The Interior (29 page)

The persistent honking of a car horn snapped Hulan back to the present. She looked at her watch, realized how late it was, then ran through the fields until she reached Suchee’s little compound, where David and Investigator Lo were waiting for her.

“Where’ve you been?” David asked. “We’ve got to get to the airport.”

“I’m ready,” she said.

David and Lo exchanged looks that said otherwise. “You’re, ah, dirty?” David said, giving up any pretext of diplomacy.

Hurriedly Hulan drew water from the well, dipped her arms in the bucket, rubbed them as clean as she could, and splashed water on her face. She threw the filthy water out on the ground and drew up another bucket of water. “Investigator Lo,” she called out as she tipped her head over, “get my bag out of the trunk and put it in the car.” She poured the rest of the water over her hair, shook it out, then smoothed her hair back from her forehead. “Okay,” she said. “Let’s go.”

She called out a hasty good-bye to Suchee across the fields, then got into the car next to David. Lo stepped on the gas and they squealed down the dirt road in a cloud of dust. While Hulan rummaged through her suitcase, David recounted his pointless day. He hadn’t been able to speak with Sun. The tour of the Knight compound for the Tartan entourage had gone well, meaning no cafeteria, no dormitory, and the factory itself was completely deserted. As for his conversation with Randall Craig, his other client, all he would say was that it had gone badly.

By the time he was done, Hulan had spread out on the upholstery between them a brush, a hair clip, a pair of sling-back sandals, and the silk dress she’d worn last night. “Investigator Lo, keep your eyes forward,” she ordered, then slipped out of her dirty clothes and into her dress. With her hair slicked back and held in place with the clip, she looked quite chic.

17

T
HEY PULLED INTO THE AIRPORT AND WERE WAVED
through to where two small private jets waited. Randall Craig and his minions had already boarded Tartan’s company plane—a Gulfstream 4—and were waiting for permission to leave from ground control. Two men—both Caucasian—were doing the final walk around the other plane, a Gulfstream 3. One of them stepped forward and said, “Welcome, Mr. Stark. We’ve been waiting for you. Why don’t the two of you go on board? Mr. Knight says you can fly with him. Just leave your bags here. We’ll take care of them.”

As the plane carrying the Tartan folks taxied out onto the runway, David and Hulan made plans for Lo to pick them up the next morning at Hulan’s house. With that, they said good-bye and climbed the narrow stairs into the G-3. The air conditioning was on full blast, and Henry looked relaxed and comfortable in a roomy chair upholstered in soft-cream leather that he swiveled toward them.

“Henry, this is my fiancée, Liu Hulan.”

Henry shook Hulan’s hand. “A pleasure to meet you,” he said. He gestured about him. “We don’t have a lot of seats, but you can have your pick since Doug and Sun decided to go with your employers.”

The jet had been customized to suit its owner. The use of polished brass, teak, and mahogany imposed an almost nautical feel. The subtle shades of cream and beige in varying textures and textiles gave an overall impression of luxury. It was a far cry from the stripped-down, utilitarian CAAC planes that Hulan was accustomed to. The casual elegance, roominess, and comfort that the small plane offered impressed even David.

Henry beamed at them. “I’ve had her for three years. You have to figure you only live once.”

The two-man crew came on board. The pilot went straight to the cockpit while the copilot came back to check on the passengers. “You been on a small bird like this before?” When David and Hulan said that they hadn’t, the copilot went through a few of the safety features, which weren’t all that different from commercial jets. Then he opened a cupboard by the front door. “We’ve got a fridge in here stocked with drinks—Coke, mineral water, wine. We’ve got all kinds of snacks—M&Ms, chips, cheese and crackers. This is a short flight and I’ll be busy up front, so just help yourselves to anything you want.”

A few minutes later, they reached cruising altitude and David had Henry where he wanted him—alone. The rules of confidentiality required that anything that involved Governor Sun or David’s other client—Tartan—was off limits. On the other hand, he was on this plane on behalf of Tartan. It was his duty as a lawyer to investigate anything that might be potentially harmful to the conglomerate.

“I’d like to go over a few things with you, Henry.”

The older man looked up from his book, and David began outlining his concerns: He’d heard a report that not one but several women had received injuries in the factory. Additionally, it was a mistake to use the word
women
, when many of the employees were girls of twelve, thirteen, fourteen. He’d heard that the company might be using unhealthful chemicals. As David ran through all this, he kept his eyes steady on the older man to gauge his reaction. It appeared to be total bewilderment. At last Henry said, “What you say is wrong.”

“Tell me how,” David said. “Prove it.”

“How can I prove something never happened or just plain isn’t true?” Henry asked. “Just today we took the Tartan team on a tour through the compound. You were there, David. Did you see anything that looked bad?”

“We saw the Administration Building. You showed Randall and the others the final assembly area and where the products are shipped. We didn’t go into the dormitory—”

“We have strict rules about that. No men allowed. I want the women who work for me to feel protected. You don’t know where they’ve come from, what they’ve escaped—”

“And when we went in the room where the products are actually manufactured, the women were gone and the machines turned off….”

“I don’t like your insinuations.”

David repeated his accusations, this time in an even rougher tone.

“I’ve already told you,” Henry said, his voice rising. “I run a clean shop. I’ve done that my whole life. So did my father.”

“Mr. Knight,” Hulan interrupted, “I’ve been in your factory, and what David says is true.”

Henry looked from Hulan to David and back again, horrified by the implications. “Tartan sent you in?”

“Hulan,” David said, “we had an agreement!”

She ignored him and answered Henry.

“No, I’m an investigator for the Ministry of Public Security. That’s like your FBI. I went to your factory as a favor to a friend. The police said a girl committed suicide, but her mother—my friend—believes it was murder—”

“Your friend is the mother of that poor woman who jumped off the roof?”

“No, the death didn’t happen at the factory.”

“Then what does it have to do with me?” Henry demanded. “You can’t blame everything on me. I haven’t done anything.”

David cut in. “Hulan, this is way out of line.”

She turned her dark eyes on him and willed him to believe that she wouldn’t violate his trust by bringing up the bribery accusations. “I believe our agreement meant no questions involving your clients. Mr. Knight is not your client.”

Before David could continue his argument, Henry said, “Let her speak. I want to hear what she has to say.”

Hulan edged forward on her chair so that her knees were almost touching Henry’s. Slowly she unwrapped the Band-Aids that covered her fingers and the gauze and tape that covered the puncture in her left hand. She turned her palms up and laid them gently on his lap. “I’ve worked at your factory for two and a half days. Look at my hands. What’s happened to them…” She shrugged. “These are minor injuries, skin scratches, but they are injuries nevertheless.”

He picked up her hands and looked at them. The gash looked inflamed, and a little fluid oozed from between the stitches. Henry slowly raised his eyes to meet Hulan’s.

“How did this happen?”

“I was assigned one of the easier jobs. I insert the hair into the heads of the Sam dolls.”

“That shouldn’t cause damage like this,” he said, and Hulan saw in his eyes the gradual and painful acceptance of
a
truth if not
the
truth. That look, she believed, was not something that could be faked.

Still holding her hands, he said, “They told me I shouldn’t go in there when the women were working. They said it would distract them. I figured it’s China. I have to do what’s best for the workers.” Henry dropped her hands, toughened his face, and turned to David. “You come to me with this information now, on my plane. Why not do it at the factory, where we could go and see for ourselves?”

“Because I only believed it as of last night and this morning there wasn’t a chance.”

Henry stood and took a couple of steps toward the cockpit. “Let’s go back. I want to show you you’re wrong.”

“The women won’t be working,” David said. “It’s their day off.” He glanced at his watch. They didn’t have much time before they reached Beijing and Henry was whisked away for more meetings. “You’ve made claims and presented affidavits to Tartan, which—despite your denials—I believe are inaccurate. You’re supposed to sign the final documents for the sale tomorrow night after the banquet. As Tartan’s attorney, I can’t force you to do right. I can’t force you to confess. But you’ve built this company.” He gestured around him. “You’ve created a nice lifestyle for yourself, which will only improve after the sale. You’ve also established a reputation by building on your father’s record. So I want you to think,
really think
, about what will happen when this stuff comes out after the sale, because it will. If Knight is involved with the things I believe it’s involved with, you’ll be looking at criminal fraud charges. Think about what that will do to your reputation, your son, your family. I suggest that you speak with your attorneys.”

“You know I don’t have them,” Henry said.

“Of course you do, and now is the time to use them.”

Henry twisted in his seat.

The copilot came back and announced that they were beginning their final approach into Beijing. “You know the drill,” he said cheerfully. “Fasten those seat belts. We’ll be on the ground in ten minutes.” Then he ducked back out again. But his appearance had broken the flow of the conversation. Henry turned his face to the window and looked out over the heated fields that surrounded the airport.

On the ground, a small red carpet had been rolled out and three limousines waited. Without a word, Henry left the plane. As David and Hulan walked down the narrow stairs, the copilot quickly unloaded the bags. Henry grabbed his, walked to one of the limos, opened the door, said a few words to the occupants, and slammed the door shut. As that car pulled away, Henry went to the second limo, checked to see who was inside, then got in. A minute later only one car remained. The copilot threw the bags in the trunk, tucked David and Hulan into the spacious backseat, and said good-bye. Hulan gave directions to her
hutong
neighborhood, and soon they were speeding along the expressway. Not knowing or trusting the driver, they didn’t speak. But even if they could, what would they have said? Henry had been adamant in his denials.

The next morning when David left Hulan’s compound, he found Lo leaning against the front fender of the Mercedes. Lo looked tired, but he’d obviously made it back to his apartment for a shower and a change of clothes. He was in the city now and under the watchful eyes of his superiors at the MPS, so he’d put away his short-sleeve cotton shirt and loose slacks in exchange for his customary ill-fitting dark suit. They headed east along the Third Ring Road paralleling the last remnants of the city’s ancient moat toward the Kempinski Hotel.

As David pushed through the hotel’s revolving doors, he could hardly believe that he’d met Miss Quo here just ten days ago to go office hunting. He passed through the luxurious lobby and into the dining room. The breakfast buffet was in full swing with businessmen—distinguishable by their suits or the convention badges pinned on their shirt pockets—and a handful of tourists, who, no matter what part of the world they’d come from, had peeled down to the bare essentials of shorts, T-shirts, and sandals. The buffet offered an international cornucopia of delights: miso soup and sushi for the Japanese, dumplings and noodles for the Chinese, fruit and musli for the health-conscious, and eggs, bacon, sausages, and a variety of cold cuts for the Americans, Australians, Brits, and Germans.

David spotted Miles Stout at a window table reading the
International Herald Tribune
. Miles stood when David reached him and shook his hand. “Come on,” he said. “I’m famished.” While Miles waited in line for an omelet to be made, David took a glass of orange juice and a muffin back to the table. At the next table five Germans huddled together over papers and food. At another two businessmen—one French, the other Scottish—tried to work out a joint-venture deal with a group of obviously uncooperative Chinese. Across the room he saw two PLA generals come back from the buffet with plates piled high with nothing but kiwis. They each took one, sliced it in half, and began scooping out the luscious and expensive pulp with their spoons. Outside the window was a man-made pond with a footbridge and manicured paths. Beyond that lay the Paulaner Brauhaus, where on hot summer evenings visiting Germans met their Chinese guests for foamy steins of beer and traditional plates of pickled herring, grilled pork knuckle, and Nuernberger bratwurst.

When Miles returned to the table, they exchanged the usual chitchat on the rigors of the transpacific flight. Then, before David could say a word about the Knight sale or his suspicions about Sun, Miles said, “I had several messages from Randall waiting for me when I arrived last night.”

“I would imagine he’s concerned—”

“David, shut up and listen.” Miles’s voice was sharp. “I don’t like hearing that one of my attorneys has pissed off my biggest client.”

David’s jaw tightened. “It’s my job to advise Tartan,” he said. “I’ve found some things in this acquisition that could cause Tartan considerable harm down the line.”

“You’re new to this deal—”

“That’s right. I’ve been working on it for just a few days—”

“And you don’t know anything about it—”

“What I was going to say,” David raised his voice, “is that in those few days I’ve found things that Tartan’s accountants, Keith, and even you missed.”

“Like what?”

David was ready with his list: bribery, personal injuries, unsafe labor practices, child labor. Miles cut him off.

“Except for the bribery, I heard all of this from Randall last night. These accusations are thoroughly ridiculous.”

“Let’s say Sun’s innocent. That still means that someone at Knight is playing with the financials.”

“I’m telling you, David, the financials, the disclosures, the whole works, have been done perfectly, and I’m not going to let you ruin this deal.”

“I’m not trying to ruin the deal! I’m trying to protect Tartan!”

“There’s seven hundred million dollars on the table. That may sound like a lot of money—and it is—but the real money will come with the purchase of Knight’s technology—”

“You want it in pure monetary terms, okay,” David responded. “The risks—past, present, and future—will travel from Knight to Tartan with the sale. Do you really want to expose the firm’s biggest client to that?”

Miles glared at David.

“Let’s go back to Henry,” David tried reasonably. “Have him provide an indemnity backed by a letter of credit saying that Knight assumes responsibility for everything that’s happened in the past. Or we could have Tartan buy Knight’s assets but not the company. Either way, once the deal is done, Randall can have a press conference where he unveils a plan to correct any past mistakes and obliterate any future ones.”

“It’s too late. The contracts are due to be signed tonight.”

“Then I’ll have to withdraw from this matter.”

“Withdraw if you like. You can even leave the firm if you like, but confidentiality stays with the firm. You won’t be allowed to repeat any of this to anyone.”