MacLean
At Ki-jo's demand for a hundred thousand dollars, the back seat broke into a clamor. The louder they grew, the more closely he listened.
"Hey, MacLean. Did you hear the figure that Korean just named?"
"I heard it."
"Can we do it?"
"Out of the question. It runs far beyond what the president had in mind."
"And what did the president have in mind?"
"About ten thousand dollars."
Ten thousand dollars?
Ki-jo's face twisted. It was a mercy he sat in the passenger seat, where they could not see him. He was genuinely stricken. The sum was barely a sixth of what he had hoped for.
"Ten thousand?"
Mobius was no less disappointed. He was the star of Harvard's archaeology faculty, and the discovery that a mere ten thousand dollars had been allotted to him left his voice thick with letdown.
"Professor, before I came to Korea I looked into it. This country's average annual income doesn't even reach eighty dollars."
"Eighty dollars a year? And that bastard asked for a hundred thousand? A hundred thousand would keep him fed for a thousand years!"
Mobius grew so agitated the car seemed to rock with him. MacLean answered in a cool voice.
"The outrageous price is a negotiating tactic. There'll be room to bring it down."
Ki-jo was just as shocked by the figure Harvard had fixed, but from their talk he came away with one useful thing. Professor Mobius would decide only whether or not to buy the land. Authority over the money appeared to rest entirely with MacLean. Mobius was already desperate to buy. All that remained was haggling the price with MacLean.
And yet. Ten thousand is far too little....
He turned it over. Should I scrap the talks with Harvard and try Stanford and Yale instead?
The thought came and went. Stanford and Yale, though, had shown less sincerity than Harvard. All they had done was send a single letter asking him to write back with the sum he wanted. They might well name a figure even lower than Harvard, which had flown all the way to Korea at a stroke. Ki-jo judged that he should first push the negotiation with Harvard as far as it would go. He would step past Mobius and deal directly with MacLean, the man who actually handled the business.
He smoothed the disappointment from his face, turned toward the back seat, and put a question to Oguchi.
"Mr. Oguchi, does Mr. MacLean smoke?"
Oguchi, certain Ki-jo had overheard every word of their conversation, was thrown by the question out of nowhere.
"Ah—yes, yes. He does."
"I'd like a quiet word with Mr. MacLean over a cigarette. Might there be a suitable pretext?"
Oguchi considered a moment, then spoke.
"I'll suggest to Mr. MacLean that we step out for a smoke. Mr. Lee, come out slowly, in your own time."
"Understood. Thank you."
Oguchi mimed a cigarette with his fingers and turned to MacLean.
"Cigarette?"
"Okay, Oguchi."
The two men excused themselves to Professor Mobius and got out of the car. In the side mirror Ki-jo watched them move a little way off and light each other's cigarettes. Once he had them placed, he spoke to the driver.
"Whatever the professor in back says, answer only 'I don't know.'"
"Yes, Mr. Lee."
Ki-jo opened the passenger door and stepped out. Oguchi beckoned him over, and he came at an easy pace. As he drew near, Oguchi held out a cigarette as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"Thank you."
Oguchi's manner was cooperative. In return for having his dignity preserved, he was helping Ki-jo in earnest. Ki-jo drew the smoke deep, let it go, and spoke.
"Mr. Oguchi. Would you interpret for Mr. MacLean what I'm about to say?"
He was asking Oguchi to carry words he could perfectly well have spoken himself, so the man would not lose his place.
"Of course."
"Would you ask what, exactly, Mr. MacLean does at Harvard?"
"I manage Harvard University's endowment."
The answer came back.
"Would you ask what sort of fund he manages?"
"A university the size of Harvard can't be sustained on student tuition alone. Gifts from corporations and philanthropists have their limits as well. So people like me run an internal fund and supply the money the university needs—including the cost of unexpected matters, such as this one."
Ki-jo had followed MacLean in real time, but he nodded only after Oguchi finished interpreting. The extra step was a nuisance, yet he was glad of the added time to think. It pleased him to learn that MacLean was no mere accounting clerk. A man whose work was investment, he thought, would have more give than a bookkeeper.
Just then Professor Mobius rolled down the window and shouted for Oguchi.
"Hey! Oguchi! Get over here. This driver won't say a thing except that he doesn't know, and I'm about to lose my mind!"
"Yes, Professor!"
Oguchi begged a moment's leave and hurried back to the car. With no further need to save the interpreter's face, Ki-jo began to speak English without restraint.
"Mr. MacLean, the truth is that I speak English. I'd prefer that fact remain between the two of us."
MacLean started.
"Then you heard everything we said earlier."
"I did. I kept quiet so the interpreter you brought wouldn't be embarrassed. The Japanese are sensitive about face."
"Understood. We'll leave it at that."
Perhaps it came of making his living in investment; the man had a flexible mind. The chance that the offer Ki-jo had prepared would land seemed to have risen.
"I'm a businessman, and you're an investor. I expect there's ground where we understand each other."
"Of course. Business and investment are both a kind of transaction."
MacLean smiled, and Ki-jo took the smile as a sign that he was willing to bargain.
"From what I heard in the car, the president instructed you to close at ten thousand dollars or under."
"That's correct. Ten thousand is the ceiling. Above that figure I have no authority to negotiate."
"The gap is far too wide."
"It truly is. Even fifty thousand—the middle ground between ten and a hundred—is impossible. You should consider anything above ten thousand out of the question."
The man might be telling the truth, or he might not. Ki-jo wanted to sound him out.
"Would you mind if I dealt with Stanford or Yale instead of Harvard?"
At the note of threat, MacLean answered in earnest.
"Mr. Lee. I'm a Harvard man myself. All else equal, I'd rather a scholar of my own university make the discovery and build the academic reputation. But..."
MacLean ground out his cigarette and went on.
"A scholar's theory collapsing is an everyday thing in the academic world. Professor Mobius would take a hit, but it would be no great matter to Harvard."
Ha... Ki-jo sighed inwardly. The reasoning was altogether too sound. It even occurred to him that he might have set the price of the land at Jeongok-ri too high. There was a saying for it—drinking the kimchi broth while the man with the rice cake had never once thought of offering it.
He called up the MacLean he had watched at the Kansong Art Museum. Whatever attitude Mobius struck, whatever he said, MacLean had drifted alone and unhurried among the old works of art, looking wholly at ease. That unguarded ease was indirect proof that he did not, in fact, consider this deal important. Ki-jo could safely take the man's words as close to the truth.
He changed his strategy. This was the Plan B he had shaped in the car. He did not need to collect the full sixty thousand in cash at once. Ten thousand was already a great deal of money, and the remaining fifty thousand could be taken in another form. He needed funds now to finish the factory and to fight the war over bricks that was nearly upon him. This was a moment when timing mattered more than the sum.
"Mr. MacLean, the truth is I wanted sixty thousand dollars."
"That's... Mr. Lee. With money like that a man could buy six houses in America. It is by no means a small sum."
"If I can't take the whole sixty thousand in cash, I'd like to make an equivalent exchange by another means."
"An equivalent exchange?"
MacLean's head tipped slightly to one side.
"Give me only the ten thousand, and put the remaining fifty thousand toward Korean students of my choosing. Every year I'll send outstanding students to Harvard."
"You mean you want the fifty thousand as Harvard scholarships?"
"Yes. That's right."
Ki-jo laid out the proposal. When he sent a student to Harvard, the university would bear the Korean student's meals, books, dormitory fees, and the like. Then, at the close of each year, tuition and the cost of the student's stay would be subtracted from the fifty thousand owed to Ki-jo.
MacLean heard him out and nodded. He understood at once.
"Harvard would only have to add a modest cost. And American students wouldn't be harmed, would they? As I understand it, students who come to study from underdeveloped countries are managed outside the regular quota."
"Yes, that's correct. There's something along the lines of an educational aid program."
"And almost no money would actually leave Harvard's accounts."
"Quite so. You'd take only ten thousand in cash, and the rest would be paid as scholarships, so there's no burden on the finances. I'll put it to the president."
In truth, MacLean was surprised by the offer. The man who had seemed greedy for cash had abruptly turned from money to scholarships. He had expected Ki-jo to strain every nerve for a few dollars more, and the expectation had missed him cleanly. The proposal stood a very strong chance of coming to pass.
He had called the overturning of a scholar's theory an everyday matter, but the president would hardly want Stanford or Yale to be the ones who demolished a Harvard professor's theory. A Harvard scholarship was not the same thing as spending cash. They had only to slot in one more student and let tuition and dormitory fees eat away at the fifty thousand. The sum Ki-jo was asking for would sit on Harvard's books as a paper liability and then quietly disappear. The proposal was a way to keep from greatly overshooting the ceiling the president had set, while protecting Harvard's pride as well.
"I'll take it that you accept my proposal."
"Yes. I accept."
Ki-jo and MacLean sealed a provisional agreement with a handshake. The instant it ended, Ki-jo spoke.
"Mr. MacLean, may I add one more condition? This would be something in the nature of a side agreement..."
"A side agreement?"
"Yes. Separate from what we've settled with Harvard, I'd like to draw about another ten thousand from Professor Mobius personally."
"Is that absolutely necessary?"
"It still sits with me that Professor Mobius insulted Koreans across the board earlier."
"Ah. Professor Mobius was truly in the wrong there. I understand."
Once MacLean showed he understood, Ki-jo set out the plan.
"First I'll refuse Harvard's offer of ten thousand. Then I'll say that if Professor Mobius personally puts up another ten thousand, I'll sell the land."
"And I simply stay out of it?"
"Yes. You need only remain neutral. Even if I demand ten thousand, I expect Professor Mobius will pay it gladly."
"I rather think he will. Ha ha."
MacLean liked the plan. All the way from America through Japan to Korea he had suffered through Mobius's endless complaints, and he did not much care for the man himself. Of everyone he knew, Mobius was the worst racist. It was no surprise; the theory itself was founded on racial prejudice. The message carried in it was that Orientals had been incapable, ever since the Paleolithic, of possessing an advanced civilization.
Back in the car with MacLean, Ki-jo reopened the negotiation. As expected, Professor Mobius gave way easily. Hearing the terms, he turned on Oguchi.
"Tell him I understand! Tell him I'll put up ten thousand of my own! Tell him I'll keep my word, so for God's sake have him show me that damned land this instant!"
Ki-jo received the words through Oguchi, then answered.
"Please tell the professor that the moment the president's permission comes through, I'll escort him straight to the site."
Oguchi relayed it, and Professor Mobius looked to MacLean.
"Hey, MacLean. The president will allow it, won't he? The university and I each put up ten thousand, and that's the whole of it, isn't it? And the Korean students—we simply take them in, and there's an end."
"Yes, Professor. I expect the president will approve it readily."
Agreeing with Mobius, MacLean traded a brief glance with Ki-jo. As far as Ki-jo could tell, of the five people in the car, not a single one was on Professor Mobius's side.
He told the driver to head for Seoul. They were staying at the headquarters of the U.S. Eighth Army in Yongsan, which provided safe lodging whenever a person of influence came from America to Korea. Letting them out before the main gate of the Eighth Army base, Ki-jo felt a good premonition. He was certain his proposal would satisfy Harvard.
Ki-jo's Plan B was the cultivation of talent. When he learned that Harvard could offer only ten thousand dollars, the way ahead had gone dark for a moment. It had only been temporary—the shock of an expected profit shrinking before his eyes. Look farther, and the future showed itself. He was certain the students raised on that fifty thousand would one day return as talents who would earn him five million.