The Burma Effect (13 page)

“Do you think Nathan had another house, Frank?” she asked quietly.

“I can't say, not from this. Maybe it was another guy's house. Where he went for visits. Did he ever mention something like that?”

“We never went to visit people's places, hardly ever,” Mai said. “In Bangkok maybe, but not very much. And they were apartments. Not houses.”

“Maybe he went alone somewhere,” Delaney said.

“Yes. Maybe alone,” she said.

“Do you know someone named Stefan?” he asked.

“No,” she said.

“You sure?”

“Yes. I never heard a name like that.” Delaney realized he was straying into territory where Mai had never been, and where he should probably not attempt to bring her. He went back into the study and began making notes of his own, on one of Kellner's big pads. Mai said she would make them a late lunch.

He heard her moving around quietly in the kitchen, heard the classic Asian hiss and sizzle and scrape of food and oil and metal spatula in a wok. Suddenly he felt the urge to just spend the rest of the day at ease. To rest on Kellner's bed, to enjoy the safe domesticity of a quiet tidy home where he could share hot lunches with a beautiful young woman, or share quiet nights on a balcony where breezes always blew. Somewhere he belonged, where he truly wanted to be.

They ate together at a little table on the balcony. Delaney drank some beer. Mai mostly sat watching him eat and drink, saying almost nothing, taking little food for herself.

“Nathan would speak about you sometimes. And about Montreal,” she said finally. “What would he say?”

“He said you were good at being a reporter.”

“That was nice of him,” Delaney said. They both smiled.

“He read your newspaper on the Internet. He liked to know about Montreal, even though he lived here.”

“We Montrealers can never really leave our city,” Delaney said. “Not in our minds, in any case.” “Nathan was like that too,” she said.

She sat looking dreamily at him for a while, probably thinking of her lost man. Then she stood up.

“Let me get something,” she said.

She moved off into the house and into Kellner's room. She was gone for a few minutes. Then she came back carrying a large brown envelope, apparently bulging with papers.

“Letters,” she said, putting the envelope down on the table.

“Whose letters.”

“Nathan's,” she said. “Love letters. In a way.”

“You want me to look at these?” Delaney said.

“They weren't for me,” she said. She sat down and waited. Delaney looked at her for a long time and then picked up the package, pulling out a few letters in slim white envelopes. On each was written the words: “Suu Kyi.” No address, no stamps. “You can read them,” Mai said.

Delaney opened one. A single page, apparently like all the others. It began:
My beautiful, beautiful lady . . .

He looked at Mai.

“My beautiful, beautiful lady. Most of them start like that. When I first found them, I thought they were for me.”

Delaney read on:
How can I tell you what I feel when I see your face? How can I tell you? One day I will tell you. And one day the world will not only have to see your face through the bars of a cage. This I promise you, my lady . . .

Delaney would have dismissed the words as the ramblings of a lovesick adolescent or a very bad poet. Except that he knew they had been written by Nathan Kellner, a man nearing 50 and one with years of experience of the real, hard world.

Delaney skimmed a few other letters, satisfied himself that they were all approximately the same. None carried addresses or stamps. He put them back in the bigger envelope, closed it, pushed it toward Mai.

“Nonsense,” he said.

“For the Burmese lady,” Mai said.

“Yes. I would say so,” Delaney said. “Bizarre. But never mailed anywhere. Not intended for mailing.”

He could imagine Kellner writing any number of things at his desk in the tropical night, hatching wild plots or recording secret activities, illicit or otherwise. But love letters to Aung San Suu Kyi? This did not seem possible. Only drugs, or a truly profound obsession, could explain it. Mai looked very sad indeed.

Later, they smoked some mild marijuana in the dying light of the day. Delaney had not smoked for years. The drug put him instantly in a quiet, gentle other space. Mai and he sat in the cool breeze on the apartment balcony, saying nothing, thinking nothing.

Much later, she undressed him in the guest bedroom. Gentle assistance with his clothes. He floated on a warm sea of tropical air and the marijuana trance. Mai dropped her sarong to the floor. They climbed into the cool sheets of the guest bed, together. She held him from behind, knees bent up behind his knees, breasts against his back. Her skin was fantastically cool and smooth. Every pore of his own skin was burning, alive to her touch. The merest touch of her hair was electric. He did not remember if they made love, he would probably never know.

He dreamed and dreamed:

Kate rides toward him on a perfect chestnut horse. She is naked. Her right hand is raised in a small sign of greeting, of expectation. Natalia walks elegantly behind Kate in the robes of the dead, a little to the left of the horse. Natalia's right hand is raised in a small sign of benediction. There is an emblem of a caged bird on the breast of her garment. Delaney watches in the dream as the two women approach, approach, approach; but they never get any nearer. Somewhere behind them or above them or off to the side is danger or a darkness, but still very far away. A danger that is as yet impossible to discern clearly or to combat.

Bangkok and Mae Sot

J
ust before the attack came, Delaney sensed something was wrong. He was not able to articulate quite what afterward, but he knew in his gut that if he had just been a little more watchful, a little more attentive, he might have been able to avoid it.

Ben was waiting for him outside Kellner's apartment building. Delaney had gone to see Mai another time, after his meeting—a daylight, sober one this time—with Cohen at a place called Chivas Bar. Ben pulled his car out from a shady spot into the late-afternoon Bangkok sun. Delaney was in the back as usual. Immediately, a black Lexus with heavily tinted windows pulled out of an entrance a short way up the soi and blocked their path.

Ben had been in the business a long time and had been in bad spots before. He had no formal training that Delaney knew of in defensive-driving techniques, but he knew exactly what to do and he did it fast. When a stocky Asian man in a dark blue tracksuit got out of the back of the Lexus and took aim with a pistol, Ben threw his Toyota into reverse and stomped on the accelerator. The aging station wagon rocketed backward amidst a screech of tires and an acrid haze of rubber smoke.

“Down, Khun Frank, down, down, down,” Ben screamed as he threw his arm over the passenger seat and peered wild-eyed backward to guide the slipsliding car out of danger. Delaney plunged sideways onto the rear seat.

The first shot punctured the windshield just below the rearview mirror. Delaney didn't see the hole in the glass, but he saw Ben hunch even lower, as low as he could into the back of the driver's seat, his eyes squinting tight as he anticipated the next shot. Two more rounds came in quick succession, this time taking the windshield glass out completely. Shards exploded over Ben's shoulders and cascaded into the rear over Delaney.

Ben yanked the steering wheel left, a true expert, and the car rocked and heaved backward into the short driveway and then the walled dirt courtyard of Kellner's building, all the while screeching and heaving up smoke and dust and stones. It came up against something hard and stalled dead.

“Out, out, out, out,” Ben shouted. They both flung open the doors on the driver's side and rolled into the dirt. The watchman's wooden bed was now a pile of timber under the Toyota's rear wheels. The watchman himself was nowhere to be seen. Delaney and Ben picked themselves up and raced into the open air corridor on the ground floor.

“Have you got a gun, Ben?” Delaney shouted.

“No, no. Never,” Ben shouted back.

“Run,” Delaney said.

Some instinct made Delaney turn right instead of left, away from Kellner's corridor and the apartment where Mai would be watching TV as she was when he left her a few moments earlier. He prayed she would not have heard the gunfire and come out to see what was happening. He ran with Ben to the end of the right-hand corridor and began climbing stairs to upper floors. Each dim corridor ended with a windowless archway that kept the building breezy. On the third floor they could see over the wall and trees out onto the long soi where the Lexus had been waiting. It was gone.

They stopped, panting heavily, and looked at each other for a moment. “Up?” Ben said.

“They may be in the courtyard. He may have parked it there,” Delaney said. They listened intently, trying to control their breathing so they could hear.

They could hear no steps, no voices, no car. “Gone,” Ben said, slipping down against the end wall of the corridor, knees against his chest.

“Maybe,” Delaney said, still listening, still ready for flight. “Don't sit, Ben. Be ready.”

“Ready. Ready,” Ben said. He looked all in. His flowered shirt was wet with sweat. Delaney remembered that he must be almost sixty.

Delaney put his head cautiously out of the archway and looked far up the soi to where it met Sathon Road. He thought he saw a black car turning right, joining the river of traffic on the huge main boulevard, but he couldn't be sure. There were no other cars in the soi. Far up, a lone food vendor pushed a wooden cart in the direction away from Kellner's building. Delaney wanted to ask him what he had seen. But not yet.

He slumped down beside Ben below the archway and rested his back against the wall, knees up.

“I think they're gone,” he said.

“Me too,” Ben said.

“You all right?” Delaney said.

“Tired, Frank. Scared.”

“Me too.”

“Tough guys,” Ben said.

“Yeah.”

“My car. Wrecked now.”

“We'll get it fixed,” Delaney said.

Ben pulled a small piece of windshield glass out of the front pocket of his shirt and sat staring at it. He looked up at Delaney, as if waiting for some kind of cue.

“Tough guys,” Delaney said.

“Yes,” Ben said.

They waited for a long time, sitting in the dim coolness of the corridor. A light breeze wafted in through the archway. Delaney thought for a moment that Ben was going to fall asleep. Neither of them spoke for some time.

“I think we can go down now,” Delaney said eventually.

“OK, Frank,” Ben said.

They headed very cautiously down the stairs, stopping and listening often. They heard two low voices, speaking Thai. When they peered around a wall into the brightness of the courtyard, they say the watchman and a gardener standing together near the car, both looking extremely grave.They turned when Delaney and Ben emerged from the shadows.

The watchman immediately launched a torrent of Thai, talking loudly to Ben and waving his arms and pointing at the car, the apartment, Delaney, everywhere. Ben poured back his own torrent of Thai. Delaney could only stand and let it flow. “What did he see?” Delaney said eventually.

“Nothing, he says.”

“Where was he when we rolled in here?”

“At the other side. Helping the gardener, he says.”

“He didn't see anything? He didn't hear anything?” Delaney knew the watchman spoke English, but today he seemed to be able to speak only Thai. “Did you hear anything?” he asked.

The watchman looked at him angrily and turned to Ben to reply in Thai.

“Nothing, he says,” Ben told Delaney. “Nothing.”

“Why won't he speak to me?”

“He's angry. Scared.”

“We'll pay for his damn bed,” Delaney said. He knew he was being understood. Even the gardener seemed to understand.

“He isn't angry about the bed, Frank. He says he doesn't want you around here anymore. He says things are better without farangs around. Better even that Khun Nathan is gone now.”

“What does he mean by that? What does he mean about Kellner?” Delaney said. He turned to the watchman, addressed him directly. “What do you mean by that?”

“I call police,” the watchman said.

“And what will they do?” Delaney said.

“Take you away,” the watchman said. “Back to Canada.”

“And who will find Khun Nathan?”

“No one. He is gone,” the watchman said.

“Where?” Delaney said.

“Anywhere. Not here,” the watchman said.

“Don't you understand that someone tried to kill us here today?” Delaney said. “He knows that, Frank,” Ben said.

The watchman started talking again in Thai to Ben. Ben spoke to him quietly, pointing from time to time at Delaney. The watchman seemed to calm down.

“He says if we pay him for the bed and get the car out of here right away he will not call the police,” Ben said.

“Fine, fine. But make sure he's clear we are not afraid of the police,” Delaney said.

“No point, Frank. No point,” Ben said.

“How much for the damage?” Delaney asked.

“He says one hundred U.S. dollars,” Ben said, with a knowing look. “Pretty expensive bed.”

“I'd say,” Delaney said. He reached for his wallet.

“Make sure he understands we are not afraid of the police, OK?”

He knew the watchman understood that and a lot more besides. Delaney handed him a hundreddollar note. He decided to give the gardener a twenty.

Ben was looking sadly at his car. But aside from the shattered windshield and a flat rear tire, it did not seem to be too badly damaged. Ben squatted to look underneath at the back.

“Not too bad maybe,” he said. “Crown is a very strong car. Toyota is OK.”

“We'll get it fixed, Ben. We'll be needing it,” Delaney said. “You still want to drive for me?”

“Yes, Frank. Sure. Always,” Ben said. “Media driver.”

“Maybe a different sort of story this time, Ben,” Delaney said. “Maybe not for media.”

“Everyone needs a driver, Frank. All you guys. Any kind of story.”

Ben called for a tow truck on his mobile phone. Delaney headed down the left-hand corridor of the building to Kellner's apartment at the end. Mai looked very surprised to see him back so soon. When he explained to her what happened, her face darkened and tears came.

“This has to do with Nathan,” she said.

“Yes, I'd say so,” Delaney said.

“They have guns.”

“Yes.”

“What do they want? Where is Nathan?”

“I'm trying to find out.”

“Please find out fast, Frank. OK?”

“I'll try.”

Mai looked for a fresh shirt for him while he cleaned up. His own was dirty and torn. When he came out of the bathroom, Mai was waiting. She gave him a shirt for Ben as well.They were too large. Kellner's shirts.

“Stay now, OK?” she said. The light was fading outside.

“No, I'd better not,” he said.

“I'm scared and lonely,” Mai said.

“I will make sure the watchman is careful tonight. He's got a cell phone. You lock the door and don't let anyone in but me. You've got your cell phone right there. We'll check the number for police. Your brother can come to stay.”

For a bad moment, he remembered the last time he had assured a woman she would be safe if he went away. The image of Natalia lying dead in a snowy Quebec wood flashed through his mind.

“Stay, Frank. We can smoke and hold,” Mai said.

“It was good last night.”

“No, Mai,” he said. “We can't.”

Delaney very much wanted to go back to the hotel and simply think things through. The game in Bangkok had changed dramatically, he could see that now, and he wanted to think about possible players, possible next moves. On their part and on his. Mai would have to rely on someone else to get her through the night. He wanted to stop feeling it was his job to take care of women any time things got complicated.

He thought he might call Rawson in Ottawa, to see what was happening at that end. He surprised himself by thinking of also calling Kate. He allowed himself to like the thought that there was someone to call, somewhere in the world, after danger, stress. But he knew he would tell Kate nothing about the afternoon's attack even if he decided to make the call.

He asked Mai suddenly, “What kind of car does your brother drive?”

“What?”

“What kind of car does your brother drive?”

“Why?” she said. “A Mazda. You saw it the other day. Why are you asking that?”

Delaney knew it was almost impossible anyone in her family could own a high-end Lexus like the one he had seen today. He also knew it was highly unlikely that Mai's brother, any of her brothers, would be angry enough to try to kill him. Or Kellner. But he had spent his professional life seeking certainties, not likelihoods.

“My brother wouldn't do anything like that to you, Frank,” she said sadly.

“To Nathan, maybe?” Delaney said.

“Never. Never, never,” she said.

Ben was supervising a tow-truck driver when Delaney went back outside. The watchman and the gardener were carrying away pieces of the smashed bed. The watchman looked sullenly Delaney's way but said nothing.

“It doesn't look too bad, Frank,” Ben said, peering underneath his beloved car as it was winched off the ground. “They can put a tire and new front glass on tonight. Good as new.”

“You need cash?” Delaney said.

“We figure things tomorrow,” Ben said.

They shook hands. Ben was smiling again. He got into the tow truck alongside the driver. Delaney walked slowly toward Sathon Road, looking for a cab that would take him to the Royal.

Not all bars in Bangkok cater to men who like to see young women gyrate and pout and offer themselves for sex. There are some bars in Bangkok where there is no pole dancing, no gynecologically explicit displays complete with flashlights, no end-of-the-world girlie shows involving vibrators, cigars, ping-pong balls, whatever comes to hand.

Chivas Bar, on a quiet street tucked behind the worst of the Patpong Road sex and rip-off strip, was one of these. It had no shows at all. It was dark, American-style, with a long bar and a combination of booths and smaller round tables for serious drinking, by men who could arrange sex for themselves when they wanted it or who had made longer-term regular arrangements.