T. Bunn - The Great Divide

His day’s greatest delight came after the court had adjourned, in the form of a man of mismatched parts. His bulbous head was fitted to a scrawny neck and a potbelly. His checked jacket and yellow pants seemed selected to mock a frame he disliked too much to clothe well. “Mr. Glenwood, I’m Floyd Sneede with the Raleigh News and Observer.”

Marcus noticed Boomer Hayes waiting by the rear doors, then returned his attention to the reporter. “Yes.”

“ ‘Vile and treacherous.’ Isn’t that how Mr. Hayes described New Horizons in his opening statement?”

“You’ll have to ask Charlie, but I believe that’s correct.”

“The lawyers for New Horizons told me they’d sue the paper if I wrote that you were attacked by somebody associated with the company.”

It was the opening Marcus had hoped for. “I guess you’d better pay attention, then. Your newspaper wouldn’t want to offend a big advertiser like that.”

The barb bit deep. “You’re saying they were involved?”

“Absolutely. I was told to drop the case or they’d be back to kill me.”

The pen scribbled busily. “You want to give me a quote about the case?”

“New Horizons has made its name through exploitation. They exploit the nation’s kids by suggesting that if they buy New Horizons’ overpriced products, the kids will all become sports superheroes. New Horizons makes these same products in factories that exploit and abuse workers in truly horrible conditions. A young local woman by the name of Gloria Hall set out to expose their pattern of corruption and degradation. They kidnapped Ms. Hall to silence her.”

The man’s grin was as misshapen as the rest of him. “You sure you want me to quote you?”

“If you want a real quote, go speak to the girl’s parents. They’ll blister the paint off the newsroom walls.” Marcus excused himself and walked over to where Boomer stood in a jacket and silk tie of Carolina blue. “What are you doing here?”

“Daddy sure is something, ain’t he?” Boomer’s tone was as low and respectful as he could get it. “Seventy-eight next month and not pulling a single punch.”

“You came to watch him try a case?”

“Partly. Wanted to tell you the old man’s been spending some time with the doctors. Hasn’t said a word to anybody, but Libby knows a nurse over at the hospital.” Boomer tried hard for brisk, almost succeeded. “Word is, Pop’s got cancer.”

Marcus felt the day rocked on its axis. “You’re joking.”

“Wish I was.” Boomer’s grin had escaped him, leaving his features puffy and very worried. “The nurse says it ain’t too serious, whatever that means for somebody carting around his weight of years. He’s supposed to start treatment next week, but he put it off for this case.”

Marcus turned back to where Charlie and Alma were giving the reporter an earful. “He hasn’t told me a thing.”

“Naw, that’d be his way. But Libby and I thought you’d want to know. She said to tell you that since he started working with you on this, the old Charlie was back again. Said she hadn’t seen much of him since your accident. Says it’s another reason we’ve got to be grateful. If I were you, though, I’d keep this under my hat. Won’t do a bit of good to let on you know.”

“No,” Marcus agreed, “I don’t suppose it would.”

Boomer pointed with his chin to where Charlie was helping Alma sit back down as the reporter left. The old man took the chair beside her and draped one arm around her shoulders. “What’s he doing now?”

“Just seeing to his job,” Marcus said quietly. “Comforting the wounded and offering hope to the lost.”

All of Saturday was given over to a hospital visit. Marcus was prodded and questioned and blooded and scanned, and finally pronounced fit enough to depart.

Sunday morning was metallic in its sunny frost. Tall trees sheltering the road to church were graced with autumn finery. Though the sun seemed intent on bearing down hard by afternoon, there was a comfort in the chill and a rightness to the day.

Ashley Granger called at dusk. “Hope you don’t mind getting good news on Sunday evening.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.” Marcus carried the cordless phone into his office. “It’s either now or no case. We’re down to the wire.”

“Not anymore. I’ve got good news and I’ve got great news. The good news first. The Factory 101 compound is run by none other than General Zhao Ren-Fan himself.”

“First you need to spell that name,” Marcus replied. “Then you need to tell me who he is.”

“I’ll fax you the details later. Zhao is none other than the top dog of the Guangdong military region.”

“Sorry. I’m still lost.” But growing excited nonetheless.

“Provincial power in China is split between the local Communist Party and the People’s Liberation Army. They’re supposed to operate as one, but that almost never happens. The conflict is growing steadily these days. The top power holder in each province operates freely and openly. And in the Guangdong region, it’s the military. Has been ever since Tiananmen Square, when General Zhao’s troops were in the thick of things.”

“So the guy has power.”

“In China, there’s no difference between business power and political power. Power is power. The military operates its own businesses, factories, international licenses. Foreign firms who’re looking for clout in the local markets don’t just accept the need for high-level partners. They seek them out. They hunt them down. The best mark of success in China for a start-up company is the local partner’s standing.”

“And this general’s got the clout?”

“In Guangzhou, there’s probably nobody with more. Not only that, he’s got a hold on power in Beijing. He’s a member of the military command, has access to the top party hierarchy. He’s a voice to be reckoned with.”

“And the factory?”

“Right. Now, run what we know so far through your mind. The top general is openly responsible for savage acts, first in Tiananmen Square, then putting down the rioting farmers. He owns a compound outside the central city, and in this compound he’s got a plant that operates as a commercial lao gai , a factory prison where political troublemakers are held without trial or right of appeal.”

Marcus was too tense to sit. He paced the room, searching, finally confessing, “I’m still caught in a serious crunch here. I’ve got to find something to tie all this directly to New Horizons.”

“Well now, there’s something interesting on that front as well. Your fax machine on?”

“Yes.”

“Wait and watch, my man. Wait and watch.” As the machine lit up and started purring, Ashley went on. “Two things. First, I’ve been getting some strong-arm pressure from the U.S. side as well. Somebody in Washington is turning up the heat on this trial.”

Marcus plucked up the first page, read swiftly, could only manage, “Oh man, oh man.”

“Second, I got a call from Dee this afternoon. Told him what I’m telling you. The man didn’t seem at all surprised. More like pleased that I’d finally tracked this down.” When Marcus did not respond, he demanded more loudly, “You hearing me over there?”

Marcus picked up the second sheet, and felt his heart rate surge until listening was almost impossible. “Yes.”

“You better be. Dee told me to have you subpoena a guy from the Swiss embassy. I’m faxing you his name with the rest of this stuff. Last page. Dee said to tell you to be prepared just in case. In case of what, he wouldn’t say. That little brown elf does love his secrets.”

Marcus pulled the third sheet from the machine before it was ready, fraying the edge. “I don’t believe this.”