The Bear and the Dragon

“A lot comes from Taiwan, remember? We can have our people start putting the Good Guys stickers on them … and we can fudge that some, too.” Not all that many consumers knew the difference between one Chinese place name and another. A flag was much easier to differentiate.

“Also,” Marketing put in, “we can start an ad campaign tomorrow. ‘Butterfly doesn’t do business with dragons.’ ” He held up an illustration that showed the corporate logo escaping a dragon’s fiery breath. That it looked terminally tacky didn’t matter for the moment. They had to take action, and they had to do it fast.

“Oh, got a call an hour ago from Frank Meng at Meng, Harrington, and Cicero,” Production announced. “He says he can get some ROC textile houses on the team in a matter of days, and he says they have the flexibility to retool in less than a month-and if we green-light it, the ROC ambassador will officially put us on their good-guy list. In return, we just have to guarantee five years’ worth of business, with the usual escape clauses.”

“I like it,” Legal said. The ROC ambassador would play fair, and so would his country. They knew when they had the tiger by the balls.

“We have a motion on the table,” the chairman and CEO announced. “All in favor?”

With this vote, Butterfly was the first major American company to walk out on its contracts with the People’s Republic. Like the first goose to leave Northern Canada in the fall, it announced that a new and chilly season was coming. The only potential problem was legal action from the PRC businesses, but a federal judge would probably understand that a signed contract wasn’t quite the same thing as a suicide note, and perhaps even regard the overarching political question sufficient to make the contract itself void. After all, counsel would argue in chambers-and in front of a New York jury if necessary-when you find out you’re doing business with Adolf Hitler, you have to take a step back. Opposing counsel would argue back, but he’d know his position was a losing one, and he’d tell his clients so before going in.

“I’ll tell our bankers tomorrow. They’re not scheduled to cut the money loose for another thirty-six hours.” This meant that one hundred forty million dollars would not be transferred to a Beijing account as scheduled. And now the CEO could contemplate going ahead with his order for the G. The corporate logo of a monarch butterfly leaving its cocoon, he thought, would look just great on the rudder.

We don’t know for sure yet,” Qian told his colleagues, ”but I am seriously concerned.”

“What’s the particular problem today?” Xu Kun Piao asked.

“We have a number of commercial and other contracts coming due in the next three weeks. Ordinarily I would expect them to proceed normally, but our representatives in America have called to warn my office that there might be a problem.”

“Who are these representatives?” Shen Tang asked.

“Mainly lawyers whom we employ to manage our business dealings for us. Almost all are American citizens. They are not fools, and their advice is something a wise man attends carefully,” Qian said soberly.

“Lawyers are the curse of America,” Zhang Han San observed. “And all civilized nations.” At least here we decide the law, he didn’t have to explain.

“Perhaps so, Zhang, but if you do business with America you need such people, and they are very useful in explaining conditions there. Shooting the messenger may get you more pleasant news, but it won’t necessarily be accurate.”

Fang nodded and smiled at that. He liked Qian. The man spoke the truth more faithfully than those who were supposed to listen for it. But Fang kept his peace on this. He, too, was concerned with the political developments caused by those two overzealous policemen, but it was too late to discipline them now. Even if Xu suggested it, Zhang and the others would talk him out of it.

Secretary Winston was at home watching a movie on his DVD player. It was easier than going to the movies, and he could do it without four Secret Service agents in attendance. His wife was knitting a ski sweater-she did her important Christmas presents herself, and it was something she could do while watching TV or talking, and it brought the same sort of relaxation to her that sailing his big offshore yacht did for her husband.

Winston had a multiline phone in the family room-and every other room in his Chevy Chase house-and the private line had a different ring so that he knew which one he had to answer himself.

“Yeah?”

“George, it’s Mark.”

“Working late?”

“No, I’m home. Just got a call from New York. It may have just started.”

“What’s that?” TRADER asked TELESCOPE.

“Butterfly-the ladies’ clothing firm?”

“Oh, yeah, I know the name,” Winston assured his aide. Well he might: His wife and daughter loved the place.

“They’re going to bail on their contracts with their PRC suppliers.”

“How big?”

“About a hundred forty.”

Winston whistled. “That much?”

“That big,” Gant assured him. “And they’re a trendsetter. When this breaks tomorrow, it’s going to make a lot of people think. Oh, one other thing.”

“Yeah?”

“The PRC just terminated its options with Caterpillar-equipment to finish up the Three Gorges project. That’s about three-ten million, switching over to Kawa in Japan. That’s going to be in the Journal tomorrow morning.”

“That’s real smart!” Winston grumbled.

“Trying to show us who’s holding the whip, George.”

“Well, I hope they like how it feels going up their ass,” SecTreas observed, causing his wife to look over at him.

“Okay, when’s the Butterfly story break?”

“It’s too late for the Journal tomorrow, but it’ll be on CNN-FN and CNBC for damned sure.”

“And what if other fashion houses do the same?”

“Over a billion, right away, and you know what they say, George, a billion here, a billion there, pretty soon you’re talking real money.” It had been one of Everett McKinley Dirksen’s better Washington observations.

“How much before their currency account goes in the tank?”

“Twenty, and it starts hurting. Forty, and they’re in the shitter. Sixty, and they’re fuckin’ broke. Never seen a whole country sleeping over a steam vent, y’know? George, they also import food, wheat mainly, from Canada and Australia. That could really hurt.”

“Noted. Tomorrow.”

“Right.” The phone clicked off.

Winston picked up the controller to un-pause the DVD player, then had another thought. He picked up the mini-tape machine he used for notes and said, “Find out how much of the PRC military purchases have been executed financially-especially Israel.” He clicked the STOP button, set it down, and picked the DVD controller back up to continue his movie, but soon found he couldn’t concentrate on it very well. Something big was happening, and experienced as he was in the world of commerce, and now in the business of international transactions, he realized that he didn’t have a handle on it. That didn’t happen to George Winston very often, and it was enough to keep him from laughing at Men in Black.

Her minister didn’t look very happy, Ming saw. The look on his face made her think that he might have lost a family member to cancer. She found out more when he called her in to dictate his notes. It took fully ninety minutes this time, and then two entire hours for her to transcribe them into her computer. She hadn’t exactly forgotten what her computer probably did with them every night, but she hadn’t thought about it in weeks. She wished she had the ability to discuss the notes’ content with Minister Fang. Over the years of working for him, she’d acquired rather a sophisticated appreciation for the politics of her country, to the point that she could