist with about a million years of experience in Hawaiian botany. There’s very little she doesn’t know about the plants on these islands. She has two lieutenants who are master’s level botanists, and there is one other guy who is the handyman on site who knows nothing about plants, although he can keep everything running. There had been one other staff member, recently separated from the site, whom I suspect Sam will discuss.”
Rorke stood and began to speak. “We’ve been watching our thieves’ behavior for months and we think know a lot about them. We’re pretty certain the thieves are two brothers. One is thirty-eight and the other is thirty-five. They are both native-born Hong Kong. Before and after the handover to China in ‘97, their father made a fortune by being one of the PLA’s primary brokers to and from western companies. Even though the Army had, and still has, its fingers in many industries, their father specialized in technology—both software and hardware. He brought substantial amounts of high tech materials into China from all over the world, some legally, some not, and most from the West. The father had well placed friends in the government, and parlayed his profits into a sizable real estate empire both on Hong Kong Island and on Kowloon. He was right in the midst of a deal for a casino in Macau ten years ago, when he died suddenly of a stroke. The sons tried to step in, but the casino financing syndicate didn’t want to deal with them and they were cut out.
“That was the start of a rough patch for the boys. They dabbled in new office space development. They judged the market poorly and took a bath there. They were over-leveraged on a few other projects and then were forced to sell most of Daddy’s crown jewel properties at a fire sale to stay afloat.
“Just when the heavy storm clouds were gathering around them, Mom saved them. She married a high-level government man she and her husband had known back in the ‘Pre-Return’ go-go days. The official was a widower with no children, and he took pity on his dithering stepsons. He arranged for their struggling office properties to enjoy full rentals from the Red government. He made the right connections for them with other Hong Kong officials and helped them finance a few better deals. Soon they were back on their feet.”
She took a sip from the water bottle on the table in front of her and then continued. “With the help of their government connections, the brothers learned, as their father had, that there was an easy market in peddling the right Western technology to Chinese interests. This line of work seemed to suit their personalities. They both like taking risks. The older brother takes business risks and he has been the more impulsive one about the family investments. The younger brother just likes to spend money and his tastes run to hot cars, drugs, and women, lots of women. The older brother’s spending tastes are more refined—fine food, expensive wines, elegant clothes.”
“Do these brothers have names?” asked Franco.
“Not as far as you’re concerned right now, Franco,” she said curtly. “I’ll tell you everything you need to know in due time.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said.
She gave him a stern look, then continued. “About six years ago, the brothers formed a company. It was a front they used for the trade shows and business development conferences they’d attend. We’ve found that they are amazingly careful not to leave a paper trail and they never tell their buyers the source of the stolen technology. It’s a plausible deniability thing. But everyone understands the game and when the technology comes to market, it’s been modified enough that it seems like the buyers made it themselves. If it’s a government buyer of the stolen goods, they work very hard to hide it and it never comes to market. They certainly won’t admit they have to steal all their best technology from the West. We think the Chinese Red Army gives the brothers cash and the brothers make the right contacts. The brothers both speak perfect English, by the way. We were first put on to these two by a tip from a small software firm started by one of Hal’s friends. They said the brothers stole a killer app from their company and Hal’s friend saw it in China before they finished its development in the U.S. That was two years ago and we’ve been watching them on and off ever since.
“From what we’ve seen, the older brother usually scouts the technology and schmoozes the senior management types. When he’s found a mark, the younger brother makes the mid-level management contacts, handles the payments and bribes, and arranges for the transport of the technology. When they’ve stolen from a U.S. company, we think they smuggle the hardware—usually small tech prototypes—out through Mexico. We’ve also seen them smuggle software programs via courier to Montreal and then to Hong Kong.
“As I said, they are very good at covering their tracks, although with the help of the NSA and the folks at Langley, we think we know their M.O. very well. They don’t send software over the wire. They never talk business on cell phones, and, except for their government contacts, it’s only the two of them. Everyone else they use is either an outside contractor or temporary help. We were able to hack into their office and home computers, and there are no records of any business transactions. We think they funnel their smuggling money out of China through banks owned by the PLA. These banks probably wire the funds to banks in Switzerland and the Caymans. We have not been able to hack into their accounts on the bank computers and we only think Switzerland and the Caymans because of trips the brothers went on last year. We have no real proof yet.”
She took a sip of water.
“When did they decide to become rice thieves?” Franco asked. “It’s a long way from computers.”
“That’s a very interesting question,” said Rorke. “We learned that they have an uncle. Our local contacts surveilled him. The old
man lives a very modest life; he’s kind of a hermit. He bought into that whole Cultural Revolution thing when he was younger. He was raised with our thieves’ father in a middle-class family in Kowloon. As I mentioned, their father went into business. Their uncle chose the agrarian nirvana ideal and got close to the land. He works about a half-acre on his farm, growing his own rice and vegetables. He never married. The brothers look in on him from time to time.
“We’ve watched the old man try to convince his nephews that China’s future is in farming and that people should be encouraged to grow their own food and forget about all this manufacturing. Obviously, that message didn’t resonate terribly well with our boys and their big city lifestyles. I do think the old man is a patriot, and he’s convinced them to steal rice for the good of China. I think the brothers just learned on their own that they can make serious money out of this.”
“How did they find out about our rice seeds?” asked Franco.
Rorke chose her words carefully. “As we piece it together, the USDA staff member who knew about this fast-growing rice was at an agri-tech conference, and was first approached by the younger brother. A few drinks later, they were good friends. As the younger brother kept buying the drinks, we assumed they became business partners. We only know this in retrospect from the surveillance system at the bar near the conference and from security cameras around Molokai. We backed out the employee’s travel locations from his expense reports.
“When another USDA employee found that the rice seed bin seemed a little light, he suspected the seeds were stolen. We were called to look into the matter.”
“Why would the USDA call you?” interrupted Franco. “Are rice seeds part of the CIA jurisdiction these days?”
“How we cooperate with other investigative branches is not your problem, Franco. Just know that we’ve had our eyes on this for a while,” she said firmly.
She continued to address Franco, “We don’t exactly know when the theft occurred. However, we did a little forensic accounting and learned that the employee accomplice bought a $250,000 fishing boat on his $60,000 a year salary. He paid cash for the boat from large wire transfers that were recently deposited from offshore banks. He wasn’t exactly discreet. After we looked at security camera images from coffee shops and bars on the island, we noticed the younger brother was in town again buying drinks for our USDA employee. We assume he made the deal and smuggled the seeds off the island.”
“Did the employee confess to this?” asked Franco.
“No,” said Rorke.
“Why not?”
“Because he drowned in the Kaiwi channel before we could speak with him. He must have fallen off his new boat. It was found drifting about ten miles from where they found most of the body floating.”
“’Most of the body?’” said Franco.
“Yes,” said Rorke. “There are a lot of sharks in that channel.”
After a pause while everyone absorbed that grisly thought, she said. “Okay, Paul will walk through the facility with us. We’ll catch our ride back to Honolulu when he’s done. Franco, you and Paul and I are going to Buddy’s home for dinner this evening. As far as he’ll know, you work with me at the USDA in Washington, and we’re out here for a review of the quarantine station. I want you to pay attention on Paul’s tour. Jerome may ask you a few agriculture questions and I don’t want you to blow our cover with him.”
“No problem,” said Franco. “I just love learning about plants.”
“That’s wonderful. Because tomorrow, we’re leaving for a growers’ convention in San Francisco and we’ll meet with two of Jerome’s people there. You’ll have more time to learn about rice before we visit our thieves in Hong Kong.”
“Wonderful,” said Franco. “Sorry, Paul, but all this plant science is way over my head. I’ll have to leave it to geeks like you and Jerome to explain it to me.”
Rorke said. “I don’t know that I’d put Buddy Jerome in the geek category.”
“Okay, I’ll reserve my opinion until I meet him.”
“I think you’ll be able to make your mind up about Buddy very quickly.”
“If you say so.”
“I do,” and after a moment’s hesitation, she said, “Paul and Hal, would you give me a minute or two alone with Mike?”
“Sure,” said Sloan. “We’re done in here. I’ll meet you in the greenhouse.” They both stood and walked out of the conference room.
Rorke waited for them to leave and the door to click shut before turning to Franco.
“I want to be very clear with you that this is my operation and it’s going to be run on a strictly ‘need to know’ basis.” She let her eyes linger on Franco before continuing. “There’s a lot of information here that you don’t need to know, and to be completely honest with you, it’s information you don’t want to know. You don’t have to ask a lot of questions to try to find out every detail. You’re going to have to trust my judgment on this. Can you live with that?”
“I don’t even know you. How can I trust your judgment?”
“Look, Pauling brought you here for a reason. He also put me here for a reason. It’s really a matter of your trusting Pauling.”
Franco thought about it. “Okay, I guess I’ll have to.”
“That’s the right answer. Only if I ask you again, say it like you mean it.”
She expected a reply. He said nothing.
“One other thing, Franco. You have one job on this operation and that’s to ensure that your friend Sloan behaves and that he doesn’t talk to strangers about where the seeds came from or what they do.”
“How am I going to do that?”
“Look, I’ll be watching him, too. Just remember that if Sloan needs someone to talk with, make sure you’re available to him. I’d rather prevent a security breach than have to deal with one. That’s why Pauling brought you here. Just do your job.”
Franco felt his temper rising.
“Let’s go take the tour,” she said. “After that, we’ll fly back to Honolulu and meet Buddy.” She turned and left without another word. He stood there unsure of whether he wanted to stay on this mission or go directly back to Stewart Island. He followed her reluctantly, thinking of the fee Pauling had promised him.
Chapter 8
Three Months Earlier
Rather than at his government office, they met him in a small quiet restaurant in Hunan Province on a back street in Changsha city near the river. It was hot and humid and the noisy air conditioner in the window strained to keep the few patrons comfortable. The frayed, red, floor-length curtains were held far back with chairs to give the struggling machine room to operate. It wasn’t helping and tiny sweat streams made slow rolls down the faces of both men.
Jun sat behind his half-finished lunch, watching his brother eat. “Why do these people make their food this hot?” he said, between deep drags on the cigarette in his hand. “The weather is hot enough. Why make it worse on your insides?”
“Your stomach is too old, brother. You should stick with congee and bread sticks.”
Jun took another deep drag on his cigarette. “I didn’t work this hard to eat jook, or the fire they serve for food in this province,” he said, exhaling in Chao’s direction.
“You have no taste. Maybe your stomach is not too old, just too western,” Chao said between bites.
It was after one in the afternoon, and the lunch crowd had cleared. The secretary of the ministry official had called to say he was running late, and that was an hour ago.
Jun crushed his cigarette and immediately lit another.
“You know we have a law against smoking in restaurants now,” said Chao.
“Yes, but we’ll both be as old as Quan before they enforce it.”
“If you stay out of Beijing; they do enforce it there.”
“I have no plans to go to Be
ijing anytime soon.”
“I heard they’re also enforcing the law in Shanghai.”
“I heard it’s like Hong Kong, very selective.”
“Perhaps we can ask the Assistant Minister why that is.”
“If the bastard ever comes. We came all the way here to meet him, and he can’t be on time.”
“I thought you said he was doing us a favor with the seeds.”
“It doesn’t excuse the little worm for making us sit here for an hour.”
Jun considered switching from tea to beer, but he did not want to give the Assistant Minister of Agriculture a poor impression. He had met Zhang Wei only once before, and it was a brief encounter. They met at a technology conference in Shenzhen when Zhang was a much lower grade official. Jun remembered thinking that he was an ambitious young man with good family connections and that he would do well. The family connections were stronger than Jun appreciated and Zhang Wei progressed even faster than he had predicted.
After two more cigarettes and another cup of tea, the official walked through the door. Jun and Chao were the only two patrons left in the restaurant, and Zhang Wei walked quickly to their table. Jun tamped out his cigarette and placed the ashtray on the table behind him.
Both men stood to meet the guest.
“I’m very sorry I am late. I was required to stay on a conference call to Beijing for much longer than was scheduled,” said Zhang after bowing to them.
“It was no trouble. We completely understand that government business is more important than two small importers,” said Jun, as he introduced his brother.
“It is wonderful to meet you,” Zhang told Chao, “and to see you again,” he said to Jun. “Again, I am so sorry to be so late. The work you do is very important for the People’s Republic, and we are excited about it.”
“Thank you,” said Jun. “We try to do our part for China.”
“Yes, and you do it very well,” said Zhang.
Jun waved to the waiter in the corner and Zhang Wei ordered tea when he approached the table.
The Rice Thieves Page 7