Saigon Red

by Gregory C. Randall

  CHAPTER 16

  Lake Simcoe, Canada

  Ralph stood at the window of the Lake Simcoe house. The ice had retreated over the previous weeks but still held to the center of the lake. The grass was starting to turn from gray-brown to a color that hinted at life. He was beginning to develop the same thing he’d felt in prison: isolation. An ex-cop in prison had few friends, and more enemies than he wanted to count. He’d been a scalp to be collected, a number to the guards, and a potential bounty to a few of the smarter cons. He’d avoided all of them. They’d had nothing he wanted.

  He had grown tired of the laptop, so he’d ordered a larger desktop computer with a huge monitor and had set it up on a folding table in the second bedroom—his operations room, he called it. The wall held taped pictures, notes, photos he’d downloaded, and a calendar he’d mark in red the days he was sure she was at the house. She had been gone for nearly two months, and back for just three days.

  Earlier Alex had walked through the kitchen with her sister-in-law, Annie. A witch if there ever was one. No matter how he’d try and charm the family, he could never get past the wives. Alex’s two brothers were solid rocks, and they’d married similar women. The women and his ex were tight.

  The current image on the screen was of an empty garage. He was pissed. He’d watched his ex-wife and a man, older than her, walk around his yellow 1972 Dodge Challenger. The man had opened the hood, pointed, and then climbed into the front seat. When he got out he was smiling. They had spent a few more minutes together and then shook hands.

  His pride and joy was gone. It had taken him two years to find this car, and another year and twenty grand to make it right. Hell, the paint job itself cost five thousand. Now she’d sold it. He didn’t even want to think what she got for it. Then again, she got everything in the divorce. Then he thought about the accounts in the Caymans and Zurich—he could buy a dozen Challengers if he wanted to.

  He guessed that Alex was selling the house. She’d been moving things to the garage—furniture, boxes, bags, even a couple of rolled-up carpets. Then today, Friday morning, along with her Harley, it was all loaded into a box truck. He assumed that it was going into storage. He considered calling and finding out what was happening, but thought better of it.

  He ran the video back to when she’d dumped her mail, grocery bags, and a Barnes & Noble bag on the counter. He watched as she flipped through the mail, setting the usual keepers to one side and the toss-outs to the other. Then she removed the books and stacked them next to the mail. She left for a moment to make herself a cup of coffee.

  Ralph took a snapshot with the software and enlarged the image. He could read the spines of the three books: one was yellow and black and read Vietnam, the next was green and read Ho Chi Minh City, and the last, with a blue spine, read Lonely Planet: Vietnam. He printed out the enlarged image.

  Why the interest in Vietnam? And old Saigon too. Years before he’d married Alex, and before he’d joined the Cleveland Police Department, he’d spent a few years wasting his youth in Vietnam and Saigon. By the mid-1990s, he’d smoked a lot of dope, experimented a little with heroin and women, met a few characters, and more importantly found associates that shared an interest in the drug business.

  Vietnam was different now, very different. Capitalism and business ran the communist country. His old connections were still there, though, and he used them. They had improved their logistics and supply chains. Product from Vietnam, black tar heroin, was easily transported to Cleveland. Millions of shipping containers moved around the world every day, and most people didn’t care what was in them. And he also knew, with proper management of drug sales and distribution, it was a road to success and riches. That is, unless you were caught or killed. It was this way all around the world: the business model didn’t change much from Saigon to Kiev to Paris to Cleveland. He knew he’d screwed up when he started getting greedy and getting Cleveland kids involved.

  He returned to the Teton Security and Defense website. While it was brief and vague, there was a paragraph and a photo on the third page, about international operations. The photo showed the president, Christopher Campbell. Ralph recognized the spot where the photo was taken, a park on the Saigon River in downtown Saigon.

  Saigon. Is that it, baby? You took a job with a security company and are going to Vietnam? I think a few calls are in order.

  CHAPTER 17

  Annie and Julie dropped by Saturday and helped move another piece of furniture Alex was keeping to the garage. There were also more boxes of clothes, linens, and dishware. Alex said that was the last of it. One box held a collection of books, as few as there were, and some serious heavy-metal albums. Julie mentioned how very different a box of her CDs would be from Alex’s.

  “Remember, I had brothers,” Alex said. “Younger, but they had to learn from someone.”

  “Yes, and their taste in music still sucks,” Julie said. “At least I know where they got it. The boys, I have no idea what they’re listening to. And if I do, I can’t understand it. The music from the eighties is so dreamy, and those Pet Shop Boys.”

  “Really, Pet Shop? You are an old lady,” Annie said. “I’m a Bruce Springsteen girl. What more can be said?”

  “One word,” Alex answered. “Metallica.”

  “Really?” both sisters-in-law said together.

  They finished separating out what would be moved to the garage. Rick and John would move the rest of the furniture and boxes from the garage into the storage unit after she left.

  Her brother John thought the Escape would make a good car for his oldest in a year or so, so she sold it to him. But she didn’t give it to him just yet, as it would come in handy for moving her things. She was glad she wouldn’t be here. Julie said she would want to keep more stuff than she should.

  Two days before Alex was to leave for Milan, she sat at the kitchen table. The contract to sell the house—through a broker friend of Annie’s—was signed. All she needed to do was drop it off at the real estate office. After she returned from the Saigon operation, she would find an apartment. There was something about all this that gave her a feeling of peace. One more reminder of Ralph gone.

  The door chimed. It had to be her mom. But she opened it and found Chris Campbell on her doorstep.

  Alex looked at her boss, perplexed.

  “Nice neighborhood,” he said. “May I come in?”

  She moved to one side. “Yeah, sure.”

  He breezed past her and walked into the living room, looking around at the furniture. Pink tags were stuck to many of their surfaces.

  “I remember when I did this with the CIA. It was after one of my tours. God, that was more than twenty years ago. Tagged stuff to sell and moved with the leftovers. Each assignment after that, I took less. The government was a stickler about how much you could move. You learn not to value things. Then I got married and settled down.” He looked at the boxes and labels. “It’s people that you can’t put a tag on. You have a beer or a drink around here?”

  Alex kept staring at Chris as she crossed the living room and went into the kitchen. He followed. She took two Rolling Rocks from the refrigerator.

  “I haven’t had one of these since college,” Chris said.

  “Nostalgic and cheap—they’ve been in there awhile,” Alex answered. They clinked bottles, and she took a long pull. “Why are you here, Chris?”

  “I heard from Javier. He’s still in Milan. He said to say hello. He said he’d like to see you.”

  “You could have sent an email or something.” She took another swig, squinted. “I never told him I’d be in Milan. Is that why you’re here? You think I broke your trust, told someone something I shouldn’t have?”

  “No, I told Javier where you’d be,” Chris said. “I’m not here to question your loyalty or integrity.”

  “All right then, what’s so important that you would come to Cleveland to talk to me face-to-face?”

  Chris stalled a moment, then took a long p
ull of his beer. “I have a problem. I hired you because you have the skills to be a good operative. As I’ve said before, your years as a cop and detective are talents that most of my recruits don’t have. I value those abilities more than you can imagine.”

  “Then why the babysitting job?” Alex said. “Doesn’t seem like the best use of my skills. I took it out of gratitude and maybe for the adventure, but you seem to be implying something else.”

  “Yes, the Luccheses are your official charge and assignment. But there’s something not right in Team Red. Too many coincidences. Too many thefts and data breaches. Some were our clients, some were tangential. I can’t go into detail, but there are enough compromises that I’m very concerned. The real reason you’re going to Saigon is simple: I want you to find out what’s wrong and report back to me so it can be fixed. You’re the only person I can trust in this operation.”

  “Me? I’ve barely cashed a TSD paycheck, and you’re telling me I’m trusted.” She pulled two more beers from the refrigerator. “You want me to spy on my own team?”

  “Yes, and this is not one of my tests. I lost two friends a few months ago in Saigon. You saw their faces on the wall at the Country Club. They were good people. Experienced too—for someone to get the drop on them, to surprise them, was almost impossible. It had to be inside information. I believe they were set up and murdered, plain and simple.”

  “What happened?”

  Chris told her what he knew and speculated on the rest. “This infiltrator knew what to expect, knew exactly what time no one would be in the facility, and where everything was. He was fully prepared. He wore a type of night-vision goggles that we’ve never seen and was armed with a weapon we haven’t heard of. It fires bullets that, on contact, explode with the force of a hand grenade. He was also equipped with a drone, one that performs like an airborne motorcycle. During his escape, he outmaneuvered a helicopter and forced it down.”

  “A drone? Large enough to carry a man?”

  “Exactly! Jake and Harry have been trying for months to figure out what went wrong.”

  “One man managed all this?”

  “Yes, our Far East sources believe he’s a Chinese agent of Vietnamese heritage. He is on every wanted spy list across the world. Some have issued orders to shoot to kill. The others, including the CIA, want to break him down and find out what he knows. Our people believe he’s working for the Chinese army or a similar organization and is primarily used in industrial espionage. We determined that he downloaded everything that was on the server and transmitted it to his people. You saw in Texas the curious high-tech merchandise he left at the site, the item that destroyed itself after it transmitted the data. We still haven’t completely cracked it.”

  “He has a name?”

  “Some in the governments of the Far East call him Con Ma, the Ghost.”

  Alex looked at Chris. “Really? The Ghost! Jake talked about the intruder in the Saigon facility at the ranch. So, there really is this person?”

  “There’s a superstitious vein that runs through Eastern religions, particularly Buddhism. This man has struck at least a dozen times, probably more. The victims do not want the authorities to learn that their security was breached. Just like this incident—we too are keeping it close to the vest. Just a few people outside of Teton Security and the client know. I’ve never been fired, and I hope to change their minds. That’s my problem.”

  “But it wasn’t our fault.”

  “In for a penny, in for a pound. We should have stopped it.”

  “You said someone may have passed on security information, someone within Teton?”

  “Yes, the operation in Saigon was compromised. Everything about the technology facility was under our care. Outside of the client, only we knew anything about it. Someone said something. My immediate reaction is that it can’t be anyone on our team, so it must be someone on the client’s. They want to blame us. That’s the easy way. I convinced them that they needed to also consider their own house. A few months before the break-in, one of their senior engineers failed to show up for a meeting. He was on the team developing a drone-like product. He was found floating in the Saigon River, a small knife wound to the base of the back of his head. The Saigon police are investigating, but no one has been arrested.”

  “These guys play for keeps,” Alex said.

  “Yes, and I need to find out who did this. First, you will be babysitting—that is your cover story. However, I also want you to find out what the hell is going on and report back to me. Only me. Do not let anyone else know what’s going on. Probe and question. You’re good at that. Second, do not take any action. Contact me, and I’ll direct you.”

  He pulled a phone from his pocket and handed it to her.

  “This has a high-security scrambler built into it. It cannot be cloned and cannot be compromised. The access code is taped to the back. Memorize it. Then destroy the code. Failure to get the code right twice will crash the device. Use it anytime to reach me, and I mean anytime. I will not call you unless under dire circumstances.”

  “Do you have any ideas?”

  “Some, but you’re the detective. If I say anything, it might make you look the wrong way. Everyone is a suspect. Talk about this with no one. My fear is that this goes far beyond the Saigon operation. I cannot have any of the other operations screwed up.”

  “Can you tell me what was in the facility?”

  “Software under development for NATO. The tech facility is owned by Como Motors, our client. The warehouse location was temporary and known to just those working for the company and to me. Our people didn’t know what they were guarding; they thought it was next-generation technology for autonomous automobile software. Data worth something commercially—not military technology affecting NATO security. I wanted them to keep it in the cloud or in some type of blockchain, but NATO and Como were unsure. They didn’t trust the systems. Now they’re just pissed.”

  “You said this Ghost escaped from the scene on a cycle-drone type of vehicle?”

  “Yes, not long after the break-in and the murders. We assume he stayed on an adjacent roof because he was wounded. We think one of our people hit the man; they found blood in the warehouse and on the roof. There were also bits of paper and empty vials of antibiotics, painkillers, and even a stimulant on the roof. He knew what he was doing and was cool about it. He later knocked a Saigon police helicopter out of the air with a weapon similar to the one he used on our men. The drone-like vehicle is sophisticated and advanced technology. Como Motors was working on such a system. The murdered engineer was one of the chief designers. And according to the helicopter pilot, he would give it a lot more room next time.”

  “This Ghost, do you know what he looks like?”

  “We’re still reviewing internal CCTV footage. He wore a helmet during most of the operation, but we have his build and height, plus a few grainy face images that appear to match the other images we have from thefts in Hong Kong, Singapore, and San Jose.”

  “California?”

  “Yes, in San Jose it was proprietary data from a company that develops guidance systems for the air force’s Predator drones.”

  “This is a big deal.”

  “The biggest, and if one or more of my people are involved, I must know.”

  “Then what?”

  “That’s for me to decide.”

  Ralph’s computer pinged. After logging in, he checked his video feeds. For the next ten minutes, he watched a man talk with his wife in the kitchen. They both walked in and out of the camera’s view. Based on their body language, he could tell that they were discussing something serious. Both his wife—ex-wife, he corrected himself—and the man seemed on edge, even as they drank his Rolling Rock.

  He reminded himself of how cheap he’d been not to include microphones with the installation. The man looked familiar. Something about his professional appearance said authority. He snapped his fingers and went to the bookmark bar in his web browser. He
scrolled down and clicked.

  The website for Teton Security and Defense opened. He clicked to the personnel page and smiled: the top photo was of the same man in his kitchen, Christopher Campbell. The same man standing on the dock in Saigon.

  “So, Mr. Campbell, you are my darling Sandy’s boss. This adds a whole new meaning to the word two-timed.”

  CHAPTER 18

  The morning before leaving for Milan, Alex was having another breakfast at the diner when she received an unexpected, yet welcome, phone call. The screen read 007.

  “Good morning, cowboy,” she answered.

  “And good morning to you. It’s in the middle of the afternoon here. Chris tells me that you’re coming to Milan the day after tomorrow. Do you need a lift? Glad to pick you up.”

  “Working for Uber now?”

  “Cute, but if you want to pay me, I’m sure we can work something out.”

  “Now you’re just being a boor. It will be nice, though, to see a familiar face in a strange city.”

  “I’ve missed you,” Javier admitted.

  “And I’ve missed you . . . a lot. And yes, I get in early Saturday morning. After customs and luggage, I should be out around ten o’clock. You can buy me breakfast.”

  “Done and done.”

  A few minutes later, she called Campbell. “Javier wants to pick me up in Milan. I thought you should know.”

  “I told him when you would arrive. I could tell there was something irritating you. Maybe seeing him may help get your head right.”

  “Chris, my head is right. I appreciate your telling him. However, from now on, can we keep my business and personal lives separate? I like the guy—a lot. But if you want to keep my head in the game, let me control it. Is that acceptable?”

  There was a pause on Campbell’s end. “Got it, and I appreciate your candor. Thank you. He’s an old friend; I believed I was helping.”

  “I understand. Just stop for now. If I need help, I’ll ask. That okay? Are we good?”