Hong Kong (16 page)

The flyer, titled
The Truth,
was a single sheet of paper printed on both sides with Chinese characters. It contained a highly critical account of the Bank of the Orient debacle and shooting, blaming the entire incident on the Chinese government's attempted looting of the bank and on the overaggressiveness of the People's Liberation Army. The sheet called for mass demonstrations to demand that the authorities cease requiring bribes from banks, release the jailed newspaper editors, and allow the publication of uncensored news. The sheet was signed by a group calling itself the Scarlet Team.

This is outrageous, inflammatory, antirevolutionary criminal propaganda," the governor told his assistant, who agreed completely with that assessment. "Have the police find the people who did this and arrest them." Sun hammered on the desk with his fist as he added, "I will not tolerate these criminal provocations! Find these people!" 'Yes, sir," said the aide.

The governor wadded up the offending flyer and threw it into the wastebasket beside his desk.

He took a deep breath, then tackled the next item on the morning's agenda. "Has electrical power been restored throughout the city?"

"Yes, sir. Apparently so. The engineers are still trying to determine why the load was lost in the first place. Unfortunately power fluctuations apparently caused extensive damage to the computer systems at Lantau Airport and Harbor Control."

"When will the systems be operational again?"

The aide didn't know the answer to that one. He would find out and report back, he said, which didn't please the governor.

Everything seemed to be going wrong all at once. As if to emphasize that fact, the secretary came in to announce that the ministry in Beijing was on the telephone.

The minister was worried. Questions were being asked at the highest levels. Did Sun need more help handling the situation in Hong Kong?

"No, certainly not," Sun replied. "Criminal elements are taking advantage of events that are out of anyone's control, but the government is firmly in charge."

Because Albert Cheung was somebody important, the warden of the prison had Rip Buckingham brought to his office. There was a room in the prison for lawyers and clients to meet, but it consisted of a long table with chicken wire down the middle and a guard at each end. There was no privacy.

Albert had known the Chinese warden a long time—he slipped him a handful of currency when they shook hands. After the guards brought Rip, the warden and guards left together, leaving Rip and Albert alone.

"I thought Lin Pe might call you," Rip said, sinking into a stuffed chair. "You'll have to excuse my odor. They're having trouble with the showers and soap."

"Lin Pe called me yesterday. Yesterday I went to see Governor Sun. We negotiated. I went back this morning and we negotiated some more. To make a long story short, he wants a hundred thousand Hong Kong." Actually Sun Siu Ki had wanted two hundred thousand, but Albert

had beaten him down. This he didn't mention. He didn't like to discuss money with his clients, except when absolutely necessary. Discussing money offended his sense of dignity.

Rip grunted noncommittally. He was thinking how clean and comfortable Albert Cheung looked. Wearing an impeccable gray suit and conservative silk tie, he looked as if he had just stepped out of the Pall Mall Club in London. Rip was wearing filthy khaki chinos, a nondescript blue shirt, and penny loafers without socks. His clothes looked like he had worn them day and night for a month, although it had

been only two days.

"Your wife wants you home," Albert said tentatively. Rip Buckingham didn't want to talk about his wife. She had come to visit him yesterday and the prison staff had refused to let her in unless she paid a bribe. That, Rip knew, was pretty much standard procedure these days. Sue Lin refused to pay. Or so one of the guards told him last night. That certainly sounded like her, Rip reflected. She was tough, and Rip liked that a lot.

He picked up a pencil from the warden's desk and stroked it with his fingers as he asked, "What do I have to do to reopen the paper?" "Sun and I did discuss that matter," Albert acknowledged. "How much?"

"Well, it's not that simple. Apparently people in Beijing have been talking to the governor."
"Uh-huh."

"You'll need to sign a contract with Xinhua for editorial services. That will cost you so much a month." Xinhua, the New China News Agency, was the Communist government's propaganda organ. "How much?" Rip asked idly. "I don't know. It probably won't be nominal." We sometimes run Communist government press releases as news," Rip told the lawyer, "but only if they're newsworthy. My staff decides. You'd be amazed at the reams of trash bureaucrats generate. My readers aren't interested."

You don't have to print anything you don't wish to print. However, the agency will assign an editor, who must approve anything that you do want to print." "Censorship."

"Call it that if you like."

"For Christ's sake, Albert!"

"Rip, be reasonable. This isn't a comfortable little chunk of England anymore, with British judges and British law.
This is China!
You have to go along to get along."

Buckingham said a dirty word.

"Give me the authorization to pay Sun and I'll get you out of here. You think about the paper. We'll talk later."

Rip broke the pencil in half and tossed the pieces on the warden's desk. "I won't publish the paper under those conditions," he said. "I can tell you that right now. But it isn't my paper. It belongs to Buckingham News, Limited, which may soon be looking for a new managing editor."

"Buckingham News, that's your father, right?"

"Rich owns about sixty percent of it, I think. My sisters and I own small pieces, some of the stock is in executive compensation plans, and the rest is owned by some hot dollies Dad took a fancy to. He gave them stock certificates instead of diamonds."

"Does that work?" Albert asked curiously.

"Dad says it depends on how many shares you give them," Rip said, his face deadpan. He shrugged. "Buckingham News pays no dividends, there's no market for the stock, and Dad has absolute control. About all a shareholder can hope for is that the certificates will be worth real money someday. One might think of it as a sort of pension plan for the women."

"What does Mr. Buckingham do with the profits if he doesn't pay dividends?" asked the Hong Kong attorney. "I assume there are profits."

"He buys more newspapers, cable television networks. He got into satellite distribution of television signals years ago. He said that technology would ultimately have a greater impact on the human race than the invention of movable type. Certainly it's going to have a greater impact on the third world."

Rich may be a noxious old fossil, his son reflected, but he had vision. Rip told the lawyer, "As a matter of fact, I think Buckingham News owns the company with about fifty percent of the satellite dish business in Hong Kong."

"Very progressive," said Albert Cheung.

"In any event, the women seem happy and Dad appears to be doing

all right."

"Wonderful, wonderful."

"Quite. But I don't know what Dad will do about the
Post.
The only principle to which he is irrevocably and totally committed is making

money."

"Yes."

"A lot of money."

Albert Cheung looked interested. "I like money myself," he remarked blandly.

"Go pay the man and get me the hell out of here," Rip Buckingham told the lawyer. "The company in this place is fascinating but the food isn't anything to brag about."

"Mr. Cole, there's a Rear Admiral Grafton on line one."

"Thank you," Cole said to his secretary and picked up the phone.

"Hello, Jake."

"I just called to thank you for last night. It was good seeing you

again."

"And you."

"I was wondering if I could drop by today and have a chat about government business? Could you give me an hour or so?"

"Come at lunch and I'll buy."

"About twelve?"

"See you then."

When Sue Lin heard her brother, Wu, come in, she went downstairs to his room and knocked. He immediately opened the door. He was here to change clothes, which was about all he ever did at this house. We need to talk," she said softly in English, worried as always that the domestics would overhear.

Only two years older than Sue Lin, Wu had always awed her, ever since she could remember. Never had she met a man with his inner calm, a man whose strength radiated like heat from a fire. He was, she thought, the most masculine of men, a man so strong emotionally and spiritually that nothing on this earth could shake him.

Of course he attracted people, men and women, like a magnet attracts iron filings. In a reflective moment Rip had compared Wu to Christ. "If he was preaching a new religion he could convert the world," Rip said, and Sue Lin thought Rip was probably right.

As Wu looked at her his face softened. "Of course," he said, nodding gently. "May I continue to change, or would you like to go upstairs?"

"Go on," she said, motioning toward the closet, and told him about Rip being arrested and the newspaper closed.

"I have heard," Wu said. "I am sorry for Rip."

"Albert Cheung will get him out, but the paper ... the governor will probably keep it closed."

She sat in the only chair in the small room. "The day has almost arrived, hasn't it?"

"Its coming was inevitable," Wu replied calmly. Sue Lin had never seen him excited—she didn't think anything could disturb his inner peace.

"Rip is worried. If the authorities finally learn that you are my brother, Lin Pe's son, Rip thinks they will take their frustrations out on us."

"Rip is probably correct," Wu said softly. He rarely raised his voice. "His understanding of the scope of the official mind seems quite complete."

"He wants us to leave Hong Kong now."

"Sister of mine, I advise you to obey your husband."

"Mother will not leave."

"Her destiny is not yours."

"Wu, for God's sake, you must tell Mother to leave! She will listen to you! She ignores my pleas."

Wu sat on the bed and took his sister's hand. "Leaving China would cost Lin Pe her life.
This
is who she is. On the other hand, you have your husband, your life together, which you can live anyplace on the planet. Lin Pe does not have that."

"Are you saying that Rip and I should leave you two here?"

"This country, these people, they are my life also."

Sue Lin Buckingham jerked her hand from his grasp. "I think the new maid is suspicious of you. She watches you from the window, pretends she knows no English when it is obvious she understands some of it. She may be a police spy."

"What would you have me do?"

At that Sue Lin threw up her hands and left the room.

Alb rt Cheung drove Rip to the building that housed the newspaper, i
_a
s raining again, a steady drizzle. Albert wanted to take him home but Rip insisted on going to the office.

There were two policemen with shotguns standing under an overhang outside the building.

Albert pulled his Mercedes into the alley that led to the parking area n back. "Thanks, Albert," Rip said and released his seat belt.

As Rip reached for the door handle, Albert put a hand on his arm and said, "Wait a minute, Rip. I want to give you some advice, if you'll

listen."

"I'll listen. I won't pay for your advice, but I'll listen."

"It's time for you to go. Take your wife, go back to Australia. That is your place. That is where you belong."

Rip growled and reached for door handle.

"Listen to me," Albert said sharply. "The British are gone. For one hundred and fifty years this city was a part of Britain. It was as English as tea and toast. No more. Those days are
over.
And everyone has to adjust to the new reality."

"I've adjusted. I just don't like it."

"Like it or not, Hong Kong is now part of China, and China is an absolute dictatorship. The British ways—free speech, democracy, open, honest government, a tolerant, pluralist society, the rule of law, open debate about the public's business, fair play—all that is dying or dead. People here must jettison the old ways and adopt the new. They have no choice—
they have to do it!
I've been reading your paper: You rail against the incoming tide."

Rip tried to rebut Albert Cheung. "I have tried to fairly—" 'Fairly'? Don't be ridiculous.
Fair
is a British concept, not Chinese. There is nothing you can do."

This is my home, too," Rip said savagely.

"Stop playing the fool. Get on a plane."

Rip sat for a moment listening to the slap of the windshield wipers. 'Why don't you leave?" he asked the lawyer.

"I happen to be Chinese, you may have noticed. And there is money to be made here."

"There are six million people in Hong Kong without anyplace else to go."