Deceived (4 page)

Nick's mind
whirled. A report,
by a week from Friday? From scratch?
That could take
months of solid work, and Carolyn wanted it completed in a week and a half?

She evidently
read his mind, or more likely his sinking face. "I know the time frame's
tight, Nick. Like I said, the backlog's incredible. Do you think you can handle
it?"

"How
preliminary?"

"The
report to the Department of Education? You know the procedure. Every footnote
doesn't have to be in place, but it's got to take the reader from A to B in a
logical and convincing manner."

Not very
preliminary, Nick realized. "What about my current assignments?"

"This
report has to take precedence over everything. I repeat, everything. The
Secretary of Education has been looking for an excuse to jump down my throat
ever since we ripped him over procedures last year. I don't want to give him
that excuse."

Nick nodded.

"After the
report's done," Carolyn continued, "it's up to you. Your plate will
still be more than full, but if you can find time to clean up some of your
Special Investigations work, more power to you. I talked to Dennis this
morning; he knows about your
…
hell, it's a promotion, official or not,
and let's call it that. Stop by his office when you get back
—
he's
expecting you. Whatever you work out with him is fine with me."

Carolyn slapped
the table lightly with both her palms. "Good, I think we're all set."

Carolyn stood,
then put her arm out as Nick began to rise. "Please, Nick, don't rush on
my account. Anything else you want, coffee, dessert, just signal the waiter. Everything's
taken care of. Enjoy a few minutes of freedom, they may be your last for quite
some time."

Nick remained
in his seat, his eyes trained on Carolyn's departing figure but his mind locked
on a title: assistant comptroller. Assistant Comptroller. At thirty-five. He'd
hoped, even planned, to reach the position someday, but to have it actually
happen, and so soon
—

He took a large
swallow of water. God, he felt high.

The waiter, now
by his side, interrupted his thoughts. "Sir, would you care for anything
more."

"A cup of
coffee, black."

The waiter
nodded. "Anything else?"

Nick started to
shake his head, then stopped himself. Why not? "I saw some kind of cake on
the dessert menu?"

"Flourless
chocolate cake, sir."

"How about
a big slice with the coffee." It was, after all, a celebration.

Dennis Lindsay
actually smiled, something Nick had rarely seen. It didn't seem to fit him, not
with that severe face and almost nonexistent chin. It made Nick uncomfortable
somehow.

Dennis pointed
to the empty chair opposite his oversized desk. "Take a seat, Nick."

Nick did,
surprised for the second time. Dennis had a reputation for making people stand,
making them summarize reports while he gazed out one of his corner windows,
perhaps listening but more likely not.

"Coffee,
anything?"

Nick shook his
head. "No thanks."

Dennis waived
off his secretary who stood waiting in the doorway, then rolled up his sleeves,
ignoring Nick as he did so. "Damn air conditioning's gone nuts," he
said when finished. "Your office okay?"

Nick shrugged. "If
anything, it's a bit too cold."

"Figures. Nothing
fucking works around this place." Dennis placed his arms
—
long and
all bone
—
flat on the desk and eyed Nick slyly. "I understand you
and Carolyn met for lunch today?"

"That's
right."

Dennis smirked.
"Enjoy it?"

Nick nodded
once without explanation. He hadn't intended to be short, but something about
Dennis demanded it
.

"You
accepted, I assume."

Nick nodded
again.

"Congratulations,
you deserve it." Dennis offered his hand over the desk; Nick hesitated a
moment before taking it; he held the clasp only as long as politeness dictated,
then shrugged modestly.

Dennis pulled
open the top drawer of his desk and threw a pack of cigarettes on the desk. "Hey,
take the praise," he said as he searched further and found a book of
matches. "The praise is the good part. The rest of it, the baggage, can
suck." He struck a match and lit a cigarette, then puffed three times in
quick succession. He held out the pack to Nick.

"No
thanks."

Dennis set the
pack back on the desktop. "Headaches, all the time goddamn headaches. You
just wait, you'll have a million deadlines to meet, you'll be running on
nothing but caffeine, and suddenly you'll have to deal with some dumb-ass
personnel problem. It sends me through the fucking roof." He puffed again.
"Managing personnel, that's the worst part of the job."

Not exactly a
news flash, Nick thought, considering Dennis's personality.

As if reading
Nick's mind, Dennis said, "Hell, maybe I've lost patience with people
…
I
don't know. But give it another ten years, until you're my age, and see if the
same doesn't happen to you. There's so much incompetence, it drives me up the goddamn
wall." Dennis paused, giving Nick the opportunity to agree
.

You're a
saint, Dennis; people just don't understand you.
Nick neither believed it
nor said it.

Dennis looked
down, softened the tone of his voice. "Nick, I know we've had our
differences in the past. Maybe my fault, I don't know. Anyway, I hope we can
put that behind us."

Dennis,
humble?
An act, it had to be; Nick had experienced too much at Dennis's
hands to think otherwise. He remained expressionless.

"I
hope," Dennis went on, "you'll believe me when I say I've nothing but
the highest regard for your professional abilities."

Carolyn had
said Dennis pushed Nick for the job. Why? Nick couldn't help wondering. Generous?
Self-effacing?
Dennis?
Despite himself, Nick acknowledged the olive
branch. "Carolyn said you recommended me for the job
…
first brought
up my name. Thanks."

"You're an
A-1 accountant, Nick. I'd never tell anyone otherwise."

With some
effort, Nick managed a smile. "After a few sleepless nights I might regret
your recommendation. I get the feeling Carolyn's planning to work me till I
drop."

"So she
told me. Well don't worry, as far as I'm concerned you're cut free from all
your assignments in Special Investigations."

"Thanks."
Nick had thanked Dennis twice now, that had to be some sort of record.
"Frankly,
I hate to leave any investigation unfinished, but
—
" he shrugged. "I
figure I can find time to shepherd a few sensitive cases through."

Dennis knocked
the ashes from his cigarette into the ashtray. "Really, don't worry about
it. You're going to have enough on your plate."

"Just a
few. Hydro-safe, the Florida FICA case, the export control board, and the
Yünnan Project, I think I can handle those."

Dennis leaned across
the desk; he had stopped smiling. "Nick, each of those cases is going to
require an intensive time commitment; I really don't think you'll find room in
your schedule."

"Who needs
sleep?" Nick joked. "Besides, I've got too much history in those
cases. Bringing someone else up to speed, that could take a heck of a long
time."

"You
didn't work those investigations solo, remember?" Dennis said, an edge to
his voice for the first time. "When
…
if
…
we need you, we'll
know where to find you."

"You don't
understand, Dennis, I
want
to see some of these investigations through
to their conclusion. I'll
make
the necessary time."

Dennis shook
his head. "I don't think that will be possible."

"What do
you mean, you don't think that will be possible?"

"What
aren't you understanding?" Dennis asked stiffly. "What good are you
to me if I only have a fraction of your attention? In the long run it's gonna
be more efficient to have a clean hand-off."

Nick paused,
taking time for a deep breath, working hard to keep his voice in check. He
noticed how Dennis's body position had changed: hunched forward now, hands in
fists
—
the old Dennis
.

"Look,"
Nick said calmly, "these are my cases. My investigations. I'm not giving
them up."

The muscles on
Dennis's face bunched. "And if you don't have a choice?"

With Dennis you
had to draw lines and stick to them, Nick had learned. "You'd have a fight
on your hands."

Dennis opened
his mouth to say something, evidently thought better of it, and sunk back into
his chair; he took a long draw on his cigarette. "Okay," he said
finally, "in the spirit of compromise, let's split the difference. Keep a
couple of the cases and drop a couple. Let's say
…
oh, how about you let
the FICA case and the Yünnan Project go. Both are time consuming
…
neither's
all that sexy."

Nick considered
the suggestion. "Two cases. All right. I can do that. But it's going to
have to be Hydro-safe or the export control board, not the Yünnan
Project."

Dennis's face
turned ugly. "Why?"

"You know
the history of the investigation. Senator Raine personally requested I head up
the audit. She's going to want me to see things through
—
I think it's
important I do." Nick didn't have to explain, Dennis knew. Senator Raine
was one of the GAO's chief allies in the Senate
—
a powerful, outspoken
senator with a couple of crucial committee seats. You accommodated her, if at
all possible, and certainly didn't run out on her two-thirds of the way through
an investigation.

"I don't
think
—
"

Nick
interrupted. "Two cases, Dennis. Your suggestion."

Dennis stubbed
his cigarette out in the ashtray. "Okay," he said coolly, "so
you want to keep your finger in the goddamn pie. You want a piece of the
glory."

"It's not
a matter of glory. Like I said, it's seeing something through."

"Whatever,"
Dennis said impatiently. "Bottom line, you think you'll have free time
…
"

"I'll make
time, yes."

Dennis threw
his hands in the air, not bothering to hide his displeasure. "All right. You
say you can handle it, take all
four
fucking cases. But this is my
department. Ultimately, my butt's on the line
—
if something goes wrong,
something gets ignored, I take the heat. So this is the deal. You keep me
abreast of all developments. To the extent you have free time, can do the
necessary work, you remain in charge. But if you fall at all behind, I reassign
the cases as I see fit. Agreed?"

Nick shrugged. "I
can live with that."

Dennis's face
relaxed. "And if you aren't keeping up, Nick, I don't want any argument. I
take over the cases
…
no argument, no interference."

"If I'm
not doing my job, you're not going to have to call me on it. I'll call
you."

Dennis tipped
his head. "Fair enough." He offered a strained smile. "Again,
Nick, congratulations."

For the third
time that afternoon, Nick found himself thanking Dennis Lindsay.

Tracked by
three independent surveillance cameras, the Mercedes limousine rolled to a stop
just short of a retractable metal barrier fronting a heavy iron gate. The
driver lowered his window. Immediately a voice squawked over the square speaker
attached to the metal pole to his side
.

"May I
help you?" the voice asked in a monotone flavored by a Chinese accent.

The driver
responded, "Mr. John Li to see the deputy ambassador."

The gate opened
and the barricade sunk flush to the pavement. The limo then started forward,
the gate closing behind it. A small square building with darkened windows and
curved mirrors at its corners stood beyond the gate. A soldier in a crisp tan
uniform exited. He approached the driver's side window, one hand restraining
the automatic weapon slung over his shoulder, and peered into the back seat. The
driver handed him two business cards and a letter
.

The soldier
examined the material, then said sternly, "Wait here a moment,
please." He returned to the guard house leaving the limo idling
.

 John Li, above
average size for an Asian, in height as well as girth reflecting his mixed
Chinese and British blood, sat in the back seat. He watched his fellow
passenger wring his hands. The American headed a major circuit board
manufacturer based in Champagne, Illinois
—
very little else about the man
mattered to Li. A rich man looking to get richer, in Li's eyes just another in
a long series of easy marks
.

"Kind of a
strange feeling, driving through this gate," the American said, his eyes
following the guard nervously.

"You'll
get used to it," Li assured him, his voice hinting only slightly of his
ancestry. "Forget the label 'free enterprise zone.' If you want your
business to run smoothly, you must rely on
guanxi
"
—
Li
interlaced his fingers
—
"the web of obligations that tie the Chinese
business world together. At the center of that web, you'll find the
government."

The American
nodded. "Not all that different than business in the good old U.S.A."

"Just a
much better return."

The American
slapped Li lightly on the thigh. "That's why I like you, Mr. Li
—
we
both understand the bottom line."

Li feigned a
smile. It was so easy; the western appetite to reach the billion plus Chinese
consumers made it so.

China meant
money, a lot of money
—
it always had in the eyes of the West. In the
seventeen hundreds it was the tea and silk trade, in the eighteen hundreds,
Chinese silver, paid over by the ton to feed an opium habit the British first
cultivated then supplied. Now it was two things: access to her market, the
largest on earth, and to her cheap but skilled labor pool
.

The American
next to him, like all
quei lou—
foreign devils
—
saw only what Li
wished him to see: the glorious profits to come. Dollars. The American's greed
blinded him to Li's purpose. Simple subterfuge, a high Chinese art form from
before the time of Sun Tzu.

Fool, Li
thought as he broadened his smile.

The American
had hired him three months ago to act as liaison. The result: today's meeting
to explore the possibility of a joint venture
—
a state-of-the-art circuit
board assembly plant north of Guangzhou. The American had only to front
two-thirds of the plant's cost and all technical expertise, and in return reap
half of the profits. Of course once his manufacturing techniques had been
learned, the Chinese government would establish a competing factory ignoring
the niceties of international patent law. Soon thereafter, finding land, labor,
and material costs
—
all controlled by the Chinese government
—
rising
exponentially, the American would be driven from business.

Li expected a
sizable commission on completion of the transaction. There would, however, be
no profits for the American.

The soldier
returned to the limo's window. "You may proceed," he announced
formally.

Deputy
Ambassador Jiang, built in the same proportions as Li, but close to four inches
shorter and a decade older, greeted Li with a bow on the front steps of the
embassy. "My friend, it is good to see you."

"And you,
deputy ambassador," Li lied. He had cared little for Jiang on meeting him
five years ago, and the deputy ambassador's dull mind had done little to win
him over in the interim. Business was business, however, and he smiled
politely.

 Li introduced
the American, who fumbled a greeting in Mandarin, eliciting an appreciative nod
from Jiang. "I applaud your keen sense of language," Jiang said,
"but it is not necessary. You have come to talk business and the language
of business, we know, is English
…
I am most proficient in it."

Deputy
Ambassador Jiang shuttled his guests inside the embassy. The American seemed
noticeably impressed by the collection of Chinese pottery and calligraphy; his
head swung from side to side as if cataloguing.

"Deputy
Ambassador, are our other guests here?" Li asked, referring to the four
men who were to meet with the American, each a member of the new capitalist
class in China, a class which had first taken root in the era of openness which
followed Mao's death.

"Yes, in
the conference room," Deputy Ambassador Jiang answered. "This
way."

Li motioned for
Jiang to proceed without them. "We'll be just a moment."

Li waited until
the deputy ambassador entered the conference room, then pulled the American
aside. "When you enter the room, the four may stand and applaud; you
should politely return the applause. Take note of how the four have lined up
—
their
positions reflect their rank. First in line, the most powerful, so on to the
rear. Introductions will be made
…
remember the family name comes first in
China, the given second. It was Mr. Mao, not Mr. Zedong. Given names are used
only between the best of friends."

The American
nodded, and Li continued with his canned speech. "When the businessmen
bow, bow back.
Don't
bow from the waist like the Japanese. Bow from the
shoulders."

Li demonstrated
and the American imitated him, poorly.

"
Never
refer to anyone as comrade," Li warned sternly. "'Comrade' recalls
the Cultural Revolution, a time most Chinese would rather forget. And it is
China or the People's Republic of China, not Red China, and
never
Mainland China. If you must refer to Taiwan, say the
Province
of Taiwan.
Remember our discussions of 'face,' and 'loss of face.' Remember also that to
the Chinese, 'maybe' and 'we'll see' invariably mean 'no.'"

The American
nodded again, now perceptively nervous. Good, Li thought. The American would
think Li an indispensable guide through a maze of strange customs. That Li
played both sides of the field, that he intended to funnel the American's
negotiating positions to Jiang and the Chinese businessmen, would never cross
the American's
mind
—
dependence would drive out suspicion.

"Okay,
then," Li said, his face reassuring, "let's go."

Li led the
American to a large narrow room dominated by a conference table at which Jiang,
the four businessmen, and an interpreter sat. Introductions were made, business
cards and gifts exchanged, small talk begun. Li then pulled the American aside.
"The Deputy Ambassador and I need to discuss governmental approvals. May I
leave you for a short time?"

The American
nodded. "I can handle myself."

Li laughed to
himself at the absurdity of the statement. No matter, this day's visit to the
embassy had little to do with the American. The CIA monitored visitors to the
Chinese embassy less diligently than they once did, nonetheless it was best not
to take chances. If the CIA checked, the American would bear unimpeachable
witness to the visit's supposed purpose
.

A perfect
front.

Li and Deputy
Ambassador Jiang excused themselves. Once in the hall, their smiles vanished
and the language changed to Mandarin.

"How long
do we have?" Jiang asked, anxiously.

"The
American is a fool, and of no concern. We shall return when our business is
over, not before."

"Good," Jiang said and pointed down the hall. "General
Soong arrived an hour ago; he's waiting in the ambassador's office."

General Soong
was not an imposing man
—
short, five-five, overweight, balding, narrow
shoulders
—
until he opened his mouth, then he turned formidable. His
speech came low, guttural, and steeped in authority.

General Soong
rose from his chair and bowed as Li entered the ambassador's ornate office. "Li
Xiansheng. It is, as always, an honor."

Li took quiet
satisfaction in the suffix General Soong had attached to his family name
—
'Xiansheng'
—
a
term of respect. For much of his youth Li had endured a baser mix of suffixes. In
China, a country which prized its purity of race, foreign blood meant ostracism
or worse.

"I am the
one who am honored, General," Li responded.

General Soong
bowed again. "Please take a seat," he said, indicating a chair across
the desk from him
.

Deputy Ambassador
Jiang received only a curt nod with no verbal recognition. Chastened from the
start, he sat to the side of Li and General Soong in a chair against the wall.

General Soong
moved immediately to business. "I have heard rumors, Jiang," he
snapped. "Some most disturbing rumors."

The deputy
ambassador shifted uneasily in his chair. "General?"

"I do not
have to stress the importance Beijing places on her dealings with Mr. Li. And
yet I understand those dealings now stand in jeopardy. Is my information correct?"

Deputy
Ambassador Jiang's lips paled; he glanced quickly at Li, a plea for help that
wasn't forthcoming. Li had decided to let Jiang twist in the wind
—
the
trouble was, after all, of Jiang's own making.

After a moment,
Jiang answered weakly, "It is true, general, that the audit has taken an
regrettable turn, but
—
"

"
Regrettable?
"
General Soong interrupted. "A minor bureaucrat, this Ford, threatens a
project vital to our national security, and you call it
regrettable
? What
I find regrettable, deputy ambassador, is that I placed any faith in your ideas
in the first place."

Jiang, white
now, fumbled out a hurried answer, "I assure you, general, I can
…
I
will
…
handle the present situation."

How?"
General Soong asked sharply.

"At this
time, I'm not
…
fully prepared
…
that is
…
"

General Soong
cut off the deputy ambassador with a wave of his hand. "This trouble lies
at your door, Jiang. And like dung, it attracts flies. You structured the flow
of moneys, promised we would all profit as a result. Instead, Mr. Li's operation
is now vulnerable." He shook his head in disgust.

"We never
imagined
—
"

"
You
never imagined," General Soong corrected Jiang heatedly.

The deputy
ambassador's shoulders dropped. "Yes, general."

"The view
of Beijing is you should have stopped this Ford long ago. The situation must
not,
will not
, be allowed to deteriorate further."

"Of course
not, general," Jiang said, "however our options at this point are
limited. Ford suspects nothing
…
he wanders like a blind man. In a few
weeks the hearings will end, without incident."

"I have
your oath on that?"

Jiang shrank
further in his chair. "I am confident, general."

General Soong
frowned. "
Confident?
" His eyes bore into Jiang's. "Confident
enough to accept the full consequences of failure?"

Jiang's face
drained. "The full
…
I
…
" He stammered to a halt.

Li had so far
watched without speaking, taking pleasure in Jiang's predicament. The deputy
ambassador was an ineffective fool; General Soong, it was clear, had finally
reached the same conclusion. Li cleared his voice, deciding the time had come
to intercede. "I offer you
my
word, general." His voice came
measured and strong.

General Soong
swung his head in Li's direction. "
Your
word, Li Xiansheng?"

Li raised an
arm in the air, palm forward. "The hearings will turn up nothing
—
an
irrelevant annoyance. I would swear as much to the ultimate leader in
Beijing."

Surprise took
General Soong's face. Li could feel himself being appraised as he continued. "As
you are aware, I voiced reservations to Deputy Ambassador Jiang's plan from the
start. The risks always outweighed the benefits, in my opinion. However, I am a
servant to our leaders wishes, and followed orders, although I felt it wise to
take certain precautions. Insurance policies, if you will. As of today, Ford is
of no concern. The matter
has
been taken care of."

General Soong
cocked his head, then rose and silently paced the room. He stopped by the
window, peered through the blinds to the street below. "Deputy Ambassador
Jiang, please leave us," he said at last.

"But
general
…
," Jiang started, caught off guard.

"I said,
please
leave us now,
" General Soong demanded. He waived his hand
dismissively.

The deputy
ambassador's face reddened. He started to object, thought better of it, and
summoning what dignity he could, stormed from the room
.

Li settled
deeply into his chair. Deputy ambassador Jiang's comfortable days in the U.S.
had most probably come to an end, Li knew, but he had little sympathy for men
in general and none for men like Jiang.