Michael Wee lowered his voice. “Okay, there’s an organization in Beijing called the Military Industry Committee of China, known as MICC, for short. It’s connected to the military, and it’s run by a three-star general. On all the really big national deals—like commercial aircraft or the communications deal—you have to go through MICC. You negotiate the basic price with them—let’s say it’s ten billion dollars. Then their guy comes back and tells you they will pay thirteen billion. The extra three billion is MICC’s share—a lump-sum bribe, which they will distribute to all the palms that need to be greased. It’s a way of converting the public treasury to private use.”

“How do you know where to send the three billion?”

“MICC tells you exactly where it should go—to accounts in Hong Kong or the British Virgin Islands or New Caledonia or wherever. They tell the seller which agents will handle the money. I know a recent deal where the Chinese were buying a billion dollars’ worth of airplane parts. The leading bidder was a subsidiary of a big U.S. company. MICC told them where to pay the commission, but they refused. So the contract went to another company. That’s the problem for American companies. They can’t play the game by the Chinese rules.”

“But the French can—” I said.

“Yes, indeed, and the money begins to add up. Take the communications deal. On most Chinese business it’s safe to assume that the payoffs amount to at least five percent of the deal. Often it’s a lot more, but let’s be conservative. On a thirty-billion deal, that amounts to one and a half billion in bribes! Now, when you have that much graft, some of the money is going to stick to the fingers of the people handing it out.”

“Kickbacks, you mean. People keep dropping hints to me about money that will be kicked back to France as part of the communications deal, but I haven’t found anyone who really knows anything.”

“Now you have.” He smiled, like a ponytailed Buddha. “I know because I’ve counseled some of the people that are involved. But I’m not talking.” He held a finger to his lips.

I looked around the restaurant. Most of the other diners had left. Some waiters were standing a dozen yards away. Had they been listening to our conversation?

“Is it safe to tell you what I’m working on?” I asked.

Michael thought a while. “No, it isn’t safe to tell me, and I don’t want to know. It’s dangerous here. People don’t play by American rules. The French don’t, and the Chinese certainly don’t. If you get in trouble, I’ll try to help. But my best legal advice is: Don’t get caught. The Chinese show no mercy to people who are unlucky.”