Jintao Page 3

  After her first bite, Sealy said, “This is horrible.”

  “Want some of my rubber shrimp?” asked Quan, with a small lump in his cheek.

  “No, thanks. I’ll just drink my tea.”

  With the meal finished, their table slowly rose while chirping its way back into the ceiling, transporting their dishes to some unseen destination. Seats reclined again and Sealy turned to her side, resting her head on Quan’s shoulder. Her hands embraced his arm and, with eyes closed, she thought back to their first encounter on the Oxford campus. It was the fall of 2086 and Quan was on the opposite side of the green. Tall and handsome, she recognized his squarish face.

  “I know that boy,” she said to her girlfriend.

  “What a fine specimen,” her girlfriend said.

  “Oh look—he’s coming this way.”

  So nice to see a familiar face, she thought.

  She knew about the Jintaos and had seen Quan before, on special occasions in New Hong Kong, but they had never spoken. Making his way across the green, Quan caught Sealy looking at him and the attraction was unmistakable.

  Stopping in front of the two girls, Quan smiled a subtle smile and spoke to Sealy in a smooth baritone voice. “We’ve met before, haven’t we?”

  “Yes, well, almost,” she said. “We were at the spring festival and I may have seen you at the dragon boat festival.”

  “Of course, now I remember.” He extended his hand. “Quan Jintao . . . and you are?”

  “Sealy Xaioping.” She shook his hand.

  “Hi. I’m Celeste,” said the other girl, extending her hand.

  “Nice to meet you, too,” said Quan, turning his attention back to Sealy. “I remember you. Yes, and there was another time too—a birthday party.” They went on reminiscing about New Hong Kong and the people they knew in common. Seeing the bonding in progress, Celeste excused herself and left for class.

  The next day, strolling along the banks of the Cherwell, Sealy studied Quan. There was something about him that she found irresistible—a combination of charm and confidence mixed with humility—a rare combination. From that day on, to the disappointment of Celeste, Sealy spent most of her free time with the young Jintao. He was an excellent listener and he shared her interest in behavioral science. They talked about the historical events that triggered social change and the difficulty of forming a perfect government. It always came down to the quality of the people who were in positions of power. Their ego and ambition always seemed to get in the way of noble values.

  Conversely, when Quan discussed his engineering studies, Sealy was embarrassed—not so much because she didn’t understand what he was talking about, but mainly because she had such little interest in physics.

  “I have to be honest,” she said. “I’ve never wanted to know how things work. I do however think it’s important to know people who can fix things when they break. I’m sorry. I can’t help it. I find the dynamics of society far more interesting.”

  He understood her point of view but it made him laugh to think that she might envision him as a potential repairman. He admitted that he was a good partner for her—having the ability to fix whatever she could break.

  There was a nobility about Quan that made her feel safe. He was fair minded and socially astute, with an ability to strike up interesting conversations in any situation. She recalled a Sunday afternoon inside the King’s Arms, a pub that boasted the highest IQ per square meter of any tavern in the world. A large group of students, most of them Brits, were crowded around the bar. The subject of the day was the Chinese invasion of Oxford University, and the discussion was leaning in a negative direction. There came a moment when most of the group lifted their tubes of ale and began to drink. Quan took advantage of the lull to broadcast his opinion. The term “invasion,” he instructed, was not accurate. England, he said, was originally colonized by the Chinese.

  Glaring dismissively at Quan, a tall, gangly upper classman wearing the school blazer and tie addressed him with nasal intonation, “My dear fellow, you are sadly misinformed. You of all people should know it is quite the other way ’round. In fact, the island of Hong Kong was a British colony for a hundred and fifty years.”

  The Brits raised their glasses again and cheered, “Here, here!”

  Sealy was embarrassed for Quan. She knew the Brits got it right.

  The clamor faded and Quan said nonchalantly, “What you say is partly true. England was granted occupation of Hong Kong for a while—a purely strategic move on the part of China resulting in the conversion of a mountainous coastal island into a serviceable port—at Britain’s expense. But that’s beside the point. Go back further. Go back thirty thousand years. Your ancestors, the Anglo Saxons, originally migrated here from China. The genetic trail proves that. You Brits are ex officio Chinese.”

  The crowd went into an uproar and Quan shouted above the din to be heard. “But wait, there’s more!”

  This should be interesting, thought Sealy, loving Quan’s delivery.

  “For the most part, Englishmen and Chinamen look different but, we share a feature that is unique and identical.”

  “Rubbish!” said the snob in the blazer.

  “No, it’s true,” said Quan. “When you tell a Chinaman and an Englishman the same joke at dinner—they both wake up laughing in the middle of the night.”

  There was a pause while the crowd digested his joke. Then laughter broke out and someone in the middle of the bar yelled, “Brothers from different mothers.”

  “Exactly,” said Quan.

  Quan’s voice brought Sealy back to the present. “What are you thinking about?”

  “The King’s Arms,” she said with a little yawn and a smile. “You were putting the upper classmen in their place.” She rearranged herself for a deeper nap.

  Quan continued sipping his beer, glad to be thinking about anything other than his father. His thoughts turned to English pubs.

  Before leaving for university, during his last week in New Hong Kong, the project team he was assigned to at Jintao Space held a farewell party at their favorite pub, the Seas of Fortune. It was a public house registered to a trading company of the same name and was allegedly owned, through a tangled string of shell companies, by either the Duke of Bournemouth or one of his illegitimate offspring. Having continued in the same location since its founding in the late 1800s, the Seas of Fortune was an institution. It had weathered several natural disasters including the tsunami that destroyed most of the city of Hong Kong. Subsidized by its owner, the pub remained open through the turmoil that followed. Using new technology, the city quickly rebuilt itself in the same location and renamed itself New Hong Kong.

  The pubs antique character was kept, reflecting the bygone days of clipper ships when the tea and opium trade was heavy. Light from leaded-glass windows filtered into the dark wood interior highlighting bartops and tables scarred with penknife hieroglyphics—some recent, some centuries old, testimony to years of unrelenting revelry.

  Another pitcher of Guinness came down with a wet thud on the thick wooden table and the group’s section chief, Gregory McGowen, stood, insisting on yet another toast to the young Jintao. “Come on, lads,” he said, eyeing each one. “Fill yer glasses. We may not see this young chiel again for a lang time.”

  McGowen was a tall Scotsman with reddish hair and ruddy skin and hands the size of catcher’s mitts. His face and physique looked less like an engineer and more like that of a prizefighter. In truth, he boxed for his regiment during his days in the RAF, before toughing his way through an engineering degree at Cambridge. For three decades, he worked for the Jintao Corporation, validating their faith in him many times over by dispatching even the most difficult assignments with regimental fortitude. He was a deep river of knowledge, held in high regard by his employer. Raising his glass, the big Scot proclaimed, “To yer health, young master Quan, and may the wind be ever at yer back.”

  After his toast, McGowen parked himself quietly next to Q
uan and stared at his half glass of ale for a time. “The wife wanted cats, ya know. She’s gone but I’ve got ’em still.”

  As if entranced, McGowen went on, “Sphinx, they are—hairless, ya know. Nothing in the world as soft as the skin of a Sphinx.” His large forefinger lightly circled the rim of his glass. “It’s like they’re made of air.”

  Quan couldn’t help but be drawn in by McGowen’s gentleness, evidence of the big man’s ease with himself. Yet there was a sadness there, as well. Politely, Quan added, “We were all very sorry to hear of your wife’s passing.”

  “Aye. It’s been three years, but it seems like yesterday.” Perking up suddenly as if shaking off a dream, McGowen retorted, “Yer father’s the best man I ever worked for. A true leader he is. Big shoes, lad, mighty big shoes.” Taking a long sip of dark beer, he went on. “You’ll be next in line, ya know. And when you’re back from university, no doubt he’ll be givin’ you projects of yer own. Anything you need then, you just ask me.” McGowen cracked a broad smile. “And, who knows, I might be workin’ for ya someday.”

  Quan looked at Sealy’s head resting on his shoulder and took another sip of Tsingtao while the Stratos850 whistled through a black sky.

  Sealy was dreaming of a sunny afternoon back at Oxford. Quan was sitting with her, on a blanket next to a willow tree. They were watching punts move up and down the Cherwell and Quan was opening a picnic basket full of treats.

  “What a nice surprise,” she said, looking at cheese and pate, preserves, and French bread and wine.

  After unclipping two glasses from the lid of the basket, Quan began opening the bottle of wine. He said, “You’ll also find a special treat in that tree.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’ll just have to go and look.”

  She stood up. “And just how do you know this, mister, mister?”

  “A little bird told me.”

  On the other side of the tree she found a crevice where the tree trunk had molded itself around the remnants of a cut branch. Inside the crevice was a little box wrapped in red paper. Sealy brought it over to the blanket and stood there, smiling.

  “Go ahead. Open it,” he said.

  Inside the box was a two-fingered ring set with diamonds and rubies.

  “It’s beautiful,” she said.

  “We get along so well. I think we should have an agreement to be exclusive to each other. I’d like you to be my banlu.”

  Gingerly, she put on the rings, surprised at how well they fit her second and third fingers. Holding up her hand for Quan to see, she replied, “This is kind of sudden but I love it.”

  “When it’s right, it’s right,” said he.

  “You and me,” said Sealy, containing her urge to through her arms around him. “Brilliant. It’s a definite yes. How long shall we set the renewal for?”

  “I was thinking five-year intervals with automatic rollover.”

  “As it should be,” said Sealy, throwing her arms around him.

  They were good together—mannered and intelligent and, best of all, they could make each other laugh. A few days later their engagement was made official and they went looking for a row house for two.

  Quan nudged her. “Almost there,” he said, pointing to the window.

  Her eyes opened to the tailored cabin of the aircraft. Turning her face to the window, she looked out beyond the gleaming fuselage. Flickering between the white clouds below, bits of coastline became visible. Intuitively the fragments joined in her mind: the familiar contours of the Gulf of Tonkin and the Leizhou Peninsula.

  Vibration surged through the large airship as it slowed to subsonic.

  3.

  China traces its history back thirty-six centuries to small settlements along the Yangtze and Yellow rivers. As the populations grew, warlords took power and ruled for centuries until the Chinese Civil War put an end to the succession of emperors, giving rise to a People's Republic. Influenced by the commerce of New Hong Kong, the Republic gradually evolved into a quasi-communist/capitalist government and, with its newfound wealth, China went on a massive infrastructure campaign, building power plants, housing, and transportation systems. Citizens were allowed to own private property, make profits, and compete in global markets. Entrepreneurs seized the opportunity and transformed China from basic manufacturing into a major center for science and innovation - leading the world in both economic and technological achievement.

  New Hong Kong

  Sealy and Quan looked out the windows of a Jintao Corporation glide as it autonavigated the flight corridor to the south side of the island. Soon, the great South Point complex came into view, standing defiantly on the shore of Deep Water Bay, with its massive support struts buried twenty meters into bedrock. South Point was an architectural marvel, designed to withstand any insult nature could hurl at it. Towering three hundred meters above the inland communities, it housed tier upon tier of elite dwellings interleaved with greenscapes, terraces, shops, and fitness centers. More than a housing complex, it was a destination—the home of distinguished citizens: bankers, dignitaries, media personalities, and industry moguls. The complex represented a monument to prosperity and the collective ambitions of the New Hong Kong elite.

  The glide hovered briefly, broadcasting its landing beacon before rotating and slowly descending to the penthouse aeropad. The young coupld unbuckled and stepped out of the climate-controlled craft and were met by gusts of cold winter air.

  Quan encircled Sealy with his arm, carrying her overnight bag in the other hand and his bag slung over his shoulder.

  Shivering as they walked toward the rooftop entry, Sealy asked, “Are you glad to be back home?”

  “I would be, if the circumstance was different,” said Quan. “I’m hoping this is resolved soon.”

  Under the building’s cantilevered overhang, a frosted-glass door cleared and a woman could be seen inside. Pointing his chin toward the doorway, Quan said, “That’s Ning.”

  “She’s taller than I thought she’d be,” said Sealy.

  After brief introductions, Ning excused herself saying, “I will make tea.”

  Quan ushered Sealy to the great room where he made himself comfortable on the large semicircular sofa. Sealy wandered the room taking in the fine statuary and paintings. This was her first time in the Jintao penthouse and she marveled at the exquisite decor, the silken walls and marble floors, the intricate carvings in precious stone, and the paintings of misty mountain passages. Circling around, eventually she reached the two-story glass wall with its expansive views of the South China Sea. Suddenly she stopped, lurching backward in half steps. She turned and retreated, back to where Quan sat in front of the fireplace. She sat down next to him.

  “This is a difficult situation,” he said, “and I’m glad you came along.

  “What is it?” he asked, noticing how pale and withdrawn she was. Are you okay?”

  “I’m feeling a little queasy. It’s the height.”

  Quan looked up. Outside the window, the sky above was as pale as a gull’s eye and the sea below sparkled like the rippling scales of an enormous gray fish.

  “When I look down, I feel the room swaying and I thought at any moment the floor might tip and I might slip out into the sea.”

  “Sounds like you have a touch of vertigo.”

  Ning returned moments later with a tray of tea and Chinese doughnuts, Quan’s favorite treat. She set cups on the low table in front of them and began to pour.

  “Have some tea,” said Quan, handing a cup to Sealy. “It might settle you.”

  Sealy took the warm teacup and held it in both hands, trying to calm herself. As she pressed back into the comform cushions, the sofa slowly recontoured, cradling her, and she began to relax.

  Ning came to stand between them and the great glass wall. She proceded to give her report, telling of the latest updates from Lieutenant Zhao and how the leads had dwindled to an improbable few. Every clue was being diligently pursued however, t
he investigation reached a standstill. No ransom demand had been received, no suicide note found, and no one knew where the chairman of Jintao Corporation had gone—or so it seemed.

  While Quan listened, his leg began to bounce up and down, revealing his impatience. Ning covered everything she knew—detail upon detail of useless information and Quan’s frustration was rising. None of what she was saying explained how or why his father was plucked from the world, and it was obvious that the investigation was falling short of it’s goal. They weren’t asking the right questions or looking in the right places.

  Putting himself in a more centered frame of mind, Quan began listening more with his eyes than his ears. How calm and unhurried she was, talking about the huge reward the corporation put up and how the police followed every lead, of which there were many. How can she be so calm, so unemotional? As if the disappearance is a common occurrence. Quan found her manner curious—too calm. Was she concealing something? He pushed down his frustration, thanked Ning for her report and, after she left the room, he turned to Sealy.

  “The detectives are approaching this as if it were just one of their routine assignments. They don’t have anything at stake—not like I do. They’ve left me with no choice. I’m going to have to intervene. I’m sure they’ve overlooked something.”

  “What are you going to do?” asked Sealy, doing her best to ignore the glass wall and the abyss beyond.

  “The corporation is the most logical place to start. It was my father’s life and I know people there.”

  Thinking about the company presented Quan with another problem. Would he be expected to fill the void left by his father? What was the protocol? Would they look to him for guidance? That would complicate his life beyond measure, and it could potentially derail the future he planned for himself and Sealy.