in Fuzhou.”
“Why?”
“That’s where the major smuggling rings are based,” replied Mitch. “Quite a few used to be in Changle City, but there was a brief government crackdown, so they moved.”
“Just like that?”
“You have to understand, smuggling humans is big, big business,” said Mitch. “One of the feds I’m dealing with told me it’s now a billion dollars annually, with some smugglers making as much as thirty mil a year.”
Cape let out a low whistle. “That’s a lot of yuan .”
“That’s right,” nodded Mitch, “especially since it’s almost eight yuan to the dollar these days—so bribing local officials doesn’t break the bank. Neither does moving your base of operations. Plus, there’s prestige involved.”
“Prestige?” Cape wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly.
“If someone makes the journey, then their family back in China gains in stature,” explained Mitch. “And if they can send money back to their family, even better. So these smugglers aren’t necessarily regarded as criminals, at least not by the people they’re smuggling.”
Cape wanted to ask Mitch more about that—about China—but he forced himself to stay on track.
“How’s it work?” he asked.
“Say you make your way to Fuzhou,” said Mitch. “Or you’re from Fuzhou to begin with. You save up sixty bucks for a bus to Guangzhou, where you’re put on a freighter bound for Hong Kong or the U.S. directly. You’re smuggled into the country, then you’re put in a safe house until you can find work or get papers or contact family, depending on the situation.”
“How much?”
“The folks back there,” said Mitch, jerking his chin toward the barracks, “were on the hook for thirty grand.”
Cape almost gasped. “Each?”
“You bet,” said Mitch, adding, “I told you it was big business.”
“How can they possibly come up with that kind of money?”
“One of two ways,” replied Mitch. “Family that’s already here, who borrow against everything they have to bring other family members over, one at a time. That’s option one.”
“And option two?” Cape feared he already knew the answer.
“You become someone’s property.”
“Property,” said Cape, the word as cold and dispassionate as the concept itself.
Mitch chewed his lower lip before giving Cape a cynical smile. “You didn’t think China was the only place with sweatshops, did you?”
“So they work as slaves,” said Cape, “getting room and board, until their debt is paid off?”
Mitch nodded. “Keeps the prices down in Chinatown,” he said sarcastically. “Good for tourism.”
“Why do they do it?” asked Cape. “I thought things were getting better in China.”
“Better is relative,” replied Mitch. “But you’re right, it’s easier to emigrate legally from some cities today, depending on how much guanxi you have.”
“What?”
“Connections,” said Mitch. “You know an official you can bribe, or you’re related to an inspector, then maybe you can get papers. But with no guanxi , the only way to get here is inside the baggage compartment.”
“Do they really know what they’re getting into?”
“No, they don’t,” said Mitch. “And in most cases, the journey isn’t that bad. Refugees are flown by plane to South America, then sail up the coast. And they’re generally treated well, considering. But ships like this, with people crammed in the hold like animals…it still happens.”
Cape stared at the bay, trying to imagine being that desperate, wanting to escape something that badly.
Mitch seemed to read his mind. “You know what they call the United States in China?”
Cape shook his head.
“ Meiguo ,” replied Mitch. “That’s Mandarin for ‘beautiful country.’ America might have lost sight of the American Dream, but these people are praying for it every night of their lives. You have no idea what life is like over there, even on a good day.”
Cape detected an