The Interior Page 26

  They turned a corner and Hulan saw the entrance to the factory floor.

  “I’ll tell you something else,” Peanut said. “You don’t know many people here yet, but everyone is nice. Even so, I can tell you that everyone—even the mothers and the older women—were happy when Miaoshan died, because we were all afraid of her words. What if we had gone on strike? What would have happened to us if we all lost our jobs?”

  Entering the factory, Hulan saw Tang Siang already in position before the conveyor belt. Her face was slightly swollen from lack of sleep and her hair had not had the benefit of a brush. She didn’t look happy.

  At seven the bell rang, the machines cranked to life, and work began. The three women worked silently side by side, shoulder to shoulder. In such close proximity and in such a hot room, Hulan couldn’t help but notice the smell of sex that radiated from Siang. She didn’t seem inclined to talk. Peanut sensed this and bent her head to her work, expertly threading the hair through the doll heads. Although Hulan had many questions she wanted to ask, she followed Peanut’s lead. Fortunately, Hulan didn’t have to wait long before Siang broke her silence.

  “Well, Peanut, aren’t you going to ask me about Manager Red Face?” Siang petulantly demanded at last.

  Wordlessly Peanut scooped up another head and began jabbing.

  “This I know,” Siang said. “He is a man like any other. He talks sweet words until he gets what he wants, then talks some more when he wants it another way. I tell him I’m not a gutter girl, but he wants to do gutter things. He says, ‘Miaoshan does this for me. You do it too.’ Miaoshan, Miaoshan. Always I’m hearing that name. It makes me crazy!”

  “But you knew he had sex with Miaoshan before,” Peanut said. Her tone was so matter-of-fact that Hulan could almost forget that Peanut was only fourteen.

  “You think I don’t know that every penis that has been inside me has already been inside Miaoshan?” Siang asked bitterly. The question required no answer, so Siang went on. “You’re still young, Peanut. It’s good for you to be safe in here. You wait for your father to arrange a marriage for you.”

  “I am hoping for a true-love marriage,” Peanut said wistfully, her voice barely audible over the machinery.

  “True love?” Siang spat out. “Look around this room and tell me if there is a single woman here who has experienced true love.”

  “I have,” Hulan said. “And I know you have too. I’ve seen you with Tsai Bing.”

  “Tsai Bing?” Siang sputtered. Then resolve crept into her voice. “Let me tell you something about Tsai Bing. Remember that day you found us in the cornfield?”

  Hulan said she did.

  “You asked him about the baby and he blushed. I hadn’t known about that.”

  “You mean about the baby?” Hulan queried.

  “No, that he was still having sex with Miaoshan even when he told me that he only loved me and that we would find a way to get married.”

  Hulan was in no way prepared for what Siang said next.

  “He had sex with her,” she continued sorrowfully, “even after I told him about seeing her with my father.”

  Next to Hulan, Peanut sucked air in through her teeth.

  “So now you have sex with the manager to get back at the one you love.” Hulan eased her voice over her words, erasing anything that might be taken for judgment.

  “No, I let the manager put his organ in me so I can get promoted and make more money. The only way Tsai Bing and I will ever be together is if we leave Da Shui Village. The only way that will ever happen is if we have money.” Siang brought her shoulder up so she could wipe away a tear. “A night or two with a foreigner is a small price for a lifetime.”

  But looking at Siang, whose toughness was as thin as a sheet of gold leaf, it seemed a very high price.

  The morning wore on. The temperature in the room quickly rose over a stultifying forty degrees centigrade. Around them conversation dwindled to nothing as the heat and humidity drained the last bit of energy from the women who had already worked more than fifty-six hours this week. Hulan welcomed the relative silence from human voices. She had asked as many questions as she could today without drawing excessive attention to herself. Peanut’s queries about what Hulan was doing here only reminded her of how transparent her mission was becoming. Similarly, she could not continue her conversation with Siang. The girl had shut herself off, working with her head bent and her shoulders slouched except for those times when Aaron Rodgers swung by on his rounds and she plastered a fake smile on her face.

  Hulan—her hands bandaged, her stomach queasy, her shoulders aching, her head pounding from the heat and noise from the machines—made her mind focus on the enigma of Ling Miaoshan. Last night Guy Lin hadn’t mentioned anything about a strike. Would Miaoshan have kept that information from him? Could Miaoshan have thought up the idea of a strike by herself? Could she have then moved forward, organizing, cajoling, frightening her fellow workers into following her without outside help? And if someone had helped her, who and why? Maybe this someone hadn’t helped her at all. Maybe he—and knowing what she did about Miaoshan, Hulan had no doubts that it would be a he—had used her as a way to foment unrest for some reason that wasn’t yet clear.

  As Hulan circled around these ideas, she kept coming back to Miaoshan’s promiscuity. To use the coarse words of the local Public Security captain, it seemed true that Miaoshan had spread her legs for any man with a beating heart. From the beginning of time there had been women who had used sex as a method of survival, as a way of getting what they wanted, as a means to an end. But also from the beginning of time there had been women who had been victimized, used, and tossed aside when their novelty wore off or they became diseased or old. Was Miaoshan the manipulator or the manipulated?

  David’s first obligation was to speak to Randall Craig. At seven, he called the hotel operator for Randall’s room number, but was told that Mr. Craig hadn’t checked in until late last night and had asked that no calls be put through. At eight, he tried again. Randall Craig picked up on the first ring. David asked if they might have breakfast together. Ten minutes later, David was in Randall’s spacious suite with a view overlooking South Xinjian Road. David had a duty to tell Randall about the problems that could be of concern to Tartan Incorporated. At the same time, David needed to protect his other client, Sun Gan. If David believed Sun was innocent—and the simplicity of the code more than anything made that a strong possibility—then he had to try to flesh out the truth to help the governor.

  By the time the continental breakfast arrived, David had run through his concerns about the sale, outlining the alleged dangers on the factory floor, the use of child labor, and—without using names—the possibility that bribery had occurred.

  Randall Craig listened patiently, occasionally taking sips of coffee or breaking off a piece of croissant. When David finished, Randall said, “Why hasn’t this shown up in the reports?”

  “I don’t know,” David answered.

  “Well, look, the due diligence was already done by your predecessor. I’m willing to stand by Keith’s reports.”

  “But they’re wrong. If this information—any of it—comes out, then Tartan will be exposed to various lawsuits, not to mention criminal proceedings.”

  “Let’s deal with the bribery issue first,” Randall said. “I assume old man Knight is the one you think is paying out. Who’s he paying?”

  “I can’t say,” David answered. It wasn’t a lie exactly, but it was vague enough to keep his other client protected.

  “Is there any danger of it coming out before the sale?”

  “There’s an American reporter who’s on to the story.”

  Randall sighed. “Pearl Jenner, I suppose. Have you talked to her?”

  “Last night.”

  Randall nodded sympathetically. “When I checked in, I had about a dozen messages from her. But she’s been sniffing around for a long time and hasn’t been able to find anything of substance.
What’d she say? Did she have names to go with the bribery?”

  David was fully aware that Randall had let slip an important piece of information: Even before David walked in the room, Randall Craig had known there were problems and that a reporter was here in Taiyuan ostensibly to cover the sale. David’s senses, which were already working at full tilt, jumped another notch.

  “She doesn’t know any names,” David said. “She may not even know of the bribery, but she’s aware of some of the other problems….”

  “The way your predecessor explained it, if there’s been wrongdoing in the past, we’re not responsible. If it happens in the future, we are.”

  David leaned forward in his chair. “I think the Knights lied on their disclosure forms.”

  “About the bribery?”

  “About the child labor, about the working conditions…”

  “My position is, I don’t know about all that.”

  “But you do.”

  “And how’s the government going to know?”

  “I have to disclose it to the SEC.”

  “You could do that,” Randall acknowledged, “but what’s the point? It’s better just to let the sale go through as is. Tartan’s shareholders will be happy. The Knight shareholders ought to be thrilled too. What’s done is done. I say let the old guy retire gracefully.”

  “I still think we have to disclose.”

  “You know what would happen to a guy like Henry Knight? Maybe he’d pay a fine. On the other hand, maybe the Feds would send him to a country-club jail. He’d be in good company for a few months, and then he’d go back to his retirement. But in the meantime you will have hurt his son, and we’re counting on Doug for continuity.”

  “And what about me?”

  “What about you?”

  “I have a legal obligation to file the papers properly. If I don’t, I’m leaving my law firm open to prosecution.”

  “You do what you gotta do. But remember this, you’ll have a clear conscience, but you will have wrecked havoc on a lot of people’s lives and for what? Once Knight Senior’s out of the game, we clean up the company’s internal problems.”

  Randall’s tone sounded suspiciously practiced. David felt the need to remind Randall that Knight’s crimes could come back to haunt Tartan.

  “My job here is to perform the due diligence and—”

  “No,” Randall shot out sharply. “That was Keith Baxter’s job, and he did exactly as we wanted. Your job is to make sure the acquisition contracts are signed on Sunday. I’m not hearing that.”

  “What if the women who’ve been hurt come forward?”

  Randall Craig shrugged. “I’d say that sometimes there are little blips on the radar screen, but that they never amount to anything. Put another way, we’ve got five factories in and around Shenzhen, and we haven’t had any problems.”

  “China’s laws are changing.”

  Randall grinned and spread his hands wide. “Not fast enough. And besides, who’s a Chinese judge going to believe? A peasant woman or two or a big American conglomerate that employs thousands upon thousands of men and women, that has been responsible for increased prosperity in various provinces, and that has the backing of high-ranking officials in the government?”

  “A court might think differently if it had documents to back up what the women said.”

  Randall’s demeanor suddenly changed. “What documents are those?”

  “A young woman smuggled them out. She planned on giving them to Pearl Jenner.”

  “But she didn’t?”

  “No. She’s dead, murdered, I believe.”

  “Is there an investigation into her death? Is there anything that can tie her to us?” Randall asked.

  “Those are two questions. The answer to the first is not officially. The answer to the second is I don’t think so.”

  “Then we have nothing to worry about.”

  “What about Keith’s death?”

  “I understood you were the target there.”

  “I have reason to believe I wasn’t.”

  Randall sighed. “Miles thought this might come up—some kind of post-traumatic stress thing. Look, I’d like to help you through this, but the fact is I’m not trained for it. Miles will be in Beijing tomorrow. Cry on his shoulder.” Randall glanced at his watch. David was supposed to take the hint and leave. When he didn’t, Randall asked, “What?”

  “What you just said is so out of line, I hardly know what to say.”

  “David, you represent me and my company. Focus on that. If there’s another matter I should know about…” He eyed David curiously, as if sizing him up. “Have you seen those papers you mentioned? Is there something in them that I should be concerned about? If Pearl Jenner doesn’t have them, then where are they? Are we going to be blackmailed?”

  David couldn’t answer all of these questions without putting Suchee in possible jeopardy. Instead he said, “I don’t think anyone has plans to blackmail you. As far as what’s in the papers, they show that the factory building wouldn’t be safe in a fire. There aren’t enough exits and…”

  Randall grinned again, clearly relieved. “That’s nothing. We install another door or two. No problem.”

  David couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “The child labor and the rest of it?”

  “How can I say this except bluntly? Tartan is already aware of those issues. Women getting hurt? Chemicals? Why do you think we’ve been in China for the past twenty years? It’s because we can get away with a lot.” Randall rose to signal the end of the meeting. He opened the door, then, seeing David’s appalled look, said, “Don’t look so shocked. China’s helped build Tartan to what it is today—a billion-dollar company. Don’t lose sight of that or your potential place in it.”

  He clapped David on the shoulder and fairly pushed him out the door. “Forgive me, but I’ve got to get out to Knight. We’ve got a full schedule today.” And he shut the door in David’s face.

  Furious, stunned, outraged, David walked back to his room. Everything Randall had said was true. Even if David stepped forward—and he was cognizant of all the problems that would cause him personally—it would only be a fleabite on the corporate butt of Tartan. Still, he couldn’t allow the sale to go through as it was laid out.

  Back in his room, he once again called down to the hotel operator and asked to be put through to Henry’s suite. When no one answered, David called Knight International. A receptionist with a lilting voice informed him that Mr. Knight wasn’t at the compound nor was he expected until eleven when the festivities would begin. “What about Douglas Knight?” David asked.

  “No, sir, he isn’t here either. Perhaps you should try the hotel.”

  David called back down to the hotel operator and was transferred to Doug’s room. But he wasn’t in either. David went to the hotel dining room, hoping that the Knights would be having breakfast. They weren’t, so he went back upstairs.

  He waited a half hour, called again at the compound and the hotel for both father and son, but they were still unreachable. David began to pace, checked his watch, then sat down and punched in what felt like dozens of numbers. If it was 9:00 A.M. here, it would be 5:00 P.M. yesterday in Los Angeles. Miles Stout’s secretary answered the phone and verified that Miles had left the city. “He’ll be arriving in Beijing tonight your time. He’ll be at the Kempinski if you need to talk to him.” David thanked her and asked to be transferred to the voice-mail message center. He tapped in his pass code and waited. He had six new messages.

  The first was from Miles, who repeated almost word for word what his secretary had just told David, adding, “I’ll be half dead by the time I get to the hotel, but maybe we can have breakfast together. I’d like us all to be on the same page when we meet with Randall and his people.” Next, David heard Rob Butler’s voice asking how things were going in private practice, informing him that there’d still been no progress on the Rising Phoenix investigation, and reminding him that if David needed
anything to be sure and call. “You know, Carla’s always wanted to see the Great Wall,” Rob said. “Maybe we’ll come out for a vacation and you can show us the sights. Anyway, it’d be a great way to get in a game or two of tennis. Do they have tennis courts out there? Send an e-mail if you can.” Eddie Wiley left a message saying that the downstairs toilet had backed up and was there a plumber that David used.

  Interspersed among these calls were three from Anne Baxter Hooper. At the sound of her voice, David conjured up Anne’s grief-stricken face. “The operator at the U.S. Attorney’s Office told me I could reach you here,” she said. “I must say, I’m surprised to hear that you made that move. Well, give me a call.” She spoke her number carefully, then added, “I really want to talk to you. You can call collect if you want.”

  The second message said simply, “This is Anne, Keith’s sister. Please call.” In the third, which had come in just that morning, she sounded impatient. “Since my brother died, I’ve left you several messages. I’d appreciate a call back.”

  David erased the messages and hung up the receiver. He thought about the day of the funeral and the accusation in Anne’s eyes. At the time he had thought himself to blame for Keith’s death, but the picture had changed. How much should he tell her about her brother? Was it better for her to know the truth or continue to believe that her brother had been an innocent victim? And what was the truth anyway?

  David dialed Anne’s number in Russell. The phone rang four times, then was picked up by the answering machine. Anne’s two children spoke in unison. “You’ve reached the Hoopers. We’re not in right now, but leave a message and we’ll call you back, back, back!”

  After the beep, David said, “Anne, it’s David Stark. I only got your messages today. I’m in China and it’s a little after nine in the morning. I’m in a hotel and I’m going to be leaving soon, but I’ll be back in Beijing tonight. I’ll call you as soon as I can.”