The Rice Thieves

by William Claypool

  “So I shouldn’t mention Hawaii?”

  “No, Franco. You shouldn’t mention Hawaii. Any other questions? This is your chance.”

  Franco shook his head.

  “Good,” she said, taking the “Do Not Disturb” hangtag from the inside door handle and moving it to the outside door handle. “I’ll see you there.”

  “No goodbye kiss?” asked Franco.

  “Sorry,” she said. “We broke up.” She turned and left with her overnight bag in hand.

  Franco left ten minutes later and found his way to the street via the glitzy shopping area. He hailed a cab and arrived at the terminal a few minutes later.

  The modern and large general aviation terminal was easy to find and it was adjacent to the commercial terminal. The runways were beyond, isolated on their own separate landfill island and connected by two land bridges to the terminal.

  After leaving the cab, Franco walked into the terminal and stopped at the main desk. A young woman sitting behind the desk looked up at him.

  “Do you speak English or, maybe Spanish?” he asked her in his Spanish accent.

  “English,” she said with an equally heavy Chinese accent.

  “Yes, my name is Miguel Fernandez. I am looking for Mr. Yang.”

  She said, “One moment, please.” She picked up the telephone, pressed a number, and spoke in Chinese, although he heard the name Fernandez mentioned.

  After the call, she turned to him and announced, “Mr. Yang will be right here.”

  Franco waited there briefly until he saw a man open a door down the hallway and walk toward him.

  “Senor Fernandez,” said Yang in perfect English, “I am Mr. Yang. Please follow me. Your colleague was asking about you.”

  Yang led him back through the door he had just come through, down a hallway that coursed through a lounge area, and to a separate conference room at the end of the hallway. Rorke was sitting in a chair across from a man dressed in the usual general aviation pilot’s uniform of a white shirt with epaulets and dark slacks.

  At the doorway, Yang looked to Franco and asked, “Senor Fernandez, may I have your passport please. I will clear you through the customs process.”

  Franco glanced at Rorke, who had overheard Yang and she nodded to him as he handed Yang the passport.

  “Thank you,” said Yang, and left the room.

  After he left, Rorke spoke to Franco.

  “This is Bob Talbot who will be flying us to Vegas tonight,” she said.

  The pilot extended his hand. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Fernandez. I expect that you and Ms. Donohue will have a comfortable flight. We’ll have great tailwinds and it should be a relatively short trip.”

  “When do we leave?” asked Franco.

  “We topped off our tanks when we arrived and we’ll leave as soon as Mr. Yang finishes your passport and customs clearance. I’m going back to the plane. I’ll see you there.” He stood and walked out of the room.

  Franco and Rorke said nothing while waiting for Yang, who returned in a few minutes.

  “May I take you to your plane?” Yang asked, returning the passport to Franco.

  Without waiting for an answer, he led them back out and down another hallway to an exterior door. A guard sat behind a desk in front of the door. He nodded to Yang and his visitors and they walked past him, out the door, and onto the tarmac where the large business jet was parked.

  At the foot of the air stairs, Yang said his goodbye and turned to walk back to the terminal. A large man was stationed at the foot of the stairs. “Welcome,” was all he said, as Rorke and Franco climbed the stairs. The man followed them up into the plane and closed the aircraft door behind them. He sat in one of the forward chairs as the engines started.

  Rorke pulled a magazine off the rack, took a chair, and kicked off her shoes. Franco walked to the cockpit to introduce himself to the co-pilot and look over the flight deck before coming back to sit across from Rorke.

  He said nothing to her, nor she to him, until they had taken off and reached their cruising altitude.

  Franco broke the ice and asked her, “Can we talk?”

  She half looked up, put down her magazine, and said, “Sure.”

  “Am I still Miguel Fernandez?” he asked in a quiet voice.

  “No. You’re back to Franco. This is a ‘Company’ plane and Talbot and the crew work for the ‘Company,’ just like me.“

  “Oh, good,” said Franco, looking around the cabin. “Now, you said you think you know what Buddy wants.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Do I ‘need to know?’”

  “I’ve been giving that serious thought. I’m not sure if I want you to be naturally surprised, or for you to be briefed ahead of time to ensure that you don’t say anything stupid.”

  “Have you made a decision yet?”

  “I have.” She focused her stare at him. “I want it all, or at least parts of both of them. Does that surprise you?”

  He laughed. “No. Not a bit.”

  Rorke stood and said, “Let me bring you a drink and we’ll discuss Buddy. What would you like?”

  “Lots of scotch on a little bit of ice,” he said.

  “Coming right up,” she said, walking to the galley. She found the ice and the scotch bottle, poured his drink and came back with his drink and a glass of wine for herself.

  “Thank you,” said Franco, when she handed him his glass.

  She curled her knees under her in the large chair and took a sip of her wine. “What you’re going to hear from Buddy is that the biotech product, this special protein his friend, Shelly, was working on has been cancelled. Buddy will have just learned it last week when they had their annual golf game.”

  “You seem pretty sure of that,” he said.

  “Yes, 100 percent.”

  “How?”

  “Not your problem,” she said dismissively.

  “Okay, so how does that affect us?” asked Franco, changing the question.

  “You’ll have to hear that from Buddy. That’s the ‘naturally surprised’ part.”

  “I’m a pretty good actor. You can tell me now.”

  “I don’t think so. What I need from you is to be sympathetic rather than anything else. Above all, Buddy must not hear about the theft of his rice. That part is the absolute requirement. As far as we all know, his rice is happy, safe, and secure with the USDA on Molokai. Is that all perfectly clear?”

  “Sure,” he said.

  “Franco, is it perfectly clear to you that Buddy cannot know that his rice was stolen?”

  “Yeah, like I just said, perfectly clear. What’s going on?”

  “Franco, repeat after me, ‘The rice is safe on Molokai.’”

  “I got it.”

  “Say it!”

  “’The rice is safe on Molokai,” he repeated, rolling his eyes.

  “Well done. That’s the story when we see Buddy.” Her eyes darted back to her magazine.

  There was a tense silence.

  “Okay, let me change the subject. Why have you spent all this effort setting these guys up? You’ve given them a lot of time.”

  She had a distant look in her eyes before she answered him. “It’s very personal with me, and it is for Hal, too, for that matter. My family had been doing well in Hong Kong until my father was ruined by a crony business deal the Communist Party bastards set up. Dad’s business tanked and my family went broke. We had to move back to the states. My poor father never recovered from it.”

  Franco watched her.

  “For Hal, it’s even worse. Four party goons beat up his father over a trumped-up offense and threw him in jail. His father died there a few years later. As you might guess, Hal is still very angry at the PRC and the Communist party.”

  “So that’s what moves you?”r />
  “Yup, revenge and hate—not very attractive, although highly motivating. Generally speaking, I don’t like thieves. I have nothing personal against our thieves. In fact, I think the older brother is quite charming. However, their activities are greatly damaging to American interests, and they have to be stopped.”

  “I guess that helps me understand,” he said.

  “Good. No more questions,” she said, looking down at the magazine.

  “Not quite,” he said, holding up a hand. “What’s the schedule? When do we see Buddy?”

  “We’re due at his place at 1330 tomorrow. We should arrive in Honolulu about 2300 local tonight. We’ll have plenty of time for beauty sleep before we see Buddy. You’re off duty until 1315 when I’ll expect to see you in the lobby of our hotel. You can have another drink or two now if you like. You have free time all morning.”

  “Gee, thanks,” he said.

  “It’s an easy job for you, Franco.” She turned a page on her magazine as she said it.

  “I do have one more question,” he said cautiously.

  She sighed loudly and looked up. “Okay…”

  “What’s going on with Sloan?” he asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Is he being watched?”

  “What do you think?”

  “Never mind. It was a stupid question,” said Franco.

  “Mikey, remember I’ve told you to watch out for asking idiotic questions. Now, if you don’t want me to be angry with you, would you be a dear and do the honors for the next round?” She held up her glass. “After that, I’m going to the couch on the port side of the plane and I’m going to sleep. I’ll leave you alone with your imagination.”

  CHAPTER 25

  When he came down to the hotel lobby the next afternoon, Rorke was standing there, texting on her phone. She said nothing when he walked over to her, and just turned abruptly and walked to the doorman to tell him she needed a cab. The doorman whistled and the first cab in line came through the portico. Franco followed her to the curb and into the car.

  Without a “hello,” she launched in. “We have a departure slot at 1600. We have no more than 90 minutes to give Buddy, if we need to stay that long.”

  “What time do we arrive back in Hong Kong?” he asked.

  “We should land in Macau about 1900 local on Friday and after that it depends on when we catch the ferry back to Hong Kong.”

  “Do we go back to the Venetian?”

  “No, we’ll be checked out.”

  “That seems a shame.”

  “Yeah, a real shame,” she said absently. She pulled her cell phone from her purse and began scanning it for texts and e-mails. Franco correctly assumed the conversation was over.

  Without another word, they drove across Honolulu, down Ala Moana Boulevard past the boat harbor and into Buddy’s neighborhood. The friendly doorman at Buddy’s building welcomed them and addressed Rorke by name. Paku was standing with the doorman and, after a quick greeting, he walked them to the private elevator. Paku placed both thumbs on the security reader and on seeing the green light, pressed the floor number to Buddy’s apartment. The ride up was silent.

  When the elevator discharged them in Buddy’s entrance hall, Paku activated another security pad on the wall and, when the lock snapped open, led them to one of the interior rooms on the floor.

  “Mr. Jerome is on a call that will be ending soon. Would you like a drink while you wait?” he said.

  They declined and Paku left them, closing the wood and smoked glass door behind him.

  The room was a classic study with high full bookshelves made of cherry, stained dark. There was no desk, and the rest of the furniture was a mix of leather couches and chairs arranged around a large circular coffee table with the same finish as the bookshelves. Franco began to seat himself in one of the chairs while he admired the room.

  As he was sitting, Rorke said, “Don’t sit there, Franco. Buddy will want that chair. Sit on the couch.”

  Franco did as he was told without comment.

  She sat in one of the other chairs and again pulled out her phone, reading messages.

  “How did you sleep?” he asked.

  She didn’t respond, just continued to read the cell phone.

  “Did you have lunch at the hotel?”

  She didn’t look up or answer the question.

  Franco gave up and started walking around the room inspecting the library. He wondered how many of the leather-bound books Buddy had actually read. He decided the answer would probably surprise him either way.

  About ten minutes later, the door opened and Buddy’s round, smiling face beamed in. Buddy wore an open collar Hawaiian shirt, blue jeans, and cowboy boots, and he charged into the room. Franco walked over to greet him, although Rorke stayed sitting.

  “Mike, good to see you again,” he said, shaking Franco’s hand. “Sam, you look beautiful as usual. You must still be working out.”

  Rorke just said, “Hello, Buddy.”

  Buddy leaned over to kiss her cheek and remarked, “You smell good. Same perfume?”

  “Yes, same perfume.”

  Buddy sat in his chair. “You’re probably wondering why I asked you to come here on such short notice.”

  Rorke looked at him and replied evenly, “Yes, we are.”

  “Sam, before I tell you, I have to ask you something.”

  “Sure, what can I tell you?”

  “Tell me what’s the dollar limit on gifts federal employees can accept?”

  Rorke waited briefly before answering. “For gifts, since we are the agency regulating you, the answer is ‘zero.’ We can’t accept anything. We’re also not supposed to be enjoying any of those wonderful dinners that Paku has prepared for us in the past. Strictly forbidden. That goes for your fifty-year-old scotch, too.”

  “That’s no fun,” said Buddy. “What if you weren’t regulating me?”

  “It goes all the way up to $50 in value in a year.”

  “Hell, Sam, I can’t pour you a good glass of wine for $50.”

  “I know, Buddy. We public servants need to make serious sacrifices, or at least that’s what’s in the rulebook. I don’t want an inspector from the Office of Government Ethics to spoil our fun. Sadly, that’s how it is.”

  “You don’t seem to fret much about that,” commented Buddy.

  “No, not much,” she said coyly. “It never seems to help.”

  Buddy thought for a second and his expression brightened. He asked, “What if I just loaned something to you?”

  “I still don’t think it will cut it with the OGE. Why don’t you tell me what you’re talking about?”

  Buddy opened the drawer on the lamp table next to his chair and took out a small velvet case. He walked to her chair and opened the case for her inspection. In the case lay a diamond necklace, lots of diamonds, large diamonds.

  “It’s exquisite, Buddy, and it looks as if it might be valued at a little more than $50.”

  “Yeah, like maybe a hundred and fifty grand. Do me a favor and show me how it looks on you.”

  She looked at the catch and said to him, “Would you help me put it on?”

  She turned her back to him on her chair and pulled her hair aside. Buddy gently draped the jewelry around her neck, and fastened the catch.

  When he returned to his seat, she turned toward him and asked, “How do you like it?”

  “I love it. It’s just like I imagined it would look. Just fantastic. It helps draw attention to your lovely chest, not that you need much help there. It looks like it was made for you—and literally, it was.”

  “Buddy, thank you for the necklace. It was very sweet of you. I’m not sure I’m going to keep it, though. It might land me in a lot of trouble.” She swept her hands over the diamonds before asking, “W
ould you give me a job if the OGE found out about this and fired me?”

  Buddy looked very pleased with himself as he chuckled, “Honey, you know the answer to that.”

  “That’s comforting. Now, what’s the reason for the gift?”

  “First, I don’t know that I need to have any special excuse to help you look even more lovely than usual. To your point, you saved me several millions of dollars over the last year. This is payback for that.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Rorke.

  “Well,” said Buddy slowly, “I saw my friend, Shelly, last week for our annual golf game. As you know, I launched this rice project because of Shelly’s pharmaceutical interest in this protein he’s been working on.” Buddy paused and looked at Franco and Rorke to see that they were following him.

  “Well, it’s been two years since I saw Shelly, and it’s been over a year since you USDA types took my rice. Had I asked Shelly about his project a year ago, I would have been surprised to learn they shelved the project. They closed it right up, tight as a drum, about 18 months ago.”

  “That’s too bad, Buddy. All that work for nothing,” said Rorke.

  Franco wondered why Rorke hadn’t immediately asked why they shut down the project.

  “Why did Shelly abandon the project?” asked Franco. He noticed that Rorke gave him a sharp look.

  “That’s an interesting story, Mike. It turns out that Shelly’s protein failed their safety testing—specifically their tests to see if it caused cancer in mice and rats. And boy, oh boy, did it ever! Shelly said his toxicology guys said they never saw anything like it before. In both species, all animals came down with lung tumors, malignant lung tumors, cancer, and they all died of them. It happened at about the seven-month exposure time. The animals looked good until boom, lung cancer everywhere.

  “Shelly said it was a fragment of his protein that got activated in the liver or kidney or something like that. It was this activation that made it cause cancer. I guess this is a little like the gluten story only not with wheat protein and celiac disease. With Shelly’s protein, it’s lung cancer. Shelly said it was a pro-onco something or other and some de-repressor type of thing that hit the lung. Anyway, bingo, bad news for rats. Professor Sloan would probably know about how these things work. He’d be interested. Maybe I should have invited him here?”