Flood Tide

“You crafty dog,” she murmured. “You knew all along he would seek us out.”

“Shang didn't get where he's at without a healthy dose of curiosity.”

Obediently, they followed Qin Shang through the milling congregation until he came to the costumed giant who opened the door for him. They entered a room unlike the heavily furnished and decorated one they just left. This room was modest and austere. The walls were merely painted in a soft blue. The only furnishings were a settee, two chairs and a desk whose surface was barren except for a telephone. He motioned for them to sit on the settee as he took his place behind the desk. Pitt was amused to see that the desk and chair were slightly elevated so that Qin Shang looked down at his visitors. “Forgive me for mentioning it,” Pitt said offhandedly, “but the bronze incense burner in the main entry. From the Liao dynasty, I believe.”

“Why yes, you are quite correct.”

“I assume you know that it's a fake.”

“You are most observant, Mr. Pitt,” said Qin Shang without taking offense. “The piece is not fake, but a well-executed replica. The original was lost in nineteen forty-eight during the war when the People's Army of Mao Tse-tung crushed the forces of Chiang Kai-shek.”

“The burner is still in China?”

“No, it was on a ship with many other ancient treasures stolen from my country by Chiang that were lost at sea.”

“The ship's final resting place is a mystery?”

“A mystery I have worked many years to solve. To find the ship and its cargo is my life's most passionate desire.”

“It's been my experience that shipwrecks are never found until they want to be found.”

“Very poetic,” Qin Shang said, pausing to glance at his watch. “I must return and tend to my guests so I'll be brief before I have my security people escort you to the door. Please tell me the purpose behind your uninvited presence.”

“I thought the purpose was transparent,” Pitt replied conversationally. “Ms. Lee and I wanted to meet the man we're going to hang.”

“You're very succinct, Mr. Pitt. I appreciate that in an adversary. But it is you who will be a casualty in the war.”

“What war is that?”

“The economic war between the People's Republic of China and the United States. A war for extraordinary power and wealth for the wi

“I have no ambitions on that score.”

“Ah, but I do. That's the difference between us and between our countrymen. Like most of the rabble in America, you lack determination and zeal.”

Pitt shrugged his shoulders. “If greed is your god, then you possess very little of true value.”

“You think of me as a greedmonger?” Qin Shang asked pleasantly.

“I've seen little of your lifestyle that persuades me otherwise.”

“All the great men of history were driven by ambition. It goes hand in hand with power. Contrary to public opinion, the world is not divided by good and evil, but between those who do and those who do not, the visionaries and the blind, the realists and the romanticists. The world does not turn on good deeds and sentiment, Mr. Pitt, but on achievement.”

“What do you ultimately hope to gain in the end besides a pretentious edifice over your coffin?”

“You misunderstand me. My goal is to help China become the greatest nation the world has ever known.”

“While you become even more filthy-rich than you already are. Where does it end, Mr. Shang?”

“There is no end, Mr. Pitt.”

“You'll have a tough fight on your hands if you think China can surpass the United States.”

“Ah, but the deed is done,” Qin Shang said matter-of-factly. “You country has died a slow death as a world power while my country is in its ascendancy. Already we have passed the United States to become the largest economy in history. Already we have passed your trade deficit with Japan. Your government is impotent despite its nuclear arsenal. Soon it will be unthinkable for your leaders to intervene when we assume control of Taiwan and the rest of the Asian nations.”

“So what does it really matter?” asked Pitt. “You'll still be playing catch-up to our standard of living for the next hundred years.”

“Time is on our side. Not only will we erode America from the outside, but with the help of your own countrymen we will eventually cause it to crumble from within. If nothing else, future division and internal race wars will seal your fate as a great nation.”

Pitt began to see Qin Shang's direction. “Aided and abetted by your doctrine of illegal immigration, is that it?”

Qin Shang looked at Julia. “Your Immigration and Naturalization Service estimates that nearly a million Chinese enter America and Canada legally and illegally each year. Actually, the figure is closer to two million. While you concentrated on keeping out your neighbors to the south, we have been flooding masses of my countrymen across the sea and across your shoreline. One day, sooner than you think, your coastal states and the Canadian provinces will be an extension of China.”

To Pitt the concept was inconceivable. “I'll grade you with an A for wishful thinking and an F for practicality.”

“Not as ridiculous as you may think,” Qin Shang said patiently. “Consider how the boundaries of Europe have changed in the past hundred years. Migration through the centuries has shattered old empires and built new, only to have them fall again from new waves of migrants.”

“An interesting theory,” said Pitt. “But a theory nonetheless. The only way for your scenario to become reality is for the American people to lie down and play dead.”

“Your countrymen have slept through the nineteen nineties,” Qin Shang replied, a visceral, even menacing quality in his voice. “When they finally wake up, it will be a decade too late.”

“You paint a grim picture for humanity,” said Julia, visibly shaken.

Pitt went silent. He did not have the answer nor was he Nostradamus. His brain told him that Qin Shang's prophecy might indeed come to pass. But his heart refused to reject hope, He came to his feet and nodded at Julia. “I think we've heard enough of Mr. Shang's meaningless drivel. It's plain to see that he's a man who loves to hear himself talk. Let's clear out of this architectural monstrosity and its phony decor and breathe fresh air again.”

Qin Shang leaped to his feet. “You dare mock me,” he snarled.

Pitt moved to the desk and leaned across the surface until his face was bare inches away from Qin Shang's. “Mock you, Mr. Shang? That's putting it mildly. I'd rather have my Christmas stocking filled with cow dung than listen to your retarded philosophy on future affairs.” Then he took Julia's hand. “Come on, we're out of here.”

Julia made no effort to move; she appeared dazed. Pitt had to pull her along behind him. At the doorway he paused and looked back.

“Thank you, Mr. Shang, for a most provocative evening. I enjoyed your excellent champagne and seafood, especially the abalone.”

The Chinese's face was tight and cold, twisted in a mask of malevolence. “No man speaks to Qin Shang in this ma

“I'm sorry for you, Shang. On the surface you are fabulously rich and almighty, but underneath you're only a self-made man who worships his inventor.”

Qin Shang fought to regain control of his emotions. When he spoke, his voice came as though out of an arctic mist. “You have made a fatal error, Mr. Pitt.”

Pitt smiled thinly. “I was about to say the same about the two cretins you sent to kill me earlier this evening.”

“Another time, another place, you may not be so fortunate.”

Pitt said coldly, “Just so we keep a level playing field, please be advised that I have hired a team of professional assassins to terminate you, Mr. Shang. With luck, we'll never meet again.”

Before Qin Shang could respond, Pitt and Julia were walking through the mass of guests toward the front entrance. Julia discreetly opened her purse, held it close to her face as though searching for cosmetics and spoke into the tiny radio.