The Interior (Red Princess 2)

“It is words like that that we all want to follow,” Sun clarified.

“This is why you are at the center of power,” Nixon went on.

Sun tipped his head, modestly accepting the compliment. “But this isn’t America. I can say many things today and tomorrow who knows?”

“Maybe tomorrow will bring even greater freedom. You can’t turn back the clock,” Nixon said.

“I just want my province to prosper and improve the quality of life for my people.”

It was pure political talk, and Randall Craig, like many of the others at the table, was caught up in the sentiment. “It is people like you who will make China great in the next century.”

“But, Mr. Craig, it is people like you who will make that possible. When you bring money to people, it changes their lives.”

Hulan glanced at David. Was this the first parry in a new relationship that would be based on illegal money changing hands? David in turn shot a look across the table to Miles, but the senior partner was smiling and acting every inch the part of the great facilitator. Then David’s eyes drifted over to Henry. This man, usually so light-hearted, had grown increasingly dispirited through dinner.

19

MORE DISHES WERE BROUGHT OUT: STEAMED CARP, STIR-FRIED egg with sea cucumber, shredded ox stomach stew, Beijing duck, bird’s nest soup, and finally rice. Then more tea, more toasts with the mao tai, and a few sweet dumplings for dessert. Sun, as the highest-ranking official, signaled the end of the evening by pushing his chair back from the table exactly at eight. The other Chinese in the room immediately stood. Everyone quickly moved back to the sitting room.

During dinner a rectangular table had been set up in the middle of the room with two chairs on each side. At each seat ceremonial pens made from colorful cloisonné waited to be used. A red banner strung between two poles read KNIGHT BECOMES TARTAN. A photographer was on hand to record not only the signing of the agreement, but also take other posed shots of the people from the Chinese ministries and bureaus before the official signing.

Finally the time came for the four principals to take their seats. Miles and Randall sat on one side of the table, Henry and Doug on the other. David and Miss Quo, who would take notes, took seats just behind Miles and Randall. Governor Sun and Amy Gao sat behind Henry and Doug. The others clustered around while the photographer continued to shoot film.

“Well, Henry,” Randall said, “let me first thank you for all of your hospitality here in China. You have certainly made us feel welcome. And now we come to the culmination of months of talk and hard work.”

Miles ceremoniously brought out the final contracts from his briefcase. Miss Quo stood and distributed copies to the people seated at the table.

“Henry,” Randall said, “I think you’ll find everything in order.”

But Henry, who’d been so quiet during dinner, just stared at the contract. His face was tinged gray.

“Henry?” Randall asked.

“Dad?”

Without moving his head, Henry turned his eyes to his son. “Doug,” he said, “I need to speak you outside.”

“Henry, can’t it wait?” Randall asked, all friendly concern, as the two men stood.

Henry came around the table, tapped David on the shoulder, and jerked his head toward the door.

As David rose, Miles said in his most senior partner everything-is-under-control voice, “Whatever the problem is, David, I trust you to take care of it right now.”

David nodded and followed Henry back into the dining room, where the waitresses were clearing the remains of the banquet. Henry said, “David, I’ve tried talking to him, but he doesn’t seem to understand the seriousness of the situation. Maybe he’ll listen to you.”

But before David could speak, Doug said, “That’s not what happened. I listened and I told you that it’s not as bad as he made it sound.”

“You still haven’t told me how bad,” Henry pressed.

Doug shrugged. “We’ve had some accidents. Some of the women have quit.”

Henry grabbed his son’s arm and squeezed. “How bad?”

“Bad,” Doug admitted. He looked the picture of a contrite son. Only this time the boy in question was forty-something and he’d been caught with more than a few Playboys tucked under his mattress.

Henry’s face crumpled in disappointment and horror. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“We went over this a thousand times today, Dad. I was ashamed.”