“Something like it, perhaps.”
“What is it?”
She looked at Lenny. “If I had to say? It looks like a mass grave.”
Lenny said nothing. He glanced at the photo and then back at Alice.
“What is Ventura doing out there?” she said. “No, don’t tell me.”
“He’s arming the former Khmer Rouge. Trying to destabilize the government.”
“I said don’t tell me. That’s classified.”
“You already know.”
“I don’t know the specifics.”
“I’m not telling you the specifics. You can practically read that much in the New York Times.”
“Okay. But this potentially changes things. Are they planning to attack the government forces and bury the prisoners here?”
“I don’t think so.”
“The Khmer Rouge have a history of this kind of thing.”
“Sure, but what I’m saying is, I don’t think they’re building an army.”
“Why?”
“I told you, I saw some of these guys. They didn’t look capable of a deep breath, let alone a battle.”
Alice nodded and thought, and then lost the color from her face.
“The Khmer Rouge have a history of something else.”
“Which is?”
“Burying their own.”
“Are you serious?”
“They’ve done it before, that’s all I’m saying. And if you think these people you saw are incapable of working or doing whatever leadership wants, then they become surplus to requirements, a burden.”
“But their own people?”
“I don’t see another use for this trench, without seeing it live.”
“You want to see it live?”
Alice shook her head. “No, I do not. We have no business in this country.”
“And yet . . .”
“The Department of Justice is not a covert organization, Lenny.”
“So what do I do?”
“Honestly? I think you do nothing. It hurts but this is not our issue. You could talk to Ventura, but he has his orders, too. I don’t think it will change anything, other than erode any faith Ventura has in you, and that won’t be good for your career.”
“My career?”
She put her hand to Lenny’s cheek. “I know you don’t care about stripes and medals. I’m not saying that. But you’re a good Marine and a good man, and we need more of both defending us. Ventura can put a black mark on your record. All I’m saying is, tread carefully. You can’t fight every battle.”
Lenny nodded but didn’t reply. He valued Alice’s thoughts on most things, but especially international relations. She knew more than he would ever know about such matters, and a whole lot besides. But that didn’t mean he always agreed with her. She saw the world her way and he saw it his. He believed that you could, indeed, fight every battle. Knowing which ones you would win was the rub. But the real trick was in defining what a win looked like. That was where armies and generals and presidents and prime ministers had failed throughout history. But their definitions were always clouded by politics. For Lenny, it was a simpler, more basic definition.
He folded up the photo and put it back in his pocket, slipped off his stool, and drank the last of his water.
“Appreciate it,” he said.
“Any time.”
Lenny made for the door.
“Wait,” said Alice.
Lenny turned back to her. For a long moment they looked at each other. Then she gave him the half smile that he enjoyed every bit as much as he suspected he was supposed to.
“Call me,” she said.
He nodded, and then he walked out.
Chapter Thirteen
Lenny had one more opinion to get. He didn’t yet know if it was an opinion he would value—like Alice’s—but it was an opinion that he suspected might help him make a decision.
He found Kendra Abernathy right where Ventura had said he would, eating lunch in the mall food court near the British Embassy. She wasn’t alone, which Lenny was pleased about. It would save him a question or two, and some time.
Kendra saw him approach, weaving between tables where mostly expats sat eating sandwiches or pad thai. She nodded toward him but her lunch companion didn’t turn to look, as if he already expected Lenny to be there.
“Good afternoon, Sergeant,” said Kendra with a smile.
“Miss Abernathy,” replied Lenny, pulling out a chair and taking a seat. He turned and nodded to Lucas, who was dressed in civilian clothes and eating boiled chicken and rice.
“Lucas,” said Lenny.
Lucas nodded back. “How are you, mate?”
“Another day in paradise. How’s the chicken?”
“Same as what you get on the street but five times the cost.”
“The price of air conditioning.”
“Humidity is solved with a wet cloth and a cold beer.”
Lenny shrugged. It was a good point.
“What brings you to lunch?” Kendra asked.
Lenny hesitated for a moment. He had come to find Kendra Abernathy, but it wasn’t her opinion he wanted. She was the only way he knew to find the Australian—and through her, now he had. The question was, did he want her to see the photograph? It was, after all, classified intelligence. He shouldn’t even be showing it to Lucas, who was a member of a foreign military, even if they were allies. So showing it widely wasn’t something he had planned to do. But he figured Kendra wasn’t likely to even know what it was, let alone do anything with that information, so he took the chance and pulled the photo from his pocket.
He slipped it across the table to Lucas and watched for his reaction. The Aussie wasn’t someone to take on in a hand of Texas Hold ’Em. Lucas looked over the photograph like it was a blank cocktail napkin. Kendra glanced toward the photo but said nothing. Then Lucas looked at Lenny.
“Do you recognize the stuff at the top?” asked Lenny.
Lucas looked once more at the photograph. “Yep.”
“What do you see?”
“A pit mine.”
“A what?”
“Pit mine. Looks like they’ve dug a hole to get something out. I’ve seen them in Oz before.”
“What about on the right-hand side?”
“Looks like maybe a depression that has been hollowed out. Like they’re digging a pool.”
“They’re not digging a pool,” said Lenny.
“No, they’re not. If they were they would have taken the dirt away. It looks like it’s banked up on the side to me.”
“As if they might put the dirt back in.”
Lucas shrugged.
“Why would someone dig a hole just to put the dirt back in?” asked Kendra.
“To bury something,” said Lucas, talking to Kendra but looking at Lenny.
“Bury something? Like treasure?”
“Not treasure,” said Lucas.
“Then what?”
“Bodies,” said Lenny.
Kendra’s mouth dropped open. “Are you serious?”
“It’s a possibility.”
“How ghastly. Who would do such a thing?”
“I can’t say,” said Lenny.
“Of course,” said Kendra. “What do you plan to do?”
“Me?” asked Lenny.
“Yes, you. Your government. The United States. You’re suggesting someone will or has committed mass murder.”
“Not much that can be done,” said Lenny. “It’s a sovereign country so we can’t send in the army or the FBI. Best we could do is tell the government of wherever this place is, but I don’t think they really care.”
“How can they not care?”
“This is Southeast Asia. You know what it’s like. It’s not your first walk around this block.”
“It’s like the killing fields all over again,” said Kendra. “Someone should really do something.”
Lenny looked at Lucas, who held his gaze. “I agree,�
� said Lenny. “Someone should. But they won’t.”
Lenny took back the photo, and he waited as Kendra and Lucas finished eating. The conversation drifted from the scene in the photo into easier territory. When they had finished lunch, Kendra said she had to get back to work, and they walked out onto the muggy street and Lenny and Lucas watched her walk toward the British Embassy compound.
Lucas glanced at the pocket where Lenny had returned the photo. Lenny saw him and waited for the Australian to look him in the eye.
“You’ve been there,” said Lenny. “I know you have.”
“Right back at ya, mate.”
“So what do you think? Are the Khmers getting ready to attack the government forces?”
Lucas shook his head. “Nah, those boys couldn’t attack a cake stand. The fellas I saw, they were as crook as dogs.”
“What as what?” asked Lenny.
“Crook as dogs. Sick, mate. They weren’t the healthiest-looking specimens in the collection.”
“No, they weren’t. But you think they’re digging a mass grave?”
“It’s one theory. If a bunch of those fellas keel over, you’d wanna bury ’em quick or you could end up with a cholera epidemic or something like it on your hands real fast.”
“Yeah, you could.”
“What does your mob say about it?”
“My mob?”
“The CIA, mate.”
“Nothing. What about your guys?”
“My guys will do whatever your guys tell them to. The new prime minister is very keen to ingratiate himself with your president.”
“So nothing as well,” said Lenny.
“Exactly.”
“And the local people suffer again.”
“Usually, in my experience. Does your CIA provide medicine with their guns and rice?”
“Only if requested.”
“Was it requested?”
“I don’t think so.”
Lucas nodded. “Well, maybe someone should drop some off, just in case.”
“They won’t do that.”
“No, I didn’t figure they would.” Lucas grinned. “But someone should. Why don’t you drop by the floating markets up in Taling Chan tomorrow.”
“What’s at the markets?”
“I am, mate. Come down tomorrow.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m gonna see a man about a dog.”
Chapter Fourteen
Kendra Abernathy walked into the air-conditioned offices of the British Council. Staff were busy offering advice to students who wanted to study in the UK, or who wanted information on taking English classes or testing, or all of the above. Kendra wove her way to her desk and dropped off her handbag. She knew she wouldn’t be allowed to take it with her.
She left the office via the rear entrance and crossed the courtyard gardens, into another building. This one had no air-conditioning, and fans pushed the warm, moist air around in swirls. She took a set of stairs down into a basement area, and then wound around a corridor until she came to a heavy metal door. She pressed a button and then stepped back for the closed circuit camera to gaze down upon her.
The door buzzed and she pulled it open with two hands and then closed it behind her. She stepped into a small area surrounded by wire mesh and then turned to the man sitting on a stool behind the mesh. A small desk fan blew straight at his face and he half closed his eyes.
“Miss Abernathy,” he said in an East London accent.
“Mr. Keeps. I noticed West Ham had a win this weekend.”
“Miracles do ’appen, Miss Abernathy. So what brings you downstairs today?”
“I need to see Grandpa.”
“He’s very busy.”
“Of course he is. But I have a report.”
The man nodded and picked up a phone and spoke into it without dialing anything. Kendra couldn’t hear what he was saying, and she didn’t try to eavesdrop. The man listened briefly and then set the handset back in the cradle.
“He’ll see you,” said Mr. Keeps, and he pressed an unseen button that opened a door in the mesh. Kendra stepped through and opened another door and found herself in a wood-paneled office foyer. An older woman at a desk looked over the glasses on the end of her nose.
“Five minutes, Miss Abernathy,” she said. “Go through.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Grumley.”
Kendra walked past the desk and knocked lightly on the door beyond, but she didn’t wait for a response. She pulled the door open and stepped inside.
The office inside was large but crammed full of heavy steel filing cabinets. They took up every section of wall, save one space where a picture of the Queen proudly hung. There were two desks: one was topped with a collection of telephones, a telex machine, a fax, and a box that looked like a ham radio; the second desk held neat stacks of files. A man in a pinstripe suit sat behind the desk with the files. He looked like a London banker. His hair was combed back and his thin mustache neatly trimmed.
“Miss Abernathy,” the man said in a plummy English accent, as if he had just gotten off a flight from his country estate. “What can I do for you?”
“I have a report, sir.” The man’s name was Percival, but as station chief for MI6 he was known by his codename, Grandpa. To his face he was simply called sir.
“Go on.”
“I saw a photograph at lunch today. A low task aerial shot of a possible guerrilla military compound.”
“Where?”
“Not specified, sir. But the shadows suggested uneven topography, so I suspect mountain jungle here in Southeast Asia. Possibly Thailand, but I’d put my money on Kampuchea.”
“The origin?”
“It was held by an American Marine.”
“An American?” Grandpa sat forward in his seat. “And he showed this to you?”
“No, sir, not exactly. I don’t believe he had authority to show it to anyone, but he was sharing it with a chap from the Australian Army.”
“An Australian?”
“Yes, sir. I wondered if you had seen something like that recently.”
“Not specifically. But if it’s American intel, why would I? They don’t like to share.”
“It’s just that I recognized the filing code on the print, sir. From my time on project ECHELON. It was an ASIO code, sir.”
“ASIO, are you sure?”
“Quite, sir.”
“Why would the Australians share intel with the Americans but not GCHQ?” Grandpa appeared to be wondering aloud, but Kendra answered anyway.
“They do share the Pine Gap facility, sir.”
Grandpa shook his head. “No, that’s satellite surveillance. You said this shot was low level?”
“Definitely a flyover, sir.”
Grandpa sat back and steepled his fingers at his chin. “It would never have happened in the old days. It’s this new Aussie PM, Hawke. He seems to think Australia has suddenly become part of Asia, and some kind of American outpost. Pine Gap was just the beginning. They’re beefing up the ANZUS Treaty, too.”
“Should we be worried?”
“We should be aware, Miss Abernathy. Information is power. The Americans have an ugly history in this part of the world—Kampuchea as much as Vietnam—and the Australians were a part of that. Our history is not so public, but it’s there. The French are responsible for Pol Pot, which gives us some moral power, but we trained our fair share of Khmer Rouge. Lupin, Khe, Tan. And we know some of them are in exile in the mountains near the Thai border. If the Americans drag some of our former trainees into the light, it could be an embarrassment for Her Majesty’s government. Are you close to this American?”
“Closer to the Australian.”
“Good. Stay that way.”
“I intend to, sir.”
Chapter Fifteen
The Taling Chan district of Bangkok was about twelve kilometers from the city center but a million miles from the tourist version of the Thai capital.
L
enny followed the directions he had been given and found the market on one of the dirty klongs—canals. It was a local market by the riverside that, despite the early hour, was in full swing. Lenny carried his duffel among the local people hawking and buying produce and breakfast and clothing from market stalls both on land, and, as he got further in, on canal boats. There were very few tourists—only the most intrepid backpackers ventured to this real market. Lenny enjoyed watching people yelling at each other good-naturedly, perhaps haggling, and the aromas coming from the boats below were exotic and intoxicating. Shrimp and fish were grilled by women sitting in the long-tail boats, while others featured terra-cotta pots filled with limes and tomatoes and herbs. Catfish swarmed around the boats like Labradors waiting for scraps to fall, brave in the knowledge, perhaps, that the people above found them unpalatable.
Lenny wandered the dock, looking into each boat, taking in the smells and colors and sounds. He saw no sign of Lucas. He walked down one way until there were no more boats docked, and then returned the other way.
At the far end of the market was another dock where several more boats were tied. They were long-tails like those in the market, but they looked in various states of disrepair. Some were simply in need of paint, while others bore holes that suggested they were lucky not to be at the bottom of the canal.
A group of men stood on the concrete dock looking down into one of the boats. Each of them was smoking and the acrid tang wafted across to Lenny. The men were talking and nodding as a collective, the way men do when they are willing to offer advice but not to do the work.
A man broke the surface of the water beside the boat, and a slick of petroleum split around where the rubber-clad head appeared. The man ripped off the headwear and Lenny saw Lucas’s blond stubble. Lucas called something to the men above, and they all laughed and nodded.
Lenny stepped over just as Lucas dragged himself up onto the deck. Despite the oppressive humidity, he was wearing a full wetsuit. Lucas spotted Lenny and offered him a nod.
“You find it all right?”
“Easy enough. What’s with the wetsuit?”
“You don’t want to go into that water in your Speedos, let me tell you.”
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