Forged in Honor (1995) (15 page)

Po stepped closer to Stephen and lowered his voice. "Now that you are here we can save our country.... Stephen, you are here because we are going to be negotiating with some very influential American businessmen. The prime minister approved your plan for opening our country to Western business."

Stephen stopped in openmouthed shock. "He approved my plan?"

Po took his arm and kept him moving. "Yes, almost four months ago. We had to keep it a secret for security reasons.

Until we hold free elections it is against American policy for these businessmen to deal with us. To keep the American authorities from knowing we are conducting negotiations, I and the others have identification making us Thai-American citizens. We must secure the loans and guarantees now."

Stephen nodded reluctantly, knowing all too well how much they needed the loans.

Outside a minivan was waiting. Stephen recognized the driver, a DDSI sergeant. Once the other four men were inside the vehicle, the sergeant pulled away from the curb. Po motioned toward the driver. "Sergeant Shin will be with you from now on, for security reasons."

Po opened a briefcase and handed Stephen a thick packet.

"Inside is your cover background paper. Read it and memorize all the information. You are now an American citizen.

Inside you'll also find a driver's license, credit cards, and five hundred dollars. You also have a rental car that Shin will drive for you. Your new identity will be used from now until you return here to the airport. I've been here the past month finalizing the arrangements and have had no problems, so don't be concerned. Captains Sing and Bwin will be monitoring our overall security."

"You have found American businessmen willing to take such a risk?" asked Stephen.

Po smiled. "They want to be ahead of their competitors.

Profit always outweighs the risk. The oil and mining representatives are very eager to acquire exclusive rights. We will get the loans from them with no problem." Po patted Stephen's leg. "Sit back and rest, my friend. The nine-hour time difference plays havoc with your system. Shin has already checked you into a room that adjoins his, and I put some pills on your nightstand that will help you get a full eight hours of sleep. Take them, Stephen. I need you ready.

The negotiations begin in three days. Your plans for the future of our country will soon become a reality. You can be very proud."

Sergeant Shin took Stephen's bag and led him through the side entrance of the Holiday Inn's Holidome. Once inside, Stephen stopped in awe. He had never seen anything like it.

The huge glass ceiling forty feet above completely enclosed a large swimming pool partially surrounded by rock formations and jungle like gardens. Large tropical trees, ferns, and flowering plants gave the surreal effect of being in a tropical paradise.

The sergeant smiled at Stephen's expression. "It is very nice, yes? Our rooms are just ahead. We can walk out our front door and enjoy this beautiful place." He led Stephen to a door just thirty feet from the pool and motioned to his right. "I'm next door and the others are in the next three rooms. Let me show you how lucky we are."

He opened the door and tossed Stephen's suitcase onto the king-size bed. "Have you ever seen such a bed? And if hungry or thirsty all you have to do is pick up the phone and dial room service. They will bring you almost anything you desire."

At the mention of "phone" Stephen shot his eyes to the husky sergeant. "I must call my wife. How do I get through?"

Shin frowned. "Yes, I understand, but you cannot call. To phone our country would violate security. Records are kept of such calls and would tell the authorities we are here. Tomorrow morning I will drive you across the city and you may phone her and explain that you will not be able to call again.

You will tell her the reason is security. Sleep now. Tomorrow you can relax and enjoy the pool and other wonders this place offers. Our rooms adjoin and the door will always be open. If you need anything just call for me, night or day. I'll always be with you."

Weary from the long trip, Stephen nodded in silence, knowing that nothing had changed. Despite being in the United States he was being watched and told what he could and could not do--he still wasn't trusted. But a few minutes later he lay down and smiled with pride. They had accepted his plan! Soon his country would be open and have a freely elected government. Mya would be so proud of him ... and perhaps, so would his father.

.

9 P. M., Washington, D. C.

In an executive conference room of the State Department, Gordon Thorton, the White House deputy national security adviser, sat down at the table facing three men who made up a very select special committee. Thorton glanced first at the crusty, silver-haired man directly across from him whom he knew well and secretly admired, Director William Jennings of the CIA. Jennings was a no-nonsense leader who was known for not pulling punches. The second man was Lieutenant General Nathan Summer, head of the Defense Intelligence Agency. A tall, broad-shouldered West Point ex--football star, he was, at forty-nine years old, the youngest man in the room. The third man was James Cutter, the State Department's former chief of Southeast Asian affairs and now State's newly appointed bureau chief of International Narcotics Matters. Cutter, a Harvard man, was a bookish type; he even wore small, wire-rimmed glasses and a bow tie to add to the stereotype. Despite not being a backslapper or a people person, Cutter was considered one of the most steady men in the State Department.

Thorton cleared his throat and spoke somberly. "Gentlemen, I appreciate your attendance at this late hour but I'm sure you understand why the president gave me permission to call this committee together. The president has had time to digest your updates and now wants you to give him options."

Director Jennings casually lifted his hand from the table.

"Gordy, the updates we've been giving you and the president have been just that, updates. We also just got in some new information that you and the president haven't seen. Before you start pressing us for options I want to make sure you understand what we're up against." Without waiting for a reply, Jennings nodded to his assistant. "This is Harry Irving, one of our desk men for Burma. Harv, go ahead and give Mr.

Thorton the latest poop."

The Burma desk officer looked at Thorton. "I will quickly recap the events as we presently know them, then discuss the newest information. On 3 June, an agent from the CIA's Counter Narcotics Center assigned to work with the DEA country team was reported by the Rangoon police as having been seen by several witnesses in his car prior to veering off a road, breaking through a guardrail, and plunging into a Rangoon river canal. His body was not recovered. None of our embassy staff were allowed to interview the supposed witnesses of the accident. An hour after the accident the embassy was attacked by a bomb-laden truck. You have seen it on CNN, so there is no need to go over what the press has reported thus far about the events. The loss of life has been placed at nineteen embassy staff personnel killed and another thirty-six wounded, nine of them critically. Twenty-two Burmese were also killed, twelve working in the embassy and the rest outside the front gate in cars, on the sidewalk or shopping in the stores across from the American compound.

What the press does not know is the following: Television security cameras at the main gate recorded the entire event up to the explosion. The security control room in the basement of the chancery was not destroyed, and the tape of the events prior to the explosion was saved."

Irving stepped over to a television and VCR set up on a metal stand and pushed the Play button of the VCR. "Our technical support people have copied the tape in slow motion for analysis. What you are seeing now is Chief of Station Alex Manning's staff car pulling up to the gate. Our technical staff enlarged the frames and we have identified the occupants of the vehicle as the Defense attache, Colonel Abbot, right front seat; agency case officer Robert Jobaski, driving;

Alex Manning, the COS, right rear passenger seat; DEA chief Gilbert Halley, left rear passenger seat. Note the Marine guard, now."

Thorton cringed as the back of the young Marine's head exploded toward the camera. He was about to avert his eyes from the screen when the truck came into view. "Oh, God," he murmured aloud, as in slow motion, the small staff car collapsed around the truck's extended bumper and the DEA chief was flung from the vehicle. The camera view changed to one obviously of a camera attached to the roof of the building, for the truck was seen from an above angle. The television screen turned to static just as the front portion of truck disappeared behind the front entrance awning.

Irving took a cassette from his pocket and inserted it into a cassette player on the table. "This tape was also recovered from the control room. Prior to leaving the embassy the COS had his staff make two copies of this conversation. One he placed in an envelope to be sent to us, the copy I have now; another copy he took with him. The tape you are about to hear is a call from the agent who later would be involved in the canal accident and is believed dead." He pushed the Play button.

The four men exchanged glances after listening to the words of agent Peter Drisco. Then Irving returned to the head of the table. "Mr. Thorton, as you know, we sent aircraft for the remains of the deceased. The first aircraft returned early this morning with the bodies and all the case files of the COS and Colonel Abbot. Those records are at Langley and are still being studied."

Irving dipped his chin and returned to his seat behind Director Jennings, who raised one bushy silver eyebrow.

"Gordy, based on the security camera tape, this was not a random terrorist attack. There are too many coincidences.

First, the call from the agent at the airport that you heard.

Second, his subsequent wreck and disappearance. Third, the shooting to ensure that the chief of station's vehicle was stopped at the gate. Fourth, the truck striking that particular car at that particular moment. We believe this was a hit to specifically kill the members of the embassy's intelligence community. It is our opinion that this drastic action was ordered by elements in the military government of Burma who are directly involved in the production of heroin and are trying to cover it up."

Jennings let his words sink in before speaking again. "As you and the president have read in our recent updates, we believe the junta is producing heroin. Manning's mission had been to find us hard proof. His cables of the past week indicated he had a lead. The agent's recorded tape confirms he had found something." Jennings nodded toward the uniformed officer across from him. "Nathan has been providing us with the satellite photos, so I'll let him give his opinion on this."

General Summer leaned forward in his chair. "Mr.

Thorton, the National Reconnaissance Office is taking more shots as we speak, but with the photos we've taken over the past two years our imagery analysts and those of the Agency agree that there appear to be five major production facilities operating in northern Burma. The DIA agrees with the CIA assessment. We believe the junta killed our people to cover up their illegal heroin production activities."

Thorton nodded slowly and leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table. "All right then, what I need from you now are options for the president to consider on how to handle the situation. He's going on national television tomorrow to respond to the press about what happened in Burma. Do we have enough for him to accuse their government of a cover-up?"

Jennings's face showed his surprise. "Wait a damn minute.

You're jumping ahead of us on this. What we just explained is our opinion based on the information we have. But it's too damn early for the president to accuse them of anything."

Thorton stared at the director. "Do we have enough to make the accusation, or don't we?"

Jennings shook his head. "The junta has got us by the balls. There isn't hard proof they were directly involved in the bombing or the disappearance of our agent, and we sure as hell don't have the assets to find anything without their cooperation. The bastards have us in a box and know it."

Thorton's eyes widened in surprise. "Hold it! You're telling me your agency doesn't have spies, or whatever you call them, in Burma! What the hell have you been doing, for God's sake?"

The director bristled. "I'm telling you they've shut us and our allies' intelligence efforts down. Their flicking secret police has had years to tighten the controls and build an informant network so tight a flea can't get into that country without them knowing about it. We're not talking about a half-assed, two-bit organization that can be bribed or coopted. These bastards are more high-tech and five times more brutal than what the East German Stasi used to be. They don't imprison informers, they kill them."

Thorton's eyes darted to the other two men. "Is this committee telling me the president is going to have to accept the junta's explanation when we all know it's bullshit? The lying bastards have killed nineteen of our people! Jesus Christ, one of you has got to have people in Burma that can get us proof.