The Interior

17

THEY PULLED INTO THE AIRPORT AND WERE WAVED through to where two small private jets waited. Randall Craig and his minions had already boarded Tartan's company plane-a Gulf-stream 4-and were waiting for permission to leave from ground control. Two men-both Caucasian-were doing the final walk around the other plane, a Gulf stream 3. One of them stepped forward and said, "Welcome, Mr. Stark. We've been waiting for you. Why don't the two of you go on board? Mr. Knight says you can fly with him. Just leave your bags here. We'll take care of them."

As the plane carrying the Tartan folks taxied out onto the runway, David and Hulan made plans for Lo to pick them up the next morning at Hulan's house. With that, they said good-bye and climbed the narrow stairs into the G-3. The air conditioning was on full blast, and Henry looked relaxed and comfortable in a roomy chair upholstered in soft-cream leather that he swiveled toward them.

"Henry, this is my fiancee, Liu Hulan."

Henry shook Hulan's hand. "A pleasure to meet you," he said. He gestured about him. "We don't have a lot of seats, but you can have your pick since Doug and Sun decided to go with your employers."

The jet had been customized to suit its owner. The use of polished brass, teak, and mahogany imposed an almost nautical feel. The subtle shades of cream and beige in varying textures and textiles gave an overall impression of luxury. It was a far cry from the stripped-down, utilitarian CAAC planes that Hulan was accustomed to. The casual elegance, roominess, and comfort that the small plane offered impressed even David.

Henry beamed at them. "I've had her for three years. You have to figure you only live once."

The two-man crew came on board. The pilot went straight to the cockpit while the copilot came back to check on the passengers. "You been on a small bird like this before?" When David and Hulan said that they hadn't, the copilot went through a few of the safety features, which weren't all that different from commercial jets. Then he opened a cupboard by the front door. "We've got a fridge in here stocked with drinks-Coke, mineral water, wine. We've got all kinds of snacks- M amp;Ms, chips, cheese and crackers. This is a short flight and I'll be busy up front, so just help yourselves to anything you want."

A few minutes later, they reached cruising altitude and David had Henry where he wanted him-alone. The rules of confidentiality required that anything that involved Governor Sun or David's other client- Tartan-was off limits. On the other hand, he was on this plane on behalf of Tartan. It was his duty as a lawyer to investigate anything that might be potentially harmful to the conglomerate.

"I'd like to go over a few things with you, Henry."

The older man looked up from his book, and David began outlining his concerns: He'd heard a report that not one but several women had received injuries in the factory. Additionally, it was a mistake to use the word women, when many of the employees were girls of twelve, thirteen, fourteen. He'd heard that the company might be using unhealthful chemicals. As David ran through all this, he kept his eyes steady on the older man to gauge his reaction. It appeared to be total bewilderment. At last Henry said, "What you say is wrong."

"Tell me how," David said. "Prove it."

"How can I prove something never happened or just plain isn't true?" Henry asked. "Just today we took the Tartan team on a tour through the compound. You were there, David. Did you see anything that looked bad?"

"We saw the Administration Building. You showed Randall and the others the final assembly area and where the products are shipped. We didn't go into the dormitory-"

"We have strict rules about that. No men allowed. I want the women who work for me to feel protected. You don't know where they've come from, what they've escaped-"

"And when we went in the room where the products are actually manufactured, the women were gone and the machines turned off…"

"I don't like your insinuations."

David repeated his accusations, this time in an even rougher tone.

"I've already told you," Henry said, his voice rising. "I run a clean shop. I've done that my whole life. So did my father."

"Mr. Knight," Hulan interrupted, "I've been in your factory, and what David says is true."

Henry looked from Hulan to David and back again, horrified by the implications. "Tartan sent you in?"

"Hulan," David said, "we had an agreement!"

She ignored him and answered Henry.

"No, I'm an investigator for the Ministry of Public Security. That's like your FBI. I went to your factory as a favor to a friend. The police said a girl committed suicide, but her mother-my friend-believes it was murder-"

"Your friend is the mother of that poor woman who jumped off the roof?"

"No, the death didn't happen at the factory."

"Then what does it have to do with me?" Henry demanded. "You can't blame everything on me. I haven't done anything."

David cut in. "Hulan, this is way out of line."

She turned her dark eyes on him and willed him to believe that she wouldn't violate his trust by bringing up the bribery accusations. "I believe our agreement meant no questions involving your clients. Mr. Knight is not your client."

Before David could continue his argument, Henry said, "Let her speak. I want to hear what she has to say."

Hulan edged forward on her chair so that her knees were almost touching Henry's. Slowly she unwrapped the Band-Aids that covered her fingers and the gauze and tape that covered the puncture in her left hand. She turned her palms up and laid them gently on his lap. "I've worked at your factory for two and a half days. Look at my hands. What's happened to them…" She shrugged. "These are minor injuries, skin scratches, but they are injuries nevertheless."

He picked up her hands and looked at them. The gash looked inflamed, and a little fluid oozed from between the stitches. Henry slowly raised his eyes to meet Hulan's.

"How did this happen?"

"I was assigned one of the easier jobs. I insert the hair into the heads of the Sam dolls."

"That shouldn't cause damage like this," he said, and Hulan saw in his eyes the gradual and painful acceptance of a truth if not the truth. That look, she believed, was not something that could be faked.

Still holding her hands, he said, "They told me I shouldn't go in there when the women were working. They said it would distract them. I figured it's China. I have to do what's best for the workers." Henry dropped her hands, toughened his face, and turned to David. "You come to me with this information now, on my plane. Why not do it at the factory, where we could go and see for ourselves?"

"Because I only believed it as of last night and this morning there wasn't a chance."

Henry stood and took a couple of steps toward the cockpit. "Let's go back. I want to show you you're wrong."

"The women won't be working," David said. "It's their day off." He glanced at his watch. They didn't have much time before they reached Beijing and Henry was whisked away for more meetings. "You've made claims and presented affidavits to Tartan, which-despite your denials-I believe are inaccurate. You're supposed to sign the final documents for the sale tomorrow night after the banquet. As Tartan's attorney, I can't force you to do right. I can't force you to confess. But you've built this company." He gestured around him. "You've created a nice lifestyle for yourself, which will only improve after the sale. You've also established a reputation by building on your father's record. So I want you to think, really think, about what will happen when this stuff comes out after the sale, because it will. If Knight is involved with the things I believe it's involved with, you'll be looking at criminal fraud charges. Think about what that will do to your reputation, your son, your family. I suggest that you speak with your attorneys."

"You know I don't have them," Henry said.

"Of course you do, and now is the time to use them."

Henry twisted in his seat.

The copilot came back and announced that they were beginning their final approach into Beijing. "You know the drill," he said cheerfully. "Fasten those seat belts. We'll be on the ground in ten minutes." Then he ducked back out again. But his appearance had broken the flow of the conversation. Henry turned his face to the window and looked out over the heated fields that surrounded the airport.

On the ground, a small red carpet had been rolled out and three limousines waited. Without a word, Henry left the plane. As David and Hulan walked down the narrow stairs, the copilot quickly unloaded the bags. Henry grabbed his, walked to one of the limos, opened the door, said a few words to the occupants, and slammed the door shut. As that car pulled away, Henry went to the second limo, checked to see who was inside, then got in. A minute later only one car remained. The copilot threw the bags in the trunk, tucked David and Hulan into the spacious backseat, and said good-bye. Hulan gave directions to her hutong neighborhood, and soon they were speeding along the expressway. Not knowing or trusting the driver, they didn't speak. But even if they could, what would they have said? Henry had been adamant in his denials.

The next morning when David left Hulan's compound, he found Lo leaning against the front fender of the Mercedes. Lo looked tired, but he'd obviously made it back to his apartment for a shower and a change of clothes. He was in the city now and under the watchful eyes of his superiors at the MPS, so he'd put away his short-sleeve cotton shirt and loose slacks in exchange for his customary ill-fitting dark suit. They headed east along the Third Ring Road paralleling the last remnants of the city's ancient moat toward the Kempinski Hotel.

As David pushed through the hotel's revolving doors, he could hardly believe that he'd met Miss Quo here just ten days ago to go office hunting. He passed through the luxurious lobby and into the dining room. The breakfast buffet was in full swing with businessmen-distinguishable by their suits or the convention badges pinned on their shirt pockets-and a handful of tourists, who, no matter what part of the world they'd come from, had peeled down to the bare essentials of shorts, T-shirts, and sandals. The buffet offered an international cornucopia of delights: miso soup and sushi for the Japanese, dumplings and noodles for the Chinese, fruit and musli for the health-conscious, and eggs, bacon, sausages, and a variety of cold cuts for the Americans, Australians, Brits, and Germans.

David spotted Miles Stout at a window table reading the International Herald Tribune. Miles stood when David reached him and shook his hand. "Come on," he said. "I'm famished." While Miles waited in line for an omelet to be made, David took a glass of orange juice and a muffin back to the table. At the next table five Germans huddled together over papers and food. At another two businessmen-one French, the other Scottish- tried to work out a joint-venture deal with a group of obviously uncooperative Chinese. Across the room he saw two PLA generals come back from the buffet with plates piled high with nothing but kiwis. They each took one, sliced it in half, and began scooping out the luscious and expensive pulp with their spoons. Outside the window was a man-made pond with a footbridge and manicured paths. Beyond that lay the Paulaner Brauhaus, where on hot summer evenings visiting Germans met their Chinese guests for foamy steins of beer and traditional plates of pickled herring, grilled pork knuckle, and Nuernberger bratwurst.

When Miles returned to the table, they exchanged the usual chitchat on the rigors of the transpacific flight. Then, before David could say a word about the Knight sale or his suspicions about Sun, Miles said, "I had several messages from Randall waiting for me when I arrived last night."

"I would imagine he's concerned-"

"David, shut up and listen." Miles's voice was sharp. "I don't like hearing that one of my attorneys has pissed off my biggest client."

David's jaw tightened. "It's my job to advise Tartan," he said. "I've found some things in this acquisition that could cause Tartan considerable harm down the line."

"You're new to this deal-"

"That's right. I've been working on it for just a few days-"

"And you don't know anything about it-"

"What I was going to say," David raised his voice, "is that in those few days I've found things that Tartan's accountants, Keith, and even you missed."

"Like what?"

David was ready with his list: bribery, personal injuries, unsafe labor practices, child labor. Miles cut him off.

"Except for the bribery, I heard all of this from Randall last night. These accusations are thoroughly ridiculous."

"Let's say Sun's innocent. That still means that someone at Knight is playing with the financials."

"I'm telling you, David, the financials, the disclosures, the whole works, have been done perfectly, and I'm not going to let you ruin this deal."

"I'm not trying to ruin the deal! I'm trying to protect Tartan!"

"There's seven hundred million dollars on the table. That may sound like a lot of money-and it is-but the real money will come with the purchase of Knight's technology-"

"You want it in pure monetary terms, okay," David responded. "The risks-past, present, and future-will travel from Knight to Tartan with the sale. Do you really want to expose the firm's biggest client to that?"

Miles glared at David.

"Let's go back to Henry," David tried reasonably. "Have him provide an indemnity backed by a letter of credit saying that Knight assumes responsibility for everything that's happened in the past. Or we could have Tartan buy Knight's assets but not the company. Either way, once the deal is done, Randall can have a press conference where he unveils a plan to correct any past mistakes and obliterate any future ones."

"It's too late. The contracts are due to be signed tonight."

"Then I'll have to withdraw from this matter."

"Withdraw if you like. You can even leave the firm if you like, but confidentiality stays with the firm. You won't be allowed to repeat any of this to anyone."

"What about the FTC and the SEC? I have an obligation to disclose economic fraud that would lead to economic risk to the shareholders of a public company."

Miles gestured around him. "Do you see any of those people anywhere around here? David, get serious. Who's looking? Who cares? This is a business deal like any other that's happening in this room right now. Henry and Randall are just a couple of men trying to make a profit-no harm, no foul so long as no one's looking, and they aren't."

"You're right/' David conceded. "Maybe no one's looking, and what Henry and Randall do behind closed doors is none of my business. But Tartan is a publicly owned company. It's a conglomerate made up of many shareholders. I would also point out that if, as a lawyer, I'm aware that the information that's being provided regarding the sale of one publicly owned company to another is false, that I and the firm can end up with civil and criminal liability."

"Are you saying you're willing to bring down the firm-literally hundreds of lawyers, secretaries, and paralegals, as well as their families- because of these ludicrous charges?"

"I've already told you. It doesn't have to go that far. We go back to Henry-"

"No!" Miles slammed his fist on the table. There was a momentary silence in the restaurant. Then everyone went back to his or her deals. Miles quickly composed himself. He kept his voice low and steady as he said, "Even if you go public, no one will believe you. I mean, look at yourself, look at your history. Three months ago you come over here and everywhere you go you find death. Even when you come back to L.A. death follows you. You lose a friend, an FBI agent no less. It's tough and it's public. But you seem to get over it. Then one day you go out to dinner with a friend and the poor guy gets killed right before your eyes. He dies in your arms. It's tragic. It's also quite public. Given the circumstances, no one should be surprised that you'd eventually have some reaction. It's called post-traumatic stress disorder."

David stared at his partner in disbelief. This was the same language Randall Craig had used last night, only worse.

"Naturally," Miles continued, "at the firm, where you have a long association, we were terribly concerned. So when you left the government-or were you asked to leave?-we at Phillips, MacKenzie amp; Stout felt that at the very least we could bring you back into the fold."

"That's not how it happened."

"It's your word against ours-"

"Madeleine Prentice and Rob Butler won't back your story."

"Yes, but they're federal employees, and who believes anything the government says? Do you? Most people will just think that the government was smart to get rid of you before you went postal on them."

Miles had always been smooth, and he'd obviously prepared for this conversation.

Suddenly something Hulan had said in their hotel room last night fully registered. "You asked me back to the firm knowing that if I found something, if this moment came, that you'd be able to deflect any unpleasantness that came up by using your twisted version of the facts."

"They may be twisted," Miles acknowledged, "but you have to admit they'll work."

"What about the press?"

"Again, who's looking?"

"Pearl Jenner from the Times. She's here in China."

"I know, but her take on the story is over. She's written her last piece. Now that Keith is dead, the investigation is over."

There was a lot of information and misinformation in this last exchange. There had never been a government investigation, but Miles didn't know that, and Pearl 's story was far from over. If anything, this gave David a shred of hope. Maybe Pearl -as unpleasant and untrustworthy as she was-would come to the truth of the story on her own. If she exposed it, he'd be absolved of any professional misdoing in regards to Sun. As far as Tartan's acquisition of Knight, he could always say he was new to the matter and hadn't yet come across any malfeasance. Or, if worse came to worst, he could fall back on Miles's warped plan: David had been stressed personally and professionally. This, coupled with culture shock and jet lag, had resulted in a momentary lapse. He'd taken all the evidence-the financial reports, the governmental forms, even the modified tour of the factory-at face value, assuming that the work had been done correctly by Keith and the firm. He'd been as swindled as the public.

All of these thoughts flashed through David's mind in a second. With his cards played close to his chest, he tried to get more information from Miles.

"You've known all along about this stuff with Knight, haven't you?" David asked.

"You're just like Keith, flying off the handle with these crazy allegations," Miles chided. "I guess the added stress of being back in China has triggered a lot for you. Of course, that's the exact reason that no one would blame you if you quit, although I doubt you will. Still, the stress has been terrible, really beyond what any normal person should be expected to endure."

As Miles spoke, David realized that his partner had stayed only with his own game. He hadn't anticipated David's question nor had he played out any scripts other than his original David-will-take-the-fall-and-be-blamed-or-not-blamed-for-reasons-of-post-traumatic-stress-or-some-other-bullshit scenario. David quietly allowed his optimism to rise.

A waitress set the bill on the table. Miles signed the check and gently closed the leather cover.

David doubted he'd get a straight answer, but he asked his question anyway. "Is this just about money?"

Miles laughed. "Everything's about money, David."

"Should I consider that a confession?"

"You can call it whatever you like," Miles said, "and you can think whatever you want." He leaned forward confidentially. "But you don't have one scrap of proof." Then, "Better yet, no one will ever believe you-not in the firm, not in the U.S. Attorney's Office, not even in the press." Miles pushed back his chair and stood. "Now, I need to get upstairs and call Randall Craig and tell him he has nothing to worry about." He took a couple of steps, looked back, and said, "Oh, and see you at the banquet."

At about the same time that David was sitting down with Miles, Hulan was on her Flying Pigeon, pedaling to the Ministry of Public Security compound. It had been many weeks since she'd had the luxury of being alone this way. Around her, young women were stripped down to miniskirts and pullover tops that daringly showed their belly buttons. Men wore baggy shorts and sleeveless T-shirts. Street vendors sold ice sticks, cold drinks, and slices of watermelon. The air was hot, humid, and smoggy. As she passed Tiananmen Square, she saw heat shimmering off the concrete expanse and several busloads of foreign tourists looking dejected.

Since this was Sunday, the MPS bicycle park was nearly empty and no one was playing basketball in the courtyard. Her shoes echoed on the stone floor of the lobby, and she saw no one as she climbed the back stairs and went down the hall to the computer room. One after the other she tapped in the names of several Americans: Henry Knight, Douglas Knight, Sandy Newheart, Aaron Rodgers, and Keith Baxter. Almost as an afterthought she added Pearl Jenner, Randall Craig, and Miles Stout. She wished she could add Jimmy, the Australian guard, to the list but she didn't know his last name. She waited while the computer processed the names, then visa and passport numbers appeared on the screen. Once she had these, she had no difficulty in accessing dates for entry and exit from China. She printed out the information on separate sheets of paper, then repeated the same process, only this time typing in the names for Governor Sun Gan, Guy Lin, Amy Gao, and, finally, Quo Xuesheng, David's assistant.

Hulan studied the sheets of the Americans first. Henry's official record began in February 1990, although she knew he'd first come to China during the war. (There was nothing peculiar about this. Many records had been lost during the formation of the People's Republic, and besides, Henry had been a member of the U.S. military.) By the end of the summer of 1990 he'd established a regular pattern-a trip each month with a one-week stay. She guessed that this was the period during which he negotiated for the land and set up the venture. Then there was a long absence, which reflected Henry's convalescence. Since the factory opened, his visits had been limited to two or three per year. This last year he'd only come out twice, and only one of those times did the record show a visit to Taiyuan. Just at the time that Henry's visits dropped off, Doug Knight had increased his. Sandy Newheart's travel plans centered on the Christmas holiday, when he flew home for a month. She skimmed the dates for Miles and Keith and saw that the frequency of their visits had increased as the sale to Tartan approached. Randall Craig had come to China numerous times, beginning back in 1979, but Tartan had several factories in Shenzhen so this too was predictable. The real surprise was Pearl Jenner. The reporter-who'd said that this was her first trip to China -had lied. The record showed that she had been here ten times during the last fifteen years.

Hulan shuffled through the papers until she found the information on her compatriots. Guy Lin had traveled abroad only once, just as he'd said. Miss Quo, the young Red Princess, had seen more of the world than most Chinese. During the four-year period from 1988 to 1992 she had returned to China only twice, both times in December. Hulan recalled that Miss Quo had been educated at Barnard, and like Sandy Newheart had only come home for Christmas vacations. After her return to China in 1992, she had gone on several trips-to Switzerland, to Singapore, to France, even to Brazil. But none of this seemed out of line. As a Red Princess, Quo Xuesheng was by definition a jet-setter.

Finally Hulan turned her attention to Sun Gan, who had traveled back and forth to the U.S. quite frequently, often staying for long periods of time. His assistant, Amy Gao, had accompanied him on several of these excursions. What surprised Hulan was not so much the frequency of these trips-of course he'd travel to Los Angeles, San Francisco, Detroit, New York, and Trenton to drum up business for his province-but the duration of those stays. Government officials were always looking for trips abroad. They enjoyed going to Disneyland and seeing the other exotic sights of America. But they also had to be careful how those visits were perceived back in China. Power and ideology were fluid here. What might be considered beneficial to the country today could be deemed harmful tomorrow. Many times during the last fifty years, people-especially Party officials-had gone too far to one side, had bought one too many suits in Hong Kong, returned with one too many UCLA sweatshirts, or had held one too many parties with western rock 'n' roll, and were suddenly mocked, denounced, jailed, or eliminated. As a result, most cadres now kept their visits abroad short and to the point. They also traveled in the company of others. No one in government was immune from this. Even Hulan had had a watcher during her last trip to America. In turn it had been Hulan's unspoken responsibility to watch her watcher. The government wanted to make sure that no one defected, that secrets weren't told, and that any acts of impropriety would be recorded and stored away in the government's secret personal files for future use.

Hulan gathered up the papers, knowing that she would have to look at them more closely later, and left the computer room. She walked up a flight of stairs to Vice Minister Zai's office, hoping that even though it was Sunday he'd be there. He was. He looked up from his paperwork, and she couldn't help but see the subtle look of triumph that passed over his features. It was as though he had said aloud, / told her to come back and she obeyed. But then, seeing the expression on her face, his eyes narrowed and he asked her to sit.

"I'm afraid you're going to tell me you haven't finished with your personal investigation," he said. "You're correct, Vice Minister."

He waited for her to speak again. When she didn't, he drummed his knuckles on the table, thinking, then stood. "It is hot in here today, Investigator Liu. Come, let us get some fresh air."

They left the compound and walked around the corner to Tianan-men Square. Despite the fact that this place was important to the government, it was really quite barren. The Forbidden City anchored one end, Mao's mausoleum sat at the other. The Great Hall of the People and the Museum of the Chinese Revolution flanked the other two sides of the square. The concrete square spread out vast and hot under the unrelenting sun. If Hulan and her superior kept to themselves, strolling through the middle, their conversation would be private.

Zai stopped finally, gazed about at the impressive buildings, and said, "You want me to do something." When she nodded, he sighed and said, "Only with you would a suicide turn into something more." "I'm sorry, uncle. I didn't choose this outcome." He sighed again, more deeply this time. This was going to be worse than he thought. "What do you have?"

"Has Investigator Lo spoken to you yet?"

Zai frowned at the woman before him. How like her to confront him with the person he'd assigned to watch her. Zai said, "Lo is with your David this morning. He has been disappointingly secretive in his reports the last few days. As you can imagine, this gives me even greater cause for concern."

"Your Lo is a good man."

"You say that today because he is obeying you. Tomorrow he may once again return his loyalties to me… or someone else. Don't trust him too completely."

"Him or anyone else," Hulan agreed, echoing a lesson that Zai had hammered into her since she was a child. But all this was almost pro forma banter to keep them away from what they both knew had to be a dangerous subject. As an inspector, she didn't have to observe the rigors of privileged information that David adhered to. In fact, in China she had an obligation to expose what she knew or suspected. On the other hand, David was her lover and the father of her child. While the Chinese law was vague about what he could and could not say about his client's activities, she didn't want to do anything that would harm his career or reputation.

She began by telling Zai how she'd infiltrated the factory. She spoke of the harsh working conditions and showed him her hands. But Zai, who'd spent many years at hard labor, was not terribly impressed. "Don't be so naive," he said. "You haven't worked with your hands in more than twenty years. Of course you would have blisters and scratches."

Then she said that she'd met a man who'd been in love with Miaoshan. Now for the first time Hulan hedged on the facts, taking them out of order and implying something for which she did not yet have concrete proof. "This man mentioned that Miaoshan had papers that were proof of bribery of an important official. I saw those papers, which did indeed show large amounts of money being deposited in various accounts."

"Who was receiving the money?"

"I believe it is Governor Sun Gan," Hulan said. It was true she believed this statement, but she didn't know it to be a fact. As air came out in a tight hiss through Zai's teeth, she continued, "I came in today to look up his travel record." She handed the piece of paper with Sun's data to Zai. He hesitated, not wanting to touch it. Then, with his forehead deeply creased, he took the paper and read.

"When I saw this I came to you," Hulan went on. "Doesn't it seem strange that his trips abroad, especially to the U.S., lasted so long?"

When Zai looked up, it seemed to Hulan that he had aged. They both knew how dangerous this was. Sun was a popular politician, and there had been no mandate from above to bring him down.

"I would like to see his dangan," Hulan announced. "How is he able to travel so freely? Where does his money come from? Who protects him? How did he get to where he is today? What is the government's plan for him? There is so much I need to know, so I can decide whether or not to act. Obviously I will be careful," she added, taking full responsibility if anything should go awry. "Obviously I may be completely wrong."

"What does this have to do with the death of your friend's daughter?"

"I don't know yet, but the leads in that murder have brought me here."

Zai looked down at Sun's exit and entry record again. After a moment he looked up, nodded, handed the paper back to Hulan, and walked away. After a few paces he stopped and looked back at her. "Are you coming?"

Once back in the compound, he told her to wait in his office. A half hour later, he rejoined her. In his hands he held a large manila file. He sat down and wordlessly pushed it across the desk. He watched her open it; then he turned away and went back to work of his own.

Hulan began to read. Sun Gan had been born in 1931 of the Western calendar in a village outside Taiyuan. The Communist Party had already been in existence for ten years, and Sun was blessed with a pure peasant background. He was still just a little boy during the Long March but was old enough to remember the atrocities of the Japanese invasion of 1937. By 1944 Shanxi Province was firmly in Japanese-Occupied China. A few Americans came into the territory either as spies or had parachuted in when their planes were shot down during the occasional bombing mission. After the Japanese surrender American marines made up a new presence in Taiyuan.

At thirteen years old Sun Gan had apparently been a bright boy and very involved in his village's Communist party. (His third uncle had gone off to join Mao's troops many years before). He also had an affable personality-a trait he still carried to this day, Hulan noted-and had easily become the mascot for a group of American GIs. Hulan suspected that although this camaraderie had been less than innocent-he'd been sent by local cadres to see what he could make of the foreigners and their intentions-it would probably prove to be nearly devastating during the Cultural Revolution. But that, she supposed, was getting ahead of the story.

This early work came with a reward-a position in the People's Liberation Army. During the winter of 1948, when Sun was only seventeen years old, he participated in the massive and decisive battle of Huai Hua against the Guomindang in neighboring Anhui Province. It was here that Sun performed several heroic acts, which were detailed over several pages. He could have stayed in the army-which would have meant that today he would have been a very high-up general, rich and powerful- but Premier Zhou Enlai had personally asked the young man to go back to Shanxi.

Sun first served the people as a rural cadre in his home village, working as a team leader, then brigade leader on one of the local communes. In 1964 he was elected to the Taiyuan City People's Assembly. During the weeklong gathering a wide variety of subjects had been covered, including the imperialism of the West, how to increase wheat production, and the importance of advancing industrialization. Even though discussions sometimes grew heated, Sun had kept quiet. Two years later, Mao unleashed the terrors of the Cultural Revolution. For many months Sun's reticence at the People's Assembly protected him; he hadn't said anything, so his words couldn't come back to haunt him. But eventually some of his subordinates in his home village, where he had risen to brigade party secretary, saw an opportunity and took advantage of it. They remembered that back during the war Sun had been friendly with American servicemen. He had acquired a taste for their expensive cigarettes, decadent style of dress, and barbaric language. As a result he was made to wear the usual dunce cap, kneel in broken glass, and get castigated in the public square.

But this was nothing! Hulan thought. Given his American connections, this punishment had been extremely lenient. Why? The few village cadres who managed to escape the wrath of the Cultural Revolution were typically the ones who were the most corrupt and wielded the most power. Had Sun been one of these? Had he bought his way out of trouble?

Whoever had written the comments on this page seemed to hear Hulan's questions many years later and had written the answering characters in a finely trained classical hand: "Brigade Leader Sun Can has a visceral understanding of the old saying which goes, Once you eat from someone, you will have a soft mouth toward that person; once you take from someone, you will have soft hands toward that person. Because Sun has shown himself to be someone who will not accept or pay bribes in any form, nor has he abused his power during this time of darkness, I believe he is a candidate for advancement."

Within a month Sun had been promoted from rural cadre to national cadre, where he earned ninety yuan a month. The next year he rose to deputy chairman of the City Assembly. In 1978 he was sent to Beijing as a representative for the Third Plenum of the Eleventh Party Congress. In 1979, when China opened up fully to the West again, Sun was on one of the first provincial delegations to travel to the United States. Security was tight, but Sun acquitted himself well, earning the respect of his fellow travelers as well as his hosts. By 1985 Governor Sun-responsible now for his entire province of Shanxi -was flying across the Pacific with some regularity. By 1990 he had an additional office and apartment in the Zhongnanhai compound in Beijing awarded him by the government for his contributions to the country, especially his home province. His continuing travel to the U.S. was not only sanctioned but encouraged. As a bureaucrat in 1995 observed: "Governor Sun Gan has impeccable contacts in the West. With these he has brought prosperity to his home province. We must continue to encourage him, for with his help we will build China into the most powerful country on the planet. By the year 2000 Sun should be permanently in Beijing." This pronouncement, like the one during the Cultural Revolution, seemed to have two immediate effects.

First was an even more thorough check of his background and personal habits. The dangan noted that while Sun had never married, he was not known to be a homosexual, nor had he engaged in any illicit affairs with the opposite sex. He lived in the governor's house in Taiyuan, where he kept his staff to a minimum. His maids said that his needs were simple, that he did not abuse his authority, and often made his own bed in the military manner. He did not have a history of drinking or gambling, and was known to be very loyal to the Party. These things continued to make him a good candidate for travel, since he could not be compromised through sex, money, or political persuasion. Attached to this addendum was a list of the banks where Sun kept his money, as well as recent balances. Like Hulan and almost everyone she knew, Sun kept some money in American banks. But Sun was not a Red Prince, and the amounts didn't seem inordinately excessive. This record, dating from 1995, didn't reflect the large deposits that Miaoshan's papers showed, but then the Knight factory had opened just that year. Nevertheless, Hulan jotted down the names of the banks and the account numbers, hoping she could eventually connect them to deposit records.

The second effect, and more obvious to Hulan, was that she could trace her knowledge of Sun to 1995, the year the unnamed bureaucrat had written his recommendation for Sun's future in the file. As if out of nowhere, Sun had appeared one day in the national press. His every move and comment were covered. He posed for photographers, chatted up perky female reporters, and engaged in public discussions about economic policy, the countryside, and the next century with school children, peasants, even members of the Party Congress. That he had surpassed all expectations and on paper looked to be a good guy didn't alter the fact that people very high in the government had moved him into position. His success was assured, which was why some bureaucrat had unwittingly allowed Sun a free ride.

Hulan closed the file and pushed it back across the desk. Her mentor looked up from his work. She could see him trying to read her expression, but she kept her face impassive.