All the Fee in China

Beijing, Wednesday, 19 April 1995

Robbie looked across with a startled expression on his face at the full-sized orchestra playing a Strauss waltz in the hotel’s lounge area. He had just eaten an introvert and tranquil breakfast in his room in the China World hotel and come down in the lift to have his senses assailed with the sights and sounds of this bustling and noisy hotel. He stared first at the grandly ostentatious columns, which were painted a lucky Chinese red colour, and then at the thirty-foot high murals of Chinese emperors and gods carved in ebony. Everything about the hotel was over the top; the orchestra was the crowning glory.

Robbie walked towards the lobby area feeling rather jet-lagged and at risk from the world in general. He looked around for James and finally saw him with a quizzical look on his face, waving silently from the far corner of the large room.

‘Sorry,’ said Robbie when he finally stood opposite James, ‘couldn’t see you for looking.’

James laughed. ‘Don’t worry, we all look alike. And there are a billion of us.’

‘I reckon most of you are in here! Shall we go?’

‘Sure, I guess we have to.’

The Beijing weather was still cool, and as they walked out of the hotel into the hazy sunshine both men shivered involuntarily in the crisp air before getting into the overheated car.

The car pulled out from the hotel onto one of Beijing’s dual-carriageway ring roads. Within five minutes they were grinding along slowly in the middle of the normal morning traffic jam. ‘Your bloody traffic gets worse and worse,’ muttered Robbie.

‘Excuse me,’ protested James, ‘I’m a Singaporean from that clean and green land where traffic jams aren’t allowed.’

‘I meant Asia, you fool,’ laughed Robbie. ‘Although, as you say, all Chinese look the same.’

‘I think this particular one might have something to do with our ballerina friend up there,’ said James pointing ahead.

About fifty feet ahead, at a junction of two boulevards lined with as yet leafless plane trees, a traffic policeman stood on a large, gaily-painted drum of the type elephants balance on in circuses. He was still dressed in his winter Cossack-style uniform and wore a long, heavy, green overcoat garnished liberally with stars. He directed the traffic through a series of staccato arm movements, delivered while pirouetting like a dancer on a child’s clockwork musical box. As he twirled around like a dervish, his overcoat ballooned out revealing shiny black shoes with bulging clown toes. Two shiny red blotches like cheeks on a marionette glowed on his otherwise expressionless wooden face.

‘Pretty impressive. Do you think he’s shining like that because he is hot or cold?’ asked Robbie.

‘Probably suffering from carbon monoxide poisoning,’ chuckled James. ‘Either way, if he fell off his silly little podium and stopped delaying the traffic I would be eternally grateful to him!’

Finally they made it across the intersection and arrived in front of the imposing, heavy Russian-style building at five to ten, just in time for their meeting.

*

James and Robbie sat together with their interpreter on one side of the large, oval, wooden table. The lacquer covering its rounded edge was marbled with cracks and had been peeled off in many places, presumably by idle fingers keen to relieve the tedium of long negotiating sessions. Opposite them sat Jiang Yong Ruen, chief sugar trader for the Chinese State Agricultural Corporation, normally referred to as SAC, which Robbie always thought an extremely apt acronym for an agricultural company. Two assistants sat alongside Jiang, one of whom acted as an interpreter. Jiang always used an interpreter despite the fact that he spoke excellent English, perfected during his five year posting to London – a secondment given to Jiang as a result of his political connections.

The other function of the assistants was to record verbatim what was said by both sides during the meeting and to pour tea. They had to report to a ‘higher authority’ everything that was discussed at meetings with foreigners. The higher authority was specifically interested in anything said which could damage the interest of SAC in particular, or the People’s Republic Of China in general.

The tea pouring was carried out in a ceremonial but sloppy manner. Each person was allocated a grubby mug patterned with a tastelessly garish Chinese scene and with a lid. Some supposedly special tea leaves were emptied into each mug, and hot water was added from a large metal-bodied Thermos flask with a dark-stained cork stopper. The guests were offered tea in order of importance, followed by Jiang and finally the tea makers themselves. It was difficult, if not impossible, to drink the tea for some time since the large leaves floated on top, making drinking a messy and unpleasant business. The final part of the ritual would come later in the meeting when Jiang would suddenly feign embarrassment that he had been an inattentive host and invite his guests to drink the tea. At this time the top of the mug would be used to push any remaining floating tea leaves to one side and the tea consumed. The trick, of course, was to hope that visitors would be unfamiliar with both the knack of dealing with the tea leaves and also the etiquette of waiting to be invited to partake and would themselves be embarrassed on both counts and put at a social and hopefully negotiating disadvantage.

Robbie left his tea isolated on the table in front of him, looked across the table at Jiang and smiled thinly as they shook hands. He thought how much he hated the revolting man with bad teeth, with whom he had had frequent dealings in London and who had established himself as a compulsive gambler on the sugar futures market. Jiang looked back at Robbie without establishing eye contact. His round Chinese face wore the blank expression of a true Chinese communist. One who neither liked Western exhibitions of overt emotion nor needed to indulge in them. He was a senior representative of one of China’s most powerful corporations and therefore by implication, of the People’s Republic itself.

James in turn stretched across the table to shake hands with the despicable Jiang and muttered a few words of greeting in Mandarin. Robbie noticed that although Jiang’s response towards James was still formal he reacted more positively towards James than he had towards himself. Robbie knew that without James sitting beside him at the negotiating table this next stage of the plan would never go ahead. He also knew that whatever was discussed over the next four hours was for the formal consumption of the two minders and that the real deal would be struck later in the evening over dinner. Robbie stifled a yawn, brought on by both the prospect of the negotiations and the overheated office, as he started the long process of talking officially to Jiang.

Protocol directed that as a senior director of the most powerful sugar-trading house in the world, Robbie should give Jiang face by leading the discussion for their side. He would deliver a set-piece monologue in English. This would be translated into Mandarin for Jiang who would pretend that he had not understood a word. He would, from time to time and for greater effect, ask for clarification about various aspects of the translation. In return Jiang would make his own set-piece speech in Mandarin that would be translated into English by the translator provided by the hotel. Although James spoke fluent Mandarin it would have been unthinkable for him to lower himself to the level of translator in this formal meeting. That would come later if necessary.

The advantage of this rather ponderous system was that it allowed time to mull over what one was going to say next. In Robbie’s case, however, he not only knew what he was going to say next but also during the course of the whole meeting. He and James had run over the plan in detail over late-night drinks at the hotel.

‘Mr Jiang, may I start by thanking you for agreeing to see us at such short notice, since I realise that someone in your position always has an extremely full diary. However, as always, it is a pleasure to see you.’

There were a few seconds silence as the two minders scribbled in their notebooks. Robbie looked at them and wondered what really happened to the miles and miles of notes taken during the course of a year. Did anyone really refer to them? He also wondered why people in China invariably seemed to make notes in last year’s diaries.

The older of the two minders cleared his throat and translated for Jiang who nodded, thought for a moment and responded in Mandarin while the minder scribbled. There was another pause.

‘Mr Jiang say he honoured that you visit Beijing again and ask to see him. He also say he indeed very busy and like to hear what proposal you have that could be interested to the State Agricultural Corporation.’

‘Mr Jiang, we believe that what we have to propose will be of interest not only to the State Agricultural Corporation but also to the People’s Republic of China as a whole. Furthermore, it will offer a chance for the People’s Republic of China to help one of the other countries in Asia to overcome a temporary problem…’

As the translator went to work, Robbie’s mind drifted to the previous day he had spent in Hong Kong. He had enjoyed catching up with old friends. However, he was still suspicious as to why James had wanted him out of the way for the day. He had raised the issue obliquely with James when they had met up in Beijing for drinks yesterday night. His only response was to say that he needed time on his own with Somboon to ensure that his dear cousin really understood what was required of him and would indeed perform. James was now convinced that Somboon was firmly on the right track.

‘Mr Jiang say that, although it is important to help our Asian neighbour, his most important interest is in… promo… promoted business of the SAC. He hope you understand and can propose him somethin’ very interestin’.’

Bastard, thought Robbie.

‘Please tell Mr Jiang that of course we understand that he has to work for the best interest of SAC and that we believe our proposal will be extremely attractive to SAC.’

Almost without realising it Robbie had slipped into his well-worn path of negotiating in China. This started by prevaricating so much that the opposition was finally forced to ask what the proposal was. Better this way round than to try to sell a deal to an audience that was unwilling to listen.

‘Mr Jiang say he would be pleased to hear your proposal if you could make it now…’

Good, thought Robbie, and began to run through the plan, presented in a way that he and James had decided would be most attractive to Jiang. For his part, Jiang remained expressionless while the two minders scribbled notes in their out of date diaries.

Beside him, James changed position in his chair but remained silent. He knew that the combination of himself and Robbie was pretty unbeatable and that by the end of the day Jiang would be dead meat.

‘Mr Jiang say that although he see some… er… logic for your proposal, he is not sure that it is enough attractive to SAC to make it worth… er… pursuing. He ask time to think about it.’

Robbie smiled to himself. Jiang was hooked.

‘We quite understand Mr Jiang’s position. It is important that he only agrees to a proposal that he knows will be to the undoubted benefit of SAC and the country as a whole. Perhaps Mr Jiang would like to think about the proposal for the rest of the afternoon and do us the honour of joining us for dinner this evening?’

The minder looked at Jiang, who nodded his head gravely.

‘Mr Jiang thank you and accept your invitation.’

This signified the end of the meeting. Jiang got up, shook hands curtly without smiling and walked out of the room escorted by his two henchmen, leaving Robbie and James to find their own way out of the dingy building.

Seated together in the back of the hotel car, James and Robbie carried on a stilted conversation. This was intended to reinforce the merits of the proposed scheme for the benefit of the driver, who they knew was a spy, and whatever bugs were switched on in the car. It wasn’t until they were walking through the Beijing lunchtime air, having asked the concerned driver to drop them off a few hundred yards from the hotel, that they dared to have a proper conversation.

‘So what do you think?’ asked James.

‘Hooked,’ replied Robbie. ‘The only question is how much he wants and we will discover that this evening. Let’s go eat; I’m floating in bloody Chinese tea.’

*

The restaurant for the meal that evening had been chosen by James on the basis of security and quality of food – not for the decor. The tables were covered with pink tablecloths peppered with small holes through which could be seen parts of the bright-green laminated top of the wooden table. A chipped-glass lazy Suzy that allowed food to be revolved in front of the diners was in the centre on the table. Each place setting was denoted by grubby mismatching pink napkins folded into a fan shape. A single, plastic red rose leant drunkenly in a vase on top of the lazy Suzy. The table was surrounded by metal framed stacking chairs covered in gold flowery material.

The floor was covered with a stained red carpet, while red loops of material hung inexplicably from the low ceiling. The walls were covered with faded pastel-coloured wallpaper decorated with a faded bird pattern and hung with a mixture of Chinese brush paintings, a mirror with Budweiser written on it and a poster advertising live fresh-water crabs.

A sound system produced a distorted version of Mantovani playing such favourites as ‘Stranger in Paradise’ and ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow’.

Robbie had used the small private room in this restaurant many times despite the revolting interior decor and so far the business concluded in it had been successful and they hadn’t contracted food poisoning.

Robbie and James had arrived early and were enjoying a beer, eating peanuts and chatting when the door was flung open by a tubby waitress with a ruddy face. Jiang entered with the junior minder.

He walked over, shook James and Robbie by the hand and smiled an evil smile that revealed a mouth full of teeth blackened through a combination of chain smoking and lack of cleaning.

Jiang was the first to speak. ‘Goo’ evenin’ gen’men, sorry we’re late. The traffic in Beijing gets worse every day.’

‘It’s a pleasure to see you, Jiang,’ said Robbie calling him by his family name as he had been asked to do when talking to the man in London. ‘You are right, the traffic gets worse each time I come here. I sometimes wonder where all the money comes from,’ Robbie continued, starting the conversation off on a topic that he knew would be continued later in the evening.

James over-ordered the food, carefully selecting a number of expensive dishes to flatter Jiang, and opened a bottle of XO brandy. He splashed a large quantity into everyone’s glass without asking. Jiang turned to the waitress and ordered a Seven-Up – which, in true Chinese style, he added to the vintage cognac.

They worked through the meal talking in English about many topics but making no mention of the sugar proposal. James and Robbie kept on glancing at the minder, who paid no attention to the conversation but ate and drank voraciously.

Finally the food was finished, and Jiang sat back in his chair belching with satisfaction and picking his teeth with a wooden tooth pick. He looked sharply at the minder, who said something in Mandarin to Jiang and then spoke for the first time in over one hour.

‘Please excuse but I have to go now. Long way home. Sorry. Thank you for food. Goodbye.’

He stood up, his face the colour of a beacon, swayed slightly, shook Robbie and James by the hand while bowing slightly and stumbled out of the room.

Robbie waited a few seconds and then asked quietly, ‘So what do you think of our proposal, Jiang?’

‘I think I would like hear more about detail. Precise detail.’

Both Robbie and James knew that the next part of the conversation had to be dealt with extremely diplomatically. Jiang was only interested in how much he could make, and how the amount could be hidden from prying eyes on the mainland. If the business went wrong, Jiang could easily end up behind bars. That was the easy option. He needed to know the details of the transaction, however, and these had to be discussed in a clinical manner so that the whole arrangement was made to seem matter of fact and he did not feel uneasy.

‘We thought it might be interesting if the transaction took place through a company in Hong Kong,’ said James, and then, lowering his voice, ‘Ever Rich Limited, I believe.’

Jiang looked nervously around the room at the mention of the shell company he had set up in Hong Kong while working in London, and through which several transactions had already passed, giving him a healthy balance at Banque du Rhône in Geneva. He nodded without speaking.

‘We could arrange this along with the relevant banking services if it would help? This would be done in the same manner as we organised previously.’

Another nod.

‘The service fee earned by Ever Rich would be one per cent.’

‘Two,’ snapped Jiang, looking wild.

‘No,’ said James firmly. ‘I’m sorry, Jiang, but the nature of this transaction doesn’t allow such a large fee, although I know this is what Ever Rich has earned in the past. Ever Rich could possibly earn up to one and a half per cent for its services. If you consider the total amount that the company would earn of over $4 million given the size of the contract base, we hope you will find the business attractive.’

Jiang thought and calculated. This money, plus what was already in Switzerland, came to nearly $8 million. Enough to make the investment in the London hotel he was considering along with some other Chinese cronies. ‘Okay.’

‘A deal?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good.’

The men all shook hands, and gulped the remainder of the brandy. Jiang then left hurriedly without any more comment.

Robbie and James smiled at each other and waited until Jiang was well out of earshot. ‘I thought we’d agreed to offer him two and settle at two and a half per cent,’ said Robbie.

‘I know, but I really don’t like the bastard, and the feeling got worse during the meal,’ said James.

‘Quite understandable,’ laughed Robbie. ‘Whatever it is, a large chunk is going to have to go back to Clyde and Clyde anyway. He still owes a bundle on sugar futures deals that he did in his personal capacity and lost on when he was in London. Shitty little rat.’

‘A little rat with a big appetite,’ said James. ‘Come on. Let’s get out of this horrible place and go and have a nightcap to celebrate. I need to look at some people with clean teeth.’