The Burma Legacy (24 page)

‘To this memorial?’

‘I can do it if they ask. You want me to arrange for you?’

‘No … At least, not yet. You see I want to meet that man there. The one in the picture.’

She looked at the cutting again. ‘Tetsuo Kamata?’

‘Yes.’

‘You know him?’

‘We met a long time ago. That article says he comes here every January.’

She frowned.

‘Not one of your clients, then.’

‘No. But you want me to find out if he is here now. Not easy, I think. Maybe he doesn’t use a travel agent.’ She pulled a face.

‘I would pay you a fee,’ he told her quickly.

‘Dollars?’ she queried.

‘Of course.’

‘Then I try.’ Her eyes began to scheme. ‘Where you stay in Yangon?’

He told her.

‘That’s not a good hotel. It is better you stay at the Pansea.’

‘I’m really perfectly happy …’

‘You must stay at the Pansea. I will arrange a very good price for you.’

He understood. She would get a commission for bringing him there.

‘They won’t be very happy at the Inya Lodge. I’m their only guest,’ he protested.

‘We can tell them you fly to Bagan this evening. I will go with you now to arrange everything.’

The upheaval of moving hotels filled him with dread, but he knew that if she was to help him, he would have to go along with her wishes.

And hers was the only help on offer.

Bangkok

Wednesday, 12 January, late evening

Less than twenty-four hours after Sam Packer discovered the name Perry Harrison had been using for his travels, he flew into Bangkok feeling he’d probably arrived too late. The man had a forty-eight-hour start and it’d be another twenty-four before the Myanmar embassy would issue a visa so he could follow.

On the flight out from London he’d read a partial transcript of Kamata’s 1947 trial for war crimes. Harrison’s case hadn’t featured at the hearing. It had surprised him until he remembered Perry hadn’t known the name of his torturer until Kamata came clean about his past a few weeks ago.

He’d been charged with maltreating prisoners in contravention of the Geneva Convention. His defence counsel had pointed out that since the Japanese Empire had never been a signatory to the treaty, its soldiers couldn’t be in breach of it. There’d been statements from soldiers of several nationalities who’d been his victims. Also some gruesome evidence that wounded prisoners in his care had been left to die in cages, with their eyes being eaten by maggots.

A second charge of ordering his men to rape the
women in the villages they’d passed through had been dropped through lack of evidence. Despite that, Kamata had told the hearing he believed the Emperor expected his soldiers to father at least four children each in the occupied countries, in order to ensure their future populations had Japanese blood.

Kamata had got five years, but with two already served while waiting for the trial and time off for good behaviour, they’d repatriated him in January 1949. For the next fifty years the details of what he’d done had been buried. Until Kamata’s own conscience made him reveal them again.

A decision he might already be regretting, Sam suspected.

The Thai capital was hot and hazy. Sitting in the back of an airport taxi heading for his downtown hotel, he drummed fingers on his knees, not entirely comfortable with being back here. Midge’s fear of Yang Lai’s Burma Triangle mobsters had got to him.

An hour after leaving the arrivals terminal he was at the hotel. Five hundred rooms and no shortage of European faces to lose himself amongst. He took the lift to the eleventh floor. The elevator car had an unpleasant smell – stale food seasoned with cleaning fluids.

He dumped his bag in the room, freshened up, then returned to the ground floor.

Avoiding the smiles of a pair of women, who he suspected were probably transsexuals, he headed for the computer centre next to the reception desk, which advertised Internet access.

There was a message from Waddell.

Yesterday our rep in Yangon identified the hotel where ‘Wetherby’ was staying. Found he’d checked out p.m. Hotel staff said he’d gone to Bagan. Our girl’s bashing the phones. Hopes for news by the time you arrive. Suggests you meet at 49th Street Bar and Grill, Thursday 20.30
.

K scheduled back in Japan same time as you arrive Bangkok. No official duties for next two weeks. Vacation. Trying to find out if at home or abroad
.

Some background: Fifteen years ago K’s name involved in scandal surrounding death of call girl. Not a suspect, but on her client list. She popular with businessmen who liked to humiliate women. Nice bloke. Good hunting
.

Sam sent an acknowledgement giving his room number, then messaged Julie, saying he’d arrived safely and that he loved her. He was about to log off when he thought of Midge. Sydney would be three hours ahead, he calculated. Mid-evening. The little workaholic might still be at her desk. He clicked on New Mail.

Hi Beth
,

Passing through Bangkok again and thought of you
.

Moving on tomorrow, but if you feel like a long-distance call

I’m in room 1106
.

He gave the phone number of the hotel.

Be nice to catch up.

Steve.

He logged off and wandered over to the bar for a beer. There was little he could do to advance the
operation until tomorrow, and he resigned himself to an evening on his own. Minutes later a gong sounded and he turned to see a porter carrying a paging board with his room number on it. He marched over to the house phone.

‘Hello?’

‘Steve?’ Midge’s Aussie twang.

‘That was fast. I guessed you’d be chained to your desk. What sort of night is it in Sydney?’

‘No idea. I’m here. Round the corner from you. Got into Bangkok in the small hours and was doing my evening mail check when up you came like the proverbial. We need to meet.’

‘Excellent idea.’ Sam felt a flutter of unease.

‘Things are moving fast, Jimmy Squires-wise. That’s not the reason you’re here, though?’

‘No.’

‘Sodding well ought to be. You guys get a share of the blame for that arsehole.’

‘Because we trained him?’

‘Exactly.’

‘You’re a hard woman.’

She hesitated before responding, as if uncomfortable with his description of her. ‘Only when I want to be,’ she said eventually. ‘Tell you what. Fancy a plate of crustaceans? Or did they stuff you on the flight out?’

‘Er, no. I’m ready to eat something.’

‘There’s an ace place on the river. May have to wait a while for a table but it’s worth it. We can get there by boat from the Taksin bridge. That’s at the end of the Skytrain line.’

‘Sounds great.’

‘Good. I have to go see someone just now, but I could meet you at the station exit in an hour?’

‘Fine.’ He checked his watch then headed back to his room to take a shower, making a firm resolve to behave himself that evening.

7.10 p.m.

She wasn’t there.

As he descended the stairs from the overhead track there was no sign of her. The boat jetty was a hundred metres away and he began to head for it, wondering if he’d misunderstood where they were to meet.

Then she grabbed his arm.

‘Christ! Where’d you spring from?’

He hardly recognised her. A shoulder-length peroxide blonde last time, Midge had cut her hair short and coloured it mouse. She wore a blue denim skirt, a yellow tee-shirt and dark glasses.

‘Keep moving, Steve.’ Her voice was husky and tense. She hustled him towards the pier.

‘Overdoing it, aren’t we?’

She clicked her tongue. ‘Two days ago I was nearly flattened by a hit and run in Sydney. The Wa tribes of the Golden Triangle – Yang Lai’s lot – were headhunters until a few years back.’ She said it with
grim earnestness. ‘Did you check if you were followed?’

‘Didn’t see anyone.’

‘Did you look?’

‘Of course I bloody did.’

There was an awkwardness about her manner which made him wonder if all this security paranoia was to cover up her embarrassment over their near miss two weeks before.

‘Like the hair colour,’ he said.

‘Same as the tree trunks. Makes it easier to hide.’ There was a hoot from the jetty. ‘Quick. With luck that’ll be our boat.’

They half ran to the quay. Midge shouted the name of their destination to an official and he pointed them on board just as the crew were untying the warp.

‘Nice timing,’ Midge breathed, pausing under the canopy to look back at the jetty. The tension slipped from her shoulders. ‘Sorry about all that. Coming a hair’s breadth of being crushed by a Holden makes a girl jumpy.’ She removed her sunglasses.

They found seats at the side and looked out at the river, which was teeming with lit-up craft. The sun had set forty minutes ago.

‘I like it best at night,’ Midge breathed.

‘So do I,’ Sam murmured, leaning closer. ‘’Cos after doing it I’m always ready for a zizz.’

She dug him in the ribs.

‘
Bangkok
, dickhead. I meant Bangkok.’

She smiled, shaking her head at him. The ice was broken.

As the boat accelerated up river they passed gleaming hotels and towering offices, their glass sides ablaze with light.

Midge turned from the view and eyed him curiously.

‘Just for the record Steve, why the hell
are
you in this neck of the woods again?’

Sam told her he was looking for somebody, but gave no details.

‘The bloke you should be after is Jimmy Squires,’ she needled. ‘We’ve got the bugger on the run. Haven’t they told you?’

‘I’m off the case, love. Totally. Orders from on high. Why don’t
you
tell me about it.’

She glanced round to ensure they wouldn’t be overheard, then moved close enough to whisper.

‘We’ve just had amazing luck. Help from a most unusual source.’ She turned away again to look at a motor boat passing in the other direction. A floating restaurant junk, with diners at tables and a waiter serving them.

‘You going to tell me who, or do I have to guess?’

The hair colour she’d adopted matched her eyes, giving her a softer look. Everything about her seemed softer than before.

‘Can’t remember how up to speed you are on the Triangle,’ she said.

‘Try me.’

‘I mean you’ve been out of the loop a few days. Mind on other things. How’s that girlfriend of yours by the way?’

‘Just tell me about Jimmy.’

‘I’ll go over the background first, because it’s relevant. The Golden Triangle is the fiefdom of the United Wa State Army, right?’

Sam looked away, suppressing his irritation at being treated like a rookie.

‘And for a long time the Wa were fighting for autonomy from the Myanmar government, but in 1989 the junta bought peace with them. The trade-off was to let them grow poppies down as far as the Thai border. The insurgent army, the UWSA, became the protection force for the drug traders.’

Midge stopped. The boat had pulled in to another pier and a European couple had settled immediately in front of them. She gave Sam a glance which said ‘tell you the rest later’.

‘How many stops?’ he asked as the boat accelerated away again.

‘Not sure. Hope I can recognise the place when I see it. The restaurant’s right by the jetty. You’re going to like it.’

They watched the shoreline pass. The thick, brown river water was striated by lotus leaves torn from their mother plants by the current, turning it into an exotic mulligatawny, stirred by the brightly lit ferries and the dark hulks of barges. There was a sinister, teeming beauty to the place. A city that wrote its own rules.

‘How
was
London, by the way?’ Midge let her shoulder rest against his.

‘Cold and wet.’ He had a feeling it wasn’t the weather she’d been enquiring about.

‘Nice of them to send you back here, then.’

‘Wasn’t it, just.’

‘Julie must have been thrilled,’ she said pointedly.

‘She wasn’t best pleased.’

‘Don’t you just love the smell of this place,’ she enthused, quickly changing the subject. ‘So goddam
basic
.’

‘Like a sewer, you mean.’

She pulled a face. ‘Where’s your sense of romance?’

The ferry’s gears clunked into reverse as it nudged another jetty.

‘Christ! This is us.’ Midge sprang to her feet.

Half-a-dozen others were ahead of them over the gangway, straight-haired office workers in white shirts heading for home. One by one they stepped across the black planks of the pontoon, which dipped and sagged under the weight of each new passenger.

Midge led the way, moving with the feline fluidity he remembered from Phuket. She paused for a moment, pretending to fish something from her eye while she checked the faces of those following them off the boat.

Soon the stench of the river was replaced by the more appetising smell of stewing shellfish. The restaurant was a wooden chalet with a deck over the water supported on piles. It was packed, each table lit by a small oil lamp. Midge could speak a few words of Thai, enough to encourage a stunningly pretty waitress to scuttle round the terraces looking to see if a table was about to come free.

‘Fingers crossed,’ Midge whispered, eager to impress him with the place.

Within half a minute the waitress returned and led them through the ranks of diners to a corner near the bar. ‘You wait here. Two maybe three minute.’ She pointed to a table where a couple were settling up.

Midge beamed at Sam. ‘How about that for timing? Twice in one evening.’

He wondered if there’d be a third moment that evening when the timing felt right. Her perfume was making mincemeat of his resolve.

As soon as they were sitting down, Midge leaned forward on her elbows and systematically scanned the other diners’ faces.

‘Finish telling me about Jimmy Squires,’ Sam prompted.

The return of the waitress prevented her from answering. They ordered Singha beers, then the girl left them to study the menu.

‘Okay. We know that what happened in Phuket was bad news for him. One thing we can say for definite about Yang Lai is that if any of his associates attracts the attention of the likes of us, he dumps them fast.’