The Rice Thieves

by William Claypool

  “You mean the way we did to the Chinese?”

  “No, they did it to themselves.”

  “When did we learn the rice could cause cancer—before or after we let them steal it?”

  “Again, we didn’t let them do anything. As far as the cancer part, I’m surprised you’d even think we’d consider doing that.”

  Franco persisted, “Did you know it caused cancer when they stole the seeds?”

  “Next question, Franco.”

  Franco hesitated, controlling his temper. “All right, how did you set it up with the brothers?”

  “It wasn’t so hard. The younger brother is very enterprising.”

  “How?”

  “To plant the seed, so to speak, an unknown stranger came up to the younger brother at a tech convention in Seoul about eighteen months ago, give or take, where the brother was assessing the tech landscape to see what else he should steal. They were at a bar and this stranger—let’s call him a Malaysian Chinese—started to engage our thief on what he did for a living. The brother told him, almost truthfully, that he was a technology importer for China in a company based in Hong Kong. The Malaysian steered the subject to China’s biggest problem, that is, having to import food. He started to educate the brother on the magnitude and the economics of the food import problem. These numbers piqued his interest in agriculture. The Malaysian let our greedy smuggler know that a U.S. company had developed a strain of super rice that could revolutionize world food production. This rice was being evaluated in Hawaii, and with the right contacts, he might be able to license it for the Chinese market. According to the Malaysian man, the USDA was running additional tests before the rice technology was to be put up for sale. The first mover on this would make more money than could be imagined.

  “The younger brother and his new friend parted at the bar. Then a few months later, we tracked our boy coming to Hawaii on a B-2 visa to see the U.S.A. as a serious tourist. As it turned out, the younger brother had just set up shop in Molokai and, in time, encountered our late USDA employee. They became friends and, well, you can use that imagination of yours to figure out how the rest of the story goes.”

  She took a sip of her wine as Franco asked, “Was this the USDA employee who drowned before anyone could question him about the missing seeds?”

  Rorke replied, “Yes, that’s right.”

  “Another interesting coincidence,” said Franco.

  “I suppose it is,” said Rorke, absently.

  “And now you’re going to poison everyone in China?”

  “Franco, first, we didn’t plant it. They stole it. And what happens is not my call. I do what I’m told to do, just like you.”

  “Were you told to set up a sting that would poison their entire population?”

  “I’m not answering that.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you don’t need to know. All you should worry about is that Sloan returns to the U.S. before he tells his Chinese colleagues or anyone else that their super rice came from Texas. Right now, how we got here shouldn’t matter to you.”

  “I think it matters. I’d like to think we didn’t know it caused cancer when you set all this up and that you were just trying to smoke out the guys you suspected of industrial theft.”

  Rorke looked at him hard. “Well, if that’s what you’d like to think, go right ahead and think it. It may be true; it may not be true. It doesn’t matter.”

  Franco shook his head. “I’m still at a loss for words to understand this. When do we let the NSC and the White House know all this has gone on?”

  She did not respond.

  “We are going to let them know, aren’t we?”

  Rorke spoke to him in an even tone. “You know as well as I do what Pauling will want to do. You can predict how the National Security Council, the senior congressional leadership, and the White House will want to react. I don’t know how or when we’ll let the Chinese know. It’s my guess that we will.”

  “Only a guess?”

  “Call it an informed hunch.”

  She drained her second glass of wine and walked over to the bar to pour herself a third.

  “What about Buddy?” asked Franco, when she returned. “Are you going to tell him what happened to his rice? Are you going to let him know it was stolen by the Chinese?”

  Rorke shrugged her shoulders. “Yeah, I think we’ll probably have to tell him, otherwise he’ll eventually tell someone about his clever idea to screw with Shelly. He’ll make a big deal about dodging a bullet, blah, blah, blah and the PRC will eventually hear about it. They’ll easily connect the dots and it will come back to us. We might have a chance of keeping it quiet if Buddy is uncharacteristically discreet.”

  “You mean you’re going to have to scare the shit out of him if he opens his mouth.”

  “Exactly, and it won’t be just an empty threat.” Then she said, “Let’s come back to Sloan. I want him out of the country tomorrow. I want you to babysit him in person until we load him on his flight. We booked him on a 10:00 am United flight to Honolulu via Narita. We’ll have people watching him in Tokyo and he’ll be well observed when he returns to Hawaii. I still think he’s a serious security risk. We’ll keep eyes and ears on him in Hawaii until I’m comfortable he’ll stay quiet about this, and until I’m sure he understands that Pauling has to handle it. Your job is done when that plane takes off from Hong Kong with Sloan on board.”

  “What do you want me to do after he leaves?”

  “When Sloan’s gone, I just want you to go. I don’t care where you go or what you do. Just leave Hong Kong. Trust me, we’ll find you and settle up with whatever money Pauling promised you.”

  “Okay,” said Franco. “I have just one other question.”

  “Good. Last question.”

  He paused before asking, “How do you sleep at night?”

  “I usually have a glass of white wine before bed. If it makes you feel any better, Franco, since I’ve been working on this rice project, I often need two.”

  CHAPTER 28

  Rorke slept for most of the flight; Franco did not sleep at all. He woke her during the final approach. She was still rubbing the sleep from her eyes and combing out her hair when the plane came to a stop at the general aviation terminal on Macau.

  The Gulfstream’s air stairs dropped onto the tarmac outside the terminal and Mr. Yang and a customs agent came aboard to check passports. With everything in order, Ms. Donohue and Senor Fernandez were welcomed back to Macau. They left the plane and took a taxi directly to the ferry terminal. Rorke again charmed her way through the border crossing with her boyfriend and the trip back to Hong Kong was uneventful.

  It was about 10:00 pm when they arrived back in Hong Kong. The cab dropped Franco off first. Before he left the cab, Rorke held his sleeve and said, “Make sure you call me when he leaves Hong Kong.”

  “Okay. Do you want to know when I leave too?’

  “No. You just go.”

  “I guess this is goodbye,” he said, not sure how to leave it with her.

  “Yeah. Bye, Franco,“ she said quickly, and pulled the cab door closed before he could think any more about it.

  Franco watched the cab drive away. He thought about these last days and still could not believe what was happening. He thought about what he’d do after he put Sloan on the plane and realized he didn’t have any clear plan. All he knew was that Rorke was right about a few things. What he didn’t need to know, he didn’t want to know. Now there were more than a few things he wished he didn’t know.

  Franco went into the lobby and made a call. Aware that his cell phone was not secure, he still punched in the number Pauling gave him to call in an emergency. After a few rings, a recorded female voice came on the line and asked the caller to leave a message. Franco thought about it, and didn’t know how to frame his quest
ions. He settled for, “This is me. Please call. It’s urgent.”

  He hoped Pauling would understand the message and call him back to direct him to a secure line for a longer conversation.

  He then called Sloan. There was no answer. He called Sloan again, and again there was no answer.

  A few minutes later, he rang Sloan’s room on the hotel’s house phone. There was still no answer. He tried a few more times with the same result. Franco went to the lift and punched the number to their floor. He walked off the elevator, down the hall, and knocked on Sloan’s door. Initially, there was no answer. Franco knocked again. He heard movement within followed by the release of the lock mechanism before the door opened. Sloan pulled open the unlocked door and Franco pushed in, closing the door behind him.

  The first thing Franco saw was a pint bottle of vodka on the floor. It was empty. Another pint bottle was on the nightstand by the bed, and it was half empty.

  “Paul, are you okay?” asked Franco.

  “What do you think?” said Sloan, slurring the words.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Buddy called me today.”

  “Yeah?”

  “The rice causes cancer.”

  “What did he tell you?”

  “He said Shelly’s protein causes cancer, that he told you and Rorke and that I should know, too.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “I didn’t tell him anything about the rice being over here. I didn’t tell him it was stolen. I was too shocked. I didn’t process it for a little while but... my God, how could this happen? We have to tell the Chinese authorities. What a tragic mistake. How awful this is.”

  “Paul, I’m sure that Rorke is delivering the news to Pauling. They’ll handle it.”

  “It’s got to be done right away! That stuff spreads like wildfire. They can’t tell the difference from regular rice.”

  “I know. They’re going to deal with it.”

  “No. I can deal with it faster. I have friends who have a direct access to the top of the Agriculture Ministry. One of them is a good friend of the Minister. I should give her a call.”

  “No, Paul. You can’t. This would be devastating for the USDA and for Buddy, and it could undermine our relationship with China in a way that can’t be predicted. This has to be handled gently through the appropriate channels.”

  “We don’t have time for appropriate channels!”

  “We do. It’s only been a couple of days since we learned where the plants are. They’re all still in test plots. Isn’t that right?”

  “We don’t know where they are.”

  While he spoke, Sloan stumbled around the room and finally sat down on his bed. Franco sat next to him and tried to calm him.

  “Okay, wherever the rice is planted, it has to be a very small problem now.”

  “I don’t know,” said Sloan. “We can’t be sure of that.”

  “Right,” said Franco. “We can’t be sure. We need to let the process go through government channels. It will be done more efficiently that way.”

  “I’m not comfortable with that.” Sloan raised his voice, saying, “This stinks. It’s awful, just awful.”

  “Look,” said Franco, taking Sloan by the shoulders, “I saved your life once and you owe me for all I’ve done for you. I want you to sleep off the vodka tonight and sober up tomorrow. I’ll take you out to the airport tomorrow morning. Rorke booked you on a 10:00 am flight back to Honolulu. I’m sure Rorke will give you a full debrief of all this when you return to Hawaii.”

  Sloan had a vacant stare in his bloodshot eyes, although he seemed to slowly process what Franco said.

  “Okay, Mike. I am tired. Will you call me in the morning to make sure I’m awake?”

  “I’ll sleep here on your couch tonight,” said Franco. “I want to make sure you catch your flight tomorrow.”

  “Good,” said Sloan. He reached over to his nightstand and took a long drink out of the open bottle and dropped back on his bed. He was snoring in a few seconds.

  Franco pulled out his cell phone and entered in the number for Pauling again. Still there was no answer. This time he did not leave a message.

  Franco poured the rest of the vodka down the bathroom sink and turned out the light on Sloan’s nightstand before lying on Sloan’s couch. He hadn’t slept in over 24 hours. He set an alarm on his watch. He was asleep in a few minutes as well.

  ***

  When the alarm sounded, Franco needed a few moments to re-orient himself to the room. As he fumbled to turn off the alarm, he noticed with a start that Sloan was not in the bed. He looked over and saw that he wasn’t in the bathroom either. He had not heard him leave.

  Franco jumped out of bed and walked around the room as if expecting to see Sloan emerge from a closet or from under a bed. He was gone. Franco cursed himself and Sloan. He hated to do what he had to do. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed. Rorke answered immediately. Instead of saying “Hello,” she simply said, “We have him here. Collect all his things and meet us curbside at Terminal One, United Airlines, at 0830.”

  She disconnected. He hadn’t said a word.

  Franco checked his watch and saw that he didn’t have much time. He found Sloan’s case and dumped in his clothes, toiletries, and identification documents, including his passport. Sloan traveled light and it took no time to scour the place clean of all his possessions. The old, soft leather case he always carried around was not in the room and Franco assumed he had it with him. Franco was out the door with Sloan’s clothing five minutes after the call.

  A taxi was at the cabstand and within a few seconds, he was away and headed for the airport. Traffic was heavy leaving Hong Kong, but thinned out as they came closer to the airport on Lantau Island. He would make the trip in about an hour, which was very good for that time of day. Franco did not want to face Rorke, and particularly did not want to keep her waiting.

  When his cab pulled up at the terminal, four of them were standing outside. Rorke stood with three other men. The two men each held one of Sloan’s arms. Franco recognized the two as part of the surveillance team he’d identified earlier. Sloan looked disheveled and had a large red welt on his cheek. He was distracted, perhaps drunk, and didn’t immediately recognize Franco.

  “Where was he?” asked Franco.

  “Going to see his lady friend for an early morning shooter and a serious conversation, I’m guessing,” said Rorke. “He’s drunk and he didn’t want to come, so we had to resort to some persuasive, and maybe a little bit coercive, methods to help him along.”

  “You punched him in the face?”

  “No, more of a slap,” said Rorke. “It was ugly, nonetheless. We had to call his colleague and explain why he couldn’t meet her, but I think we smoothed that over. We listened to his call with her. He didn’t tell her anything.”

  She looked at Sloan and Franco and then back to Sloan. “It’s time to go home now, Paul. You did a great job, and we’ll be in touch. Don’t screw up.”

  She turned to Franco and said quietly, “He’s all yours. Usher him to the security line and my guys on the other side will watch him from there. I listened to your talk with him last night. It was a good talk. I thought it would have stopped him, but he seemed to want to go about it differently.”

  Rorke turned and walked to the large sedan parked at the curb. The other two men joined her, leaving Franco alone with Sloan.

  Sloan looked weak and confused, standing there clutching his leather case. He seemed to look to Franco for guidance.

  “Let’s get you home, Paul,” said Franco putting his arm around the drunken scientist. “Let’s get you home.”

  If there had been any fight in the man earlier, there was none remaining. Sloan walked with Franco to the check in, received his ticket, and sent his bag through. He kept clutching the briefcase, clear
ly not wanting to let it go. On the way to passport control and the security gates, Franco asked Sloan to sit with him.

  They found a quiet bench and sat. Franco looked him in the eye, and put his arm around Sloan’s shoulder. “Paul, do not do anything stupid with this plant information. Do you understand?”

  Sloan said weakly, “Yes, I understand.”

  “You haven’t told anyone about this, have you?”

  “No. I wanted to discuss it with my friend before I went any further with it.” Sloan was slurring his words badly.

  “Don’t’ even think about going any further with it. The NSA and Pauling’s other groups can hear anything they want and see anything they want. They’ll know what you say almost before you even think it. For this operation, they will look and listen to everything. How this information is conveyed to the Chinese government is highly sensitive and very delicate. You must understand that.”

  “I know it is.”

  “You have to leave it up to them to do it.”

  “I know.”

  “You can’t say anything to anyone about this.”

  “I understand.”

  “If you say anything, they’ll know.”

  Sloan nodded.

  “Are you going to be okay?”

  “I guess,” he said.

  “You have to get sober again.”

  “Yeah, I know. I will.”

  “When you get back to Hawaii, keep your mouth shut and never ever speak to anyone about this. They will always be listening.”

  Sloan’s sad eyes seemed to understand. Franco felt sorry for this man who had been such a brilliant academic. He wanted to sit there until a little of the character of the person he had known in the past returned. Unfortunately, there was no time for that. Instead, Franco walked him to passport control, hugged him, and watched him leave.