The Brown Recluse - Part 2

The Brown Recluse

Part 2

Twelve

“Here’s the rule for bargains. ‘Do other men, for they would do you.’  That’s the true business precept.” 

Charles Dickens

Big Chang

16 January 2007

I grew up running the streets of Macau.  I knew nothing of my father, but I did know what happened to my mother.  She was a whore, and plied her trade in Uncle Wei’s house of ill repute, until she died from complications of syphilis.  I was two years old at the time.    

I was not  the only mistake that occurred under those circumstances.  Contraception not being what it is today; the women got pregnant and had babies.  However, they took care of their own, and that included me. They kept me fed and clothed until my street activities brought in enough money to pay my own way.

At first, I was just another urchin hustling coins, running errands for Uncle Wei’s soldiers.  They ran numbers, pimped the girls, made usurious loans, moved drugs and sold protection against other gangs of the city.  Then, I began to grow.  I was as tall as most grown men were by the time I was twelve.  I lost many fights in those days, since my age did not match my size, but I continued to grow and I stopped losing.  I reached six and one half feet in height, filled out my lanky frame, and became Uncle Wei’s favorite enforcer.  Eventually, I became his right hand, and when he fell to an enemy bullet, I just naturally stepped into his shoes.  No one challenged me.

I choose to maintain a certain image.  A tailor from Hong Kong hand stitches my clothes.  A personal barber trims my thick hair twice weekly, and lacquers it in place daily. My eyes are prominent, and acquaintances describe my mouth as appearing cruel. I speak with a deep voice, and it rumbles when I am angry, which is often.

The crime world in Macau during my early years was without form.  Constant bickering and fighting among gang leaders proliferated, and I was no different.  We all spent too much time defending our turf or attempting to poach a competitor’s territory.  We had little time to concentrate on business.  Finally, after I removed the leadership from a rival gang and consolidated the operation into my own, my group became the strongest element in the city.  Unless someone got lucky and removed me from the scene, I would eventually take over the entire crime operation of Macau.  I knew it, and my adversaries knew it.  However, the process looked to be long and bloody.  

Rather than spend the next five years in a constant state of war, I went to each surviving gang and offered to serve as the clearinghouse for disputes.  I also made it clear; those who chose not to join the confederation would be subject to take-over.  All but a couple of the gangs joined the cartel.  I quickly overwhelmed the dissenters and brought them to heel. 

The association did not completely remove dissention, but controlled it to the degree settlements usually occurred without bloodshed.  Business and profits improved, and the cartel members felt safe under my umbrella.     

The view from my desk is the same as the one from my apartment one floor up.  The street scene below constantly reminds me of my roots and of how high I am flying.  It also reminds me of how far I could fall.  The fear of failure motivates me far more than the anticipation of success. 

The territory of Macau changes by the day.  The changeover from Portuguese rule to control by the People's Republic of China has not altered the way of life in the city.  Like Hong Kong across the bay, Macau enjoys special governmental privileges.  The economy is capital based, and the People's Republic of China controls the defense. 

However, the smart money made adjustments.  The PRC soon opened up Macau to international gambling interests, which will ultimately eliminate my defacto rule of the casino industry.  Already, two big players from Las Vegas are buying up land on the island of Taipa, which is part of Macau proper, and they are building gambling edifices far more glamorous than any existing at present in Macau.  The racetrack, stadium, and airport already provided a sound business base for Taipa Island. 

I realized Chang Enterprises Limited must diversify in order to maintain a healthy profit margin.  That means increasing the wholesale and retail distribution of drugs to western interests, acting as a pipeline for Chinese entrepreneurs, and procuring young women and babies for worldwide distribution.  Wherever there are people with money and strong needs, there must be those who are willing to provide for their needs.  Supply and demand.  The purpose of any business is to supply

My domain in Macau is complex, dangerous, and a one-man show.  I delve into many enterprises, such as prostitution, numbers, drugs, protection, and high interest loans in addition to some semi-legitimate businesses, which include the three casinos.  The people dwelling in my territory know nothing else and expect the strong to coerce the weak. Only the bosses change, but even that occurs rarely. 

My working philosophy is to divide and conquer even among my own people.  I occasionally put minor bosses in conflict to see who will prevail.  I trust no one completely, not even my own son.  I feel affection for him in my own peculiar way, but recognize he is prone to fits of self-gratification and mindless cruelty. 

 He shows occasional signs of business competence, when he controls himself.  Maybe Wen-biao's studies in the U. S. and my careful tutelage in the businesses will pay dividends.  The boy might amount to something eventually, but my confidence in that possibility has limits. Even now, I have to keep a close watch over him through Ya-gong and Jian-mei.

In my view, Wen-biao is a resourceful student of self-gratification, who involves himself in the family business only when the spirit moves him.  His efforts, while acceptable, are not at the level of my daughter, Jian-mei.  I never know when one of his departures from convention will put him in a bad light, or when his behavior will reflect on me.  I often recall the senseless destruction of a rival boy's gang during Wen-biao's youth and the aftermath.  The acts, done at the behest of my son, required much diplomacy and considerable hard cash to rectify.  I made a rare public display of anger toward my son in that case.  Wen-biao listened and learned, but the potential for lack of control lurks in his personality.

To be honest, I carefully orchestrated the lives of my children.  Chang Wen-biao knew nothing of his prostitute mother.  She was a lovely young woman, but unlike Jian-mei’s mother, she had no sense of responsibility. She cared nothing for her child or his welfare, so her value as a person diminished in my eyes.  She became dispensable soon after his birth, so I sent her to Hong Kong, where she spent the remainder of her short life on the streets.  Various women in my employ cared for Wen-biao as he grew up, so he had no real mother.  In retrospect, that might have not been the best path. 

While Wen-biao drinks to moderate excess, to his credit he conscientiously avoids drugs.  He possesses a hair trigger temper with everyone except me and his bodyguard, Chan Ya-gong. 

I accept that Wen-biao is vain and he came by it naturally.  He is a markedly handsome man.  He is only three inches shorter than I am, and he dresses elegantly in tailored Hong Kong attire.  Minor plastic surgery alterations perfected his already handsome features to suit his narcissism. 

Wen-biao lives in a spacious apartment in the Chang Enterprises, Limited casino, the Lotus Blossom.  His natural intelligence lent itself to administration, even as he routinely instilled fear into those who report to him.  While he is apt to blow up at any underling, he learned from bitter experience how far to take it with Jian-mei.  He knows nothing about the existence of a sister or her training as my primary assassin.  He only knows she works for me, and I protect her.  

After Jian-mei joined the firm, his few physical attacks against her resulted in a whirlwind of kicks and blows that quickly neutralized him.  Because of his experiences, Wen-biao fears her physically.  The fact that I will not allow him to take permanent revenge against her confuses him still.  I don’t explain my reasoning. I ordered him not to harm Jian-mei in any way, and Wen-biao will not challenge his father. 

Wen-biao has a business degree from the University of California at Irvine, where, much to my surprise, he showed an impressive academic aptitude.   Because Wen-biao performed so well, I pulled some strings, made some hefty donations, and got Wen-biao accepted into the Harvard MBA program.  Again, he did well academically and received his degree, which surprised me, and made us both inordinately proud. 

While Wen-biao is my only legally recognized heir, my more talented daughter, Feng Jian-mei, works for me inside and outside the business.  I spent countless thousands of dollars and many years to shape her to be what I needed.  She performs just as I had planned, so I spent the time and money wisely.  

Jian-mei has dual roles in my business empire.  In the business end, she is a highly competent administrator and Wen-biao's watchdog.   When required, she serves as my primary assassin.  I keep Jian-mei under my power by never allowing her mother, Feng Gui-lian, out of my control.  Even so, I often shudder to think what would occur if she were free of that constraint.  Jian-mei is not aware I am her father. 

Chang Enterprises Limited has a contact in Europe.  Hong Bin-zhuo started out in Macau, and we have a long history. While I am a few years older, we both roamed the streets of Macau as youngsters, and as often as not, we ran together.  He was a good man to have at your side.  He lacked neither intelligence nor courage.  He was a ferocious fighter and a dominant force when matters became violent.  Hong attached himself to me at an early age.  He was content to feed at the same trough with a man, Hong believed, would go places in the Macau underworld.  He was correct in his young assessment.

As I continued to achieve power and the eventual leadership of the Macau cartel, Hong Bin-zhuo rode my coattails and became financially successful during the process.  In 2003, he owned a small casino in an undersized territory modeled after my own operation. 

We worked together flawlessly with Hong doing his best to serve my needs and make a few patacas in the process.  Similarly, I protected Hong Bin-zhuo and his operation whenever possible.  Since the other territory leaders knew where I stood on the matter, Hong held more power in the cartel than his piece of the action actually warranted.

Even though Hong’s territory offered the usual prostitution, drugs, protection, numbers, and loans, his major source of revenue was the Easy Money Casino located on Taipa Island.  After the changeover from Portuguese rule to the People's Republic of China on 20 December 1999, Hong's world became vulnerable.  It became even moreso when the People’s Republic of China opened up Macau to foreign investors, who were eager to ride the Macau casino bandwagon into the future as the gambling center of Asia.

Hong Bin-zhuo could see the future as if he had already lived it.  He quickly realized there was no place in the new Macau for his small casino.  Living with this knowledge broke down Hong's usual conservative nature and led him to desperate measures.  He could see only one way to salvage his way of life, so he asked for and received a conference with me. 

The meeting took place in his Easy Money Casino office.  After catching up on the current gossip and discussing some cartel business, Hong came to the point.  He tapped the ash from his Havana cigar, and said, "Older Brother, the news about the girlie magazine tycoon from the USA planning to spend hundreds of millions of dollars to build another casino on Taipa Island disturbs me greatly.  You know I depend on the airport, the racetrack, and the coliseum to provide customers for the Easy Money.  A lavish gambling palace nearby would put me out of business.  You also know my small territory could not generate anything close to a breakeven situation without my casino revenue.  I am at my wits end, Chang Dong-hue.  What should I do?"

This was not the first time Hong's state of affairs had crossed my mind.  I knew my old friend was nearing the end of his run in Macau, unless he could come up with a way to survive.  I rose from the comfortable chair and looked out into the busy casino where the slot machines were ringing, and players were huddled over their blackjack hands.  I spoke with concern in my voice, "Bin-zhuo, when we met with the PRC authorities, they made it clear western capital would soon be heavily invested in Macau.  It is likely Macau will become the most important gambling center in Asia.  I cannot build a giant casino to compete with the foreigners, but Chang Enterprises is fortunate enough to have other profitable ventures that produce revenue.  I expect to keep my casinos open as long as possible, but it is likely that I will not be able to compete either."

Hong said nothing but watched me move about the room.  I pointed a finger at Hong and said in a firm voice.  "I don't wish to be negative, but you know how this cartel works as well as I do.  A cartel member must be able to defend their territory with money, politics, or a strong arm.  If you lose your casino, there will not be much remaining for you to use as a weapon.  I can only protect you up to a point.  Maybe it is time to cut your losses and move on to another arena.  You have money.   You are talented in this business.  You can start over."

Hong Bin-zhuo remained silent for a moment longer, and then said, "There are other ways to fight back."

I did not like the direction of this conversation.  "I will help in any way I can without jeopardizing my own operation.  What did you have in mind?"

Hong crushed the remains of his cigar in a tray.  "The new casino starts construction very soon.  Will your people have jobs in the project?"

A slight grimace formed on my face.  "I am certain that we will have people in key positions on the project.  Why do you ask?"

Dampness formed on the brow of Hong Bin-zhuo, but he continued his plea.  "If accidents prevented the completion of the project, the builder might become discouraged and seek another location for the casino."

After some consideration of his idea, I growled, "I will not sabotage the construction site, but I would help if my men were not directly involved," I glanced back at the casino and watched a player fumble for a card up his sleeve.  He barely had it out, before two security personnel grabbed him by both arms and escorted him to a more private area for discussions.

Hong decided to lay his cards on the table.  He said, "I can get someone on the workforce, and we can handle the sabotage ourselves, but I need you to obtain the explosives.  Some C4 would do fine.  Workers can transport it in their lunch pails or attaché cases.  Would you be able to help in this way?"

Considering his proposal, my eyes narrowed.  I did not like being involved with a risky proposition that could get me in difficulty with the people from BeiPan, but I would profit greatly if the big casino construction project moved out of Macau.  I spoke in a low voice, "Here is what I will do.  I already have C4.  When the project starts up, my people will smuggle the explosives inside the fence. You will need to manage the rest.  If it appears the PRC is on to you, I will not lift a finger.  Those people are not stupid.  You have the most to lose and will likely become their prime suspect.  I suggest you have an emergency plan that gets you out of the country in a hurry."

Hong rose from his chair and extended his hand to me.  "I knew I could count on you Older Brother.  You have always been there for Bin-zhuo.  I will take it from here."

*****

Moreover, he did.  The construction of the new, giant casino began with a flurry of activity.  Important people from the local political scene, from BeiPan, and from the American girlie magazine empire, produced many photo opportunities for those involved.  The contractor began hiring local artisans.  Hong and I were able to place people in key positions, and Hong's plan took on a life. 

My people divided the C4 into small parcels and smuggled them into the work area with ease.  Hong managed the remaining decisions concerning when and where the sabotage would occur.  He wanted the project to be well underway to the extent its destruction would be significant. 

As the months passed the upper floors began to form, and finally, Hong decided the time was ripe.  His men removed the C4 from hiding and positioned it strategically.  Since the project shut down at night, Hong's primary inside man triggered the detonators. Everything worked to perfection.  Three explosions destroyed the stability of t                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                               he framework, and the building came crashing to the ground in a cloud of dust. 

The crane operator, who had set off the blast, took one last look and moved quickly toward his parked vehicle.  Unfortunately, he ran into three security guards who were racing to the scene of destruction.  They grabbed the perpetrator and began questioning him as to what he was doing there.  Hong's man was a construction worker by trade, and it did not take long for the series of rapid-fire questions to trip him up.  The police soon arrived on the scene and arrested him.  It didn’t take many hours before the police unraveled the entire scheme with the exception of my involvement.  The C4 aspect of the plan was carefully compartmentalized, and there was not a hint of connection to Chang Enterprises, Limited.

One of the night watchmen at the project was Hong's man as well.  He called his boss on a cell phone and warned him of the arrest of their fellow conspirator.  Within minutes, Hong, his wife, and children entered a delivery van, and Hong drove to the docks.  They boarded an ocean-going junk and set out for Taipei with credentials that would pass all but the most sophisticated scrutiny and enough cash to manage until Hong could use his numbered accounts.  In preparation for such a contingency, Hong had long since liquidated much of his considerable wealth, including a heavy mortgage on his casino, and placed it in reliable banks around the world. 

Hong and his family flew from Taipei to the USA.  Then, posing as a San Francisco businessman, he and his family flew to England.  Upon reaching London and securing quarters for his wife and children, he contacted British M15 and asked for an interview.  

As Hong related to me, an unimposing motorcar picked him up almost immediately.  Upon arriving at a safe house, he laid out his plan for setting up an information accumulating trade.  His first order of business was to convince British intelligence they would get copies of any information he gathered.  They were skittish at first.  Then, he showed them he already had numerous contacts in Asia and that an Asian would have more credibility with other Asians.  To show his goodwill, he provided the name of one of his former drug sources at the British embassy in Macau.  The Brits were pleased with the information, and they agreed to allow Hong and his family to live in England and for him to operate his business on a trial basis.  Before he left the building, he had a new British passport.  He repaid them for their humanity with invaluable information, and he never forgot their kindness.

The next place Hong approached was the embassy of th                                                                                                                                                                                e People's Republic of China.  They overcame their surprise at hi  s visit and agreed to hear him out.  He confessed to his sins in China, while withholding any reference to me.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        He shared his good fortune in becoming a British subject and offered to provide them with any pertinent information that crossed his desk.  As a sign of good faith, he gave them the name of a government official in China active in buying and selling young girls into slavery.  This tidbit of information was enough to turn the tide in Hong Bin-zhuo's favor.  They agreed to allow him and his family to live in peace, so long as quality information was forthcoming.   They shook hands with Hong and he left, as he related to me, shaking ever so slightly.

It required several weeks for Hong Bin-zhuo to recover from his advanced state of terror, but he managed to do so.  He moved his funds around as needed, opened an office, put his bright children into private schools, and prepared to do business.  On the day he began, he made phone calls to people in Asia, and he knew quite a few.   I was the first person he called.

*****                                                                                                                                                                       

Thirteen

An ivory-faced and silvery-haired old woman opened the door.  She had an evil face, smoothed by hypocrisy; but her manners were excellent. 

Robert Lewis Stevenson

Jian-mei

3 January 1999

Mother and I had abandoned the tiny flat where I grew up.  I earned sufficient funds to lease a nice three-bedroom flat in a newer part of the city.  I utilized one room as an office/dressing room.

On that day, I sat at my well-lighted dressing table in the spare room and proceeded to alter my appearance.  I slipped a thin mask over my face and blended in the edges with a flesh-colored cream.  The disguise depicted an elderly, wrinkled woman with puffy cheeks.  Next, I placed a near pure white hairpiece carefully over my own.   I pulled on flesh colored gloves covered with age spots and more wrinkles.  I got into a padded garment that provided a stoop to my shoulders and girth to my middle.  I enclosed my lower legs in heavy, dark stockings, and then stepped into a plain dress. 

After checking myself carefully in the mirror, I assumed a hunched posture and added a slight shake to my hands.  Pleased with my work, I gathered up my purse and tottered down to the indoor parking lot, where I moved to a secluded slot in a darkened area.  I kept an old battered sedan parked there complete with stolen license plates.  No one could trace the car to either Chang Enterprises, Limited or me. 

I started the car, left the parking garage, and drove for several blocks.  I slowed to a stop in front of a dingy apartment house.  Almost immediately, two young children, together with their tennis rackets and balls, ran out the front door and climbed into the back seat of my car.  I greeted them both by name and passed back small sacks of treats for their enjoyment. 

      Several minutes of driving time later, I parked at the Sun Yat-sen Park, which embraced the cool breeze moving in from the South China Sea.  A perfect day greeted the citizens, who had chosen to partake of the park’s recreational offerings.  The tennis center provided activities for children and active adults with an interest in exercise and social opportunities.  Old men sat on benches, played Mah Jong, and solved the problems of the past and present.  Small dogs bounded after balls and children.  Fortunate birds swooped down on unfortunate insects.

Upon arriving, the children ran out to one of the tennis courts and began hitting the balls back and force.   I made my way carefully to a bench. A young Caucasian woman lounged nearby.  Soon, as practiced by the children, a wayward ball rolled near me, and I slowly rose to return it to the court.

“Let me get that for you Aunty,” said the trim young woman dressed in tennis garb and speaking grossly accented Mandarin Chinese.  She exhibited the natural beauty of young Nordic females with brilliant flaxen hair that had never seen a bottle of bleach.  Her body was classic and exceedingly feminine.  She quickly retrieved the ball and tossed it back to the squealing children.

“Thank you, daughter,” I said as I slowly and carefully reseated myself on the bench.  “I am not so nimble anymore.  My old bones have seen too many days.  Are you waiting for a lesson?”

The woman fluffed her perfect hair, being careful not to alter the fresh coif.  “Yes Aunty.  My name is Connie Babb, and I take regular lessons from our handsome head professional, if you know what I mean.”

I chuckled while bringing up my hand to cover my mouth.  “Yes, child, we must take our pleasures where we find them.  Are you married?”

A dark look crossed Connie Babb’s face. “My boyfriend is Johnny Ming.  He is usually too busy or too drunk to spend much time with me.  The only time I see him is at his casino, when he takes me in the back room for a quickie.”  

I shook my head in a sympathetic manner.  Then I said, “Yours is a common dilemma, child.  Those in the entertainment business usually enjoy too much entertainment themselves.” 

Connie Babb allowed a frown to cross her face, but then she brightened.  “You are so right, Aunty.  Well, enough about my dear boyfriend.  Are those your grandchildren?”

I smiled and rose from the bench.  “Yes.  My daughter is an attorney, and I care for her children most of the time.  It is good for her and very good for me, since my husband has long departed to be with his ancestors.  Daughter, I feel that my bladder is near bursting.  Would you walk with me to the toilet?”

“Of course I will, Aunty.  I need to go myself.  Here, let me help you.”  Connie Babb immediately took my arm and we began walking toward the public toilets.

We slowly entered the building and found it empty.  Connie stopped in front of the mirror to adjust her hair.  She ignored me, as I stationed myself behind her and removed the snakewood dagger from my garment.  With one smooth motion, I plunged the blade deeply into Connie Babb’s brain, and jammed it sideways.  The blond woman had one instant of painful surprise, before her world faded quickly and permanently. 

I caught the slumping woman, dragged her to one of the stalls, and propped her on the commode.  Then I placed a miniature paper sticker on Connie Babb’s forehead depicting a small brown spider.  I walked slowly back to the tennis courts and spoke to my charges. “It is time to go, children.” Without question or hesitation, they strolled to my car, got in, and we drove away.

I dropped off the children, drove to a shopping area, and parked.  I abandoned the car where it sat and boarded a bus.

*****

Fourteen

There is one kind of prison where the man is behind bars, and everything that he desires is outside; and there is another kind where the things are behind the bars, and the man is outside. 

Upton Sinclair

General Ping

15 November 2004

I began life in 1947, and grew up in a small village in Southeast China.  My father was a communist who made the long march with Chairman Mao.  He became the party secretary in our village.  I pursued his example, not so much because                                           I had his political passion, but what other course could I have followed under the circumstances of those times?  As a result, I became actively embroiled in the Cultural Revolution of 1966.  Little did I know the invitation of Chairman Mao to attack the seats of party power would result in the death of my own father, or that I would find myself in the cheering mob at his execution.

The times were confusing.  With the help and cooperation of two fellow party members, I was able to make the correct decisions that not only allowed me to survive, but flourish in the maddening chaos. My comrades and I forged a relationship that became personal and permanent. 

The years were kind to us all.  Both of my colleagues became members of the politburo and, eventually, members of the central committee of the military.  My rapid assent to commander of the Northwest Army of the PLA was all a cooperative endeavor with my two friends.  Having large numbers of troops under one’s command occasionally influenced the outcome of political appointments in BeiPan, so my companions profited from my position as well.  Ours was a symbiotic relationship. 

In addition to our political success, we aspired to accumulate personal wealth as well.  We were able to manipulate events so significant funds made their way into numbered accounts in the Cayman Islands.  There was one problem, at least in my view.  We did not have enough money to satisfy my personal needs.  That fact gradually eroded my professional attitude to the point the exercise of power alone no longer provided the emotional stimulation of years past.  The bottom line?  I got bored.    

On that pivotal day, I sat next to a division commander in a Mercedes-Benz sedan as we left the primary military road and drove slowly down a blacktop.  Snow flurries whipped across the enormous parade field, where ten thousand troops of the UI Division of the People's Liberation Army gathered for inspection.  I conducted inspections on a routine basis.  I am General Ping Mu-yao, Commander of the 47 Group Army. 

Having taken part in such exercises for almost forty years, I knew how the members of the various units had worked frantically to ensure every aspect of the division was letter perfect for my examination.  The arrangement of the military fighting units began with massive mine laying and clearing vehicles.  Next came the other mechanized parts of this modern army, including the massive ZTZ99 battle tanks.  The large motorized units had likely been in place since midnight.  The mobile artillery, rocket launchers, armored personnel carriers, anti-tank units, 14.5 mm anti-aircraft units, refueling vehicles, and utility automobiles followed the tanks.  The support aircraft in the form of helicopters, bombers, surveillance planes, and fighters for this mass of military humanity would pass in review at the appropriate moment in all of their thundering glory.

As dawn approached, personnel trucks would have arrived and disgorged the multitude of soldiers.  At 0500, they milled around until the sergeants barked the orders required to place them in ranks. 

As light appeared in the East, platoon sergeants brought the lines to order at exactly 0600.  An officer spoke into a microphone and ordered the throng to attention by way of a series of speakers.  The sound of ten thousand military personnel assuming their positions was striking.

Sitting beside me in the car was the commander of the division, General Ho Yoon-sin.  Even though this was a routine inspection, I knew General Ho had driven his men mercilessly in preparation.  I knew the troops were as ready as Ho could make them, and while he was confident, I would never allow over-confidence to enter the equation.  I would find something wrong.  After all, I had a reputation to uphold. 

The first order of business was to inspect the heavy equipment.  Pleased with the order and presentation, I ordered General Ho to proceed with the examination of the troops. 

The Mercedes rolled slowly in front of the ranks, and I saw nothing out of the ordinary until we neared the inspection stand in close proximity to the center of the division.  I noted a slight movement and immediately ordered the vehicle to stop.  I leaped from the car followed closely by General Ho.  To dramatize the situation, I placed both hands behind my back and faced the platoon of soldiers.  Then I walked slowly between the ranks toward a solitary private, who was not as still as he should have been.  I stopped in front of the man and waited.  The soldier managed to maintain his posture for a few seconds, but then he began to weave.  The soldier was drunk. 

I said nothing, turned away, and returned to the vehicle.  General Ho followed close behind.  The platoon sergeant grabbed the unfortunate private and dragged him from the ranks.  The sudden movement caused the soldier to empty the contents of his stomach on the sergeant’s well-shined shoes.  By this time, the platoon's commanding officer had arrived, and he began screaming at them both.  Soon the company and regimental commanders were on the scene lending their anger to the mix.

After we returned to the car, I noticed General Ho's ashen face.  I spoke softly, "General Ho, listen carefully.  I will tolerate no misunderstandings.  You are to arrest the soldier, his sergeant, and the platoon commander immediately.  Place them in the division stockade.  I will arrange to have them picked up within the next twelve hours.  After you carry out that command, return to the vehicle, and I will issue additional orders."

I surmised General Ho must have concluded his military career was over.  He could easily face a military court.  I watched him step from the limo and order the regimental commander front and center.  The petrified officers reported immediately.  Ho passed on my orders and the RC complied immediately relieved his name was not on the arrest list.  Ho returned to the limo beside himself with anxiety.

I resumed my instructions to General Ho, "Rather than strip you of your rank and position, as would be appropriate, I have other plans.  Listen carefully, for this is critical.  No mention of this incident must find its way into your reports or into the records of your subordinates.  It did not happen."  Ho relaxed to a small degree.  Then I continued,   "At least it did not happen so long as I can depend on your good will.  There may be a time in the future when I will require you to perform certain tasks for the sake of our friendship."  Ho began to nod in agreement.  "Just to make certain, the private, the sergeant, and the lieutenant will remain in my care, so there will always be witnesses to this travesty.  Should there be a time in the future when I call in this debt, I will expect you to comply with my wishes no matter the circumstances.  You will respond to the code word inebriated.  Can I depend on you, General Ho?"

Ho struggled to speak, "My General, I will forever be in your debt."

I responded, "That is exactly what I had in mind General.  Now return me to my helicopter."

I boarded the aircraft and returned to my headquarters only a few miles away.  After ignoring the efforts of underlings to gain my attention, I returned to my office, and sat in my comfortable desk chair.  Considering my options, I removed an encryption phone from a locked drawer.  I spoke with my most trusted military associate, Major Lee Pan-kie.  I ordered Lee to secure the witnesses from the stockade, videotape their confessions, and then eliminate them and their records in such a way as to leave no trace.   Only then, did I relax and allow my mind to grapple with the most important dilemma in my life, the problem of becoming wealthy. 

My fantasies of late were moving more and more toward the monotony of my existence.  I often wondered if I was suffering from depression.  My position in the PLA was powerful but, after decades, tedious.  The plots and schemes with my comrades in BeiPan had netted some measure of personal wealth, but not enough to provide a significantly better lifestyle than anyone of my political stature would receive in China.  Upon giving up my position in the PLA, I would have significant creature comforts, but nothing in the way of personal choice.  I would have access to much but own nothing.  Unlike the truly wealthy, I could never fulfill my every earthly desire.  I wanted more.  I must have more.

I viewed myself as a noteworthy man, and I deserved a vital life filled with challenge and fulfillment.  I wanted the opportunity to amass great power and wealth by creating and profiting from opportunities, by the exercise of power, and by out-maneuvering worthy opponents.  Life without challenge, without risk, without operating on the edge had little meaning for me.  The only question was how to obtain the sufficient seed money required to finance major business ventures.  A plan was slowly forming in my mind. 

At sixty, I didn’t see himself as an old man, but I fully realized I was not getting any younger.  So, I decided at that moment to take steps to accumulate a hundred million dollars.  An opportunity had presented itself, and the window was closing.  I must act while I held my current position. 

I needed the right man to execute the plan, and one immediately came to mind. He was compliant, intelligent, and dedicated.  Besides, his future was under my thumb. 

Not one to procrastinate, I picked up the phone and ordered a high-ranking officer on the base to report to me the next morning. 

*****

Fifteen

The path is smooth that leadeth on to danger.

William Shakespeare

Pan Wei-song

16 November 2006

Innate talents and a logical approach to problem solving allowed me to excel in an academic environment, and the state provided a scholastic path to a terminal degree.  As a result, I served with distinction on the faculty of China’s most prestigious university. 

I enjoyed my position as professor of nuclear engineering and department head at Huazhong University of Science and Technology. My family enjoyed many benefits and rewards available to well-respected members of the socialist society elite.

Careful to follow the tenets laid down by the PRC’s Central Committee, my wife and I produced only one child.  We idolize our son, Pan Jun-Mao.  He is a bright, well-mannered boy of eight who attends a select school for children of the university hierarchy. 

From the standpoint of professional duties, I wrote learned papers, taught the cream of Chinese academic potential, and attended faculty events of specialized and social natures.  Our lives were near perfect, until the People’s Liberation Army decided to upgrade their nuclear delivery systems.  The Director of the project, General Ping Mu-yao, chose me to head up the conversion mission for low-yield warheads.  I had no choice in the matter.

Therefore, when the needs of the army's nuclear weapons program required my services full time, the PLA made me a colonel and put me to work under the auspices of General Ping.

It rapidly became apparent to the General that I had the knowledge and supervisory skills to head up the entire conversion program.  When I assumed that position, I quickly brought in the elite of China's aeronautical and nuclear engineers at the behest of my commanding officer. 

The new delivery system program produced modern rockets, cruise missiles, and unmanned aircraft for pinpoint accuracy in battlefield situations. The systems were past the testing stage and ready to distribute to the military. The only remaining task was to change the warheads from the outdated systems to the newly designed ones. Because of the important status of the program, the summons to the office of the northwestern headquarters of the commander, General Ping, came as no surprise.

*****

The non-commissioned officer staffing the desk in General Ping's outer office appeared to be deeply engrossed in work, but I doubted very much if his duties ranged too far from orderly to the general.  He seated me and forced me to deal with my anxieties for almost an hour. When the phone finally rang, and I was ushered into the inner office, I approached a state of near nervous hysteria.

The office of the commanding general of an army group reflected careful attention to detail. The furnishings were expensive and impressive. Two cushioned chairs crouched in front of a hand-made desk. The top of the desk was clean except for a modern phone.  I stood ramrod straight in front of the chairs and saluted the general, who casually waved a response.  The general pointed to a chair and said, "Be seated, Colonel."

I lowered myself into the chair and looked into space in the direction of the general.  After spending some time engrossed in a file, General Ping spoke in a high-pitched voice that invited no questions. 

"Colonel Pan, you are in the process of changing twenty low-yield nuclear warheads to more sophisticated delivery systems. I commend you for the manner in which you carried out your duties in the service of the PLA. However, new challenges confront us. A man of your abilities is required for another project, which could affect the future of our nation. As a result of this need, you are hereby relieved of your present assignment and reassigned to the current project, effective immediately."

The blood drained from my face, but I nodded and said nothing. A chill permeated my body. I could only assume extreme danger lurked ahead.

Ping rose from his chair and began pacing. "The Central Committee is involved in a highly classified program requiring the procurement of two low-yield nuclear warheads. To commandeer the warheads from our defense department would invite the worldwide intelligence communities to focus on the whereabouts of the warheads. That must not happen. Do you perceive the need for total secrecy in this program, Colonel Pan?"

I had to answer his question in a convincing manner even though my stomach felt as if it were made of stone.  I was horrified at the prospect of a further disruption in my life, brought about by the perceived needs of the People's Liberation Army.  Finally, I croaked, "I understand perfectly, General Ping."

He removed his hat and smoothed his white hair. After he replaced the headpiece, he continued, "Your orders are to manufacture two exact external replicas of the warheads, remove two warheads from the current delivery systems, and replace them with the copies." 

Ping studied my face, searching for any sign of weakness. Satisfied, he continued, "Additionally, you are to obtain a vehicle with the capability of delivering the warheads safely to the destination laid out by my superiors. The delivery of the warheads must conclude by 1 July 2007." 

By this time, I could hardly breathe.  I was not a soldier by nature.  I was not even a willing leader.  I was an academician with little love for the ruthless realities of the military, but I responded, "Yes, General Ping." 

Ping rubbed his flaring nose, and folded his arms across his chest.  He continued in his shrill voice, "After you deliver the warheads to Macau, you are to report to the Yining Base and obtain a Dong-Hai 10 cruise missile. You will accompany the missile to the designated airbase and make all preparations to launch the weapon from a Q5 fighter/bomber if ordered to do so.  Only, if ordered to do so.  The latter portion of this order is of the utmost importance.  You will program the missile to find and destroy the target carefully described in your instructions.  It would not be in your best interests to read anything into the location of the objective.  It is unlikely this phase of the operation will ever materialize, but we must prepare for any eventuality." 

Ping turned and gazed out of an office window at a series of tanks rumbling in the distance. Then he turned back and pointed his finger at me. "To ensure the completion of the mission, you will accompany the weapon on the plane until such time as launch occurs. That means you will need to have cursory training in the skills of flight navigator. You will receive such training as part of your preparation. After the completion of the launch, should it occur, you will return to base after which your responsibilities in this project are concluded."

I kept my eyes straight ahead.  I dared not look at the general for fear of losing my composure. He was not finished. Ping barked, "Commandeer any personnel from the missile program you need for completing both missions. You will compartmentalize all personnel. Give them only the information needed to do their jobs. I will provide a letter giving you unlimited authority to achieve your assignment. Carry this letter with you at all times and use it as needed. Nothing must stand in the way of this mission.

“The code name for the warhead exchange is Magic.   The code name for the missile launch is Charging Tiger, which is only operative after you hold this letter in your hand." Ping handed a letter to me.  I studied it carefully. It contained only the words "Charging Tiger" and the signature of General Ping. I returned the letter to the general. 

Ping sat back down at his desk and flipped through a few pages contained in the file.  Then he stared at me once again and said, "You may contact your wife, but you may not refer to any part of your new mission or tell her when you will return.  Inform her you will be away for a few months and that you will be in no danger.”

The General handed me a large envelope.  “These are your orders, Colonel Pan.  Always use Major Lee Pan-kie as your sole contact to this office.  He will contact you periodically for progress updates and to provide assistance where needed.  His orders are my orders. Memorize these instructions to whatever extent you deem necessary or write them in code. Then destroy the original documents. After you conclude these projects, you are free to resume your academic life at the university of your choice and with the blessing of the People's Liberation Army.  Do you have sufficient information to carry out these assignments, Colonel?"

"I do, General." I rose, took the brown envelope containing my orders, saluted, and left the office. I asked the orderly if a phone was available for a personal call, and he directed me to an empty office in the building where, I assumed, PLA intelligence monitored the phone. 

I called my wife, used a warning code word, and attempted to explain my situation. She responded in the way any army wife would, knowing every word was monitored.  She tried her best to hide her anxiety and promised to carry on until my return.

After hanging up the phone, I left the building, located my car and driver, and settled in the back seat.  I opened my new orders and began reading each page carefully. The blood drained from my face once again. Then I examined the administrative aspects of the mission and agreed I must compartmentalize as much as possible. No one must have any information not specifically required.

With regard to the cruise missile launch, I would initially procure the necessary transportation for moving the missile and plane to the deserted airfield in Northwest China, after which I would program, load, and launch the weapon with only the help of the pilot. To carry out the assignment, I only required a few ancillary personnel such as a machinist, drivers, loaders, and a pilot. I would be the only permanent member of the mission.

I returned to the airport, used the letter from the general, and arranged for a seat on a plane to the first destination of my journey.  My analytical mind immediately locked into the problem solving aspects of the mammoth task ahead

*****

Sixteen

His love of danger, his intense appreciation of the drama of an adventure—all the more intense for being held tightly in—his consistent view that every peril in life is a form of sport, a fierce game betwixt you and Fate with Death as a forfeit, made him a wonderful companion at such hours.

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

General Ping

3 December 2006

My height is average for a Chinese.  My hair, for hereditary reasons, is prematurely white, so due to egotism, I am seldom without a military cap indoors or out. 

Additional vanities are the knee-length leather boots, I order directly from College Station, Texas, and a World War II German Walther P38 handgun kept in a tooled leather holster attached to my belt. 

It is not surprising I have no friends within the military.  Though I trust one of my underlings implicitly, our relationship is commander to subordinate.  He likes it that way, and I like it that way.  My reputation among peers and subordinates alike is that I will strike like a cobra should I detect any form of disrespect or a failure to follow my orders.  Because of my professional reputation, most associates give me a wide berth.  I have only two real friends in the world.  They are Zhao Ming-juan and Yang Gu-jun, and they were both in this room.

Even though my PLA group headquarters is located at a military base in the Northwest of China, I am a high-level administrator who serves at the behest of the ruling body of the People's Republic of China. I make frequent trips to BeiPan for conferences. Fortunately, Zhao Ming-juan and Yang Gu-jun are members of the inner group that make up the ruling class of China, and they specialize in military matters.  The three of us planned it that way. 

 Zhao Ming-juan and Yang Gu-jun were responsible for my appointment to my present position, just as my well thought out military maneuvers brought pressure to bear on Zhao's and Yang's political enemies.  Our relationship is symbiotic.   

The conditions of our association evolved during the days of the Cultural Revolution in the middle sixties, when being on the wrong side for just a short time could be fatal.  On more than one occasion, discussions among the three of us provided insight into the direction of the current ideological wind.  Each correct choice enhanced our rise to professional power and made the likelihood of living another day more probable.

I turned and gazed at my two friends who were deep in conversation.  The sight of Zhao continues to make a strong impression. He lost his right eye, right hand, and right foot to a land mine while acting as political advisor to a militant force during the Cultural Revolution.  He wears a patch over his empty eye socket, a foot prosthesis, and a state-of-the-art mechanical hand.  His infirmities are a constant reminder, to his allies and foes alike, of his sacrifices to the cause of current Chinese political ideology.  His front teeth protrude with one overlaying the other causing him to, often, precede speech with a whistling sound. Zhao could easily have his teeth straightened but chose a peasant's appearance for political reasons.  He attached himself to Yang Gu-jun and me when professional associations were essential during the most fearsome times of the party reorganization under Mao Zedong.

The third member of our trio, Yang, is the polar opposite of Zhao.  He is slim, soft-spoken, and impossible to read.  His round face blends into society.  He is Mr. Everyone and prefers to keep a low profile.  He is widely respected in government circles for his competence, especially with numbers, and for his ability to neutralize his enemies when circumstances call for a showdown.  Yang possesses a well-hidden love for intrigue and the use of power that does not manifest itself in his appearance or personality.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    

While I am the titular head of this group, we decided early that one of us would be   in the military.  Since diplomacy was not my strong suit, we chose me.  Commanding two million military professionals and their equipment provided a strong element of political advantage for us all.  On the surface, we appeared to be faithful tools of the PRC. The actuality is that my comrades and I work tirelessly toward our own ends.  All three of us have numbered accounts in foreign banks; however, the amounts involved only make us financially comfortable.  I desperately desire to be rich and to divorce myself from the drudgery of being a slave to governmental whims.  While we had never actually discussed the matter, I feel my comrades are of a like mind, but I am not certain as to what extent.  Well, I will know soon, I thought.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                          

The tinkling of ice in glasses and the low-key conversation between Zhao and Yang broke through my thoughts and brought me back to the present.  Logic told me I was about to take a step far removed from anything we had ever attempted in the past.  I was about to launch us in a direction that would create heaven on earth, imprisonment, or death. 

Prior to getting down to business, auxiliary personnel swept the room for listening devices one final time, and then they left the room.  Only the three of us remained.  I abandoned my reminiscences and gazed with fondness at my comrades.  Then I spoke, "My prospects are as follows.  I can retire at any time and live in a nice government apartment or country home complete with a housekeeper and cook.  My generous pension will provide for the necessities of life.  Another option is to leave the country and live on the limited resources I have accumulated over the years.  In which case I would have enough wealth to secure a nice house and provide for the necessities of life.  Do you see a pattern here?"

Since it was obviously a rhetorical question, I continued, "The truth, as I see it, is that none of us are ahead of the game.  We enjoy the pinnacle of the comfort hierarchy in China, and we will continue to do so.  However, I am not satisfied with my prospects.  I would like to inquire as to how you feel about your current and protracted stations in life."

Yang spoke before Zhao, which was unusual.  "I spend countless hours contemplating the exact same scenario.  I rather enjoy the influence I have in this life, but one has to look no further than Macau or Hong Kong to find individuals with markedly less political power than we enjoy but with more real resources.  Am I satisfied with my options?  No, I am not.  What are your feelings Zhao Ming-juan?"

Zhao took a sip of his rice wine, swallowed, and began speaking.  "Actually, I give little thought to my future.  During much of my life, I had only the prospect of surviving another day.  Perhaps after leaving the streets, where a bowl of rice was important, I lost my appetite for luxury.  However, not once during the past thirty years have I failed to follow the wisdom and direction of my true comrades, and I will not do so at this late date.  I also realize the general did not bring up this subject unless some adventure is already tugging at his heart.  What say you, General?"

I smiled and raised a glass to my comrades.  "What I am about to propose, if properly planned and executed, will result in important wealth and the ultimate in personal freedom for each of us.  As you know, we already have limited assets in our numbered accounts, but I refer to important wealth.  I refer to the kind of wealth that will allow us to live as we please for the rest of our lives."

Having opened the door, I paused for my comrades to process what I had said; then I continued, "There is some personal risk involved.  Should the authorities learn of our plans, our freedom and our lives could be forfeited." 

My comrades exchanged amused glances and continued their attention.  This would not be their first journey into circumstances rife with danger.

I assumed a more serious demeanor, "Here is what I propose.  The Northern PLA is in the process of changing low-yield nuclear warheads to more advanced delivery systems.  I have at my disposal a most reliable individual who can divert two of those warheads for our personal use."

Both Yang and Zhao blanched. Obviously, their thoughts immediately filled with diverse scenarios, none of which was appealing.  It is likely that they experienced visions of capture, torture, loss of status, and death.

I strode over to the window, gazed out for a moment, and enjoyed the moment.  Then I faced the others.  I smiled and spoke once more, "So what would three old comrades do with two nuclear warheads, you might ask?  We could blow up the government, but our stations would not overly improve.  We might blackmail a rich country into giving us money, but the word would get out.  Alternatively, we could sell the warheads to a wealthy country, leave China, have a bit of plastic surgery performed, and enjoy whatever wealth will provide for the rest of our lives.  In my case, that would include pursuing high risk business opportunities."

I noticed Yang was beginning to get some color back in his face.  He said, "Let me guess.  You know of such a country."

I paced with a strut to my step.  I focused on Yang and said, "As a matter of fact, I do.  The Middle East comes to mind.  Israel has a nuclear arsenal and a strong military.  The Muslim nations produce an endless supply of martyrs willing to spend their lives in pursuit of the goals of their religious leaders, which is to destroy Israel." 

Both Zhao and Yang riveted their attention on me as I continued, "However, that is not enough for Iran.  Blowing up cafés and shopping centers will not give them the sufficient satisfaction they crave.  Iran is desperately trying to gain nuclear proficiency, but they know Israel will never allow them to finish their project.  If there is no political solution, the Israelis will simply destroy the project in much the same way as they did Iraq's nuclear efforts under Saddam Hussein.  The Iranians can do little about it.  However, if the Iranians had a couple of nuclear warheads available to them for retaliatory purposes, the Israelis would have to think long and hard about attacking Iran in any way."

Zhao pulled his chair closer.  "How can we cover up the stolen warheads?"

I ran my fingers through my thick white hair.  "I will replace the real warheads with dummies.  No one will ever know unless the PLA launches the warheads, and they have not done so for the last forty years.  Even then, no one can be sure that the weapons did not just fail."

Yang shifted in his seat then he asked, "How can we make the exchange with Iran?"

As usual, my answers were ahead of their questions.  I smiled. "We can make the exchange in China or on the high seas. I doubt the Iranians would accept the former.  However, we must insure payment before releasing the warheads.  Both parties will attempt to create advantage during the exchange, but we must keep in mind that the warheads are worth far more to the Iranians than the money is to us."

 Yang said, "I like this."

Zhao whistled through his front teeth, then he followed with, "I like this as well."

Yang rose, stretched, and then he asked, "How would you proceed, if we were to go ahead with this venture?"

I answered with a hint of excitement in my voice, "The exchange of the counterfeit and actual warheads is completed.  The weapons are under my control and are on their way to Macau.  I felt compelled to remove the warheads from China with all possible speed.

“When we are ready, our man Hao Chun-zhi will contact the local crime boss in Macau.  His name is Chang Dong-hue.  The locals know him as Big Chang, because he is a giant of a man.  We will require him, or someone like him, to expedite matters outside China. We have the advantage over him because of our political power, and he will know this. I suggest as matters progress and our needs become clear, you two might plan a meeting in Hong Kong with Big Chang."

Zhao looked stunned.  "What would you have done if we had considered the project too dangerous?"

I smiled once more.  "I would have executed my plan and kept all of the money for myself.”  Both of his old friends chuckled, and then Ping continued, “The next step will be to contact the Iranian government in a very secretive manner.  I turned to Yang.  Can you arrange such a meeting?"

Yang's expression remained bland. "It's not something to which I have given any thought, but yes, I can arrange such a meeting."

"Excellent," I said, and then I gestured toward my two companions.  "Allow me to compliment you on your wise decisions.  Subterfuge is not nearly as interesting without comrades to share in the process." 

We refilled our glasses, raised them high, and rang for the girls.

*****

12 December 2006

I exited the government issued automobile, along with my comrades, Zhao and Yang, in front of a high-rise apartment in the heart of BeiPan. 

Security personnel at the entrance to the building knew us not only from newspaper photos, but because we met there several times each year.  It was common knowledge that the three of us drew from a companionship that went back to the days of the Cultural Revolution, and that  we had virtually forged our bonds in blood.

Zhao Ming-juan carried a sack containing two bottles of rice wine, which was our drink of choice.  We usually shared food and wine, when we found the time to enjoy each other's company.  These meetings, however, were not all for the purpose of camaraderie.  Our lives, on occasion, depended on the careful plans created and executed when we met. 

I glanced at the security agent, who stood ramrod straight near the elevators, and nodded my head.  Then I ushered my long time associates onto the elevators.

The PRC owned the penthouse of this tall structure and made it available to the governmental hierarchy to use for private conferences and sexual rendezvous, which were common.

When we reached the penthouse, a security agent waited at the door to the apartment.  He ushered us into a well-lit room decorated with Chinese antiques of the Manchu and Ming dynasties.  He followed us into the conference area.  Two well-dressed men sat in front of a large picture window and admired the view.  Upon our arrival, the visitors rose but said nothing.   Both parties nodded and maintained our positions without speaking.

The chief security agent summoned four additional agents into the apartment.  They swiftly swept the rooms for listening devices.  Following that, they checked the window for its impenetrability from outside listening devices or photography.  When all systems were clean and ready for a private chat, the security people filed out and closed the door.

Yang Gu-jun gestured to one of the men and spoke using his most innocuous voice, "Gentlemen, this is Ibn Asad Mohammed, the gentleman from Iran about whom I spoke, and his associate, Mr. Haakim.”

Motioning toward me, he continued, “May I introduce General Ping of the People's Liberation Army and Zhao Ming-juan, a member of the Central Military Commission of the PRC.”  He turned back to the Iranians.  “I am Yang Gu-jun, a member of the Central Military Commission as well."

Ibn Mohammed, a tall man, offered his hand to each of us, as did Haakim.  The tongue spoken was Mandarin Chinese, a language in which both Iranians would prove to be fluent.  Mohammed introduced his colleague, Faisal Haakim, as an associate.  He did not introduce him as the head of Iranian Intelligence in BeiPan, a fact known by all in the room. 

I gestured toward the chairs.  After everyone was comfortable, I seated myself and began speaking, "We learned from a mutually trusted source the government of Iran may be in the market for certain weapons systems not readily available on the open market.  This trusted ally made your country aware of the possibility of a source for these weapons and, hence, made this meeting desirable."

Ibn Asad Mohammed took on a look of grave importance and answered, "We have the capacity to fabricate any weapons systems we might need but are interested in your proposal.”

I sipped from my teacup and continued, "Judicious enquiries to certain members of our administration lead us to believe that given the present world dynamic, an arrangement between our governments in the area of significant military weaponry is not possible at this time.” 

Mohammed's countenance reflected his anger as he asked, "Why then, have you wasted our time by having this meeting?"

Zhao Ming-juan unconsciously whistled through his front teeth and spoke, "Mr. Mohammad, there are official and unofficial ways of doing business.  Our government is not in a position to participate in such an enterprise; however, this group can attain our goals by other means."

Mohammed, realizing the proposal was not as he had erroneously concluded, appeared to relax somewhat and leaned back in his chair.  “Iran might be interested, but we require additional information.”

I was confident the Iranians would be more than interested, and continued my remarks, "Discretion in this matter is of paramount importance.  Any disclosure of our arrangement would embarrass the power structure of both governments, harm future diplomatic avenues between our countries, and alert your enemies of a new world dynamic.  If this accord is culminated, you will know why Iran would not want the world to have knowledge of our agreement."

Ibn Mohammed appeared to consider the implications of my statement.  He probably already realized he was dealing with renegades, and the trust factor plummeted.  "I understand what you are saying, General.  I am not opposed to continuing this discussion."

I could not help but notice the increased level of wariness by the Iranians.  However, I knew he and his colleague held the difference between success and failure of the country of Iran in their hands.  I bartered from a position of strength.  I continued, "Good.  Here is what we propose.  As you know, the People's Liberation Army protects our nation from our enemies.  Such danger can germinate along the thousands of miles of our borders or even from thousands of miles away.  The PRC has been a pioneer in the development and use of nuclear weapons for decades.”

 The blood drained from the faces of both Iranians.  They became cautious, irritated, and interested at the same time.  Mohammed nodded, and said, “Please continue.”

I enjoyed their discomfort.  Then I spoke in my most soothing tone, “As we continue our research in the field of nuclear weaponry, advances occur and old systems no longer accomplish our goals.  For instance, the DF-3A medium range missile was once the mainstay of our delivery systems.  Now, the PLA is in the process of phasing out the entire line and replacing it with more advanced delivery systems of superior reliability and range.”

Mohammed’s building excitement died on the vine and for good reason.  Iran had rather good missile systems already in place, so if the purpose of this visit was for us to unload ancient missiles on the Iranians, it was a waste of their time.  Still, he had little choice but to allow the scene to play out. 

As if reading the thoughts of Mohammed, I allowed a slight smile to move my lips.  "Gentlemen, we are discussing nuclear devices, not delivery systems.”

 Mohammed fought to absorb the information, consider the implications, and not tip his hand.  However, he was unable to prevent a glance in the direction of Haakim, who gave him an almost imperceptible nod.  It was at this point that I clearly knew which of the Iranians was leading the delegation.

I settled back even more in the large comfortable chair.  Giving the appearance of being relaxed with nothing to hide was a tool I had used for a lifetime.  Then I continued, “The world knows Iran is close to manufacturing enriched uranium of a weapons grade.  We are also aware the enemies of Iran cannot allow your research to achieve culmination.  Iran is powerless to protect the advancements when dealing with enemies who have nuclear capabilities.  If attacked by such a nation, Iran would not have the capacity to retaliate with any hope of success.  If we can reach an agreement on this transaction, you can swing the balance of power back to Iran.  Your country can continue its peaceful pursuit of the nuclear powered production of electricity without fearing your enemies can attack your resources with impunity.”

Faisal Haakim, not being a diplomat, spoke for the first time.  “General.  Exactly what are you offering, and what terms are you proposing?”

I rose, paced briefly, and then turned back to the Iranians, confident they would accept my offer.  I spoke with authority and said, “We can provide two fully operational low-yield nuclear warheads of the type that can be launched by aircraft, cruise missiles, or solid fuel rocket systems.”

Haakim asked, “How is it possible something as valuable as operational nuclear warheads will not be missed from your own arsenal, and what are you asking in return?”

Zhao Ming-Juan spoke with a peasant-accented dialect, “Suffice to say the PLA will not miss the nuclear devices.”  Zhao gestured toward his colleagues.  “We are very cautious people.  Our price for the warheads is one hundred fifty million Euros."

Without waiting for a response, I spoke once more.  "I suggest you meet with your superiors, review our discussion, and make your decision.  As you must understand, we have time constraints on our ability to pursue this arrangement, so please provide your answer in a timely manner." 

Haakim answered, "Gentlemen, we need hard data on the components of the warheads.  Since we require a great deal of technical information to make this transaction feasible, we need communications through a trustworthy channel in Iran.  Do you have any suggestions?"

I spoke quickly.  "Actually, we gave that problem some prior thought.  An agent in the Chinese Embassy in Tehran will serve in that capacity."

Haakim appeared thoughtful, and then he said, "I cannot see a problem with such an arrangement.  How will I know your representative?"

Yang spoke, "If you will attend a social event at the Chinese Embassy in Tehran on 8 December, our agent will contact you and set up an information exchange protocol." 

Haakim responded, "Gentlemen, I will report the substance of our meeting to my superiors.  We will give you our answer on the eighth."

We all rose from our chairs and offered our hands to Mohammed and Haakim.  Then we ushered the two Iranians out the door and into the company of a security guard who escorted them back to their car.

Yang took three glasses from the cabinet and poured rice wine in each.  He handed a glass to us and lifted his own in a toast, "To a good first step."

Zhao took a sip and asked Yang, "What is your assessment?"

He answered, "One never knows at this stage of a negotiation, but Haakim didn't blink at the price.  However, Iranians usually will not negotiate unless they are ready to close the deal."

I looked at my fellows.  "I will be greatly surprised if the asking price is not re-negotiated.  Haakim handled the information without batting an eye, because his is not the final decision.  However, he is a razor-sharp operator, and I suspect his cohorts are as well."

Zhao reached for the wine bottle.  "Nothing ventured.  Nothing gained.  I wonder from which old Chinese proverb that came."

Yang quipped.  "I’m sure Chairman Mao said it first."

We all chuckled and sipped our wine.  I felt enormously pleased.

*****

On 8 December 2007 at the Chinese Embassy in Tehran, Faisal Haakim sipped strong tea and waited for his Chinese contact.  He wore a dark green tie, which identified him.  Soon, a well-dressed Chinese matron appeared at his side. She wore an emerald brooch, which was her identification code.  She smiled and spoke, "Good evening, Mr. Haakim.  I am Mrs. Huang.  We share common acquaintances in the Middle Kingdom.  They send greetings."

Haakim answered, "Making your acquaintance is my pleasure, Mrs. Huang.  I have information for our friends.  The first payment option proved to be cumbersome. Far too many people would need to know about it.  As an alternative proposal, the Ayatollah is willing to provide two million barrels of light crude oil for your transport and sale.  He is also willing to accept that the product be transported in the Iranian cargo ship presently leaving Macau which contains the heavy machinery we recently purchased.  To insure the integrity of the venture, a Chinese crew may operate the ship.  Of course, an Iranian crew will control the tanker until final arrangements are complete.  Sailing time for both vessels must coordinate, so the cargo ship and the tanker meet near the Straits of Hormuz.  When that occurs, our experts on board the tanker will transfer to the cargo ship to examine the product for authenticity.  When the integrity of the parcel is established, Iranians will take control of the cargo ship, and the Chinese cargo ship crew will transfer to the tanker. That will conclude the arrangement. There is security for all.   

Haakim sipped his cup of tea and glanced around the room.  Then he continued his instructions, “You will find our detailed proposal in this envelope, including documents and instructions for the loading of the oil. If this proposal is agreeable to your associates, we can do business."  He surreptitiously handed Mrs. Huang a sealed envelope.

She responded, "I will deliver your proposal to our friends.  If it is acceptable, they will make their decision known through me.” Mrs. Huang placed the envelope in her purse and removed another, which she handed to Haakim.  “You will find technical data pertaining to the merchandise in this packet.  I have also outlined a way for us to communicate without the prying eyes of the members of my embassy.  Thank you very much, Mr. Haakim."  Having said that, she walked away and joined a small group of people.  Haakim eased his way towards the door and left the building.

 

*****

Seventeen

That big muscular frame of his held plenty of animal courage, but helped him to no decision when the dangers to be braved were such as could neither be knocked down nor throttled. 

George Eliot

Big Chang

16 January 2007

Kim Lili-kue, my trusted administrative assistant for many years, knocked softly on my office door and entered.  She is a common looking woman without excess fat.  She dresses down but with dignity.  Her mind is razor sharp, but only I am aware of her intellect or that she has two university level degrees in accounting.  Kim's primary job is to distribute my instructions, manage my office, and keep an eye on the numbers. 

A typical day in Lili-kue's professional life was to liaise between the leaders of the other territories and this office.   While males in our culture have no respect for females in management capacities, they realize that her words are my words.  If a cartel member balks at her instructions, she never forces the issue.  She informs the obstinate member that she would pass on their decision to me.   That is usually more than enough to turn the tide in favor of her instructions. 

Over the years, Lili-kue has gained my trust to the point that she makes many minor judgments on her own and implements them in my name.  Until now, she has given me no reason to question her ability to make sound decisions. 

When I looked up from my work, she said, "There is a representative from the PRC here to see you.  His name is Hao Chun-zhi."

I was stunned.  I closed the file in my hand and growled, "What on earth do they want with me.  I guess this means a bigger payoff and less profit.  All right, send him in."

Hao Chun-zhi entered the room with the air of someone who usually gets his way.  He possessed a slim build and a pleasing face.  He spoke in a condescending voice, "I am Hao Chun-zhi.  I represent certain interests on the mainland, who would like to do some mutually profitable business with you."

I rose to my impressive height and looked down on Hao.  "I already do business with the BeiPan government.  Exactly, who do you represent?"

My aggressive demeanor placed Hao on the defensive.  He expected to be sitting and dictating terms by this time.  He spoke with more energy, "Let me assure you the people I represent are influential men in the most powerful governmental circles.  Their names will be made known to you in due course, but first, let us talk money.  Your fee for performing this small service is approximately $16 million American dollars or more.  If we reach an agreement, my superiors will pay you one million dollars up front and the balance when the venture is brought to fruition."

I showed no outward sign of reacting to the offer but was intrigued.  "It would be easier to take your offer seriously if I knew with whom I was doing business.  Suppose your people come to Macau, and we can sit down and talk."

Hao Chun-zhi shifted his weight from one foot to another.  Finally, he answered, "My people do not come to Macau, Mr. Chang.  This is a delicate matter and requires the utmost confidentiality.  If you will agree to visit Hong Kong, I can arrange for you to meet with my superiors, so long as no one knows of your whereabouts.  There can be no hint of such a meeting.  If certain elements in the government learned of the conference, repercussions would be devastating."

I turned and gazed at the skyline of the city.  Then, I turned back and said, "How about a small token to show your people are serious about this matter?"

Hao did not bat an eye.  "Give me the number of an account, and I will have one hundred thousand Hong Kong dollars deposited into the account within minutes."

I stared at Hao for an instant, rifled through some files in my desk drawer, and produced the number of a bank account.  I copied it, along with the name of the bank, and passed it to Hao.  He picked up the phone, dialed a number from memory, and spoke rapidly.  Then, he turned back to me.  "Give it ten minutes, and then check your account.  Afterwards, we can discuss the arrangements for your visit to Hong Kong."

I picked up a file and studied it for several minutes, after which I checked the account, and found that the money was there.  The token exchange had its desired effect.  I immediately decided Hao was legitimate.  I could not ignore an opportunity to make $16M dollars.  I decided he represented important people, but I still had no idea of their identity.  I offered my hand to him and spoke.  "If the deal is right, we can do business.  If it is not, I will return your money."

Hao began outlining the meeting on the mainland, because he had arrived with the plan already formulated.  I was to ride a ferry across the bay and then submit to agents of the principals.  The meeting would be clandestine.  The meet could be a setup, but I allowed my instincts to take over.  I faced frauds on almost a daily basis, and a personal strength of mine was reading people.  I read Hao as being the genuine article.

The meeting would take place in a week.  I approved the arrangements, shook Hao's hand once more, and ushered him out the door.  

*****

The days moved slowly, but the time arrived when I boarded the hydrofoil ferry along with some of my own security personnel.  According to the plan, I would have to leave them at the Hong Kong dock.  When we arrived, I exited the ferry.  Hao, accompanied by two men, appeared and offered a traditional greeting.  They ushered me into a large black Mercedes, and it pulled away. 

Once more, it occurred to me if this was a set-up, I was dead meat.  After a short drive, one of the men handed me a blindfold.  This was a good sign.  If they planned to do me in, it would be unnecessary. I put it on without hesitation. 

The drive continued for about forty-five minutes with various twists and turns after which, the vehicle stopped.  The escorts led me inside a structure of some kind and removed the blindfold.

The arrival point was a large dwelling left over from the days of Chang Kai-shek.  A young Chinese woman welcomed me and asked me to follow her into a large room with several small tables with chairs.  Two men sat comfortably in the room and rose when I entered.

The men were mature, probably in their early sixties.  One spoke.  "I am Zhao Ming-juan.  This is Yang Gu-jun."

I immediately recognized the men as being potent members of the inner-circle of the Central Military Commission of the PRC.  These men sat at the very pinnacle of governmental power, and they made me tremble a bit.  "I am honored to be in your presence," I replied.

Yang offered me a seat, and the two men seated themselves.  Yang opened a leather attaché case and removed some papers. "My associate and I are considering a business venture that requires a freedom of movement and an area of expertise we do not presently possess.  We hope Chang Enterprises, Limited can fill an important and profitable role in this endeavor.  After we are successful, there can be other mutually beneficial opportunities for us to do business.  However, we wish to be clear. If this endeavor should become public knowledge, we will all suffer greatly.” 

Even though I was not thrilled with the prospect of the dangers, I could not just get up and leave.  "You are very clear, Mr. Yang."

Yang continued in a soft voice,   "On the tenth day of July of 2007, two million barrels of light crude oil must be loaded into an oil tanker in Iran.  We do not have the freedom, the routing expertise, or the connections to do this without assistance.  We require someone, such as you, to hire a tanker, load, transport, and sell the oil.  Once these tasks are completed, you will direct the funds to our bank account.  If the market remains high, light crude should be selling for over eighty American dollars per barrel.  After the sale of the oil, we expect to net about seventy-three dollars a barrel.  You can cover your expenses and make a tidy profit from the ten percent commission we are willing to pay to get this done.  Are you interested in this joint venture?"

I sat silently for a time, as if I was actually considering the deal.  I realized should I refuse this offer, I would not leave Hong Kong alive.  In addition, I considered $16M American.  I had no idea how to go about performing the tasks laid out by these men, but I was not without confidence. I sat up straight and responded, "As you may know, my son studied at Harvard University in the United States.  He will have the contacts necessary to fulfill your requirements.  We will contract with experts in the field to manage the shipping, the sale of the oil, and the transfer of funds.  Chang Enterprises, Limited can provide the services you require for the commission you offer."

The two men looked at one another and Yang responded, "Excellent, Mr. Chang.  We have a restricted period in which to make all preparations.  Yet, we must leave nothing to chance." 

I nodded and smiled, turning on the charm.  I spoke in a conciliatory manner, "Your offer is more than satisfactory, Mr. Yang.  With your permission, we will launch preparations immediately upon my return to Macau."

Yang appeared pleased and said, "Of course."  The two powerful Chinese officials rose, shook my hand, and departed.  The men, who brought me to the meeting, replaced my blindfold, guided me to the car, and we began the journey back to the ferry.  When we arrived, Hao handed me a valise.  I did not look inside but shook hands with Hao and boarded the ferry.  On the way back to Macau, I found that the valise contained a cashier’s check for one million American dollars.  Visions of greenbacks danced through my head.

Following an uneventful trip back to Macau, during which I unleashed my mental assets on the dynamics of the deal, I came to several conclusions.  The men, while being high-ranking government officials in the PRC, were renegades.  They were going for the big score and would likely leave China as soon as we deposited the money.   I suspected that since they were trading with Iran, military assets were involved.  I also concluded that while the ten percent commission was impressive, it was meaningless if my son or I lost our lives in the process.  While Wen-biao could be very resourceful where his personal needs were concerned, earthly pleasures had a habit of diverting him from the mundane tasks of business ventures.  Jian-mei would need to watch his every move.  He would resent her involvement, but no matter.  This was too serious an issue to allow personal feelings to get in the way.  As I had considered on many occasions, it was too bad Jian-mei was female. 

Immediately after arriving back in Macau, I phoned Kim Lili-kue and instructed her to have Wen-biao and Jian-mei available in my office when I arrived. 

Upon reaching my office, I found Jian-mei waiting.  I motioned for her to accompany me into the inner sanctum.  Wen-biao soon came through the office door.  He stopped and stared at Jian-mei.  She ignored him.  He made his way to the bar, "How about a glass of wine, Pops?"

I drew on my Cuban cigar and exhaled blue smoke. "I need a clear head for this deal, son, but you might as well bring me a small glass."

Wen-biao took his time, and selected a good bottle of California Cabernet Sauvignon.  He removed the cork and set the bottle on the table between us.  Neither of us offered Jian-mei a glass. 

Wen-biao said with his boyish grin, "Okay, Pops.  Now what is important enough to take me out of the arms of Peggy Chiu?"

I tapped my cigar on the edge of the ashtray breaking loose a small portion of ash.  "I've come across a piece of action that will net you about five million in American dollars.  Do you have time for that?"

 Wen-biao grinned broadly, and his eyes grew wide.

I leaned over my desk and spoke. "Here it is.  Two renegade politburo members contacted me, and I met with them in Hong Kong today.  They are preparing for a financially bright future, which they cannot get from a government pension.  They want us to broker an oil deal with Iran.  They will ship, whatever it is they are selling, from Macau to Iran.  I don’t want us involved in that aspect of the deal.  When the shipment nears Iranian waters, we will have an oil tanker loaded with two million barrels of light crude poised to sail for India.  After selling the oil, we will wire the proceeds, less our commission, to a numbered account.  Their take will be off the charts.  We won't do badly."

 By this time, Wen-biao was on his feet, "Who gets killed, Pops."

I leaned back. "Us, if the deal goes sour.  We need to find a professional who knows the ins and outs of buying, transporting, and selling oil.  This person needs expertise in international finance.  We can work through Hong Bin-zhou in London to help find someone.  I did a great deal of business with Hong until the PRC caught him blowing up buildings.  He barely escaped China with his balls.  I will give him a call later today."

Wen-biao poured more wine.  He looked at Jian-mei, and then he spoke to his father. “I can handle this, Pops.  No problem.  What is this bitch doing here?” 

I scowled and said, “We might as well set the ground rules for this operation now rather than later.  She is here, because I want her here.  She will accompany you to London to meet with a broker and help in any way she can.  This is far too important for one person to handle.  You will take the point, but Jian-mei will be in on every aspect of the deal from start to finish.  If you can’t operate under these conditions, you can remain in Macau.”

Wen-biao sipped his glass of wine then responded in an unusual manner, “Pops, you know and I know she is your spy.  You just don’t trust me, your only son, to get the job done.”

I walked around the desk and took both of Wen-biao’s shoulders in my vice-like hands.  “You disrespect your father by questioning my decisions.  My motives for using Jian-mei are my own.  I do not understand the hatred you harbor for her, but it has no place in our working relationships.  The responsibility for getting this job completed belongs to us all.  I would go myself, but there is too much to do here.  Jian-mei has her role, and you will honor my wishes.  Am I clear?”

Wen-biao’s fear overcame his anger, so he put on his loving son face.  “Whatever you say, Pops.”

Jian-mei stifled a small yawn.

I released Wen-biao and returned to my desk.  I took a sip of wine and continued, “According to my instructions from the renegades, the timing of when the tanker leaves Iran is critical.  We must make the ship's captain aware that an Iranian crew will control the tanker until it reaches the Straits of Hormuz, where it will join up with the cargo ship.  The crews will be exchanged, and the tanker continues on to India.”

I finished my glass of wine and set the glass aside.  Then I proceeded, "I have no idea what it will cost to hire a tanker, ship the oil, and pay the broker, but we should have about sixteen million American dollars to work with.  Your cut is five million, and a very generous one I might add.  All payoffs depend on the price of crude oil when we sell.  Are there any questions?  No?  Then I am having dinner with Harry Lee.  You two stay and work out details.  I don’t want any more of this silly bickering.”

*****

When Chang Dong-hue left, Wen-biao turned to Jian-mei.  “I sure could use a blow job.”

Jian-mei turned another page in her magazine.  “Let me know if you find anyone with a taste for venereal disease.”

Wen-biao’s handsome countenance evolved into a snarl.  “If Pops had not been here, I would have beaten you into a vegetable.”

Jian-mei tossed the magazine back on the table.  “Have you forgotten what happened the last time you tried that?”

Wen-biao’s memory banks erupted with the horror of the fists, elbows, and kicks that brutalized his body while reducing him to a whimpering ball of pain.  Yes, he remembered and swore for the thousandth time she would pay.  “My day will come, Bitch.”

“Fools have no day.”  Jian-mei rose and walked toward the door, so close to Wen-biao that her skirt brushed his knees.  At no time did he seriously consider physical retaliation.

*****

Eighteen

A thick, black cloud swirled before my eyes, and my mind told me that in this cloud, unseen as yet, but about to spring out upon my appalled senses, lurked all that was vaguely horrible, all that was monstrous and inconceivably wicked in the universe.

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

Maryanne

2 February 2007

A change in the background noise pulled me away from my personal thoughts.  Other invited members of the Mossad Intelligence community filed in, placed their materials on the desk, and stood around chatting.  We were all waiting for Joshua Simon to commence the meeting.  As they entered, each glanced at me.  How could they not?  I possessed piercing, luminous blue eyes, a youthful figure, and a mass of shining black, naturally curly hair.  Everyone expected my appearance to succumb to the years, but I fought back with stringent exercise, a reasonable diet, and good genes.  I only drank alcohol when necessary or to enjoy the occasional glass of wine with dinner.  I had no time or interest in a significant other but relieved my passions at will.   

As I gazed around the busy room, I recalled that I had bedded four of today’s invitees.  My motives for doing so were triggered by transient desire, curiosity, and to build a strong working association.  I firmly believe sex drastically changes the personal dynamics between men and women.  I believed that having slept with these powerful men provided an edge when I needed their help or a more firm commitment.  Nothing has happened to dissuade me from this stance.   Not allowing any deep or long-term relationship with any of them, I maintain a casual and professionally successful affiliation.  Since Joshua Simon was more like a relative, our relationship was purely platonic.  

I noted the presence of Emil Chuvarski, head of the Middle East desk.  He attended many such meetings, since most were concerned with his sphere of influence.  My eyes moved to John Kurilsky, chief of the Western Europe desk, and then to Andy Levine, head of the USA desk.  They were frequent attendees as well.  The massive Murray Glisker, sitting near the front of the room, supervised the China desk.  His expertise was in the areas of administration and economics.  For him to attend a counter-terrorism meeting was rare. 

Joshua Simon finally turned to the group and invited us to take a seat.  One of the attributes of working with Simon was that no matter how distasteful the situation might appear, he wanted his people to spend their mental energies on solutions and not waste time on despair and recriminations.  Simon spoke, “I hope you and yours are well. As you can clearly see, I grow younger, stronger, and taller as the days pass, but enough about me. 

“The ever diligent and resourceful work of the members of our China desk, under the able leadership of what’s-his-name over there, produced some intel which terrifies me.  To insure you won’t doze off during this short briefing, we are discussing mushroom clouds, but I will allow Murray to present the situation.  And Murray, just the bullet points please.”

When he rose, it became obvious why Murray Glisker sat behind a desk.  His appearance prevented him from ever indulging in operations. He was six feet eight inches tall and weighed in the neighborhood of three hundred pounds, most of it muscle.  His size did not interfere with his position as cultural attaché in BeiPan, but it caused major problems for clandestine fieldwork that required blending into the environment.

Glisker shuffled some papers, arranging them just so, and spoke in a surprisingly high-pitched voice for someone of his size.  “Thanks, Josh.  As you know, gathering information in a large, populous area with a miserly budget is something of a crapshoot at best.  Therefore, one has to load the dice very carefully.  Since China is huge and most of us do not look Chinese, we are compelled to deal with local professionals, some of which are reliable and others not.  Naturally, we pay more money for good intelligence but shell out enough for routine stuff to keep them working.  The material I have for you today comes as a result of several bits of what could be unrelated intel that is beginning to appear related.”

Joshua mumbled loudly, “Now that espionage 101 is behind us.”

Murray was amused but unhurried.  “We must choose our targets wisely.  Like everyone else, we are vitally interested in anything nuclear.  The People's Liberation Army controls both large and small nuclear devices under the theoretical supervision of the government.  We get some cooperation from our allies in the nuclear area, but we still require human assets of our own."   

Murray appeared thoughtful for a moment, and then he continued, “The CIA informed us the PLA planned to change out some of their low yield devices to more modern delivery systems.  That in itself was not a cause for alarm, but we have an agent in the Northwestern PLA nuclear center, and we alerted her.  She made discreet inquiries from her own trusted sources and learned a local machinist working at the nuclear center was fashioning the outer shells of small nuclear devices, but there was a catch.  The inside of the devices had no resemblance to the real thing.  They appeared to be fakes.  The word at the base was the fakes were for loading practice.” 

As he became more personally involved with his presentation, Murray began pacing and increased the use of gestures, “Then our ever-diligent asset learned from an associate, actually a relative, that a civilian truck loaded two cartons from the nuclear facility during the dead of night and drove away.  The agent provided the license number and a description of the truck. 

At this point, questions began to surface.  Why did the Chinese manufacture the fakes in the first place?  Was someone stealing the warheads during the changeover to another delivery system?  Why did the truck load and leave in the middle of the night?  What was the destination?  What did the trucks contain?  Did this have any connection with Israel?”

Glisker paused, checked a sheet of paper on the table, then continued, “In order to err on the side of caution, we alerted other agents along the major roads between the Northwest of China and the Southeast.  Our coverage was limited, but Joshua shelled out a few additional coins, and we pursued our instincts.  Fortune smiled, and a hired agent spotted the truck as it passed through Central China.  We predicted its route and once again picked it up along the way.  It appeared headed to the Hong Kong area.  Then matters began to get even more interesting.”

Glisker became silent again, took a sip of water, and hitched his pants.  Speaking with a more somber tone, he said, “Like in any major city the size of BeiPan, it is impossible to keep an eye on everyone.  Nevertheless, we are careful to monitor most of our Arab friends.  We were doing routine surveillance on Faisal Haakim, the head of Iranian Intelligence in BeiPan, and noted that he and his associate, Ibn Mohammed, entered an apartment house used by important Chinese officials.  Soon after they went in, two members of the People's Republic of China's Central Military Commission entered as well.  After about an hour, Mohammed and his boss Haakim departed.  While we could not be sure if that meant anything, we increased our scrutiny of the two Iranians and the Chinese.”

Murray pulled at his ear and slightly raised the volume of his speech, “The final items that led to our present conclusions occurred when we discovered an Iranian cargo ship docked at the Port of Macau, and the truck appeared headed in that direction.”

Simon asked, "Do you believe that the People’s Republic of China is involved?'

"It is difficult to say at this juncture, but our observations point toward this as a renegade operation. Why do they meet in an apartment house and not in an official building?  Why is this commerce not handled by diplomats?"

Simon looked around the room.  "If the renegades are trading nuclear warheads, how would that impact the security of Israel and the world?  What good would a couple of obviously low yield nuclear devices do the Iranians?  They know Israel has the means to reduce the major population centers in Iran to nuclear dust with an exchange."

Glisker calmly responded, knowing Simon and probably all of the others already knew the answers.  "Iran is steadfastly working toward nuclear capability.  They realize we will not allow them to complete their nuclear project.  We can take out their infrastructure, even though they periodically move their labs from place to place. Presently, they cannot strike back.  However, if they have the capacity for massive retaliation on Israel, we might have no choice but to allow them to complete their nuclear program.  If they did so, it would not be long before Israel had no nuclear advantage at all.  Should that happen, our military superiority would be markedly reduced, and our country would be subject to the whim of some zealot to whom life means nothing."

Joshua Simon interrupted.  "Does anyone have any questions at this point?”  No one interrupted.  “Please continue Murray."

"We asked ourselves, why did the renegades deliver the payload to Macau?  We closely monitored the two members of the PRC government in BeiPan, and noted that they met on more than one occasion with the commander of the Northwestern PLA, where significant numbers of nuclear warheads are stored.  His name is General Ping Mu-yao.  His two Central Military Commission comrades are Zhao Ming-juan and Yang Gu-jun.  All three used the Cultural Revolution to advance their careers through clever and merciless political action.  Their primary operations person appears to be Hao Chun-zhi.  While he is not a member of the inner circle, he is their go-between.  We added Mr. Hao to our surveillance list.  Recently, he took a trip to Macau and hooked up with one of the local crime lords named Chang Dong-hue."

Simon asked.  "What is Chang’s role in the situation?"

Appearing introspective, Murray continued, "We have not determined that, but you can lay a princely sum on the fact he is involved.  We gathered what information we could on Chang Dong-hue or Big Chang, as the locals call him.” 

Glisker paused, took a drink of diet soda, and continued.  “Our usually trustworthy ally, Hong Bin-zhuo in London, has a long history with Big Chang from his Macau days.  He still does some consulting business with Big Chang, but in this case, Hong is more or less working for us.  Big Chang approached his old friend requesting help in moving and selling a large amount of oil. Hong recommended a Texas oilman from Houston to do the job.  His name is Billy Ray Calhoun.  Big Chang agreed to send a representative to meet with Calhoun in London.  He is sending his son, Wen-biao."

Kurilsky proceeded to break up.  "That's a joke. Right?  Nobody is named Billy Ray."

Glisker smiled.  "No joke.  People in Texas take liberties with given names."

Attempting to keep the discussion on track, Simon turned to Murray.  "What is the present status of your operation?"

Murray Glisker seated himself and appeared to relax somewhat.  He concluded his remarks by saying, “We know the truck is nearing Macau.  The Iranian cargo ship is waiting in port, and I would bet the stone tablet that the contents of the truck are soon loaded onto the ship.  If that is the case, we have them by the balls.  We can sink or board the ship at anytime we want. Conditions stretch our facilities thin, but we presently have all known parties under surveillance.  There is no further covert activity at the PLA nuclear facility.  General Ping and his cohorts have met three times recently.  Their rep has been to Macau three times as well.  We will see if Chang Wen-biao boards the plane for London."

Simon rose from his rock hard chair.  "Thanks Murray.  I am sure there are many questions and comments, but first allow me to lay out my current plan for managing this crisis.  Maryanne will fly to London and attempt to meet Mr. Calhoun.  It’s a pity she is not a bit younger."

Only half-in jest, I threw a paper ball at John Simon.  He ducked and continued, "They will likely contact Hong Bin-zhuo for assistance during the negotiations, and we may pick up a bit of additional information from him.  As was pointed out by Murray, we can take out the ship at any time or exercise other options.  Meanwhile, we must dismantle the entire renegade operation and make sure no other similar incident happens in the future.” 

Simon turned his attention to Andy Levine, head of the USA desk, and said, “Andy, you will need to work with our embassy in Washington and prepare for the day we blow the whistle on the renegades to BeiPan.  The USA is in a better position to get the ear of the PRC.”  Then he looked at John Kurilsky, head of the Western Europe desk.  “John, work with Maryanne while she is in London.  She may need assets.”  Kurilsky nodded and Simon took a sip of water.  He turned to Emil Chuvarski, head of the Middle East desk.  “Emil, keep a sharp eye out for anything Chinese around the Iranian ports.  I don't believe this is a widespread operation, but we never know.”  Then addressing the attendees as a whole, Simon concluded his comments, “We will know more after London.  All right, any questions?"

Everyone began talking at once, but Andy Levine's foghorn bass trumped them all.  "Just who the hell is Billy Ray Calhoun?"

*****

Twenty

“If you lived in London, where the whole system is one of false good-fellowship, and you may know a man for twenty years without finding out that he hates you like poison, you would soon have your eyes opened.” 

George Bernard Shaw

Hong Bin-zhuo

9 May 2007

On this day, I wore a dark brown Savile Row suit.  My shoes were hand-made in Italy.  I ordered my hand-painted ties directly from the designer in San Francisco.  My full girth belied the physical strength that once took me up the weight lifting ladder as a young man in Macau.  In fact, I still endeavored to keep my body strong and fit, but my love for gastronomical delights always prevailed in the ongoing conflict.

I lived by my wits and, truth be told, failed by my wits on occasion.  The days in my beloved China were over.  My criminal journey outside the People’s Republic of China’s rule of law cost me my country and nearly my life.  Fortunately, my contingency plan allowed my family and me to escape the wrath of the PRC and begin a new life in the world of global information.

My contacts span the globe.  I buy and sell information to all the major powers including the People’s Republic of China.  Only my value to China as a source of reliable intelligence keeps me alive, and I provide the occasional gem to the current regime in BeiPan.  In addition, I expedite difficult maneuvers for a variety of clients, which enhances my image in the shadow world.  I know people, who know people, who know people.  I am usually able to provide a person to perform a service, no matter how arcane.  Of course, fees were involved.

There are times when I have to make hard decisions.  If two of my customers go head to head, I choose my alliances carefully.  At the end of the day, my first allegiance is to MI6, the British Intelligence Agency.  The reason is not that M16 is a lucrative account.  On the contrary, their payoffs are meager compared to what I demand and receive from some of the Arab states.  British intelligence is number one on my loyalty list; because, they allow me and my family to live and work in England.  When something crosses my desk involving British national security, MI6 receives the information along with my customer.

In addition, I am careful to share my Arab intelligence with the Israelis; because, I can’t abide the Muslims’ need to eradicate the people of other religions.  Because I walk a thin, dangerous line, I put my life at risk on a daily basis.  That goes with the territory.  As a result of my lifestyle, I am wealthy and do more than a little to influence world events.

When my former business associate, Chang Dong-hue, contacted me from Macau with a proposition involving top-level governmental Chinese, my senses sharpened.  Big Chang told me the storyline was that the Chinese were trading heavy equipment for oil.  Their business partner was Iran.   My job was to arrange for an agent to ship and sell two million barrels of oil for Big Chang's associates. 

Privately, neither Big Chang nor I bought the cover story.   We did not believe the PRC would bother trading machinery for oil, and then require that the partner provide their own shipping and selling.  Normally, China would sell the machinery and then buy the oil as needed.  We both surmised this was a renegade deal with some high level Chinese attempting to make a bit of money.  Otherwise, why was Big Chang involved?  Why was I involved? 

I agreed to provide a petroleum trader to work with Big Chang.  That’s where Billy Ray Calhoun came in.  I knew the two of us would be on the same page during negotiations.  I arranged for Big Chang’s son, Chang Wen-biao, to meet with Calhoun at my office in London. 

I know Wen-biao well. While he is a very intelligent man, he possesses a cruel streak that sometimes overrides his best interests.  In addition, his love for exotic women and kinky sex was common knowledge in Macau.  Big Chang had diligently tried to mold Wen-biao into the son he needed to continue the family business, but so far, any success he enjoyed was marginal.

So why should I care if the enterprise failed?  I cared, because I had a reputation to protect, and I did not want to make an enemy of Big Chang.  I considered Chang a friend.  Of greater importance, when one of Big Chang’s enemies surfaced with a wooden dagger protruding from his or her vital organs, Macau underworld figures whispered the name of an assassin referred to as the Brown Recluse.  Most people believed the identity of the deadly killer was Chan Ya-gong, the constant companion of Chang Wen-biao.

When I needed petroleum shipped or associated business concluded, I called Billy Ray Calhoun.  On the surface, Calhoun appeared to be a good old boy type, but I knew him to be a very shrewd negotiator.  Calhoun’s record of accomplishment impressed prospective customers.  I described Billy Ray’s business acumen to Chang Dong-hue and then to Chang Wen-biao with heavy emphasis on my own experiences.  I emphasized how Calhoun managed pressure situations that required acts slightly outside the box.  He was no saint but had proved trustworthy in his dealings with me.  I trusted Billy Ray Calhoun, and that was important, since my payoff in this venture was not great, and my potential for making very dangerous enemies was substantial. 

The light knock of Mrs. Murphy, my long-time administrative assistant, sounded.  "Yes?" I responded.  Mrs. Murphy opened the door and entered.  She was obviously of Asian descent, but she had married a member of the IRA shortly after arriving in Ireland and obtained the name Murphy.  She remained his wife until he fell to a British commando bullet.  I found her in London running a house of ill repute out of a low rent apartment.  I spoke with her and found her innate intelligence to be self-evident.  I made her an offer, and she became my assistant.  The arrangement proved invaluable for both of us.

"As you know, Mr. Calhoun is in the reception area.  Mr. Chang just arrived in a taxi.  He is accompanied by a woman,” said Mrs. Murphy.  Then she asked,   “Shall I show them in?"

I answered, "By all means, show them in."

Leaving the office door open, Mrs. Murphy retreated to the outer office and said, "Please come in, Mr. Chang, Mr. Calhoun.” 

When the principals entered the room, I made the introductions.  “This is Mr. Calhoun from Houston, Texas.  Mr. Calhoun, this is Mr. Chang from Macau.  Perhaps you could introduce your associate, Mr. Chang."

Wen-biao and Billy Ray smiled, shook hands, and sized each other up.  Wen-biao gestured toward the woman and spoke with little enthusiasm.  "This is my business associate, Feng Jian-mei.  She will observe the discussions." 

She met the eyes of Calhoun and offered her hand.  He took it and pressed lightly.  She squeezed his hand with firmness.  

I observed a statuesque woman of Asian heritage dressed in a tan, form-fitting business suit.  She was tall, even for a European woman, and looked strong.  Her face was strikingly beautiful.  It was slightly oval with full lips and intense eyes. 

Wen-biao was slightly taller than Billy Ray.  Thick, black hair cut close to his scalp crowned his symmetrical face.  He wore pale blue slacks and a matching pullover shirt covered by a light wool sweater. 

Billy Ray sported light blond hair cut in a layered fashion.  His square face, strong jaw, and cleft chin contributed to his movie star quality appearance.  His body was lean, his dark blue eyes a bit large for a man, and the corners of his lips curled slightly upward as if in a perpetual smile.  It was difficult for others not to reciprocate his apparent good humor when meeting his gaze.  He wore ostrich-skin cowboy boots and a tailored wool suit cut in a western style. His silk shirt was a cursory match for his hair.  

I said, "Welcome.  I am pleased we could get together like this.  Nothing takes the place of a face-to-face discussion in search of a solution.  Please make yourselves comfortable.  May I provide you with a refreshment of some kind?"

"Jack Daniels and ice, if you please," Billy Ray said, as he seated himself in a relaxed posture.

Chang ordered Macallan Scotch on the rocks.  Feng ordered Jack Daniels as well, which surprised me somewhat.  Mrs. Murphy retreated to the office bar to prepare the refreshments.  The four of us sat around a small, low table, obviously a Chinese antique of interminable age.  Wen-biao asked about the table, and while I went into some detail as to its history, Mrs. Murphy served the drinks and departed the room. 

I wound up my time filling monologue and opened the discussions.  "Billy Ray, as I previously mentioned, Chang Wen-biao is from Macau and is associated with Chang Enterprises, Limited.  He seeks to hire a professional person familiar with the international oil shipping industry to arrange the transportation and sale of a load of Iranian oil.”  I turned to Chang and spoke,  “Chang Wen-biao, perhaps it would be better if you told Billy Ray exactly what you require."

Wen-biao stretched out in his chair and took a sip of his drink.  "In the near future, certain Asian interests require that a large consignment of oil be picked up in Iran, transported to a suitable port in India, and sold at current market value.  This will be a simple, straightforward enterprise.  My associates are prepared to pay upwards of five hundred thousand American dollars for someone to expedite this matter."

Billy Ray took a sip of his whisky, and then set the glass on the table.  He said, "Mr. Chang, if this were a simple matter, I wouldn’t be here.  How much oil are we discussing?"

Wen-biao formed a benevolent smile and answered with some measure of pride, "We are discussing two million barrels.  Would such a large amount be a problem?"

Billy Ray leaned forward. "No, Mr. Chang. That amount of petroleum wouldn’t be a problem, but the size of the tanker and the subsequent expenses depend on the amount of oil transported.  Also, what is the quality of the oil?"

Wen-biao flipped the ash from his cigarette.  "This is light crude.  We are prepared to go as high as seven hundred fifty thousand to get the deal done expeditiously.  After expenses, you would reap a tidy profit for very little work. 

Billy Ray leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs.  After a slight pause he said, "It sounds great except for the payoff.  You want me to arrange for an oil tanker to load, transport, and unload two million barrels of Iranian light crude to a suitable port.  In addition, I must arrange for the sale of the oil through my contacts in the industry and grease all of the palms.  Is this an accurate description of the very little work you mentioned?"

Wen-biao frowned.  "Yes, that is correct, and it seems to me that my offer is most generous."

Billy Ray got up and took a drink of Jack Daniels. It was obvious to me and to Billy Ray that Wen-biao had spent little time in preparation for this meeting.  He had no idea of the realities of petroleum trading.  Billy Ray countered, "It might appear generous to someone who has no experience in such matters.  You are speaking with me, because I am a professional.  I know whom to contact in order to get this job done.  One cannot just walk down to the docks and hire a large oil tanker.  They are booked months ahead of time, and you will be fortunate to find such a tanker available on such short notice.  Additionally, I derive my fee based on my contacts in the industry and my knowledge of the process of moving oil.”

To give Chang a moment to digest what Billy Ray had just told him, he reached over to a humidor on my desk and retrieved a Cuban cigar.  I had witnessed this ploy on numerous occasions.  While he was preparing it to light, he continued, “Transportation costs are out of my hands.  You will pay at least fifty cents per barrel up front.  That alone will cost a million.  My fee will be in the neighborhood of six hundred fifty thousand, based on the monitary size of the transaction.  From that, I will pay any ancillary expenses such as paying off port authorities.  I collect half of my fee up front and the remainder upon completion of the deal."

The blood drained from Wen-biao's face.  His anger spilled over.  "Are you insane?  We are not going to pay such an outrageous sum for what little we are asking you to do.”  He turned to me and raised his voice.  “Hong Bin-zhuo, we cannot do business with this man.  Get us someone else."

As Billy Ray lit his cigar, I spoke. "Chang Wen-biao, we are negotiating here.  We have made no decisions at this time.  Surely, your father did not expect to find someone to facilitate such an unusual arrangement for the sum you offered.  You must be realistic, and Billy Ray must be realistic as well.  You have only heard his opening offer.  There is still much to discuss."

Wen-biao drained his glass and refilled it from a nearby decanter.  In a strained voice he said,  "I will make a final offer of one million two hundred thousand.  If that is not enough, we will just enjoy our drinks and leave."

Billy Ray smiled and rejoined, "Well at least, Mr. Chang, you are beginning to realize this is a two-way street.  I do not intend to perform this Herculean task without a margin of profit.  Nevertheless, to show my good faith, I will operate from a tight margin and get by with five hundred thousand.  That is the best I can do."

Wen-biao stared first at Billy Ray and then me.  "You are both insane.  There is no way we will allow this hillbilly round-eye to steal from us.  Hong, if this is the best you can do, then my father should get a new friend."  That having been said, he threw his drink across the office and stormed from the room.

After Feng Jian-mei left the room, I smiled and said, "Young Chang is noted for his temper and lack of business adeptness.  He will be afraid to call Chang Dong-hue and explain his failure, but I will do so.  I am confident that I can sell Big Chang on the million five we agreed on earlier.  I suspect these are dangerous waters for Big Chang and he would rather make less profit and keep his skin.  Wen-biao will do as his father bids.  Why don't you go back to your hotel, have a pleasant evening, and I will contact you in the morning with the deal all wrapped up tight as a bow."

Billy Ray rose, stretched, and held out his hand to me.  "It is always a pleasure doing business with you.  I look forward to your call with great anticipation."

This was not our first rodeo

.

*****

Twenty-one

“Heaven take my soul, and England keep my bones!”

William Shakespeare

Billy Ray

11 May 2007

After leaving Hong’s office, I strolled out of the building into a postcard landscape covered by a cloudless London sky.  I considered the weather a good omen.  Having a leisure day in London was neither atypical nor undesirable for me, because many negotiations ran their course in this fashion. 

I flagged a passing taxi and took a brief tour of my favorite sites in London, lingering a few moments at the Black Lions of Trafalgar Square. 

When we reached Hyde Park, I paid off the cabbie.  I obtained fish and chips from a vendor, found an available bench, and watched the passersby for the better part of an hour.  Then, feeling a burst of energy, I headed for the tube and took a train to Wimbledon.  Upon arriving, I left the train and made my way to the tennis center.  The park staff was conducting tours, so I joined a group.  Once inside Center Court, I explained my need to an attendant, slipped her ten bob, and left the rest of the tour group.  I slipped under the rope, walked to a seat about twenty rows up from Center Court, and settled in.  I loved this place and attended the tournament whenever I could.  I allowed the green of the grass and surrounding area to seep into my inner being and found a few moments of peaceful solitude.  My unfettered mind wandered in a variety of directions and finally settled on a brief interval with Cloud McFarland.  I need a McFarland fix, I thought.  On a hunch, I dialed her office in Manhattan on my cell phone.  She picked up and we chatted for a few minutes.  It didn’t take long for me to begin chuckling away the bad taste of this trip.

When at last I returned to the world of here and now, I felt energized.  The day was waning.  I decided to return to my hotel and prepare for what I knew would be an eventful evening. 

Back in Mayfair, I entered the Claridge Hotel.  It was my favorite, and I usually stayed there during trips to London.  I strolled across the pleasant lobby, raised my hand to the maitre d', and took the elevator to my floor.  Inside the mini-suite, I shucked my clothes, enjoyed a lengthy shower, shaved, and then pulled on thin beige trousers.  I donned a dark brown pullover and topped it off with a brown, leather sports jacket.  Finally, I slipped on a pair of Italian loafers, sans socks, and headed out the door.  The door attendant flagged a taxi, and I made the short trip to the Four Seasons Hotel.  A change of hunting grounds seemed in order.

I ambled into the bar at the Four Seasons and was surprised to discover Feng Jian-mei sitting at the bar drinking a glass of white wine.  She wore a silk Chinese retro dress.  Intermittent strong threads held together the long slit up the side that ended at her waist.  Never one to shrink from a prospect, I strolled down the bar and sat next to Jian-mei.  "Am I allowed to buy a pretty lady from Macau a drink in the midst of our negotiations?"

Jian-mei turned to me, as if she had only just noticed me.  We both knew that was not the case, but the game had rules.  She met my eyes directly, and the corners of her mouth lifted slightly.  "Negotiations have nothing to do with it.  The only question is whether you will amuse me."

I liked her style.  "Many of my acquaintances tell me I am amusing, but I am not sure if that is a compliment."

The Chinese woman assumed a pleasant demeanor and said, "Only the future will shed light on that quandary.  You may order me a martini if you wish.  I am ready for a step up in class, since we had such a difficult day of bargaining."

I spoke to the bartender, "Edward, please bring the lady a dry Tanqueray martini with an olive.  I will have the same."

Jian-mei placed her hand on my arm and spoke in a low voice, "How did such a nice young man from Texas become an expert in the petroleum industry?"

"In the usual way," I answered as I gathered bar nuts into my hand.  "My daddy was in the business, and I just followed in his footsteps.  I took a degree in chemical engineering from the University of Texas and decided I was educated.  As it turned out, it was more than I needed.  It is amazing how little of my formal education is actually used in the business world.  What is your background?"

She sipped her martini to give herself some time, and then she said, "I took a bachelor's degree in International Studies at the University of Macau and a graduate degree in the same field from Cambridge.  I have worked for Mr. Chang my entire adult life."

I decided to do a bit of probing.  "What is your function at these negotiations?  I noticed you had nothing to say today."

"My, you are inquisitive,” said Jian-mei.  Then she smiled and answered, “I doubt there is an English word for my role in Mr. Chang's enterprises.  Suffice to say, I serve as Wen-biao's backup in this endeavor.  The elder Mr. Chang prefers several different descriptions of any ongoing venture."

I chuckled.  "A spy by any other name is still a spy, or at least that is what my old daddy used to say."

Jian Mei found herself amused, and she showed it with a significant smile.  "You round-eyes are too direct for this slow Oriental.  Tell me. What do you do for amusement when you are not working?  Do you have a family?"

I knocked off the remainder of my drink and signaled for a refill.  I pointed at Jian-mei’s martini and asked if she wanted a refill.  She finished her drink and pushed the glass toward the bartender.

"As a matter of fact, I have never seriously considered marriage in my life,” I said in a sincere voice.  “My life is far too hectic and unpredictable to expect any woman on earth to hook up with me.  I suppose it all boils

is a demanding superior.  I have known both him and Chang Wen-biao most of my life.  My relationship with Wen-biao is complicated and strained to say the least.  I am not a welcome addition to this negotiation, and, to answer your question, I find I have little time for personal relationships."

"I know the feeling," I said.  "How on earth am I supposed to maintain a bond with a wife and kids, when I keep meeting up with exotic beauties such as you?"  I gently rested my hand on her thigh.  "I know this really nice restaurant that would delight your pallet.  Interested in dinner?"

Jian-mei gently but firmly removed my hand from her leg.  "I have some phone calls to make.  Maybe a rain check would be in order."  With that, Jian slid from her seat, offered her hand, and glided from the room.

I was not accustomed to having my prey take flight so quickly. Feng Jian-mei was a fascinating woman.  She was beautiful, statuesque, and possessed a quick wit.  Too bad, she doesn’t care for matinee idols. 

After leaving a nice tip for Edward, I decided to call it a night.  Maybe one big score for the day was my limit.  If the negotiations with Wen-biao went as planned, I would add a few dollars to my operating capital and have some fun along the way.

*****

I hailed a taxi and rode back to the Claridge Hotel.  My favorite door attendant, Collins, was on duty, and I stopped to chat for a moment about the current football season.  I learned that Manchester United, the team everyone loves to hate, had fallen on hard times. 

I was beginning to feel the pangs of hunger but decided on just one more drink in the hotel bar before a quiet dinner at the Gordon Ramsey Restaurant.  I settled in at the end of the bar and ordered Jack Daniels over ice.  Recalling Jian-mei, thoughts occurred. Such a waste.  That sweet thing could be sitting right here beside me, listening to my bullshit. We could be on our way to that king-sized bed in my suite.  The bartender interrupted my reflections.  "The lady down the bar would like to buy you a drink."

I glanced down the bar and observed a vision in red seated four empty stools away.  I took in her ice blue eyes, the straight posture of a slim body, her stylish black hair, and her pronounced, inviting cleavage.

I lifted my glass in salute and moved down the bar to the empty seat beside the glamorous woman.  "Hi there.  My name is Billy Ray."

"Brigitte Jourdan is mine," she answered.  Smiling brightly, she continued, "A man so deep in thought is not a happy man.  I decided you needed some company to help chase away the dragons."  

I smiled as well.  "How about we have this drink in the Gordon Ramsey, and you can tell me your life story.  After which, we can arrange a pre-nuptial agreement and proceed from there."

Brigitte could not help but laugh aloud at my clever comment.  "Look, I just asked to buy you a drink.  I didn't plan to get stuck with dinner as well."

"Okay," I responded.  “Here's my offer.  You get the wine, and I'll get the dinner.  Of course, I will order the wine."

Brigitte stood beside her bar stool with her hands on her hips.  "Look at me Billy Ray.  Do I look like a fool?  I know this cellar has wine that costs three thousand pounds a bottle."

I enjoyed a final glance at her magnificent cleavage.  "Okay.  You win.  Dinner and wine are on me.  Shall we go?"

"Let's," Brigitte responded in a light French accent. 

She took my arm, as we strolled to the restaurant.  To make a token impression; I extracted a fifty-pound note, folded it once lengthwise, and approached the headwaiter with a smile on my face.  "Martin, how are the piano lessons coming?"

The headwaiter appeared genuinely pleased to see me. "Mr. Calhoun, my daughter will give another recital in about a month.  You can’t imagine how difficult it is to get a nap around our house."

I offered my hand to Martin.  "I can only imagine.  Martin, I am ashamed to ask, but is there a spot in the kitchen where we might sit for a bite to eat?"

Martin, writhed in agony, clasped his hands against his chest, and struck the pose of a long sufferer. “Mr. Calhoun, I would take you to my own home rather than not find a suitable table for you.  One moment, please."

"My, my," exclaimed Brigitte.  "You must be some sort of celebrity."

I affected a glance at my nails and retorted, "I am just your garden variety Texas oil man.”  Then in a more serious tone I said, “Mostly, I just make it a point to chat with the help.  I stay here several times a year.  No big deal."

Brigitte's hip touched his.  "Well, I am impressed, and you know what the illusion of power does to a woman."

"Are you really hungry?"  My expression was a question as well.

"As a matter of fact, I’m starved,” said Brigitte.  “Besides, we need some time to get acquainted before the pre-nups.  Don't you agree?"

I fell silent for a moment, and then said, "Reluctantly."

Martin returned and beckoned us.  I deftly gave him the folded bill as he passed.  Martin seated us at a secluded table, called a wine waiter, and departed.  When the wine waiter appeared, Brigitte held out her hand.  "Please allow me."

I handed her the wine list and grinned.  "I think I have been suckered."

   She responded.  "You may be pleasantly surprised."   Brigitte opened the wine list with practiced ease and explored.  As would most wine connoisseurs, she scanned the list for one of those combinations of soil, temperature, and rain resulting in fine wines not well known among the wine buyers.  She made her choice and ordered. 

I closely observed this glamorous woman as she gave her selection to the waiter and then returned her attention to me.  "Just you wait,” she intoned.  Then Brigitte slipped her feet out of her stylish pumps and gently massaged my leg underneath the table. 

I was beginning to believe this was going to be a special night.  I spoke, "So what is a nice French girl doing so far from home?"

"You have heard the term playboy," she asked?  "I suppose you could say that I am the female version.  My dear father indulges me, since I cannot seem to keep a husband.  I have no children and enjoy the fruits of my lifestyle.  What about you?"

I looked up as the wine arrived and waited for the pouring and tasting to conclude.  Brigitte directed the waiter to pour and he did so.  After he departed, I tasted the rich red liquid and allowed the first, pleasant portion to do its magic.  I lifted my glass to Brigitte and said, "Wonderful choice!"

She beamed and took a sip from her own glass.  "This is a Chateauneuf du Pape blended from several grapes grown in the Rhone Valley.  My father grows the primary grape, which is a Grenache Noir.  Who knows?  Maybe I squeezed the grapes for this bottle."

"I am positive you did considering the taste.  Now back to your question," I stated.  “I am an expeditor in the petroleum industry.  I have extensive experience with the processes involved, and numerous contacts in the trade.  When people have petroleum problems, they call Billy Ray.'

"I have a problem," Brigitte said demurely.

"You are the one who insisted on dinner," I laughed. 

The first course arrived. While sampling the cuisine, we chatted about various subjects without providing any information of substance. 

Since the culmination of the evening was fettered by an unspoken contract, we both relaxed and probed.  I reminisced about East Texas, and Brigitte spoke of the South of France.  The time we spent together was most pleasant.

After we lingered over chocolate mousse and enjoyed aperitifs, we silently agreed it was time to go.  After I paid the check and pulled back her chair, we leisurely walked out of the restaurant into the land of adventure.  "Your place or mine," I queried.

"Yours," murmured Brigitte. "I am a homeless person."

We took the elevator to the fifth floor.  I slipped the room key card into the door and pushed it open.  Brigitte brushed past and sauntered down the narrow hall unzipping the back of her red dress.  I came up behind her, nuzzled her neck, and slipped my hands over her breasts.  From that moment, it was about erotica.  We both searched for sensitive spots and used up the enjoyment before moving on to find another.  Finally, we joined and cruised to a joint fulfillment.  After we disengaged, Brigitte rested her head on my shoulder and crossed my body with her leg.

"You don't make love like a roughneck," she murmured.

I pretended to snore.  She punched me in the ribs, and we both laughed.  "That is understandable, since I have never worked on an oil rig in my life.  Anyway, I have a feeling oilmen make love just like lawyers and farmers.  After all, it’s a two-way street, and your side is the autobahn."

"I am going to assume that comment was flattering."  Then she nestled closer and asked.  "Are you here on business or just to have fun?" 

"Both, I hope," I responded.  "How long will you be here?"

"Alas, I must leave tomorrow.  I am meeting friends in the Italian Alps.  It's sort of an annual girl thing.” Brigitte should have stopped while she was ahead, but she asked, “Are you solving problems for a local?"

I was enjoying the moment, but then I realized my exquisite companion was interrogating me.  She immediately became someone else entirely, and the instinct that made me a good negotiator came into full bloom.  "Yes, I am," I replied.

This evasive answer must have made Brigitte realize I had discovered her.  Since the carefully planned and executed evening was over as far as business was concerned, she sighed and made the quick decision that she might as well leave on a sweet note.   She began kissing me tenderly, and, being who I am, I soon responded.  This time, the tempo of our lovemaking increased, and her orgasm was exquisite.  I soon shuddered and lay still. 

Brigitte spent a few minutes wrapped in the pleasure, then rose from the bed and began dressing.  "It was a lovely evening, and I seriously hope we can do it again some time."

I answered.  "The feeling is mutual, and one never really knows what pleasures the future has in store."  For some reason, I was certain I had not seen the last of Brigitte Jourdan. 

*****

Twenty-two

“You tell him I got kind of a notion he was pushed into this thing by circumstances, and tell him I’ve lived long enough to know that circumstances can beat the best of us…” 

Booth Tarkington

Big Chang

11 May 2007

It was 9:17 p.m., when I received the first of three encrypted satellite calls regarding the negotiations in London.  The dulcet tones of Hong Bin-zhuo sounded as if they were in the next room.  "Greetings, esteemed Uncle.  I hope the South China Sea breeze brings you good fortune and a pleasant day."

I had expected to hear from Hong.  I answered, "Greetings, Nephew.  No ill wind blows yet, but the day is not over.  I smell trouble with this transaction, and I can only hope to get out with my posterior intact."

Hong spoke matter-of-factly.  "The negotiations with Billy Ray Calhoun are a real test for Wen-biao.  The costs of moving the oil will exceed his early estimates. The expense of hiring a large tanker and moving two millions barrels of oil is considerable.  I fear we are looking at fifty cents American per barrel for the price of transportation alone.  The contacts and experience we gain from working with Calhoun adds to the price.  I have done business with him on numerous occasions before.  He is expensive but reliable.  If you choose to do so, we can always cut him out and attempt to find a replacement, but frankly, I believe him to be the best facilitator.  Wen-biao has not come to this conclusion yet.  I had hoped he would figure most of this out on his own.  Feng Jian-mei is aware of the realities of this conundrum but will refrain from embarrassing Wen-biao."

I allowed the silence to linger, as I processed the information.  Then I spoke.  "As you may have guessed, this deal is complex.  I have little advantage in the matter.  It is not a matter of revenue for me.  I will likely pass any profit on to Wen-biao."

Hong spoke in a serious manner.  "I am pleased you see the veracity of the situation, Honored Uncle.  Without meaning to pry, I surmise that you are dealing with powerful individuals.”  Hong added sincerely, “I feel certain I can bring Calhoun to the table with a five hundred thousand dollar commission.  It might be better to cover that amount and get the deal finalized with a minimum of problems, considering the large amount of money involved.  It is likely this is no longer a matter of profit but one of survival for us all."

"My thoughts exactly," I answered in a stress-free voice.  "It is my understanding the product being traded for the oil is on the way to Iran.  Careful coordination is necessary, so as not to tempt the Muslims to take everything for themselves.  I will encourage Wen-biao to take the offer.  We must consummate this deal immediately.  Allow no obstacles to stand in the way.  Feel free to call me if problems arise at any hour of the day."

Hong sounded relieved.  "You can be sure I will call if necessary, Dong-hue.  Have a pleasant evening." 

The next call came from Feng Jian-mei.  Like Hong, she relayed the substance of the meeting with Calhoun putting emphasis on the blow-up of Wen-biao and his stalking out of the meeting.  She concluded with the opinion that it might be worth paying Calhoun his price in order to conclude this dangerous arrangement.  Without agreeing, I ordered her to continue surveillance of the situation and to keep me apprised.

Finally, Wen-biao found the courage to call.  It was near midnight in Macau.  "Pops, I don't like the way things are going here.  I offered that redneck a decent return for a job anyone can do, and he is trying to rob us.  I want to get rid of that worm and find someone else."

My deep voice rumbled.  "What did you offer?"

"Two hundred thousand," said Wen-biao. "He wanted more.  Can you imagine?  He wanted more than two hundred thousand."

The phone was silent and Wen-biao’s fear increased.  Finally, I spoke in an even voice, "Listen to me Wen-biao.  I need to get this deal done.  I will see that you make money, so don't worry.  We need help with moving and selling the oil, and time is important.  Just do whatever is necessary to get this concluded.  If you can get it done for a million five, do the deal.  Do you understand me?"

"Yeah, but Pops, he is insulting us.  He is a pig.  Why can't I just have Ya-gong strangle the son-of-a-whore.  We can find somebody else."

I roared, "You are not listening to me.  I want the deal done.  I want it concluded.  If you cannot follow my instructions, I will turn the whole matter over to Feng Jian-mei and Hong Bin-zhou.  What is it going to be?"

Where his father was concerned, Wen-biao knew when to shut up and do as told.  "Okay, Pops.  I hear you.  I will pay the son-of-a-whore.  Bye Pops."

*****