The interior of the contemporary airport was glass, polished floors, and stainless steel. In many ways, it looked like a modern American airport, except nicer and far more elegant. Alex, Maria, and Karns loaded the luggage onto trolleys, and with the help of the kids, pushed them out of customs. In the middle of the mix of arriving passengers stood a lanky Vietnamese man in gray slacks and a white shirt. Karns walked directly up to the man, said something, then pointed to the trolleys. The lanky man pointed to two men standing near the doors. They both quickly walked to the trolleys and took control.
Alex walked up to Karns.
“Alex, this is Tommy Quan,” Karns said. “He handles a lot of TSD’s logistics and driving. Kid knows every alley and canal in HCMC.”
She put her hand out. “Good to meet you, Tommy. Alex Polonia.”
“Ms. Polonia, a pleasure,” Tommy said. “Those guys are Bobo and Bing. They work for me. Good kids, my cousins, no worries.”
Karns introduced Quan to the Luccheses.
“We go; can’t afford a ticket for parking along the arrival curb,” Quan said.
They then pushed their way out into the street-side arrival area, where two Mercedes limousines awaited. Bobo and Bing each stood next to one. Behind the two Mercedes sat a black Humvee.
“What are the arrangements, Alex?” Karns asked deferentially, clearly remembering Dubai.
“Nevio and Ilaria will travel with you in the first Mercedes; I’ll go with the children in the second. The bags go wherever.” She turned and looked at the Humvee. Bobo and Bing had been joined by two others. “Do we need this much assistance, or are they security?”
“No, HCMC is safe, probably better than Dubai.” Karns leaned in to her. “But labor is cheap here, so a few extra boys to help is worth it.”
Alex ran her hand over the trunk of a limo. “Is it raining?”
“Been raining all day,” Quan said. “It’s that time of year.”
As they left, the rain increased with a ferocity that Alex couldn’t believe. The drive through the city was a dreamlike visual through the speckled windows of rain, buzzing motorbikes, neon signs, and congestion. Even in the bright day, there were flashes of overhead neon signs in English mixed with Vietnamese. A road sign read “Cau Thu Thiem,” and a moment later they were crossing a bridge. The water below was a confusion of lights reflecting off its surface. Then the chaos of the city disappeared, and a neighborhood of massive high-rises appeared, many like the ones they passed in Dubai.
The vehicles pulled under a porte cochere of a high-rise building. A sign on the boulevard fronting the structure read, “The Pearl.” Karns directed the family toward the lobby. From there the bags were sent with Quan and some of the boys to a freight elevator. The Luccheses, Alex, and Karns took the residential elevator.
That evening, empty boxes of takeout were strewn about the apartment’s kitchen. Earlier there had been a moment of panic when the delivery boy demanded cash, but Alex had dug through her backpack and found an American fifty-dollar bill—the kid was more than satisfied.
The jet-lagged family and Maria had wandered away to their various rooms. The apartment contained five bedrooms, a large kitchen, a dining room, and two family rooms, one formal and the other for media use. For an apartment in a communist country, the whole place seemed to Alex quite American upper middle class.
Alex and Karns stood on the wide terrace that surrounded two sides of the apartment. It was then that Alex realized the Luccheses had rented half the upper floor of the tower. The view was toward old Saigon and the new high-rise towers across the river.
“I’m confused and exhausted,” Alex said. “I didn’t know what to expect.”
“Ho Chi Minh City has changed a lot during the last forty years and the end of the war,” Karns said. “I first arrived twenty years ago. I have a type of dual citizenship. My mother is Vietnamese. She emigrated to the United States after the war.”
“I hear a lot of English,” Alex asked.
“There’s a lot of English spoken here; you’ll do fine.”
“I saw the airport signs. That surprised me.”
“Quite a few Australians and Americans come to visit. The country is gorgeous, and the people are wonderful. You just need to cut through the urban chaos and confusion. Hopefully, you’ll get a chance to see all this.” He pointed across the Saigon River to the intense concentration of lights that were beginning to come on and light the city core.
Karns removed a cigar from a case in his pocket. “You mind?”
“No, thanks for asking.”
The moon cut through the thick clouds as the storm moved away.
“What happened at the tech facility?” Alex asked, finally getting to a subject she’d wanted to ask Karns about for three days.
“We were caught by surprise. The asshole planned it well—quick in and out. My guys were slow. If I ever find that man, he’s dead.”
“He?” she asked. Chris’s conversation rang in her head.
“Yes, he—tall, lanky, and athletic. Went up and down ropes like a monkey. And could see in the dark—some type of night-vision helmet I’ve never seen or even heard of. The weapon he used fired explosive bullets. They were like miniature guided missiles with enough explosive power to blow a steel door off its frame. Blew my men to pieces.”
“Did anyone get a shot off?”
“Yes, and we think he was hit. Left some blood. The police CSIs took samples, and so did we. But two of our associates are dead. I had to take them home to their families. Chris joined me. I missed you in Texas by a few days when I stopped there. From what Jake and Chris say, you should do a good job here with the family.”
She wanted to ask Karns more about Dubai and what had gone on, push him. But as Chris told her, it was her investigation. She understood that if she knew something that someone else didn’t, she might be holding more of the high cards.
CHAPTER 26
The next few days were a blur. Maria tried to establish a schedule: meals, school preparation, and laundry. Alex sat in on three interviews for cooks. They settled on a woman with French and Italian experience but whose every dish had a touch of Vietnamese. Bobo, one of Tommy Quan’s men, chauffeured Ilaria, the kids, and Alex around Ho Chi Minh City and pointed out the more famous landmarks, the shopping areas, and the markets. The children’s school would not open for another month. Paolo signed up for his school’s soccer team, and Gianna reached out to the small equestrian center she’d told Alex about back in Milan. Alex promised her they would go visit in the next few days.
Nevio began leaving for work at seven, with Karns—his near full-time security detail—in tow. They rarely returned until after nine or ten in the evening, and Nevio would spend an hour or more in his home office on the phone with Milan. It was a five-hour time difference. Three days into the settling-in confusion, a safe and three steel filing cabinets were delivered to Nevio’s office. Two of the cabinets were the type that held plans and drawings in large flat drawers. Once, Alex checked the door to the office, and it was locked. Alex asked for and received a small safe to store her pistol.
She had sent Chris another short text message about the night in Dubai, but—to her surprise and annoyance—still nothing. Until now, two full days later. She walked to the terrace, and standing under the broad awning, out of the early-afternoon rain, read:
I need to see you today. Reverie hotel on Nguyen Hue Blvd, room 2640. 3:00 p.m.
Her phone read 1:34. What the hell? Chris is here, in Saigon?
She walked into the kitchen where the family was having a late lunch. A tray of sandwiches sat on the counter along with iced tea and sodas. Not feeling hungry, she poured herself an iced tea and took a seat next to Gianna.
“Alex, is it ever going to stop raining?” Gianna said. “I really would like to go see the horses.”
“The horses will be there when it stops,” Paolo said, looking up from his phone.
“I know, but it feels like jail here
. Nothing to do.”
“You’ll be fine. The school gave you a list of books to start reading,” Ilaria said. “You have four of them. You could do that.”
“Maybe, but it’s still boring.”
“Mother, they need a deposit for the ski trip to Switzerland by the end of September,” Paolo said.
“We talked about this. You are not going. You will be here.”
“Like Gianna said, it’s a jail.” He took a sandwich and a bottle of Coca-Cola and headed toward his bedroom. It had become his Fortress of Solitude. Gianna followed.
“Ilaria, I’m going out for a while this afternoon,” Alex said.
“Alone?”
“I’m sure I’ll be fine. And like Gianna said, it’s getting a little prisonlike here. When we were out the other day, I saw some Western shops in a mall along Nguyen Hue Boulevard. This rain has ruined one pair of shoes, and I need replacements. No reason to bother Bobo. I’ll take a taxi and be back before five.”
“Be careful,” Ilaria said. “Nevio called and said there is a reception this evening at the Sheraton. Some advertisers are in town from Laos and Cambodia. He would like me there. It will be dull, but at least I’ll be able to get out of our ‘prison’ for the evening. I didn’t want to agree with Gianna, but both of you are right.”
“I’ll be back before you leave. Can I get you anything?”
“No, I’m fine. We’ll get out this weekend and do something, agreed? I’ll get the kids on it. That should keep them occupied for a while.”
“Agreed.”
Alex retrieved the pistol from the safe. Then, with the firearm snug in its holster in her jeans, she slipped on her lightweight raincoat, grabbed her handbag, and headed to the door.
Gianna intercepted her. “Mother says you’re going shopping. Can I go?”
“Not this time, sweetie. Like you, I need a little time for myself. That okay?”
Gianna put a hurt look on her face. “I guess so.”
“Your mother wants a family adventure this weekend. Can you and Paolo look through the guidebooks and come up with something? Maybe a boat ride, or a street market, or one of the museums? Look online—maybe you can find a place or two to visit.”
She brightened a bit. “I’ll try.”
“Excellent. I’ll be back before dinner. Your parents are going out this evening. Maybe we can find a movie on Netflix or Amazon tonight.”
The taxi drove over the Nghe Channel to Ton Duc Thang, then along the waterfront past Me Linh Square to Nguyen Hue Boulevard. Two blocks up from the Saigon River, the taxi stopped in front of the Reverie hotel. Early for her meeting, she spent some time walking Nguyen Hue Boulevard to the old city hall and then back toward the river and Chris’s hotel. The city, its aromas, and its sounds were fascinating.
The Reverie’s lobby was a rich and colorful mix of crazy French tiles and bizarre, over-the-top decorations and chandeliers. This was not what she imagined when she thought of Chris Campbell. Then again, she hadn’t given the personal Chris Campbell much thought. It dawned on her that she was in the most peculiar and whacky situation that she had ever been in. Nothing around her was familiar, nothing seemed real—even the smells were like nothing she’d ever experienced. Now she was going up an elevator to meet a man who said, via a text—not even a phone call—to meet him in a room, in a hotel, in a city that five months earlier she’d never have imagined herself in.
I told the children to find an adventure. It’s not going to top this.
She knocked on the room door and waited. She knocked again, and the door opened. To her shock, Chris, disheveled and with his shirt open, stood there with a pistol in one hand. He backed down the suite’s hallway, looking at her. He said nothing. He beckoned her in. She followed.
In the main room of the suite, he pointed to a chair at the small dining table. The view was the gray sky over the Saigon River. Through the haze was the multibuilding apartment complex that was now the home of the Luccheses and herself.
“Are you wearing your pistol?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Give it to me.”
She did. “What’s up, Chris? Why didn’t you answer my text?”
“Sit.”
She did.
He set his weapon on the counter of the small bar. “Belvedere on the rocks, is that right?”
She watched as he dropped three ice cubes in a tumbler and then filled the glass with vodka. He placed it on the table in front of her, then retrieved his drink and pistol from the bar. He spun one of the chairs around, sat, and placed the gun on the table. She saw that the safety was off.
“Give, damn it! I’m a cop; I’m used to this macho, in-your-face interrogation. I’m good at it, very good. I’d offer a Coke to a junkie, or water to a strung-out tweaker. Anything to make them pay attention to me, or to put them in my debt. Well? I’ve gotten my drink, but I’d never put a loaded gun on a table in front of a suspect. That’s suicidal. What’s going on?”
“You tell me,” Chris said. He then ran his fingertip over the rough grip of the Sig. “Right now, I have no idea who you are or why you’re here. I’ve told you things I regret. Things that put my people and my company in serious jeopardy.”
“Christ almighty, what are you rambling about? Two days ago, I sent you that second text about the strange events I saw at the Four Seasons. I hadn’t heard from you. I figured it was something I didn’t need to know. Then your message today—and now I’m here. And for all intents, you’re pointing that fucking thing at me.” She looked at the Sig Sauer. With a lightning move, she seized the pistol, clicked on the safety, dropped the magazine, and ejected the bullet in the chamber. It rattled across the wooden floor. She flipped the pistol back at Campbell. He caught it in midair.
“Feel better?” he asked.
“Much.”
“I didn’t get your text for a day; I was out of communication. I barely had satellite phone coverage where I was. When I read it, I was stunned. It took me two days to follow up—and I still don’t know what that meeting was about—yet. Then I get this.” He placed a large manila envelope on the table.
“And?”
“Open it.”
She removed three pieces of paper, the first was an eight-by-ten color screenshot from a video. The resolution wasn’t good. It was a man’s face. He was lean and angular, American or European, with white, spiky hair. He was dressed in black and in his left hand held a motorcycle helmet. His head was partially turned, as if he was looking at something.
“Do you know this man?”
She studied the face. There was something vaguely familiar about it, but she couldn’t recall what. The eyes, maybe. He looked to be part Asian, and—
Wait, I know that face.
“May I get my phone?” she asked, careful not to make any sudden movements.
“Where is it?”
“In my bag on the chair.”
He walked over and picked up the bag. “In the front pocket?”
“Yes.”
He retrieved two phones. He looked at them and handed them both to her.
She clicked her phone on and began to scroll through the images. She stopped and looked closely at the photo on the screen, then the one on the table. “This is the man I saw that night in the Four Seasons lobby in Dubai,” she told him, holding the screen toward him. “The same man as the one in your photo. He may also be a man who threatened Gianna and the family at Ski Dubai.”
Chris’s face turned ashen. He reached behind his back and pulled out another pistol, a match to the one on the table. He pointed it at her. “Who the hell are you?”
“Good God, Chris, what are you babbling about? You know who I am. I’m the same person that Javier stumbled into in Venice. I’m an ex-cop now because of him and you, damn it. And someday that man will break my heart.” She placed her index finger on top of the photo of the man. “Where did you get this?”
“Get in here, Javier.”
She turned and
saw Javier standing in the bedroom doorway. “What is this all about?” She stood. “Damn it, Campbell, I punched you in the jaw once, and I’ll do it again, pistol or no pistol, if one of you doesn’t tell me what’s going on.”
Javier walked over and gently lowered Chris’s pistol. “You won’t need that.” He looked at Alex. “That is a photo of the man who broke into the tech facility across the river.” Javier looked at the image on the phone. “That man on your phone looks like the same man. He’s an assassin and foreign agent who met with your client, Nevio Lucchese, and Harry Karns in Dubai.”
“Yeah, I know that. I saw them.”
“It was a meeting that we knew nothing about until your text. We think the other men you saw are businessmen from Shanghai. There are significant concerns by the company about their legitimacy.”
“The ‘company’ being the CIA?” she asked.
“Yes,” Javier answered. He put his finger on the photo. “Like Chris, I want to know what you know about this man.”
She slammed her fist down on the picture, almost hitting Javier’s finger. “I know nothing about this man. That night in Dubai was the first time I’d ever seen him.”
“Really,” Chris said. “Is this how you’re going to play it?”
“Play what? What is going on?”
“Come on, Alex,” Chris said. “Your little game is over. What I can’t figure out is why you would tell me about the meeting. What do the Chinese want?”
“Game? Chinese?”
“Yes, this is big-time, not Cleveland party games. People are dying. You and your Chinese partners have stolen millions of dollars in defense secrets and technology and sold it to the Chinese. Secrets stolen by this man—Con Ma—and with your help.”
“Javier, what is Chris saying? Secrets? Chinese? My help? I haven’t a fucking clue what you’re talking about. Two hours ago, I was helping a little girl figure out what she needs for school, not plotting to overthrow the fucking world. And Javier, I thought you were my friend, and right now all I get from you is—nothing.” She turned back to Chris. “I don’t know who any of these people are. You were there when I met the Luccheses, and Karns is your man. Why didn’t he tell you about the meeting? You told me to handle this. I’m trying to figure this out, and you keep jamming me up. I don’t have any partners, as you call them.”
Saigon Red Page 15