The Rice Thieves

by William Claypool

  After the waiter left, Zhang spoke. “You know the ministry is quite focused on improving our rice production methods. With many young farmers moving to the cities and the expansion of our factories on farmland, it is more and more difficult to maintain our harvest quotas. When you add in soil erosion, and soil depletion in addition to the usual weeds and insects, it is a challenge now, and it will be a greater challenge in the future. We are importing more rice every year, and that is not a position the ministry finds acceptable. We are under a lot of pressure to increase our domestic rice output.”

  “We understand the situation, and we hope that our efforts will help,” said Jun.

  “Mr. Liu, when you brought our attention to this strain of rice you found in Thailand, it was a most timely surprise. Please tell me how you found it.”

  Jun looked to see that there were still no other patrons in the restaurant and that the waiter was out of earshot. “Chao and I were in Bangkok on a business trip investigating a new computer technology when our colleague approached us about this new strain of rice he had found. The rice came from a very sophisticated grower there who, over many years, had an interest in crossing strains. Our colleague said he was willing to broker the deal if we wished to license these seeds. The only condition was that we could not know who the grower was, particularly if we were selling the seed technology to China. As you well know, rice exports here from Thailand have become a large part of the Thai economy and our contact did not wish any trouble from his government. After a few more meetings, we agreed on the price and through our contacts, managed to bring the seeds out of the country. I’m sure you don’t want to know all the particulars of that.”

  Zhang nodded knowingly.

  “We, of course, brought the seeds straight to your ministry for testing since Chao and I know nothing about rice. It sounded like an interesting product for China. Please, tell me, are these seeds any good?”

  Zhang smiled broadly. “Yes, yes, they look very promising. I am happy to tell you now that we are very excited by their performance in our test paddies. We grew a few trial plants in a small paddy and were so impressed with them, we expanded our test to a government farm not too far from here. That is why I asked you to meet me here in Hunan Province.”

  Zhang sipped his tea while the brothers watched. “It should please you to know that because of your outstanding reputation for bringing many successful technologies into China, we had given your seeds our highest priority.”

  Zhang watched their reaction.

  “In fact,” he continued, “we have planted all the seeds near our major production farms. We wanted to see how your Thailand rice would grow in the best of conditions. We generated additional seeds in our test paddies and combined them with your original seeds. We planted the maximum we could, about 20 hectares. It is our hope that if these plants continue to look promising, we will take the seeds and quickly ramp up production on government farms in several provinces.”

  Jun responded to him. “That is wonderful news for us.”

  “The Minister in Beijing could not have been more excited when I discussed this new hybrid strain of plants with him,” said Zhang. “I was so bold as to predict that we might double China’s rice production in a decade.”

  Zhang motioned the two men to lean in closer to him. “It will be a great irony that Thailand super rice will reduce and hopefully eliminate our Thai rice imports.”

  The Liu brothers smiled at each other.

  Zhang continued. “I assume you will trust the Ministry to arrange the appropriate financial compensation for you at a later time.”

  “Of course,” said Jun, as if he had an alternative. “The government has been very generous to us in the past. That is certainly acceptable.”

  “Good,” said Zhang. “I insist that you use the same discretion with this project as you have exercised with your previous computer technology projects.”

  “There will be no records of this anywhere,” said Jun.

  “Excellent, we all understand what we need,” said Zhang. “Now, come, let’s go see how your rice grows. This will be greatly rewarding for all of us.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Franco met Sloan in the hotel lobby. Sloan was dressed in blue jeans and a button-down shirt. Franco had changed into dress slacks and a sports coat.

  “You seem pretty casual for a business dinner,” said Franco, looking at Sloan’s jeans.

  Sloan replied, “You haven’t met Buddy.”

  “He’s a casual guy?”

  “Let me just say that in the seven or eight times we’ve met, he’s always worn blue jeans.”

  “Am I overdressed?” asked Franco.

  “No, you’ll be all right,” said Sloan and pointed to a car entering the portico. “There’s Sam.”

  The men walked to the approaching town car. Hal was driving, and Sloan opened the passenger door in the front. Sam sat in the back seat, wearing a very low cut black dress. Her hair was up, and her face had a beauty pageant’s worth of eye shadow, mascara, and lipstick.

  Franco looked at her and at Sloan. “Are we all going to the same party?”

  “Franco, it’s part of the job. You haven’t met Buddy,” she said.

  “No, I haven’t. I’m certainly looking forward to it,” Franco said, as Hal pulled out into the evening traffic flow.

  “He’s not a personality you’ll meet every day,” added Rorke.

  “Why?”

  “Let me just say he’s a self-made billionaire who’s very satisfied with himself. You’ll see he puts on this simple oil patch, country boy act. Don’t be fooled. He doesn’t miss anything, and he has an amazing memory. I’ve met with him half a dozen times. The first time he asked me about my family and we had a long talk. The last time, he still remembered the street where I had lived in Hong Kong and asked several very specific things about my residential college at Yale. I didn’t even remember talking about that. I was impressed.”

  “Maybe he just likes you.”

  “Possibly, but I’ve seen him this way on other topics too. He owns a dozen or so companies and I have the impression he’s on top of each one of them. Just don’t be fooled by his hayseed routine when you meet him.”

  “I’ll try not to.”

  Hal drove down to the waterfront past a group of mixed-use high-rise buildings, then past a few cruise ships and the cruise ship terminal, ending up at a large modern high-rise in the Kakaako neighborhood. Hal pulled up, and the doorman opened the back door.

  “Welcome back, Ms. Rorke,” said the doorman, as she slid out in front of Franco. The doorman took her hand to help her out and added, “Hello, Professor,” as Sloan left the front seat. “Good evening,” he said to Franco, not bothering to ask his name. Hal was apparently not coming with them, and he drove off as they entered the building.

  The doorman led them into the entrance hall. The man at the wide reception desk greeted Sloan and Rorke and pointed them to a far elevator. A very large man stood by the elevator door.

  When they approached, the man said, “Good evening, Ms. Rorke. Good evening, Professor. Welcome, Mr. Franco.”

  The sentry entered the open elevator door and they followed him in. The guard placed both his thumbs on the security pad until the light flashed green. There was only a single button to push. The guard pushed the button and left the elevator.

  “I guess that must be our floor,” said Franco, as the lift’s doors closed.

  Sloan said, “Buddy owns the whole building. He lives and works on the top four floors. I don’t think he has any other tenants or residents here.”

  The elevator began to move. The indicator panel above the door showed them going to the 35th floor.

  The elevator opened to a small entryway with a large open double door behind it. A slight man in his twenties was there to greet them. The man was Asian and wore a bl
ack peci on his head.

  “Hello again, Ms. Rorke and Professor Sloan. It’s very nice to have you back.” He spoke with a pure English accent that could have come from the West End of London.

  He turned to Franco and bowed slightly. “Hello, welcome. My name is Paku. You must be Mr. Franco.”

  “Yes,” said Franco.

  “Please come in. Mr. Jerome is excited to see you all. He is waiting for you on the roof deck. The escalators are to the left. Please follow me,” he said, and turned into the apartment.

  They walked after him to see a large open plan design with spacious rooms that opened to reveal 180-degree views of the ocean and Diamond Head. The escalator was as described and they followed Paku up one floor. The rooms were a smaller scale here, with a kitchen, living room with an adjoining covered outside deck, and a hallway that Franco assumed led to the bedrooms. They took another escalator that emptied out into a greenhouse on the roof.

  Outside of the greenhouse, a single man stood speaking on a telephone. He turned toward them when Paku opened the door of the greenhouse to lead the three guests out to the roof deck. The man was dressed in a Hawaiian shirt, cowboy boots, and blue jeans. He was fit and lean with graying temples on his well-cut hair. He abruptly stopped speaking and switched off the phone when he saw them. He was about six four, and moved quickly across the deck to meet them.

  “Hey, nice to see y’all again.”

  He shook Sloan’s hand and bent to kiss Rorke’s cheek as he said, “Yeah, a little bit of sugar.”

  After he kissed her, he took a step back. “Sam, you’re looking good, damned good. You been working out?”

  “I’m always working, Buddy.”

  “I bet. You know, you smell great tonight, too. Is that a new perfume?’

  “Same old stuff, Buddy.”

  “Well it becomes you, honey. Stick with it. You tell me what it’s called, I’ll buy the company for you. Then you’ll never run out.” He turned toward Franco and asked Rorke, “And who’s this?”

  “Mr. Jerome,” said Franco extending his hand, “I’m Michael Franco, also from the USDA.”

  Jerome took the extended hand and said. “Mike, be a friend and call me ‘Buddy.’ Nice to meet you. I always like to meet another plant man. We couldn’t live without ‘em.”

  The big man turned toward the greenhouse and yelled out, “Paku, bring more drinks over here.”

  Franco had not noticed the full rooftop bar when he walked in. The houseman soon walked back to the group and handed a glass with clear fluid, ice and a lime to Jerome and a glass of white wine to Rorke.

  “Is this still what you like, Ms. Rorke?”

  “Yes, thank you, Paku,” she said.

  “Mr. Franco, what would you like?” asked Paku.

  Franco looked at Paku and gestured toward Buddy and said, “I’ll have what he’s drinking.” Sloan asked for ginger ale and Paku walked quickly back to the bar.

  “Let’s sit and get to know one another,” said Buddy, leading them to a seating arrangement that overlooked Diamond Head.

  “Did y’all just come in from D.C. today?”

  “Yesterday,” said Rorke. “We wanted to be rested before we saw you, Buddy.”

  Jerome shook his head. “Don’t tease me, Sam,” he said, grinning as he took a drink. He turned to Franco.

  “Now, what’s your story, Mike? You look ex-military to me.”

  Franco turned to him.

  “That’s right. I was in the Navy for a few years.”

  “What did you do for them?”

  “I flew airplanes until I lost my medical clearance because of an eye injury.”

  “Carrier jets?’

  “Yes.”

  “What did you do after that?’

  “I was asked to...” Franco stopped midsentence when he saw Rorke’s expression and immediately understood that she wanted no mention of Naval Intelligence, “to do administrative work. I got bored with that pretty quickly and so I left the Navy.”

  “What are you doing on this project?” continued Buddy.

  Franco began to speak, then Rorke cut him off. “Mike was assigned to us because of your ongoing legal obligations. He oversees the compliance of companies with consent decrees.”

  Franco said nothing.

  “Well, sounds important,” said Buddy. “We’ll definitely have to take good care of Mike.” He turned to Franco, “I’ll make sure we keep you well informed.”

  “I trust you will,” said Franco.

  “Now I gotta ask,” said Buddy, “Is the USDA any better than the Navy?”

  Franco stammered a little, “I think so. I’m able to meet interesting people like you.”

  “That’s bullshit, Franco. There’s damned few like me,” Buddy laughed.

  “You’re right, Buddy. I’ve never met anyone like you.”

  “Damned straight. You know, to me, you don’t look too blind to fly. If you want, you can come out and fly my Gulfstream with me. The offer’s open. We can do a little island tour. My pilots would be happy to give you a check ride.”

  “Maybe I can ask my boss for a little time off.”

  “Sam, how about that? You can come too. You too, Professor.”

  “We’ll let you know,“ said Rorke dryly.

  Buddy lowered his voice and spoke to Franco. “That doesn’t sound too promising.”

  “No,” agreed Franco, taking his drink as Paku returned. “Tell me, Buddy, how did you make all your money?”

  Buddy laughed. “That’s a good direct question, Mike, and I’m glad you asked, because I love to tell my story. It’s the American dream writ large, as they say. It couldn’t happen anywhere else but here.” Buddy took a small sip from his glass.

  “I confess I was lucky. I grew up in a little town in Oklahoma named Chickasha. My dad was a pastor and my mother taught high school. I was a commuter student at OU and studied mechanical engineering. In my junior year, I figured out a few tricks to reduce stresses on the drilling columns they were using in Oklahoma at the time. I filed patents, got a few backers, quit school and started my own tool and dye shop to manufacture these devices. We did okay with that, and then I started looking into a corrosion problem they were having with turbine blades at the local power plants. With a few chemist friends of mine, we came up with a new coating process to extend the life of the blades, and I started another company. That one went gangbusters. I made a few more plays in energy-related companies and eventually bought my own oil company. Again, I got lucky, and that turned out real good.

  “With the cash flow coming in, I started to have fun with the money. I got into real estate, and I became a partner in several development and holding companies. I financed a construction company that was able to land major municipal contracts all over the Southwest, and finally, I stumbled into agriculture, which is where you all come in.”

  “Yes, why did you decide to grow rice?” Franco asked.

  “Just a minute,” said Buddy as he turned and yelled toward the bar while lifting his glass, “Paku, fella, you’re fallin’ behind.” Buddy lowered his voice. “He’s not much of a bartender, but he’s one helluva cook. He’s a pretty good bodyguard—steady with a gun, and amazing with a throwing knife. Because he’s a good Indonesian Muslim, though, he doesn’t appreciate the finer points of keeping a glass full.”

  Paku came with another round.

  “Rice and rice genetics…,” Buddy said. “That started about five years ago. I had a few OU friends who were working at College Station. They talked me into investing in their idea to feed the world with better seeds. They hired a load of people who are so much smarter than me it’s scary. We moved the labs from College Station to Houston and we have a nice little facility going there. Those boys are working on a bunch of neat projects, and they’ve made good progress, mostly in wheat and co
rn.

  “A while ago, I learned they were studying rice, too. They told me all about rice and field production and rice protein and so forth. They said they could make rice with improved growth and protein production. I said ‘great, go ahead’—what do I know about rice? Nothing except they serve it with fish in restaurants in Houston. Now, I have all this in my head.

  “Well, I played golf at National in Augusta about two years ago with my friend Shelly Gardner. I’m a member there, and Shelly and I only see each other once a year on the date we both became members. That’s a sacred date for us. We play our annual game rain or shine, course permitting. We missed last year on account of a crazy bastard who T-boned Shelly’s car the day before the match and broke his leg. That was too bad, because my game was improving, and I thought I’d be able to skin him. Shelly’s annoying as hell, although for reasons that elude me, I really do enjoy seeing him once a year.”

  Buddy took another drink before continuing. “Now Shelly’s into biotech this and biotech that and he’s made a lot of money at it. Anyway, two years ago Shelly told me about this new product his company was developing to cure ulcers. He said it was a special protein and he’s worried it’s going to cost too much to make. He won’t be able to charge enough to make any money with the cost of goods.

  “Now a light goes off in my head and I think why not send my seed boys off to make Shelly’s protein in their rice? I talked it over with them, and they did a little research and about five, six months later, they called me. They told me they did it. They went into Shelly’s patents, studied the structure of his protein, back-engineered the genes, and put them into our rice. Now Shelly’s protein is expressed in our rice plants—and not just a little bit of it. Well, I was so excited about this I wanted to grow up a shitload of it before I saw Shelly again at Augusta—this year’s game is coming up in a week, by the way. I don’t have any patents on this protein, except for the rice parts, but I figured if I can make it for pennies on the kilo, Shelly’s going to want to make a deal. Actually, he’ll be desperate to make a deal. It’s going to be funny as hell to have old Shelly over a barrel. He’s a real smug New York bastard, and I can’t wait to see the expression on his face when he comes crawling to me. It’s going to come as a complete surprise to him. He has no idea I’ve been playing with his protein. I wish you could all be there when I tell him.”