‘Do we have money for the bar?’ asked Dzung.
‘No.’
Dzung grinned, knowing he’d been had. ‘So I guess we keep on walking.’ He gave Manh another shrewd, measuring look. ‘What are you going to do with me when we get back to Sai Gon?’
‘When we get back,’ nodded Manh. ‘I like that. That’s a very good attitude, Mister Trong.’
‘Is there an answer?’
Manh shrugged casually. ‘It will all depend.’
‘On how much rice I sell?’
‘On how well you sell your rice.’
‘Then I will sell it very well, Manh.’
They were reaching the end of Patpong. Manh checked his watch, turning around to stroll back through the district one more time. He put his hand on Dzung’s shoulder again.
‘I know that,’ he said.
Chapter Thirty-Two
‘That will be Paul Archer,’ said Condley with a casual certainty.
Hanson Muir settled back into the large wicker chair. ‘And how do you know, oh mighty sleuth?’
‘He’s the only guy in Bangkok who would be wearing a pair of old leather-heeled Florsheim shoes.’
Muir listened to the approach of heels clicking on the marble tiles of the hotel lobby. They were sitting at a table in the Elephant Bar. It was eleven in the morning and they were alone in the bar, which was closed. But that was the reason Condley had asked Archer to meet them there.
‘It could be a woman in high heels,’ reasoned Muir.
‘No, Professor, a woman in high heels walks faster – click click click, you know, because she’s up on her toes. It’s a man.’
‘Bets,’ said Muir.
‘You buy beer tonight.’
‘Only if we go back to the Cezanne.’
Condley grinned indulgently. ‘You liked that place.’
‘Frog was a very sweet little woman.’ Muir caught himself. ‘OK, I liked her. But only as a friend. Somebody to talk to, you understand.’
‘A window into the culture, so to speak,’ said Condley.
‘Precisely,’ said the professor. ‘An anthropological discovery.’
‘Someone to be studied close-up, as it were.’
‘Brandon, you know I’m all talk.’
Archer turned in to the bar, dressed in his usual suit and tie, looking frazzled and carrying his briefcase. Condley exultantly turned to Muir. ‘I win.’
‘So you’re telling me I have to go back to that bar tonight?’
‘If you pay.’
‘Better leave Van back here at the hotel,’ winked Muir. ‘Your friend Simolzak plays a very fast hand.’
The two men stood, greeting Archer. From the stiffness of his expression and the abrupt manner in which he shook their hands, it was clear that the CIA agent was not very happy to be seeing them. He nodded curtly to them, taking a chair at the table and immediately putting his briefcase on his lap. He avoided their eyes as he opened it.
‘Sorry to be late, gentlemen. It took me an hour to get here in the traffic.’
‘We could have saved you a trip. I told you I’d come to the embassy.’
‘Mister Condley, what I definitely do not need right now is for you to show up at the embassy. You’re on your own here, I emphasised that yesterday.’
‘Whoa,’ said Condley, surprised at Archer’s tone. ‘Easy, there. I just asked for some help.’
‘Sorry,’ said Archer. ‘You’ve made things a little tense over at the embassy right now.’
‘Me?’ said Condley, folding his hands below his chin and peering studiously at the CIA agent. ‘Or Andrew Brandywine?’
‘A very poetic name,’ nodded Hanson Muir. ‘Andy. Brandy. Wine. In fact, it sounds totally made up to me.’
Archer pulled out a folder and put his briefcase on the floor. He had a sour look on his face, as if he’d just finished a glass of buttermilk. He held the folder close to his chest, as if he were playing a poker hand, flipping through a sheaf of pages, grimacing here and there, and then finally looked back up at Condley.
‘We know a good deal about what he does. But we don’t know very much at all about who he is.’
‘You fill in my blanks and I’ll fill in yours,’ said Condley.
Archer took in a deep breath, measuring Condley. Either he was under specific orders regarding the matter of Andrew Brandywine or he somehow had decided over the past day that Condley represented a way of doing things that repulsed him. Or maybe both. ‘First, I want you to understand a few things,’ he warned. ‘And I’m very serious about this, Mister Condley. We have limitations on what we can do on foreign soil. We are not the world’s policemen. It is not within our power to solve every problem, criminal or otherwise, that is brought to our attention. When a host government wants our assistance, we can provide it. Sometimes, that is. Within the boundaries of law and policy. And sometimes a host government will assist us if we ask for help. If it fits their own national interest, that is. But there are a lot of things that go on in this world that are beyond our ability to control. Are we in agreement here?’
Condley looked at Muir, and then back to Paul Archer. ‘I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.’
‘Yes, you do,’ said Archer. ‘That’s what makes me leery of sharing this information with you. You do know what I’m talking about. You’ve operated out here, Condley, so don’t play stupid on me. Shit happens all the time, and if it doesn’t directly affect American interests we’re limited to watching it. That’s all, watching it. Unless we’re asked to play. And we decidedly have not been asked to play in this one.’
‘I was going to leave you out of this,’ said Condley lightly. ‘But we got something specific, so I thought I’d let you play.’
‘It’s not funny,’ said Archer.
‘I know. It’s a terrible dilemma. Feel better for telling me?’
‘Actually, I do.’
‘Ready to continue?’
‘No, but I have a lunch back at the embassy, so we may as well get on with it.’
‘An honest answer,’ said Condley. ‘I appreciate that, Paul.’
Archer gave a quick look around the bar, ensuring that they were alone. ‘The ambassador has asked me to inform you that this briefing is classified secret. Any divulgence of the information I provide you can result in your being prosecuted for a felony. Do you gentlemen understand that?’
‘Of course we do,’ answered Condley. ‘So, Andrew Brandywine?’
‘Apparently an Australian national,’ said Archer, flipping through a page or two of his notes. ‘I’m still working on that.’
He looked up at Condley, his face again tight with an undefined anxiety, and pulled a map from his folder, laying it on the table. ‘All right, I don’t know why they gave me the authority to tell you this, but here’s the deal. For years the Thais have turned their backs on what I guess we’d have to call a drug highway that runs through their country, connecting opium grown in Burma – or, what the hell, Myanmar, I guess we call it now – to export outlets in Viet Nam.’
Archer began running his hand over the map as he spoke. ‘The Burmese end of it has been run by a couple of warlords just off the western border of Thailand. Generally in this area, right here. They grow it, harvest it, and process it into heroin in their own labs. Very sophisticated operation. They then transport it through Thailand and turn it over to the Vietnamese side right here in Bangkok.’
‘How do they transport it?’ interrupted Condley.
‘Trucks,’ shrugged Archer. ‘At night.’
‘Avoid the rush hour,’ said Muir. ‘Sort of like UPS.’
‘Exactly like UPS,’ said Archer, returning to the map. ‘The Vietnamese pick it up in Bangkok, shoot along the highway across the Cambodian border and then down to Sai Gon, keep some of it for their trouble, and ship the rest out of Sai Gon Harbor to parts unknown.’
‘Load and reload?’ asked Condley.
‘No load or reload. They swap the trucks on every trip, two trucks
each direction,’ said Archer. ‘The Burmese drivers get out of the loaded trucks, the Vietnamese drivers pay for the load and get in. The Vietnamese drivers take the new load of heroin into Viet Nam, the Burmese take the money and the empty trucks back to, whatever they call it, Myanmar, and the beat goes on. It all happens pretty fast, in the middle of the night.’
‘Why don’t you stop it?’ Muir, incredulous, asked the question.
‘Lots of pay-offs inside the Thai government and among some very powerful families,’ said Archer immediately. ‘Some pretty important people involved. Same in Viet Nam. This isn’t an action that’s actually supported by either government, but some highly influential people have been getting rich off it. Mega-rich. The official position of the Thai government is that it isn’t happening at all. And their quiet position to us is that it doesn’t really concern them directly, so they’d rather not get into a brawl with the Burmese on one side of them and the Vietnamese on the other. Kind of like airspace, except it’s roads. The stuff isn’t grown here, and it isn’t sold here. It just passes through.’
‘Not to mention that stopping it would, shall we say, reduce the revenues of certain, as you called them, pretty important people?’ quipped Muir.
‘So Brandywine is involved,’ said Condley.
‘He’s the purser on the runs.’ Archer squirmed in his chair, his face buried again in the notes of his folder. ‘The money guy. He makes the deals and he runs the exchanges.’
‘What do you know about him? Tell me everything.’
Archer watched Condley nervously. ‘I know what you’re thinking, but you can’t do this. It will blow up in all our faces. We can’t stop you but we can’t help you either, Mister Condley.’
‘I’m not asking for help. I just want some information.’
‘These guys are well-trained and well-armed. You don’t have a prayer. I’m not kidding you.’
‘Brandon,’ said Muir. ‘Listen to him. He’s a very realistic man.’
‘I want to know about Brandywine,’ said Condley. ‘A very good source told me this is our guy Deville. You know Sal Marino?’
‘Sal Marino?’ Archer shook his head dismissively. ‘We’ve followed Sal for a long time. How do you think he got busted in Japan? Not your most credible witness in a trial.’
‘I’ve known him for twenty years,’ said Condley. ‘I even – uh, dated his daughter at one point. He’d never bullshit me about something like this.’
‘But what do you know about him and Brandywine?’ Archer had become intense, with the demeanor of a defense counsel. ‘For all we know, your friend Marino is playing off a grudge. Maybe Brandywine crossed him up over something. Maybe he thinks Brandywine got him thrown into jail in the Japan deal. He could be setting us all up, Mister Condley. He isn’t too happy with our own drug-enforcement people, and he’d be laughing his rear end off if we bumbled around and embarrassed the American drug effort here. A true Sal Marino moment, setting off two enemies against each other.’
Condley grunted, folding his arms in disgust. ‘No wonder you guys never solve shit around here.’
‘We put Sal Marino away.’
‘Now, there’s a major victory. A true kingpin.’
Archer took a deep breath, looking again inside his folder. ‘OK. All right. Brandywine is a rather mysterious fellow. I don’t think we even have a picture of him. According to local lore, he’s been living in the mountains west of Chiang Mai for decades. He’s got his own army up there. Apparently he fought and killed his way up through the ranks of the drug business, so to speak. He’s the Svengali of the Vietnamese connection. He set it up, he runs the show, he pays the bills, and he keeps the money.’
‘How often do they run the trucks?’
‘Once a week. They’ve never been challenged, so it’s a clockwork operation.’ Archer rubbed his temples. ‘I hate to say this, but the next drop-off is probably tonight.’
‘Where?’
‘Klong Toey.’ Archer sighed now, as if defeated. ‘OK, here’s how it works. Every night in Klong Toey they slaughter around three thousand hogs for the Bangkok market. Thai pork is famous.’
Condley gave Archer a knowing grin. ‘I sold a few hogs there back in the late seventies. When I worked security for the Black Diamond Food Group.’
‘You do get around, Mister Condley,’ said Archer, recognizing the company as an old CIA front. He loosened up a bit. ‘Take any goats to Iran?’
‘Lots of goats. A nasty place, Iran.’
‘Right. OK. Then you know they kill the hogs in Klong Toey at night, because there’s no refrigeration. It’s cooler then, and they can deliver the meat to the shops and restaurants at first light. A lot of hogs are raised in the west. So the Burmese trucks bring in hogs from Chiang Mai along with their heroin. It makes the trucks less conspicuous when they’re heading into Bangkok, just in case some dumb police officer who hasn’t gotten the word stops them on the highway. And once the trucks are switched at Klong Toey, it’s not unusual to see empty trucks heading back toward Chiang Mai in the morning. Same with the Vietnamese trucks. They bring in a load of hogs that they pick up after they cross the Cambodian border. After they’re slaughtered they drop off the meat in Bangkok – legitimate business, there – and hit the road. Bring back a load of stereos and TVs in the trucks with the heroin.’
‘Two truckloads of heroin a week.’ Condley let out a low whistle. ‘Very serious money, even if you’re just taking a pay-off.’
‘Millions,’ agreed Archer. ‘I couldn’t even put a number on it.’
‘Pigs!’ exclaimed an amazed Muir. ‘A brilliant idea, actually. What policeman in his right mind would want to search a truck filled with stinking, stomping, screaming hogs?’
‘Exactly,’ shrugged Archer. He straightened his tie, a signal that he was finished. ‘Look. I’ve given you what I know. But I’ve also done my best to warn you. If you try to pull off something stupid, you’re not only going to get killed, you’re going to embarrass the government of the United States of America.’
‘And how would that happen, Paul?’ asked Condley, weary of the CIA agent’s persistent nervousness. ‘All you have to do is deny that you knew what I was up to. Tell them that my track record indicates I was down in Klong Toey trying to fuck a pig.’
‘We’ll definitely do that,’ said Archer, closing his briefcase and standing. ‘Seriously, Mister Condley, I’d suggest that your most logical course of action would be to rethink your whole involvement here. Give us some time. If we can establish that Brandywine is indeed this man Deville, and if you can get us something more concrete regarding his past criminal activities, we’ve got a case.’
‘And he’ll be laughing his ass off, living up in the mountains of Nepal,’ said Condley. ‘Or maybe Uzbekistan. I’ve heard it’s no problem getting a visa to go there.’
‘You don’t really need a visa to get into Uzbekistan. It’s a pretty porous border, mostly with people trying to get out.’
‘Hey, he got the joke.’
Archer hesitated, then said it anyway. ‘We could arrange for the Thai police to arrest you, you know. Just take you out of the marketplace for a few days.’
Condley measured Archer’s nervous eyes and the way he was squeezing and relaxing his hands, and he finally understood the CIA agent’s reluctance to help. ‘You do that and I’ll have to tell the press all about this little classified briefing and how the American government has been sitting on its ass while certain of its friends have grown rich on heroin pay-offs.’
‘That could get you killed.’ Archer thought about it for a moment, and then shrugged. ‘But then again, if you do something stupid tonight, that will get you killed too. So either way I’ve done my duty.’ He waved perfunctorily and turned away. ‘Don’t say you weren’t warned, Condley.’
Condley called to him as Archer neared the doorway. ‘Worried about your career, are you?’
No answer. Archer’s leather heels clicked more and more faintly as he
walked along the lobby, heading for the hotel’s front door.
‘So, you win on the leather heels,’ smiled Muir. ‘Florsheims. What an ear you have, Brandon.’
‘I used to own a pair. A very characteristic sound.’
‘I guess that means I buy the Singha at the Cezanne tonight?’
‘Nice try, Professor,’ said Condley. ‘Frog will have to wait. Tonight we go to Klong Toey.’
‘I knew that, actually.’ And then Muir’s eyes went horrifically wide. ‘Brandon, it isn’t the war.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You finding Deville,’ said Muir.
‘Yeah, it is.’
‘No, listen to me. Why are the Vietnamese so nervous about what you’re doing? You heard what Archer said. Some very powerful people in all three of these countries have been involved. So it isn’t the war, not to them. Somebody in the Vietnamese government knows about this. And they’re protecting the people who are running drugs with Deville.’
Condley grunted, unimpressed. ‘It may be drugs to them, but it’s the war to me.’
Chapter Thirty-Three
Van was not in the room when he returned. Somehow it did not surprise him. He walked quickly through it onto the terrace, trying at first to convince himself that she might have gone swimming. The pool in the courtyard just below their window was filled with lazing tourists, but she was not among them. Back inside the room, he noticed that none of her clothes were laying out near the still-unmade bed, where they had been when he went down for breakfast with Hanson Muir.
So she was gone. It did hurt, but he quickly accepted it, even telling himself that it was for the best.
He went to the closet and then the bathroom, deciding to compare what she had left behind with what she might have taken with her. Her side of the closet was empty. She had brought so little to Bangkok that it had fit inside one small cloth bag, anyway. Over the past two days she had taken him on a minor shopping spree, but still that had amounted only to a couple of changes of clothes. Nice clothes, to be sure. Van was a woman of surprisingly good taste and decidedly large appetites. But they were all gone, as was the swimming suit.
Lost Soldiers Page 36
