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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 th
ey 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.
