“I know a way,” Grace said, winning the attention of both men. “A way to keep this Chinese.”
“Believe me,” Kozlowski said, “it’s already very Chinese.”
“You have my attention,” Knox told Grace.
“If Mr. Kozlowski can determine the identity of the corrupt official, there is someone who will gladly turn over this official to authorities without revealing his sources.”
Several minutes passed. Traffic picked up some.
Kozlowski said, “You’re telling me Lu Hao ended up at that tannery the same night as the videographer.”
“Go figure,” Knox said. “You make your own luck. Lu Hao’s turned bad.”
“Very bad,” Grace said.
“It’s a toxic site,” Knox said, rubbing his burned fingers together. “It’s not much of a stretch to see them paving it over to hide the contamination.”
“This has a much greater significance,” Grace said, again winning their attention. “Chinese law is very specific as to clean-up of such sites. It falls upon the developer of any land parcel.”
“Not the owner?” Knox said. “How could that be?”
“She’s right,” Kozlowski said. “It’s only been on the books a couple years. A U.S. firm tested this law, and lost, I might add. The original owner of the property is held responsible to protect the public from contamination. And that’s all. In any subsequent development of the property, the developer is responsible for the clean-up. The idea being, as warped as it is to us, that the original owner may lack the funds for full clean-up.”
“So, had Marquardt won the bid, he would be stuck with the bill?” Knox asked. “That’s not right.”
“Shit,” Kozlowski said.
“Waiguoren,” Grace said. “You see?”
“Apparently not,” Knox said.
“Mr. Marquardt’s own greed is used against him. Mr. Marquardt wants to win the New City bid so badly, and the tract of land is so enormous, he cannot do the proper due diligence. Time is of the essence. It’s entrapment. In fact, there are millions of U.S. dollars’ worth of hidden costs in the clean-up of the tannery. Marquardt wins the bid, but loses money when his costs run over. Loses face. This works out well for Chinese who wish to see waiguoren like Marquardt fail.”
“And it’s damn convenient for the original owner of the tannery,” Knox said.
“So that’s where we start,” Kozlowski said.
“‘We’?” Knox said.
“Fuck you,” Kozlowski said.
Knox leaned his head back against the headrest, grinning. And immediately fell asleep.
39
10:09 P.M.
THE BUND
The Ministry of State Security Superintendent occupied a red leather chair behind a plain and unattractive desk in a small gray office with no view. Overweight and jowly, he had wet lips, an auditor’s scowl and an impatient disposition.
Shen Deshi, wearing a sling, a piece of his head shaved and stitches showing, tried to look confident in the uncomfortable chair facing the man.
“What a cock-up,” the superintendent said, speaking Shanghainese. “I would ask you to repeat all that, but I don’t wish to hear it. If the Americans push to bring charges against you-”
“Yes. I understand.”
“You took him at gunpoint?”
Shen kept his mouth shut. His forehead and upper lip were perspiring, telltale signs of weakness. The superintendent could cut his balls off if he wanted.
“You were to secure any evidence of environmental contamination. To tidy up any loose ends before this hand recovered from the river spread trouble like a disease.”
Shen Deshi shrank in the chair.
“Instead, we face a possible inquiry from the Americans? If I’d wanted this kind of attention, I’d have hired a public relations firm.”
Shen looked to buy his way out. He collected himself and spoke with courage. “I have some physical evidence outside,” he said, “that implicates the American cameraman. His video camera.”
“Destroy it, you fool.”
“Of course. As you wish.”
“The last thing we need,” the superintendent said.
“There is another matter,” Shen said, leading up to his moment of truth.
“Explain.”
“One hundred thousand U.S.,” he said. “Also one hundred forty thousand yuan.”
The superintendent lit up like a dragon boat festival parade. He squinted at his major and rubbed the back of his pudgy right hand across his lips.
“What is it you propose?” He pulled open a drawer and lit a cigarette. Located a chocolate bar and broke off a chunk and stuffed it into his pink hole. Smoke escaped as he spoke and chewed. “Please, Major.”
“I retired last week. Should an inquiry arise, I was acting on my own.”
“I was thinking the same thing,” the superintendent said. “I will have the paperwork prepared. Lay low for a day or two. I will call off the search for you within forty-eight to seventy-two hours. Just long enough to look like we gave it an effort.”
Shen Deshi nodded. “As you wish.”
“This is good for us,” the superintendent said.
Us, was all Shen heard. “Indeed.”
“Your integrity has never been questioned.”
Shen swallowed dryly. “I thank you, Superintendent.”
“And the evidence?”
“The contents of the duffel remain unreported. I came to you directly, as you advised. Therefore, not filed. Not recorded.”
“We do not want such evidence filed! It’s a fucking mess!” Smoke surrounded him now.
“Precisely so, sir.”
“So it must be decided what to do with this…evidence…no doubt.”
“No doubt.”
The man wanted Shen to propose the alliance. He would not do so himself.
“I could turn the funds over to PAP.”
“One possibility.”
“Or attempt to return it to those who paid it out.”
“Kidnapping ransom? A Western insurance company, no doubt. They will hardly miss it.”
“This had occurred to me also,” Shen said, his heart quickening. “Yes.”
“There must be another solution,” the superintendent said. The moistness of his lips had spread to the butt end of his cigarette, which was now smeared with chocolate. “Hmm?” he said, encouraging his major.
“It had occurred to me how much good such funds could do for schools, for earthquake and flood victims. But of course it could never be seen to come directly from the Ministry.”
“Heaven forbid!”
“But individuals. That’s another matter.”
“Entirely,” the superintendent said.
“If we were to, say…divide the sums…in a percentage that takes into consideration your seniority, of course, Superintendent. My ten years with the Ministry. Your fifteen. Say, sixty, forty.”
