White Ghost (18 page)

C
obra looked over at Kasa, who was driving with what seemed to him to be the casual anticipation of a man leaving on a vacation, not on a journey that would leave him jailed in a makeshift cell in the industrial district of Chiang Rai. He skirted a valley carpeted with paddies and furnished with thatched-roof shelters for those who tended the rice, and then came to a stop at the base of a hill. He led them on a climb of a humid, sweaty six hundred feet, then pointed out one of his men sitting on a bicycle at the west end of the valley and another reclining, pretending to be asleep in the bed of a pickup truck parked at the east end. Forty-five minutes later, they spotted a twenty-mule train walking a path along the opposite hill, appearing and disappearing as it wound through the low rain forest.

Cobra scanned the sky looking for Thai police air surveillance. The most vulnerable time was when the heroin emerged from the jungle. But nothing marked the blue above them except some high clouds and birds in flight.

They watched the drivers transfer heavy burlap packs from
the backs of the mules into the beds of two pickup trucks, then watched them roll east.

As soon as they returned to the Land Cruiser, Shan voices emerged from the staticky background of Kasa's CB radio.

“My people are both behind and in front of the pickups,” Kasa told Kai and Cobra. “They're moving slowly and checking for surveillance.”

Cobra knew the Wa wouldn't take a direct route to get where they were going. They might travel a complicated thirty kilometers to reach a destination a short ten kilometers away.

“They'll signal us when the heroin gets to its destination.” Kasa smiled and patted his stomach. “It may be a while before we have a chance to eat again. We'll stop on the way.”

Kai cast Cobra a watch-out-for-an-ambush glance.

Kasa drove to a shacklike café next to a four-story guest house fronting the river. As they walked to a table near the window facing the street, Kai telephoned her driver and bodyguard to tell them their location, then ordered food to be taken to them in the parking lot when they arrived.

Over bowls of spicy Thai rice noodles and Lao sausages, Cobra asked Kasa about his seeming lack of concern about his coming imprisonment.

“I have been through this before, except usually I'm the one doing the guarding. In a few days all this will seem foolish. Eight Iron doesn't want your heroin. He has his own way of making money.”

Kai noticed two men enter the restaurant and then take a table at the opposite side. They had hill tribe features, but their slacks and shirts and neat haircuts put them a generation away from their home village.

“It's really interesting,” Kasa said. “This is the first time anyone has been held hostage to guarantee a load owned by neither party.”

“Unusual circumstances,” Kai said, keeping her eyes on the men, “require unusual methods.”

She looked back at Kasa. He shook his head.

“Those two aren't mine.” Kasa smiled. “I thought they were yours.”

They ate in silence until Kasa's cell phone rang. He listened for a moment, then disconnected.

“The truck and the motorcycles are ready.”

Kasa drove to an auto repair shop where a wood-railed flatbed truck was waiting, its back covered with a green canvas. Two dark-skinned men rode up on battered Honda motorcycles. They looked over at Kai, then dusted off their worn T-shirts and khaki shorts and walked over.

Cobra felt an edge of unease as Kasa introduced them as Moby and Luck. Their names told him they were Kasa's tribesmen and would be loyal to him over Eight Iron.

As if to emphasize that point, Moby spoke in Shan and Kasa translated.

“The pickups are at a warehouse on the east side of the town.”

“I'll stand by with the truck,” Cobra said to Kasa. “You and Kai go take a look.”

Cobra walked with Kai to her car to retrieve the shortwave gear, then whispered, “Make sure your people are ready to grab Kasa if he tries to make a run for it.”

Kai nodded, and then reached under a rear passenger seat and slipped him a small 9mm.

They returned to the truck, agreed on frequencies, tested the equipment, and then Cobra, Moby, and Luck climbed into the cab.

Kai directed Kasa to get into the front passenger seat of the Land Cruiser and gestured for her bodyguard to sit behind him. She sat behind the driver.

Kasa guided them through the dirt backstreets of Mae Sai,
past itinerant laborers and the food carts where they ate, flophouse hotels where they slept, and warehouses where they worked loading and unloading trucks.

After the third turn, Kasa glanced back at Kai's bodyguard.

“What have you got pointed between my shoulders?” Kasa asked. “A Beretta, a Glock, maybe something Chinese?”

“Nothing you need to be concerned about,” Kai said. “We're all friends, and we'll stay friends as long as you cooperate.”

Cobra called to say he was stationed on a side street a hundred meters west of the warehouse.

Kasa signaled the driver to pull over just before an intersection. An old man squatting by the side of the road rose, approached his window, and whispered in Shan.

Kasa gestured toward the corner, making a curving motion with his hand. “He says the trucks they're using are parked behind the warehouse.”

Kai pointed at the old man, “
Koon poot passa Thai dai mai?
” Do you speak Thai?

He nodded.

“Then we'll go together to take a look.”

Kai glanced sideways at her bodyguard, then nodded toward Kasa. The bodyguard tilted the barrel upward, pointing it at the base of Kasa's skull. She then walked with the old man around the corner and down an alleyway. He stopped at the back of a dried fish store, then led her inside. From a rear window they watched laborers loading two trucks with sacks of Swatow (Thailand) Fifth Flavor Brand cassava powder that bore the name printed in both English and Chinese.

She called Cobra. “They're two older, dark green, heavy-duty Isuzu cargo carriers. Wood-framed beds. Blue canvas. The sides of the trucks say Thailand Transport, painted in yellow. The license plates are O5782 with the truck code 71 and S7231
with a truck code of 78. I'll send you a photo. Looks like they're hiding the heroin in cassava powder.”

Kai raised her phone toward the trucks, snapped the picture, and sent it.

The old man then led her to the corner of the alleyway where they waited to see whether the trucks would head south toward the Bangkok port, east toward Cambodia, Laos, or Vietnam, or north toward Burma.

The trucks crept to the end of the alley and turned north.

Kai called Cobra as she walked back to the Land Cruiser. The driver looped around the block and cut in ahead of the trucks, slowing them down long enough for Cobra to reach the border before they did.

After a drive of three kilometers, Kai spotted the crossing. Her cell phone rang. It was Cobra calling from the other side.

“I can see you. Look up toward the first turn in the road. I'm just past the temple.”

“We'll lead the trucks through,” Kai said, “then drop off.”

Kai took the semiautomatic from her bodyguard's hand, racked back the slide to chamber a round, and then said to Kasa: “Let's try to stay friends just a little bit longer.”

G
age spotted Kai walking toward him where he stood at the China Eastern Airlines check-in counter at Bangkok's Suvarnabhumi Airport. It was four hours after she'd chained Kasa to a lathe in the Siri Construction warehouse in Chiang Rai. And five hours after that they were approaching a passport control booth at the Hongqiao Airport on the western outskirts of Shanghai.

Zhang Xianzi, a Chinese People's Liberation Army general, stood waiting on the other side. Gage knew no one who understood the coast of the East China Sea better than Zhang and how to exploit that knowledge for personal gain. With the frame of a middleweight boxer, Zhang was dressed in a business suit and accompanied by a uniformed soldier. Gage noticed that his face had softened over the years, but he didn't doubt that concealed behind it remained the calculating and mercenary mind that not only had advanced his career and made him wealthy, but had now drawn Gage back to him.

Zhang glanced at Gage, then fixed his eyes on Kai as the two of them retrieved their passports and approached him.

“And who is this lovely person?” Zhang said, smiling at Kai.

Gage introduced Kai by her Chinese name, Chen Mei-li, then added, “But everyone calls her Kai.”

“Kai,” Zhang said. “I don't know the name Kai. Where's your home village?”

“A few miles outside Jieyang in Guangdong Province,” Kai said, “but I was born in Isaan, in northern Thailand.”

Zhang raised a forefinger and said in Mandarin:

So bright a gleam at the foot of my bed,

Could there have been a frost already?

Lifting myself to look, I see that it is moonlight.

Lowering my head, I dream that I am home.

Gage knew that if he hadn't already been feeling queasy, Zhang's histrionic performance would have brought it on. He felt Kai stiffen next to him, but knew she'd play along. He also knew that Zhang would drop the act once he understood that Kai wouldn't be sleeping with him.

“Li Po,” Kai said, giving Zhang a soft smile, and then translated the poem into English. “My father read that poem to me and my sister at bedtime. I haven't heard it since she recited it at his funeral.”

“Then let me welcome you to your homeland.” Zhang turned to Gage. “Where are you staying?”

“The Cypress Hotel,” Gage said. “It's close to one of the companies . . .”

Gage paused and looked at the soldier.

“It's okay,” Zhang said. “This is Technical Officer Shiu. He can be trusted. You can call him Ferrari.” Zhang smiled. “You'll soon find out why.”

Gage nodded to Ferrari, then looked back at Zhang.

“The hotel is close to a company whose name came up in connection with the smuggling operation.”

Ferrari took their bags and led them toward a Yukon with the boxy license frame of the type used in the States, rather than long narrow frame made to fit Chinese plates. Gage had no doubt that it had been stolen in the United States and smuggled into China, and he suspected Zhang had intercepted it and kept it for himself. It was a natural conclusion. Gage had first met Zhang in connection with an auto smuggling case. Car carriers bearing Mercedes SUVs had been hijacked on their way from the factory to the Port of Bremerhaven in Germany. The vehicles were then loaded into containers and shipped to Shanghai. Gage suspected Zhang had appropriated a few for himself and other officers as a kind of tax imposed on the conspiracy by the PLA.

While Ferrari loaded their luggage into the back, Kai and Gage settled into the rear passenger seats and Zhang climbed into the front.

The Hongqiao Special Economic Zone came into view as they left the airport. Gage spotted a sign for ChinaCom among dozens of other high-tech companies along the highway just before they turned into the grass-covered and tree-bordered hotel grounds. Gage had decided not to tell Zhang that ChinaCom might be the ultimate recipient of the microchips. It wasn't worth the risk that Zhang might make a preemptive move. Gage had always known Zhang to be in a hot rage for profit and figured it would be wise to take his temperature first.

After they checked in and Zhang went to make dinner arrangements, Kai came to Gage's suite to wait to hear from Cobra. They didn't know whether he was in an area where he had cell service or would have to use the shortwave. Gage examined the scratched and battered radio as she got it ready on the desk in the bedroom. He suspected that years earlier she'd used it to contact mother ships anchored off the coast of Vietnam, waiting to on-load bales of Thai marijuana for the voyage to the western United States, Canada, and Europe.

On the half hour, Cobra's voice chirped in from the receiver's speaker.

“Isaan one, Isaan one, over.”

“Isaan one, over,” Kai answered.

“We're with our friends. All is well. Over.”

“Is the weather good? Over.”

“Just what we expected. Over.”

“Isaan one, out.”

“Isaan one, out.”

“Why the weather report?” Gage asked.

“Just to make sure he's all right. If things were looking like they were going wrong or they had overpowered him, he would have said it was warmer than expected.”

“Sometimes when I look at you it's hard to imagine you in the dope trade. But right now it's not hard at all.”

Kai smiled. “Those were wild days. I'm not sure I've felt this much alive since then.” Her smile died and she looked out the window at the green hotel grounds and the distant gray high-rises and factories. “Somehow the years between then and now have just evaporated. It makes me wonder what I've really been doing all this time and how I've gotten to where I am.” She shook her head. “But now is the wrong time to think about this.” She smiled again. “I think I'll wait to have my crisis after this one is over.”

Gage smiled back. “Anytime you're ready.”

Kai packed up the shortwave gear and slid it under the bed.

“You ready to clue in the general about what's going on?” Kai asked.

Gage imagined the fishing boats sailing the East China Sea and the trucks traveling the Burma Road.

“I'm not sure; something doesn't feel right, but I don't know what it is.”

Gage knew that nausea and weakness were graying his mind,
but he couldn't shake free from it to see the whole of what was generating his unease. Part of it was that he had neither a guarantee the chips really were on the East China Sea or the heroin really was in those bags of cassava powder. That wasn't all, but he didn't know what else.

“We'll have to feel him out before we disclose anything important.”

They rode the elevator down to where Zhang was waiting for them in the bar. Walking toward him where he sat at a low table by the window, Gage examined him against the backdrop of the flowering gardens where old women in straw hats were bent over tending the plants. The women seemed oblivious not only to the hotel guests talking business and drinking, but to those like Gage who were wondering where these women had come from and how it was that life had led them to work into old age just a pane of glass away from the kind of crime and corruption represented by men like Zhang.

Zhang waited until their drinks were served, then asked, “Time for business?”

Gage nodded. “But let me start with a hypothetical.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Suppose there was a smuggling transaction involving the coast of China. On one side are stolen items. On the other, contraband.”

“What contraband?”

“I'll get to that later.”

“By container or by fishing boat?”

Given the thousands of fishing boats in the straits between Taiwan and China, Gage didn't think there was a risk in answering.

“Fishing boat.”

“And you're thinking . . .”

“Border trade.”

“And that's why you called me.”

“Exactly.”

When Gage first met Zhang, he commanded a PLA-controlled port on the North China Sea, used by the military to circumvent official government trade barriers with South Korea and Taiwan and to earn income by taxing goods passing through. Only half the PLA's budget came from the central government; the rest they earned in business and managing illegal trade.

“It is likely that neither side has disclosed to the border trade commander the nature of the goods that will be passing through his jurisdiction.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Risk and the high value of the goods.”

“That would mean the contraband is doubly smuggled,” Zhang said, “into China and also past the commander. They want the protection without paying the full price the amount of risk demands.”

“That's what I'm thinking. The question is whether, with full knowledge, the commander would allow the transaction to occur in exchange for adequate compensation.”

Zhang shrugged. “It depends on what that is.”

“The stolen items.”

“What are they worth?”

“At least a few million dollars.”

“And the contraband has the same value.”

“Probably the same, or very close.”

“So it's a barter of some kind.”

“It seems that way.”

Zhang took a sip of his drink and looked out at the elderly gardeners. Finally, he said, “The commander would want deniability.”

“Which would at least mean he wouldn't interfere.”

Zhang opened his palms on the table before him. “He can't act on what he doesn't know about.”

“How would you suggest we approach such a commander?”

Zhang grinned. “You know how and you just did, at least indirectly. And that tells me you think the port they're using is along the East China Sea.”

Gage nodded. “At least the stolen goods on one side of the transaction.”

“And the other?”

“I don't know yet.”

“And when do you expect this hypothetical to become real?”

“It left port within the last twelve hours and we think it will arrive within the next three days. Maybe sooner.”

The maître d' arrived to escort them to the dining room. Gage let Kai walk ahead with Zhang. They spoke quietly in Chinese. Gage hoped Kai was continuing to display warm feelings toward Zhang's poetry and gestures. He believed that he had a better chance to judge the depth of the general's thinking if his attention was divided and he was a little off balance.

Gage found that Zhang had arranged for flowers matching the red and purple bougainvillea theme of the garden and for a centerpiece of sculpted fruits and vegetables. Silver-clad chopsticks were laid next to flowered China place settings in front of the three tall-backed upholstered chairs.

The investment Zhang had made in the dinner communicated to Gage that he expected a big payoff.

Waitresses bought crab and egg-drop soup, followed by a series of northern Chinese dishes.

Gage saw actual delight in Kai's face and a bit of the shark in Zhang's as southern Chinese Chaozhou steamed fish was carried in last.

“I ordered this especially for you,” Zhang said, serving Kai the first piece.

It was pure Zhang, Gage thought. Either he knew already or
did the research to discover that her family's ancestral village was in a Chaozhou-speaking area.

Kai closed her eyes as she tasted it and set down her chopsticks.

“Wonderful,” she finally said, opening her eyes again and smiling at Zhang. “You're very thoughtful.”

Gage knew that there was a single word in Chinese that meant both opportunity and danger and wondered if there was also one that meant both thoughtful and devious to describe Zhang and another that meant grateful and suspicious to describe Kai.

“Are we ready to move from fantasy to reality?” Zhang asked, then looked from Kai to Gage.

“Let's first take the hypothetical a step further,” Gage said. “Would our commander know how to dispose of microprocessors?”

Zhang stared down at the plate of steamed fish as he answered. “The question isn't what a commander would do, but”—he now looked up at Gage—“and this is only a hypothetical . . . it's what a general would do.”

“Well, what would a general do?”

“A general would prove to his superiors he's taking vigorous action to suppress software and hardware piracy so the Central Committee can satisfy the Americans that China is a good citizen of the world economic community.”

Gage smiled to himself. Zhang had mastered political craft in the years since they had last worked together. Back then his first impulse would've been to grab the chips and sell them on the black market, not giving a thought to how he could leverage the seizure into personal power. But Gage didn't fool himself. Deception was also part of political craft and he had no reason to think Zhang was telling the truth.

“What would our hypothetical general expect in compensation for his patriotism?”

Zhang bit his lip for a moment, then said, “I think he'd need to hear a proposal.”

The pause told Gage they were now out of Zhang's territory and into Gage's.

“How about a confidential reward from the company that insured the chips. It could be paid into a Hong Kong bank account?”

Zhang shook his head. “A general couldn't have his name associated with that or he'd soon find his head lying on the ground next to him.”

“Suppose it was deposited into an account in the name of a Hong Kong company. Let's call it, hypothetically, K-A-I Investments Limited.”

Kai smiled. “Very good. I like that name.”

“Why K-A-I?” Zhang smiled. “Oh. I see. I like that, too.”

“How much money would it take?”

Zhang rocked his head side to side, then said, “The general wouldn't be greedy. Enough to ensure he could travel in comfort outside of China, perhaps to fund his children's college education in the States.”