Jake Fonko M.I.A. (16 page)

The servant brought in lunch, real food! Superbly cooked! Platters and bowls of it! Not wrapped in plastic foil! Salvation! While we ate we compared notes on the state of things in Phnom Penh. Poon was well informed despite his isolated location. After a while he said, “Captain Fonko, you’ve brought Soh Soon home to me, safe, sound and happy. It is a priceless joy, and a pleasure beyond what mere words can express, to have her here once again. So please tell me, what can 
I
 do for 
you
?”

“Actually, I’d appreciate it if you could help me get back to Saigon,” I said. “In the present situation, I don’t see any alternative to aborting my mission.”

He looked at me with surprise, then relaxed his face. “Sorry,” he said, “there’s no way you could have heard. The Americans evacuated Saigon five days ago, on 30 April. That’s the last place you’d want to go right now.”

“Shit! Excuse me, Mr. Poon.”

“Don’t apologize for expressing the truth. Never mind. My house is yours. Take a few days to get your feet back on the ground. We’ll think of something.” 

I hadn’t heard
such discouraging news since the big kids told me there was no Santa Claus. Poon’s place served as a safe haven for the time being, but I didn’t fancy retiring there in the middle of Indochina. My only possibility for escape now was Thailand, where the U.S. had military bases. The nearest Thai border was two hundred miles distant, as the crow flies. Realistically, I faced a very doubtful four hundred mile overland ordeal to Bangkok.

I gladly accepted Poon’s offer of R and R. He was right, I needed to get my feet back on the ground and attend to long-neglected matters of body and soul. I’d lost a lot of weight, thanks to the Khmer Rouge comprehensive diet plan, and serious exercise had been on hold for over a month. One of Poon’s maid-servants whipped me out some tropical weight cotton outfits, semi-safari style with lots of pockets, and he rounded up an assortment of comfortable European sandals and shoes. The ladies kept the food, an irresistible fusion of French and Cantonese cuisines, coming. His place was quiet and comfortable, and high enough in the hills that jogging and aerobic workouts were a pleasure before dawn and after dusk. After a couple days my muscles stopped aching and I could feel strength and stamina reviving.

Poon seemed happy to have some company. Apparently he’d long ago exhausted conversation with his four Chinese managers. The others in the compound were local laborers and servant women—cooks, cleaners and several comely ones whose duties seemed to begin around bedtime. Also he maintained a small army of hard-looking, well-armed guards, several squads of whom rotated between guarding the compound and patrolling the perimeters. No one could successfully operate in that neck of the woods without a private militia, it seemed.

Nightly we sat under ceiling fans on the verandah, the mosquitos outside butting at the fine-mesh screen to no avail, and chatted away the evenings over gin and tonics, or wines from an extensive cellar. He told me they hailed from Hong Kong, but operated in Cambodia out of a mainland China address—China being the Khmer Rouge’s main supporter. His family ran a trading company that did business throughout Asia. In the late 60’s the war escalated, and American materiel came pouring into Indochina. He came here to take advantage of opportunities that the situation offered. Located close to the Vietnam border, he bought and sold to any and all who wanted to deal. What sort of goods?

“We handled truck shipments at this end from associates in Sihanoukville,” he told me. “Most Viet Cong supplies came by that route, not down the Ho Chi Minh Trail, and the bulk of it was transported by Chinese traders. Did the Americans really believe they were carrying tanks and artillery hundreds of miles over footpaths through mountain jungles?”

“Now that you mention it, it’s pretty unlikely. And that would explain why bombing the Trail never seemed to slow the flow.”

“That and the fact that a lot of the flow was American equipment. Lon Nol’s generals themselves sold American arms to the Khmer Rouge—figure that out, if you can! Compared to others in that game, we’re small players. We’d co-ordinate shipments and act as broker, but we stayed out of direct dealing in heavy ordnance—safer that way, considering the risks. The last thing we wanted was B-52s coming by to reduce our inventory. We preferred low bulk, high value items—electronics, telecommunications gear, critical spare parts, specialized weapons such as night vision sniper scopes and surface-to-air missiles, medical supplies, luxury goods, automobiles. What American stuff we couldn’t get from Phnom Penh and Sihanoukville, we acquired through friends in Vietnam. Ballpoint pens brought a surprisingly good premium from those Khmer Rouge idiots. Lord knows what they used them for, as most of them were backwards peasants who could neither read nor write. We traded for gold, gemstones, opium or what have you. The Cambodian people may be poor, but their country possesses vast wealth.”

“Cars out 
here
?” I asked.

“Several American Cadillacs found their way to Phnom Penh through our hands. Some people down there had more money than they knew what to do with. We worked with a chap in Saigon. We sent him an order, and he had the requisite shipped from the States, then carelessly left it parked with the keys inside. Whereupon it was promptly stolen. To ease his grief, a generous deposit was made in his Swiss bank account.”

Sonarr and his used cars, I wondered? “I’d think it would have been uncomfortable, dealing with all sides,” I remarked.

“On the contrary, had we picked any one side, the others would have taken care of us in short order. War is war, but business is business. And war 
means
 business. It is a bottomless pit of consumption, and that demand must be supplied. I find the naivety of Americans quite astounding, not your top government and corporate leaders, who are as hardheaded as any other world-class operators, but your press and therefore your average citizen. Surely you’re aware that during World War II Standard Oil sold diesel fuel to the same Nazi submarines that were sinking American ships along your east coast? And that Chicago junk dealers sold scrap iron to the Japanese that came back at your own troops at Pearl Harbor? And those pretentious Swedes,” he spat, “the self-appointed conscience of the world! They got fat by staying neutral through World War II, buying Hitler off with iron ore and ball-bearings and getting cheap coal in return. You think the West doesn’t trade with the Chinese Communists? Why do you suppose Chairman Mao left Hong Kong be? They could have taken it in a minute, had they but wished to.”

“I notice you are tapping your rubber trees. Is that one of your businesses these days?”

“Nothing of significance,” he replied. “But we are supporting quite a few people here, and before the war came, rubber was their livelihood. Tending the trees keeps them busy when there’s nothing more pressing. We arrange to sell it for them. It’s no trouble for us, and they are happy enough with the proceeds. They are simple folk… lucky devils. Too bad for them we all came here.”

“The war is over,” I observed. “What happens to your operation now?”

“You are not the only one faced with changes,” he replied. “But I’ll think of something. I’m working out a scheme right now.” 

Our week at
Poon’s place passed pleasantly enough. The heavy rains had not yet hit, but increasing squalls, clouds and winds foretold their coming. Soh Soon showed me around and entertained me, but hanky-panky in her father’s house was out of the question. One evening Poon sent her off and sat with me out on the verandah. After exchanging pleasantries he came to the point. “I’ve decided to close my family’s operations here,” he told me. “Now that the wars have ended, there’s no point to staying. The money has been made, and sticking around would be hazardous. We’re sitting betwixt the Khmer Rouge and the Vietnamese, traditional deadly enemies who’ll soon be at one another’s throats. Trade in this region is kaput for the time being. In ten or twenty years opportunities will open up once again, but it’s no place for civilized people right now.”

“What do you propose to do?”

“I’ll return to Hong Kong. Southeast Asia is on the verge of a boom, and we’ll want to be right in the middle of it. There’s big business to be done in Singapore, Taiwan, Indonesia, Japan. I wonder, Jake, if I could enlist your help?”

“I’d be glad to do what I can, but I’m no businessman.”

“Possibly better than you think,” he commented, “but anyhow, business is not what I had in mind for you. I have a different sort of job in mind, and I think you’d be the ideal man to do it. I consider myself an expert in the Chinese art of 
ming xiang
—face reading. I’ve studied you carefully over the past few days. All indications are favorable.”

“How do you mean? What’s favorable?”

“You name it. Everything. You have a 
mu
 face—indicative of strength of character, resourcefulness, assertiveness and creativity. Your 
long bi
, the dragon nose, foretells good fortune and success. You have 
hu mei
 eyebrows, the mark of a powerful and outstanding man. Likewise, your 
shi
 eyes, the eyes of the lion, which also are far apart, a sign of generosity. Your pointed ears show you to be shrewd, intuitive and alert, and they have long lobes, guaranteeing wealth and long life. Your
niu kou
, a classic bull mouth, confirms the wealth and longevity. Your forehead is convex and broad—efficient, intelligent and practical—but also on the low side, which means robust and athletic. Your chin—square and slightly protruding—shows you as brave, enterprising, reliable, forthright…tell me, do you have a strong stomach?”

“I can eat just about anything, with no trouble.”

“I’m not surprised. Goes with the chin,” he concluded.

“Your Chinese techniques told you all that?”

“Works every time. It’s as plain as the nose on your face,” he replied. .”..umm, no pun intended. But let’s make sure. On what date were you born?”

“October 23, 1949.”

“Why did I bother to ask? Of course! The Year of the Ox—resolute, reliable, determined, dedicated, tough, rugged… and… hold on a minute…” he did some mental calculations. I could almost hear his brain cells clicking. .”..Jackpot!” he exclaimed. “Couldn’t be better! It comes out double 8.”

“Double 8?”

“The luckiest possible number, and good fortune comes in pairs. Eight sounds the same as the Cantonese word for ‘success’. Hong Kong businessmen pay fortunes in bribes for street addresses and telephone numbers containing many 8’s.”

“How did you get double 8 out of my birthdate?”

“It’s obvious. October is the tenth month. So we subtract the 10 from the 23, and then we add the difference to the 49 and that comes out to 62, and adding 6 + 2, we get 8. That leaves the 19, and 9 - 1 gives us our second 8.”

“Who’d have ever thunk it?” I marveled. What kind of bullshit was 
this
? According to Poon, I had the San Diego Zoo Guidebook tattooed on my face; and I’d surely think twice about hiring him as my bookkeeper. It sounded like the kind of garbage my mom and her buddies used to babble about over canasta—astrology, numerology… would he do tarot cards for his next act? Well, that part about longevity did have a certain appeal, as serious doubts about my chances of coming out of this fiasco alive still diddled my peace of mind.

“Really, Jake, there’s no way you can fail. Now, my managers and I will be going straightaway to Hong Kong. That’s the logical next step for us. It’s Soh Soon’s future that concerns me.”

“You’re not taking her with you?”

“We could,” he replied, “but what a waste that would be. She’d wind up tending shop. I envision a more productive role for her. I’ve been impressed with the electronics technologies in the American military gear we’ve handled, especially the miniaturization and the reliability. The future is etched on a silicon chip, that’s clear. When that stuff reaches the consumer market…well, you can just imagine the possibilities—tape recorders you could put in your pocket, home computers, animated games on TV screens. The sky’s the limit! My brothers and I, and our cousins, we’re too old to master it, but Soh Soon has her education before her. She’s exceedingly intelligent, but these years in Cambodia have been disastrous for her development. Probably I should have left her with family in Hong Kong, but selfishly, I wanted her near me. With no proper schooling and no mother to care for her, she’s grown up like a wild pony. She can barely speak English, or Cantonese either. She’s fluent in Khmer, but what’s the value of 
that
? She became involved with the Khmer Rouge; for the sake of harmonious relations, I permitted it. But all those months she was rampaging around, I tore my hair over her every night. I’m afraid even to ask her what she was doing with them.”

You really don’t want to know, I thought to myself. “Where do 
I
 enter into your plans?” I asked.

“I want you to take her to America, so she can study electronics,” he replied. “That would be of utmost benefit to our business in the future.”

“I’d be happy to do what I could for her,” I said. “My aim is to get back to the States myself. The problem right now is, how? Has anything occurred to you?”

“Accompanying us on our journey to Hong Kong is one possibility, but to get there we’d be traveling overland through strife-ridden areas understandably hostile to Americans. And once we reached a port we’d have to manage transport to Hong Kong, a very uncertain proposition just now. If you were detected, and it could happen at any point along the way, we’d all go down with you. Taking that route will be risky enough even for 
us
.

“There’s another possibility. Up in the hills, about 70 miles from here, is a Westerner who has helicopters. He’s secretive; I know little about him, but I’ve done business with him. He paid me in gold for a Lincoln Continental I arranged through our friend in Saigon, which at least indicates more reliability than some of our other clients. He doesn’t respond to radio messages: everything is face to face, through native messengers. I sent a boy up there to sound him out. He returned last night with word that he could fly two people, no more than that, out of Cambodia.”