Apocalypse Drift (56 page)

Huang opened the book. Inside the hardbound cover, several pages had been neatly carved out, resulting in a small rectangular storage compartment. Lying flush within the paper-container was a thumb drive that could be plugged into the computer residing on his desk. He had imitated the clandestine storage method after seeing an old western spy movie some years
ago. It made him feel stealthy and calmed his nerves - somewhat.

Mr. Fu’s shaking hands fumbled with the small object, having to make two attempts to remove
it from its paper hiding place. Throwing one more nervous look at the door, he inserted the drive into the computer and began typing in the three levels of password security required to access the data.

His computer monitor changed to display a neatly organized spreadsheet containing rows and columns of numbers. He had named the file “Future,” because that’s what was stored inside – his future.

Fu Machine and Tool had been in business for 17 years. Mr. Fu had started the firm in a small shack-like structure on the outskirts of Shanghai after graduating from university. A second-hand drill press and small lathe were the first equipment, purchased with a government grant from a British-owned facility in Hong Kong.

Huang still had those original machines, now sitting clean and freshly painted in the lobby of his 11,000 square meter factory. Practically museum pieces when initially acquired, those two simple devices had been the beginning of a new chapter in his life. He would miss walking by them every morning on his way to the office.

While he waited for the numbers to update on his screen, Huang thought about what would happen if his actions were discovered by the authorities. Technically, what he was doing was illegal in so many ways, yet by the strict code of the law, building Fu Machine and Tool had been a violation as well. It was all so confusing.

His primary education was strictly communist. The state owned all industry, and the people worked to contribute to the common good of everyone. By the time he entered secondary school, the lines became blurred. When China regained control of Hong Kong in 1997, everything started changing rapidly.

At first the authorities had looked the other way when a few, daring, young entrepreneurs had started cottage businesses to supplement their income. Inspired by their cousins to the south, the tsunami of privatization rolling north from the former British colony had been unstoppable.

Huang shook his head thinking about those early days. The apprehension he felt over his secret data store was nothing compared to what those early adaptors had endured. He still marveled at the change
he had witnessed during his lifetime.

Mr. Fu understood timing was important in all matters of life
, and his business timing had been perfect. His endeavor had ridden a wave of new freedoms fueled by economic growth and his country’s determination to play a role on the global stage. At first, other Chinese firms had been his customers. Machining simple bicycle parts had led to more complex work for the military. His quality and timely delivery resulted in additional orders – large orders.

A trade fair in Shanghai was the first time he’d met an American. The odd man fit several of the stereotypes he had heard about westerners, but was also different in many ways. The American wanted to place an order for tractor parts. A lot of tractor parts.

The permits, paperwork and general bureaucracy had been a struggle, but he waded through, determined to grow his business. In four months, Mr. Fu received an export license and never looked back.

In two years, America was his biggest customer. After four years, he exported more than what he sold domestically. After ten years, he didn’t even bother with domestic orders. The profit margin realized by selling goods to other Chinese firms just wasn’t worth it.

FM&T grew to over 200 employees in just 10 years, reaching a peak of 380 just a year ago. The Fu family remained humble with their newfound wealth. Their flat was more expansive than many, but not enough to flaunt their success. Fu registered on the list to acquire an automobile just like millions of other citizens. He waited months before his name came to the top of the list, only then to be offered a substandard product. Mr. Fu graciously accepted delivery of the unreliable, featureless automobile even though he could easily afford to purchase the most expensive German model and have it imported.

Over time, the frustration with the vacillating direction of the government began to set in. He was part of a growing upper class of successful individuals who were responsible with improving the lives of their fellow citizens, yet he couldn’t relax and enjoy the fruits of his labor. The communist leadership was always a dark cloud looming on the horizon. No one could predict how strong the storm would be…how much wind, lightening and rain it would generate. Some thought it would simply blow over without harm. Others hunkered down and waited for intense destruction. The Communist Party was always the shadowy figure looming in the background - a stifling presence at best; a deadly threat at worst.

The new upper class of China began to network. They initially banded together in a brotherhood of growth, always communicating under the premise of trying to improve the lives of their employees – and the communist system. Over time, it became a complete façade. The deep undercurrent of their cult-like activity became prosperity. Emails, social networks and face-to-face meetings may have appeared innocent enough to any authority peering in, but in truth there was an embedded secret code that could only be deciphered by those who had tasted success.

Huang orbited around the core of this new society. He wasn’t a brave man – definitely not a
political risk-taker. His primary motivation was to build things and expand the lifestyle of his family. He had no interest in political or social change. Over the years, he justified the eavesdropping and fringe involvement as a means to grow his company. Any inquiry by the authorities could be answered with the plausible justification of making new contacts to increase business and help the people. In many ways, it was truthful. All of that gradually changed as FM&T continued to grow.

There had been a few watershed events leading to his ultimate corruption. His first trip to Europe had been one of the early experiences. A wide-eyed, young factory owner, the five-day trade expo in Belgium had exposed Huang to the power and capabilities of the West. His first trip to America had almost blown his mind. He realized that his fellow business owners were telling more truth than the government. The West was already where his countrymen wanted to be, in fact, the evil democracies were light years ahead. If capitalism and free enterprise were so terrible, why had these forms of government enabled such advancement? This question troubled him, leading into the deep analysis necessary to reconcile his empirical evidence of the success of western culture and the evil image communism gave it. Mr. Fu was uncomfortable with the results of that examination. He didn’t know what to do – couldn’t come up with any plan. The internal struggle was pushed deep below the surface
of his psyche and hidden in the innermost compartments of his being. That was the only thing more secure in his life than the data appearing on his screen.

Eight months ago, everything had been flipped upside down. His
biggest customer, America, had collapsed in just a few days. His accounts receivable, almost 100% owed from US customers, was wiped out in less than a week. The newscasts made it clear that he had little hope of ever getting paid.

Then the Americans pointed their military toward China. Like most other citizens of the Red Nation, patriotism and pride had overridden any business concerns. That initial swell of nationalism soon dissipated, however. The Americans never attacked, and business dried up.

Mr. Fu removed the thumb drive and inserted it back into its hiding place. After returning the book to the shelf, he leaned back in his chair and recalled those troubled days.

The strongest image in his mental playback was of the hundreds of employees at
FMT, standing around with nothing to do. Each day they would clock in, greeting each other as they streamed into the plant. There were no orders, nothing to be made. Any maintenance, cleaning or other make-work had been completed days ago. The plant was as spotless as it had ever been. Having nothing to do, the workers had simply reported to their assigned work area and waited, silently watching the clock. The supervisors and low-level managers had joined them in the ghost-like ritual.

After a few days of this inactivity, Huang started sending people home. No orders meant no work and no pay. That was just how a business worked…or so he thought. The following day, an official from the Ministry of Commence arrived to speak with Huang. Why had he sent his workers home? Why weren’t they going to receive any wages?

“There are no orders, sir. My customers were in America and have stopped purchasing from us.” Huang had replied.

The government representative glared at Huang like he was from Mars. “I do not understand, Mr. Fu. Why don’t you just make what you make for someone else?”

“Who?”

“Well, I’m not sure. How did you find the American customers?”

“It took years to develop those customers, sir. I can’t just magically make new ones appear.”

“This is of no consequence. You will not be allowed to terminate your employees. This is a violation. I suggest you begin replacing your customers as soon as possible. In the meantime, your workers are to return to the job, and they will be paid.”

Huang had held his tongue, wanting to lambast the idiot. In his most polite tone he asked, “Sir, where will I get the money to pay my employees? Our firm doesn’t have those types of deposits on hand. We will run out of cash within days.”

The official had dismissed the business owner, clearly frustrated with the conversation. “That is not my problem, Mr. Fu. Find a way, or my next visit will be more serious.”

Huang had secured a loan from the Central Bank having to put his state-of-the-art machine tools up as collateral. He had been tempted at one point to use his personal finances to keep the business open, but even his considerable wealth wouldn’t pay 350 people for an extended period of time.

What followed was a whirlwind series of trips to India, Japan, South Korea and Australia. For an entire month, Huang had traveled the globe looking for new customers, but none were found. The downfall of America and the overhanging threat of nuclear war had practically crushed every potential market. Most countries were focused on keeping their own labor force working, not importing goods from China.

Despite all of his hard work, very few orders trickled in to FMT. Those that came in were low profit, modest projects - insulting to the advanced capabilities of his operation. Eventually he was granted permission to gradually reduce his labor force. It was his banker who spoke to the Ministry of Commerce and provided an out.

Three months ago, the Americans finally attacked, but not with bullets or bombs. Business completely withered, and the fledgling foreign customers he had been nurturing simply vanished. It was an Australian shipbuilder who broke the bad news. “I’m sorry, Mr. Fu, but I’ve received quotes from an American facility that are 20% lower than your proposal.”

At first Huang had thought the man was simply being racist - giving other white men an unfair advantage. Then his network of colleagues began reporting similar competition from America. Huang found out that that without having to pay taxes, the US firms could undercut practically anyone. America was back, and with no taxation, the world was rushing to her doorstep.

Following the pack wasn’t always a bad thing
, he mused. Many times, people joined what was better or provided a superior solution for all the right reasons. He had to admit, doing business without government interference or the looming threat of being imprisoned at any time was appealing. Not having to give the wasteful bureaucracy its annual stipend of his income was even a stronger draw.

Huang had begun the clandestine process of relocation. The first challenge had been to get his money out of China without drawing attention to the effort. His personal wealth had always been diversified into several different assets, gold being one of them. His reserves of bullion had been shipped to Japan a few days ago, hidden inside of a fake order of parts and now residing in a bonded warehouse.

Gradually, slowly, he had shifted his investments. Several visits to the American Express office in Shanghai had resulted in a handful of pre-paid debit cards – each worth almost $100,000 in US dollars. Banks in Canada, New Zealand, and Panama had all received large deposits - the transfer of funds being disguised as payment for raw material or spare parts purchases.

Two days ago, his wife and children flew to Japan to attend a trade show. He would meet them there tomorrow and never return to China. A new home in Houston had already been purchased. It was five
kilometers from the new plant where crews were already installing the latest machining technology available. There was even the promise of a proper automobile.

FMT
was going to be resurrected, this time in the United States. Huang believed his experience, drive and skill could rebuild his company. He also believed the US was the best place to do so.

Mr. Fu sighed and reached for his computer’s keyboard
for the last time. He queued a program purchased over the internet a few weeks ago - the new software promising to erase and scramble the machine’s memory beyond recovery.