White Ghost (30 page)

G
eneral Kew Wai Su of the United Wa State Army stood before his senior staff in a meeting room at an encampment in the Loi Hpa-leng, a red cliff mountain range across the border from Thailand.

“According to our source in Nantong, the buyer of the heroin is Ah Ming in San Francisco,” Kew said as he leaned forward and folded his hands together on the rough wood table. “He owns a company called East Wind. Lew Fung-hao is his right hand. He arranged for the heroin to be shipped to a Sunny Glory in Taiwan. We've spoken to the Chinese who drove from Nantong down to Kunming. They're certain they weren't followed. I can only conclude that someone was waiting at the Kunming warehouse to follow the Thai trucks south.

“Who could it be? And how did they know?” Kew paused, then scanned the faces of the four men sitting around him. “Two possibilities have come to mind. The first is Ah Ming. His man Lew may have seen the trucks leave Nantong for Kunming. The second is Eight Iron. After years out of the trade, he showed up claiming he had an American buyer. He asked a lot of questions and might have learned we had a big load heading north.”

Kew's eyes settled on his second in command.

“I want to speak to Eight Iron in Chiang Mai. I need to know the name of his customer. Tell him anything. If he refuses to come, do whatever is necessary to bring him. Tomorrow. And I want to you to find out where the heroin is. Get someone started toward Sunny Glory in Taiwan tonight.”

Heads nodded around the table.

Kew climbed aboard a waiting helicopter and flew to the western Thai border near the village of Mae Hong Son. He slipped into Thailand on foot and met with Wa soldiers operating on Thai soil. They drove down into a valley, then past the rice paddies, housing developments, shopping malls, and finally into the heart of the Chiang Mai.

To Kew the city always seemed a waste, a waste of billions of dollars of heroin profits that had been used to build things, rather than to pursue ideas. He thought of the power Thailand would've wielded in Asia and how it could've insulated itself from the economic disasters of the West had it understood this a hundred years earlier. But he set those thoughts aside as they drove over the moat into the old town and to his hotel. For those were ends, and his concern at the moment were means.

O
N THE FOLLOWING MORNING
, the driver returned and took him to the home of the local Wa heroin representative where he found Eight Iron and Kasa seated at a dining table guarded by soldiers. He held up his palm as he entered, preventing them from rising and offering a greeting.

“I'm General Kew. Something of ours has been stolen in Burma. I've brought you here because you recently showed unusual interest in heroin we were manufacturing.”

“I showed interest,” Eight Iron said, keeping his tone even, “not unusual interest.”

Eight Iron noticed Kew hadn't specified what had been stolen.
He recognized it was a trap to see if he would slip and reveal guilty knowledge. He guessed if Kew knew anything incriminating, he would've confronted them in a Wa encampment in the forest, not invited them for a discussion in a dining room in Chiang Mai.

“A month ago,” Eight Iron said, “an old American customer came to see me. I told him I'd moved into yaba, but if the money was right, I'd see what I could do for him.”

“But you didn't follow through.”

“I found out he was secretly representing Ah Ming who stole fifty kilos of heroin from me years ago and I figured he was trying to set me up.”

“It seems to me it would've been a chance to get even.”

Eight Iron shook his head. “If I stole it myself, I'd have to warehouse it until I could find a buyer and that was too much of a risk. And if I let the police have it, they might've traced it back to the source, and I didn't want to put the Wa at risk.”

“Did your buyer know we were the source?”

“In a certain way he directed me to you. He said he needed 555 to compete with what the Afghans were selling to his competitors in the States. I only told him what was common knowledge along the border. That the Wa State Army was finishing a large production of 555, that the lab had been moved back into Thailand, and that the heroin now travels through China to the sea. If I knew he represented Ah Ming, I wouldn't even have passed on that.”

“What's Ah Ming's real name?”

“Cheung Kwok-ming. United Bamboo from Taiwan. He moved from Thailand to the United States right after he robbed me.” Eight Iron jutted his chin toward Kew. “How much of your heroin did he steal?”

Kew waved off the question, and asked, “Do you know of a man named Lew Fung-hao?”

“I don't know that name.” Eight Iron felt himself tense, afraid he'd misjudged the extent of Kew's knowledge and had somehow trapped himself.

“Or a company named Sunny Glory?”

Eight Iron shook his head. That was the truth. He didn't know it.

“Where's your buyer now?”

Eight Iron shrugged. “He could still be in Bangkok, or he could've gone back to New York.”

Kew glanced at Kasa, focusing on the tattoos that showed above his shirt collar, then returned his attention to Eight Iron.

“The theft occurred in Shan-controlled territory. This man with you is Shan.”

“He's not involved in politics. Never has been.”

Kew stared down as Kasa, not believing that at all, then walked outside and signaled to one of the men who'd brought Eight Iron and Kasa to Chiang Mai. The soldier was leaning against a Jeep and smoking a cigarette. He ground it out and straightened himself as Kew approached.

“How difficult was it to find Eight Iron?”

“Not a problem. He's become a creature of habit, home in the day and gambling at night. We can take him any time we want.”

“Watch him twenty-four hours a day until I order otherwise.”

Kew returned into the house, told Eight Iron and Kasa they'd be driven back to Bangkok, then left again.

D
URING HIS HOURLONG FLIGHT
from Chiang Mai to Bangkok, Kew accommodated himself to what his strategy would have to be: cut his losses and save revenge for later.

A driver and bodyguard met him at the Suvarnabhumi Airport and took him to meet with the leader of the Thai branch of the Chinese Big Circle gang. Kew trusted Catfish because his history was as brutal as the Wa's had been. It was summed
up in his nickname. He'd received it not because of his appearance, but because he proved he could survive anywhere. He was a former Red Guard member turned criminal who escaped first from a reeducation camp, then from a labor camp, and finally from prison in Guangzhou where he'd joined Big Circle. Kew had known Catfish since the mid-1980s, when he made his way to Thailand to run the gang's Southeast Asia operations.

Kew laid out the course of his investigation, showing how two independent trails led to Ah Ming.

“Take back what's mine and keep a share for yourself,” Kew said, ending the meeting. “And as for Ah Ming himself, do whatever the situation allows.”

C
ATFISH CALLED A DAY LATER
.

“There was a problem. My people in Taiwan discovered that Sunny Glory was being watched. There was no chance to make a move on the heroin.”

“Ministry of Justice Intelligence Bureau?”

“No. We intercept the MJIB communications, and we'd know if an operation was under way.”

“Then who were they?”

“I don't know. But our people in Taiwan are angry. They suspect you also made a deal with someone else.”

“There's no other deal and those weren't my people. It must be Ah Ming's countersurveillance. Did his people spot yours?”

“We have no reason to believe they did. We used young women selling DVDs at an open air market across the road and their men didn't avoid looking at them.”

“Then we're fine. He's just being careful. Maybe he doesn't trust Sunny Glory. The kind of man who'd steal from a business partner can't trust anyone.”

G
age found Lucy in the reception area wearing Levi's and a plaid shirt, dressed like an office worker who'd been called in on a weekend to finish an assignment. They walked together to the conference room where Sylvia waited.

“You really gave me a scare when we found out you'd gone into East Wind,” Gage told her after they sat down. “We weren't sure you would be walking out again.”

Lucy reddened. “I'm sorry. I just—”

“I know. Let's see if it paid off.”

“It didn't about the robbery, but maybe other things. Sylvia told me the Sunny Glory container would be handled by InterOcean Customs Brokers, so I checked the computer records. East Wind has never used them. Everything has gone through that other customs broker, Alan Lim. I also checked for Sunny Glory. East Wind has never received goods directly from their Taiwan branch. Everything comes though Sunny Glory's San Francisco warehouse. East Wind trucks pick up from Sunny Glory as part of their regular route. Garlic, ginger, and ginseng.”

“At least part of the heroin container may contain garlic,” Gage said. “That's what was loaded in China.”

“What's going to happen to it over here?”

Gage smiled. “That's up to you.”

“What?” A shock wave of panic seemed to pass through her. Her hands clenched on the desk. “Me?”

“I want you to be in control of the container. I want to jam it down Ah Ming's throat. When it gets close, Lew will tell both Sunny Glory and InterOcean Customs Brokers to take instructions only from you. He'll also tell your supervisor to stay out of it.”

“Why would Mr. Lew do that?”

“We gave him a very limited number of options, and he made the wisest choice among them.”

Another wave passed through Lucy. Gage guessed she was imagining the circumstances under which Lew had made his choice, and it wasn't something they taught in business school.

“Don't worry. We treated him well.”

“Is there a way to get rid of your supervisor for a couple of days?” Sylvia asked Lucy.

“Alan Lim came by one day to take him to a mah-jongg game at the Masonic Lodge in Chinatown. Maybe he could do it again.”

“I'll talk to him.” Gage rose and escorted Lucy to the lobby. He paused by the exit to the parking lot. “How's your mother?”

Lucy smiled. “Fine, even better than fine. She said she had a conversation with an old friend, and it made all the difference.”

After Lucy left, Gage returned to the conference room.

“We need Lucy's personnel file from East Wind,” Gage told Sylvia. “That file is all Ah Ming would need to track her down if things go bad. Fake identities created by amateurs always have some connection to the truth of who they really are. Lucy may not see it, but Ah Ming's people will.”

Sylvia nodded.

“But don't scare her. She's handling herself well right now and I don't want to make her nervous.”

Gage's cell phone rang as he walked upstairs to his office. It was Cobra speaking in a whisper.

“I take it Malee is listening.”

Cobra laughed. “It's just pretend. Now that she knows the whole story, she wanted me to do the last thing.”

“You mean you got the tracking device on the container?”

“Not me. Malee wouldn't let me out of her sight. My people did. I told them if they didn't, one of them would have to ride on top of the thing all the way to California.”

G
age waited for Casey to recover from his Shanghai to SFO jet lag before arranging to meet him at Abe's Fly Shop.

“You look beat,” Gage told him when he walked in the door. “Let's go in the back so you can sit down.”

“I don't know how you do so much traveling.” Casey stifled a yawn as they sat down at Abe's workbench. “It'll be a week before I feel normal again.”

“It's mostly just practice.”

“I could do without it. I've been pretty lucky my whole career, never more than four hours from a trout stream, never forced to travel much for work, and never flew through more than three time zones.” He cast Gage a resigned smile. “And you know what my wife wants to do when we retire? Travel. With all the Buddhist stuff she's been doing in the last few years, I figured she'd just want to sit in a dark room and meditate. But no. Travel.” He pointed at a fishes of the world poster tacked to the wall. “Like they have trout in Tibet?”

“How about Chile or New Zealand?”

“No way. She's been spending too much time in the New Age
sections of the bookstores. Travel means going someplace cosmic like Nepal or India or—what's that little place over there?—no cars, no television.”

“Bhutan.”

“Yeah, Bhutan.”

Casey fell silent for a moment, then said, “When we met at the FBI Academy, it never crossed my mind that she'd go Berkeley on me one day.” He took in a breath and exhaled. “I might have to reconsider retiring. I'm not quite ready for twenty-four hours a day of cosmic oneness.”

Gage raised his eyebrows. “Maybe you can compromise and take her to China.”

Casey shook his head. “The two days I spent in Shanghai was about long enough. That place just oozes with corruption. And Zhang. What a piece of work.”

“Who?”

“Zhang.”

“Was he the guy in the photos with you? I don't recall meeting him.”

“Yeah. Right. If I didn't know the reward for the recovery of the chips was received by a Mr. Calico, I'd think Zhang got a kickback.” Casey inspected Gage's face. “You're looking better than I expected. What's going on with the treatment?”

“Just started. So far so good. Pretty soon it's going to fall on me like a hammer.” Gage smiled. “You wouldn't believe what they're shooting into me. If it wasn't medicine, it would be a felony.”

“Let me know if you need anything. My wife does a great chicken soup.”

“Thanks, but what I mostly need is to set some things up, then ease on out of this. I won't be in any shape to contribute anything by the time the heroin arrives.”

“How much heroin do you think there'll be?”

“Even deducting what Ah Ming spent on transportation, I think it should be just under the value of the chips.”

A gleam replaced the dull of Casey's jet-lagged eyes. “I knew it would be a lot, but that's huge. Huge. You must be talking about four hundred, maybe four hundred and fifty, kilos. That's eighty, maybe ninety million dollars wholesale and . . .” He shook his head, then his brows furrowed and he squinted at Gage. “It can't be . . . a billion on the street?”

“That's about right.”

“Who sends a billion dollars of heroin in one shipment?”

“Somebody who thinks he can get away with anything.”

“Not this time.”

“We hope.”

“Why don't I bring in ICE? Let them do a controlled delivery.”

“Not a chance. You remember what happened the last time a load this big came into the States? ICE brought in NBC News before the seizure so the brass could get their faces on TV. The whole investigation was driven by news value and photo ops instead of what the case needed. Most of the defendants ended up walking on the case. Not this time. There's no way ICE won't screw it up, even if they don't bring in the press. If they do an intensive search on a container from a known foreign exporter with no record of violations, on its way to a known domestic importer, also with no violations, and the container can't be traced back to a known drug source country, then any kind of delay will look hinky to anyone paying attention. And trust me, Ah Ming will be paying attention.”

“What do I tell them?”

“Tell them exactly that. And tell them we put a tracking device on it overseas—”

“What? How'd you—”

Gage waved off the question. “The how isn't important. We couldn't take a chance of delaying it or showing ourselves over here, so we needed a way to monitor it from a distance.”

“I'll give it a try.”

“The alternative is this. I won't tell you which container it is until it's left ICE's control. They'll be completely out of it. They won't even get to come to the press conference. That's something I know they'll understand.”

“Y
OU WERE RIGHT,”
Casey said, when he called Gage the next morning. “ICE was less interested in method and more interested in credit.”

“Let me guess, you argued from the press conference backward.”

“They only tried to insist on following procedure because it gave them control and they only wanted control so it would put them in front of the cameras. Once I explained to them they could share the podium, they backed off. They'll run the surveillance starting at the port and they'll interface—I swear to God they said interface—where do those bureaucrats learn to talk like that?—interface with us at the warehouse.”

“I take it part of their interfacing is they get to search the container at East Wind and seize the heroin?”

“Exactly.”

“Does it make a difference to you?”

“No, but the special agent in charge in my office is a little peeved. I had to assure him he'd be on the podium during the press conference and that the seizure would be described as a result of a joint operation. I also told him each agency will be able to issue press releases under its own letterhead.”

“Then we're set.”

“Only one more thing. That heroin damn well better be
there. I don't want to lose all the brownie points I got in China because the container turns up dry.”

“
Mai pen rai
. Your brownie points are always my primary concern.”

“My pen what?”

“I'll explain it later.”