The Sixth Man

by Ron Lealos

  From the other room, a tea kettle began to hiss and I could hear Hatati moving around. Luong turned back toward me, taking out the satellite phone I’d seen at Liu’s from the small backpack, handing it to Morgan who pushed a few buttons and put the bulky receiver to his ear.

  “Winky?” he said after only a couple seconds. “News, old chap?” I’d learned from our discussions that Nutley was endearingly nicknamed “Winky.”

  He nodded a few times, but didn’t look happy, hissing a few “bugger all” comments.

  “Bollocks, Nutley,” he finally said. “Is that the sum Her Majesty’s finest can do?”

  Morgan shook his head and frowned.

  “This could be a jolly arse up,” he said. “Cheers.”

  Before he could say a word, Hatati touched him on the arm, smiling.

  “You’re so cute when you try to talk like a Brit, Morgan,” she said. “Nutley brings the royal out in you. What did he say?”

  “He seemed a bit dodgy,” Morgan said. “I’m cheesed off Winky won’t give us more gen.”

  “Speak American,” Luong said.

  “We’re pretty much on our own,” Morgan said. “We might not be trusted in the highest ranks of spookdom. What that usually means is some politician somewhere stuck his piggy nose in and wants to make nice-nice with the Vietnamese. Probably hopes to build a links golf course on the coast around Vung Tau. Remind himself of St. Andrews.” He sighed, confirming the easy Yankee acceptance of corruption in their greed-based system. “We’ll be ‘deniable’ from here on in. At least he left us the weapons and a few other tricks. And a last ditch escape hatch.” He looked at Hatati and grinned. “He did wish us a ‘jolly good show.’”

  All eyes to me. I was on trial and the next few answers would determine if I ever tasted another flaming shrimp or sparked another bowl of Ma Jing’s sublime. I tried my best to look serene in the Chinese way they all might believe was fact rather than myth.

  “OK, Charlie,” Morgan said. “What did you find out?”

  “Charlie?” I asked. “That’s not my name and I resent your bigotry.”

  “Get over it, Mao,” he said. “Give us a reason not to grind you up and make you into that fresh sausage that’s so popular down at the Ben Thanh pork markets. You’re carcass will feel right at home with the kitty meat they sell as ‘delightful dog.’”

  The vile aspersions were nothing new, and Morgan didn’t realize I’d spent nearly sixty years absorbing much worse. Usually, it gave me time to strategize, seconds to outwit the cretins who depended on their position and prejudices to overwhelm those in a lower caste. It was normally quite simple, but Morgan was no simpleton. I placed hands in my lap and gave them my most gratuitous smile, knowing full well I had to be convincing.

  “I was expelled from the Buddhist monastery for cheating,” I said. “I looked into the soul of the monk kneeling beside me.”

  Scowls from everyone. Then, snickers. Some time ago, I’d seen a movie where the spies had more fun than the monkeys at Can Gio who ripped you off for your keys, wallet, and snow cones, scampering into the banyans and shrieking in delight. These three acted the same. And I knew they would kill me in less time than it took to swat a mosquito. At least they liked their jobs.

  Age. Even in the most threatening moments, lately I’d begun to think it was all comedy. In some unbelievable stroke of luck, I’d lived nearly into my sixties. The only one in this room less than that age was Hatati. We all seemed relatively healthy, me being the most crooked. The other two could have been thirty years younger, the way they ran and moved easily, sitting, standing, and walking not being any challenge to them. At least my daily routine of one hundred katas had kept me somewhat flexible and active. Still, I wouldn’t want to challenge either Luong or Morgan to a wrestling match. Or Hatati for that matter.

  Hatati. She was in the tradition of the celebrated Four Beautiful Women of China, who all could have brought dynasties to their knees. Like Xi Shi. She caused fish to forget how to swim, and they dropped to the bottom in ecstasy at having viewed such perfection. Or Diochan, who made the moon shrink away in shame at her beauty. Hatati was such a goddess and I was humbled to be in the same airspace. And if she didn’t believe my story, she would shoot me down like a street rat poaching her fruit cart. I waited for them to finish digesting my ludicrous soul-stealing avoidance, planning in what order I needed to divulge the few morsels of value I had gathered back at the office in order to save my cracked yellow skin.

  “Bloody rubbish,” Morgan said. “Don’t try to deflect. We need to know what you found out. If anything.” He sneered, trying to make sure he got it across clearly that I was as worthless as the husk of a durian and transparent as a jellyfish.

  “Oh, I think he’s got bongs,” Hatati said. Balls. She pulled out a stiletto from her pocket and held it against my thigh. “Let’s see if he keeps them.”

  For some reason, this beauty queen had morphed into an ugly shrew right in front of my eyes. It must be that lingering hatred every Southeast Asian, including Malaysians, had for the despicable imperialist Chinese, even if I was only a half-breed. This kind of contempt I could handle and was so common it was almost boring. The years had forced me to develop then hone my verbal and mental skills. If I couldn’t beat them with my martial arts moves, I could humble them with my sharp tongue and fast thoughts. These three were professional intelligent adversaries, the hardest to defeat. Insults and fables weren’t working. The stupid ones got angry, while the smart enemies bided their time. Like Nguyen. As Sun Tzu said, “The intelligent general will use those of the highest intelligence to spy.” The three in this room were all spies.

  “No more panface tricks,” Morgan said. “We have more information than you might think. If I feel you’re lying, Hatati will make you eligible to play the eunuch in some rich Chinaman’s harem.”

  “When were you last at the beach?” I asked. “You look like you could use some relaxation. I’m sure Ms. Hatati would enjoy a day of sand and sun. Luong would be a great chauffeur for the journey now that he’s given up driving oxcarts.” I smirked almost as loudly as Morgan’s sneer.

  “Go ahead, Hatati. Nick the right one first,” Morgan said, nodding toward my groin.

  “Phu Quy Island,” I said quickly before my right gonad was rolling across the floor. “It’s also called Mackerel Island because it looks like a cod climbing from the sea, if that makes any sense. Quang has a villa there. I think that’s where he is.”

  They looked back and forth between each other, apparently deciding if I was going to become the newest soprano in the Sai Gon Men’s Choir.

  “Where is this ‘Phu Quy?’” Hatati asked, putting a bit more pressure on the tip of her knife.

  “East of here about 160 kilometers to Phan Thiet City on the coast,” I said. “Then another 100 kilometers southeast in the South China Sea. It has been a place for the fishing fleets to dock and load supplies for centuries. Now, it is welcoming tourists for its white sand beaches and charming pagodas.” I smiled, enjoying this chance to be a tour guide rather than a mongrel.

  “Go on,” Morgan said.

  “There’s no airport on Phu Quy,” I said. “If you want to get to Quang there, you’ll need a boat. Or a helicopter. Maybe your comrade Nutley can get the queen to send a Royal Navy submarine. It’s mostly coral and rock with some jungle and a few hills. Night would be the only time for an assault.”

  “Why do you think Quang is there?” Hatati asked.

  “In our classless worker’s society, every one of the proletariat has a vacation villa,” I said. “We are truly equal here. Our mansions are a place we all go to when we are pressured.”

  Luong snorted, obviously feeling cheated he hadn’t found his own deserved private escape home. Maybe he had chosen a chalet in the mountains rather than a manor on the beach. I sighed, showing I was sympathetic to this omission. As usual, he didn’t display any emotion on his face.

  “Answer the question,” he said. �
��I spent too many hours ear-to-ear with you in the mud while you explained in detail the scientific reason worms were blind to be sidetracked by your trivia.” He moved a few inches closer, and I was now pinned in like a Sai Gon traffic jam. “I know when you’re just wasting time. Now, for the last time, do you have solid information to support your belief Quang is on Phu Quy?”

  The air in the room was getting thin and stale. Too many bodies pressed together, with me in the middle of the clench, all recycling the same humid night air.

  There was no compelling reason to stall any longer. If I was on the team, a decision already made, I should absolutely cooperate. For some reason, submission was nearly impossible for me. That was a tactic that needed to be detonated. Even if the Communist Manifesto said there was “no capitulation to the foreign pressure,” I was well beyond the slogans that had been hammered into my brain through hours of indoctrination in the sweat shop of the camps.

  “Confucius say,” I said, “man who gets cut in the balls is left holding the bag.”

  This time, Luong kicked me in the shin hard enough that I wasn’t paralyzed, but certainly paying attention.

  “Sorry,” I said, bowing. “The time you so politely gave me to return to my office was quite productive. Along with what I’d already heard about the hardships experienced by our leaders in finding good servants and clean running water at their holiday homes, I knew about Quang’s beach hideaway. Besides, there has been a noticeable movement in the last few days of thug bodyguards from headquarters who pass as domestic help. All toward Phu Quy.” I shrugged. “I can’t be sure, but I believe there would be no better place in the country for him to hide. An island that has probably been turned into a fortress.”

  “That seems weak,” Morgan said. “Why else do you think Quang is on Phu Quy? Do you have any real proof?”

  “You mean like reading the tea leaves?” I asked. “I do know how to use a computer. The one they gave to me may have been five or six chip generations old. That was then. Now, the inside is what matters, and there are very few machines in this country as up to date as the one in my office. Information wants to be free, as they say, and I’ve learned how to let it tell me countless secrets.” I was starting to get a little queasy. While I tried to keep as many nights as possible far away from Ma Jing’s dreamworld, this time of the evening meant there was a physical pull toward the long pipe. I steadied myself against the wooden chair beside me. “May I sit down?” I asked.

  “Of course,” Luong said, likely the only one besides me who cared whether I left this room.

  Taking a seat, I scratched the fingers on my good hand together like I was scoring a ball of opium, trying to decide what to tell these assassins. Everything, I thought. In for a dollar, in for a dong.

  “I’ve found the passwords to every government official of any importance,” I said. “It is one of the reasons I have not been executed and am allowed to continue to poke the beast in the eye with my mouth. I know too much. They don’t understand how or why, but they do know I’m aware of the numbers and amounts in all their foreign and domestic bank accounts. I also have access to all the intelligence files and a way to hide my tracks.” I was getting thirsty, another result of nerves and opium starvation.

  “Is there any water around here?” I asked.

  “You haven’t had your tea,” Hatati said, handing me a cup. I drank, looking up after my throat was moist again.

  “Do you think someone of my mixed background would rise to Captain of Detectives only because I am a brilliant investigator who has an exponentially higher closure rate than anyone else in the country? Is there a slim chance my barbed comments would be tolerated even if I was a purebred Vietnamese with Uncle Ho as my grandfather? No. They’re afraid of me. But that won’t allow them to condone my involvement in the assassinations.”

  “OK,” Morgan said. “You’ve convinced me. I won’t put a bullet in your head. For now.” He shoved the .22 in the waistband behind his back. “So, tell us what we want to know.”

  There’d been enough excitement and epinephrine to make me ignore the searing sensation in my nail-less fingers. The pain was a dull constant and now it flared up like a pimple on an acned child. I tried to focus on exactly what I’d read in Quang’s file.

  “There are many reasons Quang should die,” I said. “Not the least is that he is responsible for genocide in the Central Highlands and of Luong’s people. I don’t suppose you’re looking for justification, but I would like to tell you of one such episode that you may not know.” I looked to them for agreement. All three of them remained standing and Luong was the first to nod.

  “Go ahead,” he said.

  “In the Highlands close to the Chinese border,” I said, “there is a town called Lao Cai. It is primarily a city where Degar villagers come to do their trading and a summertime mountain escape for lowland Vietnamese. Western missionaries and health workers have made an impact there, building a hospital to house sick and dying local Montagnards who have relied on roots and bark for their medicine for centuries.” I took another sip of the now-cold tea. “As you know, the lowland Vietnamese have never stopped persecuting the Degars and other mountain tribal people, including the Hmongs. During one of the recent crackdowns, many villagers were wounded, both by gunfire and torture and managed to get to Lao Cai for treatment. The officers in the Vietnam People’s Army knew the survivors would most likely end up there out of desperation. The head of this latest operation was Tran Dai Quang. When his agents were sure the maximum number of Montagnards were in the hospital, he had them block the doors and throw in Molotov cocktails, burning everyone inside to briquettes. The media was told it was an ‘unfortunate event caused by faulty gas canisters supplied by greedy Western medical corporations.’ No one questioned the official response except for those who had witnessed the carnage. No one cares about them. The international community is happy that Vietnam is entering the world economic community, and nothing should slow down this development.”

  “I know this,” Luong said. “You have proof?”

  “I can get copies of the files if I make it through whatever it is you have planned. And they believe I’m not part of the plot.”

  “Show us,” Hatati said, walking over to a closet and opening the door. She reached inside and came out with a laptop that had a bulge like a huge boil on the side. I had never seen a PC like this one. She opened the lid, pressed the “power” button and set the computer on my knees.

  “It’s hooked directly to a satellite like the phone,” she said. “Every keystroke you make is encrypted. You’re on the web already.”

  I looked down and was amazed to see that Google was already up as the home page, the cursor blinking. This one was certainly state of the art.

  “Show us what you’re talking about,” Hatati said. “If you’re such a computer phreaker, we want you to take us into Quang’s secured sights.”

  A few keystrokes and we were looking at Quang’s private files. In Vietnamese. I would have to interpret, knowing Luong would detect if I was being deceitful. I was aware that every move I made was surely transmitting back to London and MI6 headquarters. That no longer mattered. I’d joined the visiting team and had to live or die with the consequences. I scrolled through much of the information, finally stopping at Quang’s most recent entries. Sitting back, I pointed to the screen.

  “See,” I said, “he’s making plans to go to Phu Quy.”

  Morgan and Hatati glanced at the screen and then turned to Luong for confirmation.

  Luong read for only a few seconds and nodded.

  “It looks like you’re telling the truth,” Luong said. “Quang is probably hiding out on Phu Quy.” He looked first at Morgan and then Hatati. “Now, what are we going to do? And what about the murderer Nguyen?”

  “I can always find Nguyen if I’m kept alive,” I said. “His job is to tail me. He might be in the dungeon now, getting a manicure because he and his men failed. I don’t think so. They’l
l bluster and let him go to find me, threatening to exterminate his entire family if he doesn’t succeed. Any contact means he’s redeemed. For now, Quang should be our focus.”

  “Get as much information as you can on Phu Quy,” Morgan said. “I’ll make a few calls and find out if there will be any help or if we’re totally off the board.”

  “Do you have a printer?” I asked.

  Hatati went back to the closet, returning with a small printer and setting it down on the floor beside me.

  “It’s wireless,” she said. “Just hit the print key whenever you want a copy.” She smiled and moved around behind me to watch.

  Luong was at the window and I could hear Morgan speaking softly to someone on the satellite phone in the next room.

  First, I went to Google Maps and printed an image of the island. Then, Wikipedia. That site was relatively useless, so I began a search engine query of Phu Quy, focusing on the terrain and possible access. Within minutes, I’d printed a number of pages and had a rudimentary knowledge of the place. Lastly, I went into the Security Forces files, tracking the numbers of and location of police and military. Storming this island wasn’t going to be easy. I stood up and walked over to Luong.

  “I hope you can swim,” I said.

  “You too,” he said. “You’re coming along.”

  “Where did you learn? I’ve never heard Degars were water people. Primitive hunter gatherers and heathen animal worshippers not worthy of being called Vietnamese is the party line.”

  “I’ve been out of the mountains to do more than hawk colorful hats to the tourists and trade boar skins and tusks.”

  “Well, don’t count on me to rescue you if you’re drowning. Dog paddle is about all I can do.” I tried to look convincing, staring into Luong’s eyes. “I believe I’d be of more help if I stayed here and monitored Nguyen’s movements.”

  Really, being on a boat in the middle of the night was terrifying to me. I could face a firing squad knowing death was coming in seconds, and it wasn’t as scary as the vision of an unseen shark nibbling on my toes.