by Ian Hamilton
“Is it too early to call?” he said.
“No,” Ava said.
“I talked to Alcem last night, and he and Ben phoned me a few minutes ago with that information you wanted.”
“Let me get a pen,” Ava said, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. She walked to the desk, sat down, and opened her notebook. “Go ahead.”
“Okay, the boys had two days off on February second and third. A group of students was there when they left and gone when they returned. They said the new class arrived on their first day back, so that would be February fourth.”
“Excellent.”
“Now, working back from those dates, they don’t have specific records of their days off, but they insist that the college operates on a tight three-month schedule. So if you go back three months from February fourth, we should have the approximate date for when the previous class arrived. And so on and so on.”
“It sounds kind of harmless when you say it like that.”
“Pardon?”
“Sorry, I was just thinking aloud — ‘and so on’ sounds so harmless.”
“I meant it to,” Wahab said. “When Juhar and I talk about this problem, we both — subconsciously, I guess — use the most neutral, passive words. It makes it easier to stay calm.”
“I understand,” Ava said.
“Ava,” Wahab said carefully, “speaking of Juhar, he is wondering why you want to know those dates.”
“We need to locate as many of the students who have left the college as we can. Knowing when they arrived might help us identify them, and once we identify them, we might be able to find out when and how they left and where they went.”
“How are you going to do that?” he asked, his voice rising.
“I’m not putting out a public appeal or going to the armed forces intelligence service,” she said. “I have some sources I hope to use that come recommended by Senator Ramirez.”
“Oh.”
“Now look, I have to go. I’ll be in touch when things become clearer,” she said, and then hung up before he had a chance to ask more questions that she didn’t want to answer.
She had written the February dates in her notebook. Now she worked back three months to November, and then back again and again. It wasn’t precise but it provided a starting point, which was more than she’d had before.
She rose from the desk and went to the bathroom to get water for the in-room coffee machine. As the coffee began to brew, her phone sounded and she saw Elisha Gill’s name on the screen.
“Good morning, Elisha,” Ava said. “What do you have for me?”
“I have nothing.”
“You haven’t spoken to Zoey yet?”
“I talked to her last night and she ran the names through the system first thing this morning. She came up empty. I asked her to run them one more time. She did and got the same result.”
“So absolutely nothing on Kassab or al-Touma? Was every legal point of arrival and departure part of the search?”
“They were.”
“That’s so odd.”
“Is there anything else you’d like me to do?”
“Yes, but it’s a big project that would involve Zoey even more,” Ava said. “The senator emphasized that you and Zoey are close. Is that true?”
“We’re cousins but we’re as close as sisters. There isn’t much we wouldn’t do for each other.”
“And she obviously shares your lack of curiosity.”
“You’re referring to the fact that neither of us seems to care why you want this information?”
“Yes.”
“Senator Ramirez operates on an absolute need-to-know basis. Thus far he hasn’t chosen to share what he’s doing with you, and I have no problem with that. As for Zoey, so far she’s extended me the same respect.”
“What I want you to do might test your capacity for not asking questions.”
“Why don’t you tell me what you want, and I’ll tell you if it does.”
“Okay, for starters I want to know how many foreign visitors entered the Philippines between February first and February fourth of this year and named Tawi-Tawi Island, the city of Bongao, or a local college called Zakat as a final destination on their landing card.”
Elisha paused and then said, “You’re right. I’d like to have some idea of why you want that information, and I think Zoey will as well.”
“It’s related to a security matter that the senator is investigating. He’s asked me to help on an unofficial basis.”
“Is that true?”
“It is, but it’s too soon to start sharing details. We’re in information-gathering mode, and knowing who went to Tawi-Tawi will be an important start,” Ava said. “Does that satisfy you? Will it satisfy her?”
“For now, I think so,” Elisha said. “But tell me, do you want to know how many went in total or who they actually were?”
“I want to know who they were.”
“That is a big project.”
“That’s only the start of it,” Ava said. “Then I want Zoey to go back to November fourth and capture the same data for the two weeks on either side of that date. And I want her to go back to August fourth and do the same, and then do it one more time for May fourth.”
“You could be talking about thousands of people.”
“I doubt that,” Ava said. “We’re talking about visitors from overseas only, and I can’t believe that Tawi-Tawi is a prime destination. Besides, I know that the only way to fly into Tawi-Tawi is through Bongao, and there are at best only a handful of flights a day and only one from a major airport — Zamboanga. I took that flight yesterday. There were about twenty people at most on the plane, and they all looked Filipino.”
“Are there any other criteria you want her to apply?”
Ava hesitated. “The three keywords she should be entering are ‘Tawi-Tawi,’ ‘Bongao,’ and ‘Zakat College.’ Any one of those or any combination of them is what I’m looking for.”
“This could take some time.”
“We don’t have that luxury. Please ask her to work as quickly as she can.”
“I’ll do my best,” Elisha said. “How do you want the information transmitted to you when she gets it?”
“Is it possible to get printed copies of the landing cards?”
“I’ll make the request. If she can do printed copies, how do you want me to get them to you?”
“I’m staying in Manila, at the Peninsula Hotel. We can meet here or somewhere close.”
“The hotel is fine.”
Ava ended the call, feeling confused. She had hoped for some sighting of Kassab or al-Touma. She made a note to ask Wahab about the frequency of sea travel between Bongao and the cities in Indonesia and Malaysian Borneo that faced it, only hours away, across the Sulu Sea. If someone wanted to enter or leave the Philippines as anonymously as possible, it seemed to her that going by sea afforded the best opportunity, from a country that was completely surrounded by water.
She checked the time. Jakarta was one hour behind Manila, and by her reckoning the Canadian embassy should be open for business. She phoned the general number, expecting an automated answer and voice prompts. Instead she got a real person. “I’d like to speak to Mr. Ryan Poirier,” Ava said.
“I will need to confirm that he’s in the office today,” a woman said. “Who can I say is trying to reach him?”
“Jennie Kwong. Please remind him that we last met in Surabaya,” Ava said.
“Just one moment, please.”
The one moment turned into several. Ava was anticipating rejection when the woman came back on the line and said, “I’ll put you through.”
“This is a surprise,” Poirier said.
“I wasn’t sure that you’d remember me,” Ava said.
“How the
hell could I not?”
“It was a brief encounter.”
“Perhaps more memorable because of the brevity,” he said. “And now you’re calling again, except this time you aren’t going through our colleagues in Ottawa.”
“What I’m calling about doesn’t have any direct connection to or impact on Canada.”
“Then why am I so fortunate to be the recipient of your attention?”
“It’s quite complicated. But before I get into it, there’s something I need to clarify,” Ava said slowly. “My name is not actually Jennie Kwong. It’s Ava Lee.”
“I know,” Poirier said.
“You do?”
“When we were in Surabaya, I thought your behaviour was a bit strange, so after our little adventure I tracked down the RCMP sergeant in Guyana you used to open doors for you in Ottawa.”
“Marc Lafontaine?”
“Yes, and you’ll be pleased to know he was reluctant to talk about you until I applied the right kind of pressure.”
“Pressure?”
“The RCMP are very respectful of their chain of command, and I used it,” Poirier said. “Interestingly, once Lafontaine started talking about you, I could hardly get him to stop. Evidently you cut quite a swath when you were in Guyana. Some local bad guy named Robbins still curses every time your name is mentioned.”
“I was in the debt collection business. It took me to strange places and put me in contact with people who were…well, people who were different.”
“Like in Surabaya.”
“Exactly.”
“You used the past tense about your job. Have you changed professions?”
“Yes. I’ve gone into the investment business with some partners. It’s much tamer.”
“Yet here you are, calling me about something you describe as being quite complicated.”
“I didn’t phone you about an investment,” Ava said, suddenly not sure that she was doing the right thing.
“I didn’t think you were, but I’m not good at guessing,” Poirier said.
She drew a deep breath. “How good are your contacts in the Middle East?”
“Why?”
“I need to get information about some bank accounts in Saudi Arabia and Jordan.”
“Why?”
“And I need to be put in touch with someone in the CIA who has some clout and who you trust to keep a confidence.”
“Is that all?”
“Yes.”
“You aren’t asking too much, are you.”
“I apologize if it sounds insane, but there are significant reasons for my requests.”
“I’m waiting to hear what they are.”
“It isn’t anything I can discuss over the phone,” Ava said. “It needs to be done in person. Can you come to me?”
“Where are you?”
“I’m in Manila.”
“Why didn’t you call our embassy there?”
“I don’t know anyone here, and what I want to talk about doesn’t lend itself to a cold call.”
“But your presence in the Philippines is related to the problem you want to discuss?”
“Yes. But the ramifications could be on a much broader scale, especially in the United States.”
“What ramifications?”
“I told you, I don’t want to discuss it over the phone. I’m hopeful that since you know something of my background, you’ll know that I’m not given to exaggerating or overreacting.”
“What aren’t you exaggerating?”
“Something that has the potential to make Surabaya look like a kindergarten playground.”
Poirier paused and then said, “Ms. Lee, you do know that it’s a four-hour flight from Jakarta to Manila?”
“Yes, and I wouldn’t ask you to come here if I didn’t think it was necessary and worth your time.”
“What does my time matter if I can’t help you?” he said. “What if I don’t know anyone in the CIA who meets your criteria? What if I have no bank contacts in the Middle East?”
“Then you’ll tell me that and you’ll stay in Jakarta, and I’ll move on to Plan B.”
“Do you actually have a Plan B?”
“Not yet, but I’ve never failed to find one.”
“I don’t know why, but I have trouble disbelieving you,” Poirier said. “You’re a master of the art of persuasion.”
“Only because the cause I’m representing is based on reality.”
“Just give me a minute,” Poirier said suddenly.
Ava immediately felt uneasy. She had no idea what kind of communications technology Poirier had at his disposal. Was it possible he was tracking her call, trying to pinpoint her location? The last thing she wanted was unwelcome visitors showing up at the Peninsula. The minute turned into two and three, and her unease grew.
She was contemplating hanging up when she heard a woman’s voice in the background, and then Poirier came back on the line. “I’ve got a flight booked into Manila that will land at 5:45 tonight,” he said. “Where do you want to meet?”
“I’m staying at the Peninsula Hotel.”
“Under which name?”
“Ava Lee,” she said, smiling.
“I’ll come directly to the hotel.”
“Does this mean you can help me with the banks?”
“Possibly.”
“And you have an American you trust?”
“I have an American, and he’s in Manila,” Poirier said. “If I think your concerns have any validity, I’ll bring the two of you together. Then you can make your own decision about whether he’s trustworthy or not.”
( 18 )
Ava sat quietly at the desk and replayed her conversation with Ryan Poirier. Her main concern was whether she’d overhyped the situation. She didn’t like exaggeration, and as much as she was convinced that Alcem and Ben were telling the truth, she was also aware — and almost desperate to believe — that what they had heard and seen was a selective sample. It was possible that nothing as calamitous as they feared was going to happen. The problem was that she couldn’t operate under that assumption; her experience was that if you expected the worst, you were seldom disappointed.
She looked at the time. The morning was drifting by and a day of waiting stretched out in front of her. She thought about going for a run and decided she couldn’t handle the pollution or the pedestrian traffic. The hotel, though, had a fitness centre on the ground floor. She wasn’t a fan of treadmills, but it was her only option if she wanted a workout. She called the concierge and was told there were ten treadmills available. That will have to do, she thought, and then noticed the number for the spa. Allocating time for a one-hour run and a half-hour cool-down, she booked a massage.
The fitness centre was almost deserted. That didn’t surprise her. Generally Asians didn’t share the Western mania for hard physical exercise. May Ling and Amanda, for example, never lifted anything heavier than a wineglass, and hurrying in high heels was the extent of their aerobic workouts. They couldn’t understand Ava’s need to run, even if she told them it was as much a way of cleansing her mind as her body.
She programmed the treadmill for a one-hour twelve-kilometre run that had several gradations. For the first five minutes she was conscious only of her body, but then gradually the physical effort became incidental and she found herself thinking about Ryan Poirier, Elisha Gill, and Miguel Ramirez. But when she was finished, things seemed just as confusing as when she’d started.
The spa was next to the fitness centre, and again Ava seemed to be one of only a few customers. After showering and slipping into a bathrobe, she sat in an upholstered chair, sipped jasmine tea, and contemplated her massage options. She chose an hour and fifteen minutes of hilot, which was described as a traditional Philippine massage involving heated banana leaves and a blen
d of virgin coconut and organic lemongrass oils. If nothing else, she thought, she’d smell good.
“I’ll have a medium-strength massage,” Ava said, when the thin, middle-aged masseuse asked for her preference. It started slowly, with hot banana leaves covering her body. Then the oils were worked into her skin and she was wrapped in new leaves. After fifteen minutes Ava was beginning to regret her choice, as it seemed to be more relaxation treatment than massage. Then the masseuse’s fingers gripped her shoulder muscles and she yelped. For an hour the woman’s steely fingers kneaded her body, every muscle and joint. Ava groaned several times; when she did, the woman backed off for a few seconds to let the pain subside and then attacked the muscles again.
The woman finished with a gentle rubdown and left Ava on the table for a few minutes. She flexed her muscles but could hardly feel them. Her body had the consistency of a marshmallow, albeit one that had an aroma of coconut and lemongrass. When the woman returned, she helped Ava down from the table and led her to the shower.
Ava left the spa wearing a clean T-shirt and her Adidas training pants. She hadn’t brought her phone with her, so she thought about going back to the room to change her clothes, check her messages, and then have a late lunch. But as she walked past the Old Manila restaurant, she saw a sign that said it closed at two-thirty. She took an immediate right and went inside.
Despite its name, the restaurant was thoroughly modern. Ava felt slightly out of place sitting at a table with a white linen tablecloth and an elegant oak chair. The service was impeccable, and within ten minutes she was sipping a white French burgundy and dipping into a shrimp bisque. She briefly considered an Australian wagyu steak but was drawn irresistibly to the Irish prime rib-eye topped with seared foie gras. She knew the meal would cancel out any good she’d gotten from her workout, but it tasted so heavenly that she decided it was worth it.
She was the last diner to leave the restaurant. She realized that between the fitness centre, the spa, and Old Manila, she’d spent more than four hours away from her phone and computer, and for most of that time she hadn’t thought about Tawi-Tawi. She was still feeling rather mellow when she got back to her room. That changed the second she picked up her phone and saw a text message from Elisha Gill that had arrived only a few minutes before. Call me. I don’t know what to do, it read.
