FORTUNE COOKIE

by Bryce Courtenay

  ‘Hang on, aren’t they the enemy? I mean, the opposition?’ I asked, somewhat confused.

  ‘Ah, the politics of political expediency, my friend. In the past few months a lot has changed. President Nixon has been elected with a plan to win the war. He doesn’t want any sideshows, no awkward accusations about the US government’s involvement with heroin. The anti-drug lobby in Washington is growing increasingly vociferous, and the human damage heroin addiction is causing in our cities is becoming very apparent.

  ‘The justification the CIA has used all along – that they were supporting the forces that were stopping the Chinese communists from invading South-East Asia and coming to the aid of North Vietnam – has been blown out of the water. The domino theory is pure bunkum, Pentagon- and CIA-inspired crap. The Chinese have been fighting a series of pitched battles against the Russians along the Ussuri River that forms the Sino–Russian border. We’re no longer fighting world communism as a unified force. In fact, the Chinese hate the Russians and the North Vietnamese probably more than they hate us.’

  ‘What? The CIA have been told to pull their heads in?’

  ‘Very graphic, Simon, but yes, and there are several more compelling reasons I’ll go into later for this sudden change in policy. However, this mood swing from Washington and the death of Beatrice Fong couldn’t have been more perfectly timed.’

  ‘But didn’t you say her death threw a spanner in the works for the DEA?’

  He glanced at Mercy B. Lord. ‘We were trying to protect our mole. But it was actually ideal, in fact, heaven-sent. All the stars were aligned correctly; the CIA were willing to cooperate with the DEA but were instructed by Washington to let us run the show.

  ‘Well, as you know, power always expands to fill a vacuum. Beatrice Fong had pulled all the strings for a long time, playing off the different interests to keep the entire operation running smoothly. In this respect she was a genius, and besides, she had ruled for so long she knew where all the bodies were buried. Her death destabilised a very complex web of interlocking interests.’ He nodded towards Mercy B. Lord. ‘Moreover, our mole here completely lacked the experience to take over, and so it fell to Sidney Wing to do so.’ Dansford turned to her. ‘Do you want to say anything, to comment?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, only to say that after the funeral, Sidney and Johnny sat me down and explained the whole situation to me. I had to pretend to be shocked – in fact, mortified. Sidney then asked if I wanted to continue.’ Mercy B. Lord paused. ‘No, that’s not quite how he put it. The inference was that I was implicated as a drug courier, and whether I liked it or not I was obliged to stay involved. I then asked him what might happen if I didn’t. That was when Johnny laughed and said, “You’re going to marry me and help with the girl business.” Sidney then said there wasn’t any “if” – once in, the only way out was the way Beatrice had just left. He told me that he was taking over Beatrice’s share of the business and that I would be working for him in the immediate future. “Don’t worry,” Johnny said in an amused voice. “After we’re married, it’s all in the family anyway.” ’

  ‘Jesus, talk about a rock and a hard place!’ I exclaimed.

  Mercy B. Lord laughed. ‘My grandmother may have been an evil old woman but she wasn’t a stupid one. In the bank vault was the proverbial little black book with enough in it to put a rope, several ropes, around Sidney Wing’s neck. I described just one entry and told him there were at least fifty more. If anything happened to me, it would go directly to the police, I told him.’ She gave a short laugh, then looked at Detective Sergeant Chicken Wing. ‘In fact, it already had.’

  ‘Nice one,’ I said.

  She continued. ‘Well, he turned to Johnny and said, “She’s got the strength.” Then he said to me, “We’ll train you. I’ll do the heroin part and Johnny here the women business.” So then I said there was just one more thing. “What?” Sidney asked. “Simple, I don’t marry Johnny and I keep the inheritance or —” “Or what?” he asked. “Little black book,” I replied. I’d rather die than marry that cruel bastard! “I think we begin to understand each other,” Sidney said. Then to Johnny, who was speechless with fury, he said, “You hear that? Business all done. Sorry, Johnny. Welcome aboard, Mercy B. Lord.” ’

  ‘Christ, darling, bravo! But weren’t you scared?’

  ‘Of course, I was terrified. When it was over I went into the bathroom and threw up.’

  Dansford took over again, giving Mercy B. Lord a fondly benevolent look. ‘If I had my way she’d be getting the medal of honour for bravery under intense enemy fire.’ He paused, lifting the first bottle of wine, checked our glasses, which we’d barely touched, then filled his own with the last of the bottle. He’d already had two glasses, but was such a skilled alcoholic that he’d managed to do almost all the talking and still down two glasses of wine virtually unnoticed. ‘Well, we had our Mata Hari still in place and undetected, so were in a position to know Sidney’s takeover plans.

  ‘Now it was up to Sidney to prove to the various elements in the mix that he had the strength, determination and the knowhow to take over from Beatrice Fong and bring them all together in one place to ensure consensus and continuity. In fact, to his credit, he came up with a damn good plan, and fortunately for us he went to his old friends, the CIA, to help with the logistics required to implement it.

  ‘The point was that any such meeting needed to be on neutral ground. No one was willing to come to Singapore or Hong Kong. Having the meeting up north, up in the border area in Thailand, controlled by the warlords with their private armies, was much too risky. The warlords were increasingly disgruntled anyhow – they grew the opium to meet the exploding demand, delivered it across the Burma–Thai border to be refined by the Chinese, and so they had come to realise that the Thai military, the police, government officials and politicians were receiving most of the profits. In other words, the situation was likely to become very unstable without the old woman’s iron fist. As it was, things were very close to exploding.

  ‘Sidney demonstrated his leadership by arranging to have the meeting on a large oil tanker in international waters beyond the three-mile limit near Bangkok port. It would arouse no suspicion – the size and draft of the oil tanker prevented it from docking, requiring it to discharge its cargo into smaller tankers, so it had every reason to be where it was. It was also, conveniently, one of the vessels whose crew was involved in drug-smuggling for the cartel. Now all Sidney had to do was to get all the big boys and the two big girls on board.’

  I glanced quickly at Mercy B. Lord. The other woman referred to was obviously her mother, Lotus Blossom. She ignored my look, keeping her eyes fixed on Dansford, who, surprise, surprise, had almost emptied his glass once more. ‘Well, Sidney went to his old friends. As far as he was concerned, the only honest broker was his Florida connection, the CIA. He asked if they could arrange air transport – an unmarked Chinook helicopter – with one of its front companies such as Air America, who flew out of the CIA compound at Don Muang International Airport.

  ‘Well, of course the CIA agreed and duly informed us. Then Sidney arranged, through the usual corrupt Thai officials, for the big operators in the cartel to fly into Bangkok and to the compound in light aircraft owned by the drug cartel. Then, as Mercy B. Lord has so often done, they avoided customs, boarded the unmarked Chinook helicopter and were flown out to the tanker. Air America was to log the helicopter trips as short test flights to avoid suspicion. The plan was that the Chinook would fly out, land on the tanker’s deck, disembark passengers and return to the compound. After the meeting the Chinook would return, and they would all then disperse the way they had arrived, with no trace of their ever having been on the tanker. It was neat, safe and earned Sidney a lot of respect and trust from his cartel peers.’

  Dansford topped up our glasses with the second bottle and refilled his own, then looked up at the ceiling. ‘There has to be a God in heaven. Sidney’s arrangements were better than anything we co
uld possibly have hoped for. Not only were they meeting on a tanker, but to prevent any problems or disagreements turning nasty, no arms were allowed and every cartel member had to agree to be frisked before climbing aboard the helicopter. We planned to simply board the returning Chinook with a heavily armed raiding party and take them all into custody.’

  He nodded at his wife. ‘This is where Hilda comes in.’

  Detective Chicken Wing surprised me by directing a question at me. ‘Simon, will you allow me to begin by defending my husband’s afternoon routine?’

  ‘It’s well past redemption, Detective Sergeant,’ I grinned.

  She smiled, then, typical of a police investigator, asked yet another question. ‘Did you realise you were temporarily accommodated on a military base?’

  ‘Well, yes. I heard a brass band, sirens once or twice, shouting and marching feet on another occasion, and Mercy B. Lord told me after her surprise visit.’

  ‘Well, it’s where Dansford spent a great many afternoons training a special squad along the lines of the special weapons and tactics group known in the US as a SWAT team, using men from the Singapore armed-forces commando formation, together with an elite Singapore police drug squad. In all we trained fifty police and defence force staff, sufficient to form a cadre. We only took twenty to Thailand, because we included eight Thai police, specially trained operatives, plus Dansford and myself, thirty or so being the troop capacity of a Chinook.’

  Perhaps the several glasses of wine and a couple of martinis were beginning to have an effect, because Dansford somewhat rudely interrupted his wife. ‘Just one problem remained: Hilda had to figure out a way to get twenty heavily armed Singapore commandos plus her drug squad component into a foreign country. It was a diplomatic initiative practically without precedent.’

  Detective Chicken Wing gave him a dirty look. He was using his familial status to interrupt what was officially her story. She took up where she’d left off. ‘Dansford could, theoretically, go through the American ambassador to Thailand and have him make the arrangements, but there was always the problem of a leak. Not all Thai government officials or politicians are corrupt – in fact, far from it – but we didn’t know who the bad eggs were. The Thai authorities are coming under increasing international pressure to cooperate. Heroin addiction is a huge problem in the West and even the UN is asking awkward questions. But having a foreign, highly armed and dangerous commando force land at their airport was tantamount to an invasion. Even though the actual raid was to take place in international waters, no government, no matter how friendly, will tolerate that kind of interference in their security or domestic affairs.’

  Dansford disgraced himself by interjecting once again. ‘We had the perfect setup, a battle location made in heaven against an unarmed opponent, and we couldn’t organise the transport logistics.’

  Detective Chicken Wing shot him another meaningful look and I wondered what would happen when they got home. She was no shrinking violet. ‘Well, guanxi finally solved the problem,’ she said. ‘My Singapore family is directly related to our prime minister, and through my division commander I was able to see the great man himself. I briefed him and he simply picked up the phone and called Prince Bhisatej Raj ani of Thailand, who recently started what is known as the Royal Project Foundation. This is a special initiative designed to teach the Thai border hill tribes how to grow sustainable crops and so wean them off the cultivation of opium.

  ‘An hour after our prime minister made the call, and while I sat outside his office close to panic, the reply came back and his secretary escorted me back into the PM’s office, where he told me we had a top-secret all-clear to enter Thailand.’ Detective Chicken Wing paused. ‘The prime minister then stabbed his forefinger at me. “Just one thing, Detective Sergeant!” “Yes, sir?” I replied. “For God’s sake, for the sake of Singapore and my government, don’t screw up this operation!” “No, sir,” I replied in a tiny voice I hardly recognised as my own, then, shaking like a leaf, I mumbled my thanks and turned to leave. As I reached the door, he called out, “Good luck, Hilda! Give the bastards hell!” ’

  Dansford, as usual showing remarkable ability to hold his grog, now said, ‘Well, there’s not really much more to say. We landed on deck and in ten minutes had the biggest combined arrest of the principals of any drug cartel ever. Effectively we got everyone, or everyone at the top. The only one who got away was the biggest of them all, but she’s permanently shut in a box underground.’ He turned to Detective Chicken Wing and raised his glass. ‘I’d like to propose a toast to Detective Inspector Hilda Wing of the Singapore Drug Squad.’

  We all congratulated the new detective inspector and then Dansford rang the bell. Moments later a waiter appeared and we ordered dessert – in my case, trifle, my absolute favourite pudding in the world. And then I made my big mistake. ‘And Johnny, how did he die?’ I asked.

  Absolute silence followed and then Mercy B. Lord started to weep and shake. I grabbed her and held her tight. ‘Oh, what did I say?’ I asked, looking for an explanation, hugely distressed. But my beloved simply continued to wail, and Dansford and Hilda remained silent, looking down into their wine glasses. ‘What did I say? What’s wrong?’ I asked, upset at my terrible gaffe.

  Mercy B. Lord pulled free, attempting to gain control of her emotions. ‘Tell him, Dansford,’ she choked, reaching for her napkin to wipe her tears. But then they started afresh and stopped again, as if a memory kept bumping into her consciousness then receding just as quickly.

  ‘Are you sure?’ Dansford asked her.

  Mercy B. Lord nodded and came back into my arms.

  ‘It was the one mistake we made,’ he began. ‘We foolishly underestimated Sidney Wing. He had sent Johnny out to the oil tanker by motorboat earlier in the day. Johnny wasn’t in the drug cartel so couldn’t be present. Having frisked all those attending the meeting, Sidney knew they were all unarmed. He had Johnny already positioned on board, armed with a Browning automatic in case something unforseen went wrong at the meeting. He was hidden from sight and positioned to observe the proceedings long before the Chinook arrived bringing the members of the cartel.

  ‘Well, as I said, we arrived in the returning Chinook and, remarkably, with only a warning shot fired, we arrested and manacled them all, including Mercy B. Lord and, of course, Lotus Blossom, which was necessary to protect the safety of our mole. We were leading all Sidney’s dubious guests out to the waiting Chinook, where five heavily armed police officers waited to take over from the army and escort them back to Bangkok and from there on to Singapore. This would henceforth be a police operation under Detective Sergeant Wing’s command. Then Johnny suddenly appeared, seemingly from nowhere, and grabbed Mercy B. Lord from the rear, putting his pistol to her head. “Stop!” he yelled, “or she dies!” ’ Dansford glanced at Mercy B. Lord, then said quietly, ‘This is one of the many reasons why you should get the medal of honour, my dear.’ He continued. ‘With a pistol to the back of her head, she said in a calm voice, “Johnny, go ahead, shoot. We’re all of us dead anyway.” Johnny shoved the Browning further into the base of her neck and howled like a dog. “Beatrice promised I could have you! You’re mine, you hear? You die first, you whore!” Then the sniper’s bullet entered the back of his head …’ Dansford couldn’t bring himself to complete the sentence.

  ‘How did you know, Simon?’ Mercy B. Lord howled. ‘It happened just like in your painting!’

  Oh, God, how I loved this woman.

  EPILOGUE

  Singapore and Sydney, Australia 1990–91

  IF I’VE MANAGED TO hold your interest thus far, then you may be interested in the twenty years that followed. Pretty uneventful, I’m afraid, but lovely, with Chairman Meow more or less reconciled to the fact that Mercy B. Lord and I decided to live in Singapore, until two years ago, or, if you like, at arm’s length from Mercy B. Koo’s mother-in-law. Given her unshakeable faith in the power of Little Sparrow’s dream, she had every confidence that Mercy
B. Lord and I would prosper and be happy, but nevertheless she would have preferred to have us within her sphere of influence. Well before our wedding, Chairman Meow had taken her soon-to-be daughter-in-law aside and recounted the dream, before going on to analyse its meaning.

  ‘You are the infant in the dream, my dear, Beatrice Fong is the old crone, and the cord connecting you is the secret family relationship, you see.’ Poor trapped Mercy B. Lord was far too polite to do more than nod and smile as my mother continued. ‘The three lotus blossoms in the dream are, I believe, the three lives of Lotus Blossom – Johnny Wing’s teenage promise of betrothal is the first, the rape by the Japanese captain and the birth of her child is the second, and the banishment to Burma and the drug cartel is the third. The fat wooden dragon, the traditional Chinese symbol of prosperity, as you know, is the wealth accumulated from heroin, and the chisel through its heart is the fact that all the prosperity came to nothing because the money was ultimately confiscated.’

  Mercy B. Lord then asked, perhaps only to be polite, ‘The gold chisel – the fact that it stabbed the fat dragon and ended the wealth accumulated from drugs – do you think it’s symbolically the work of the infant in the dream?’