"As a loyal citizen of my country," said Qin Shang, "I would like to think I helped in some small way to make it a reality."
"You have, my friend, you have," Qian Miang assured him. "But first, you must leave the country by no later than two o'clock this afternoon. That's when, according to my sources at the Justice Department, you will be taken into custody."
"And accused of murder?"
"No, willful destruction of federal property."
"It sounds rather mundane."
"Only the first tier of the government's case. The murder conspiracy at Orion Lake comes later. They also intend to indict you for the smuggling of illegal immigrants, guns and drugs."
"I imagine the news media must be gathering like locusts."
"Make no mistake," said Qian Miang, "the fallout will be great. But if you quietly disappear and keep a low profile while conducting business from your offices in Hong Kong, I believe we can weather the storm. Congress and the White House are not about to throw a shroud over relations between our two governments because of the acts of one man. We will, of course, deny all knowledge of your activities while our Information Ministry creates a flood of misleading information by throwing all blame on Taiwanese capitalists."
"Then I am not to be thrown to the dogs."
"You will be protected. The Justice Department and State Department will demand your extradition, but you can rest assured it will never happen, certainly not to a man of your wealth and power. You have many years of service to the People's Republic left. I speak for our countrymen when I say that we do not want to lose you."
"I am honored," Qin Shang said solemnly. "Then this is good-bye."
"Until we meet in our homeland," said Qian Miang. "By the way, how did you find the date pancakes?"
"Please tell the chef that he should use sweet rice flour instead of comstarch."
The Boeing 737 soared through a cloudless sapphire sky and made a sweeping bank to the west as it passed over the Mississippi Delta. The pilot glanced out his side window and down at the marshlands of Plaquemines Parish. Five short minutes later, the aircraft crossed over the green-brown waters of the Mississippi River at the little town of Myrtle Grove. At the instructions of his employer, the pilot had flown in a southwesterly direction from Washington to Louisiana before turning due west on a course that would take the plane over Sungari.
Qin Shang sat in a comfortable chair in his luxurious private jet and stared through the view port as the golden pyramids of his dockside warehouses and administration buildings grew on the horizon. The afternoon sun's rays flashed off the gold galvanized walls with blinding intensity, causing the precise effect Qin Shang had demanded from his architects and construction company.
At first, he tried to put the port from his mind. It was, after all, merely an investment gone bad. But Qin Shang had poured too much of himself into the project. The finest, most modern and efficient shipping port in the world, lying desolate and seemingly abandoned, haunted him. He gazed down and saw no ships at the docks. All Qin Shang Maritime ships arriving in the Gulf from overseas had been diverted to Tampico, Mexico.
He picked up the phone to the cockpit and ordered the pilot to make a circle over the port. He pressed his face against the window as the pilot b
anked to give him a good view. After a few moments Qin Shang's mind began to drift, and he gazed without really seeing the empty docks, the big, deserted cargo-loading cranes and the vacant buildings. That he had come within the snap of a finger from pulling off the greatest enterprise in history and achieving what no man had ever attempted before gave him little satisfaction. He was not a man who could block failure from his mind and go on to the next project without a backward glance.
"You will be back," came the musically soothing voice of his private secretary, Su Zhong.
The beginnings of anger stirred inside Qin Shang. "Not any time soon. If I so much as step foot on American shores again, I will be thrown into one of their federal prisons."
"Nothing is forever. American governments change with every election. Politicians come and go like migrating lemmings. New ones will have no personal memories of your affairs. Time will soften all condemnation. You will see, Qin Shang."
"You are good to say so, Su Zhong."
"Do you wish me to hire a crew to maintain the facility?" she asked.
"Yes," he said with a curt nod. "When I return in ten or twenty years from now, I want to see Sungari looking exactly as it does now."
"I am worried, Qin Shang."
He looked at her. "Why?"
"I do not trust the men in Beijing. There are many who have an envious hatred of you. I fear they may use your misfortune to take advantage."
"Like an excuse to assassinate me?" he said with a thin smile.
She dropped her head, unable to gaze into his eyes. "I ask forgiveness for my unseemly thoughts."
Qin Shang rose from his chair and took Su Zhong by the hand. "Do not worry, my little swallow. I have already conceived a plan to make me indispensable to the Chinese people. I shall give them a gift that will last two thousand years." Then he led her into the spacious bedroom in the aft section of the aircraft. "Now," he said softly, "you can help me forget my ill fortune."