“No, he’s not dead. He’s alive and retired, living in Cleveland. His wife’s name is Alice. I have—actually, we have—two brothers. They are John and Rick. You have five nieces and nephews. Our father did not die when he and your mother were separated. I know that side of the story. He tried to find Yvette.”
“You know my mother’s name?”
“My father never forgot her. He was told her village was overrun and assumed she was dead. He doesn’t know you exist.” Alex nervously reached her hand across the table to his.
He jerked his hand away. “This is too hard to believe. Too bizarre. This is all wrong.” Slowly, he reached out and gently squeezed her fingers. “And my father’s name is? My mother would never say.”
“Oh my, yes, of course. His name is Roger Thomas Polonia.”
Phan, a tear rolling down his cheek, stared at Alex. He said nothing for a long time. “Tell me about him.”
Alex and Phan forgot all about the time. She told him about their father, her brothers, the nieces and nephews. She told him about Cleveland, Roger’s time in the army, his wounds, his UPS job, even his boat and Lake Erie. She couldn’t stop. He told her about growing up Amerasian, his mother—she owned a noodle shop—his grandmother, who was still alive, and his children. The one person never mentioned was Lin.
Alex was jerked out of their reverie by her phone vibrating. “Oh my God, the children. Hi, Gianna . . .” She listened, said she was sorry twice, then finished with, “I’ll be there shortly.”
She looked at Phan. “I have to go. Can I reach you at the number I called?”
“No, don’t call me on that line. Here’s my cell phone number. Call me tomorrow. It seems that we have a serious problem to deal with, and I’m too numb to even think about what to do about all this. I’ll stay here for a few minutes. I need a smoke. You go on.”
Alex stood and touched the back of his hand. “In all the days of my life, I have never had a day like this.”
“Me neither.”
Lin sat on his motorbike, hidden in a copse of trees a hundred meters away, wondering what his father could be talking about with this woman.
He’d followed his father from the police station to the Sheraton hotel. He’d done this before, tailed his father. It was a game. While he hated the man, he was fascinated by him. Then Detective Phan had gone into the hotel.
Lin had waited patiently across the street and was surprised to see the woman that was supposed to be guarding the Lucchese family exit a taxi and walk into the hotel. The woman that Nevio Lucchese had told him about. Curious, he had thought. Not long afterward his father had walked out of—more like fled—the hotel, looking back over his shoulder, the woman following after him. They had walked down the street and crossed into a park on the Saigon River, and had been talking for over an hour. He was too far away to hear what was said. He wished he had his laser microphone with him.
Just a minute ago the woman had answered her phone, said something to his father, touched his hand, and walked away. His father didn’t take his eyes off the woman until after she had climbed into a taxi and left.
His father continued to sit at the low table and smoked two cigarettes before walking back up the street. Lin slowly followed until the detective disappeared into the police station.
CHAPTER 33
Late that evening, Nevio asked Alex to follow him into his office.
“Why weren’t you here when the family went to church?” he said. “It had been planned. You disappointed both the children and Ilaria. This, Ms. Polonia, is unacceptable. Where were you? You’re not here to go wandering around Ho Chi Minh City and have a vacation.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Lucchese. Mr. Campbell has me looking into something here in HCMC. It took longer than I thought it would.”
“You and TSD are here to protect the children—especially after what happened in Dubai.”
Alex wasn’t sure which event Nevio was talking about. Was he was talking about the man at Ski Dubai, or something else—his meeting with Con Ma? She wanted to know everything that happened at the meeting and at the market the day before, but she couldn’t ask, or at least not yet. After what she now knew, she was certain he would not tell her. She needed to keep up her charade. He didn’t need to know what she knew.
“Your family is more important to you than anything in the world—I understand. And they are important to me, as well. In fact, family is all we really have. My family and I have been through a lot over the last year. It’s the reason I’m here.”
“How do you mean?” he answered.
She told him about Ralph, and the problems after the divorce. His escape from prison, her leaving the Cleveland police, and what happened in Venice.
“I’m not looking for sympathy, or even pity,” she said. “These are my problems. And they’re not an excuse either, but sometimes I need to get away for a bit. This matter, as I said, was for TSD. My family is still in Cleveland, and they’re going through a tough time.”
Nevio, his irritation softening, said, “I didn’t know, and I’m sorry for what you went through. But you are also a professional. I know that you know what’s right, and what needs to be done. Alex, I need you here with the children. Can you do that? Or do I need to talk with Mr. Campbell and find someone who can remain focused?”
“Yes, I can do that. All I ask is for a little flexibility.”
“Yes, I can give you some, but if it comes into conflict with Ilaria and the family . . .”
“It won’t happen again.”
After everyone went to bed, Alex stood at the railing of the terrace. She rubbed her thumb over the face of her phone, then tapped in a number. Three rings later, he answered.
“I’ve got to see you. It’s extremely important. Can you? . . . Fifteen minutes? . . . I’ll be downstairs.”
Soon afterward, Javier rolled up on the motorbike, removed his helmet, and combed back his black hair with his fingers.
“Someday I’ll ask you where you found this contraption.” She took the second helmet he offered, and they rolled into the street.
“Where to?” he asked.
“Anywhere, I don’t care. We need to talk.”
“Ominous.”
They cruised along the Saigon River for about a half mile until they came to a small pimple of a riverfront park. Javier dropped the kickstand, and the two wandered along the narrow overlook to an unoccupied concrete bench. The other benches were filled by young people doing what young people do at eleven while overlooking a river. On the waterway, a party boat—ablaze with lights and rock and roll—leisurely drifted past.
“I’m glad someone is having fun,” Alex said.
“I’ve known you to get into a funk,” he said. “Good God, sometimes you’re as moody as a jilted teenager. But what the hell is this about?”
“Really, you have to ask? Besides, it’s not really a funk, but more like all confused and irritated at the same time.”
She told him everything that happened with Phan. Javier said “Damn” a half dozen times, and finished with an “I cannot fucking believe it!”
“You? Detective Tran Phan is my half brother. I can’t believe it—I want to believe it, but something is holding me back. Half of me is thrilled; the other half, the detective half, says, ‘Hold on—not so fast! Maybe it’s a trick, some game.’ I’m not sure if he is even my brother. Short of a DNA test, there’s no way to tell. Suppose this is all a setup? Suppose this Lin, this Ghost, isn’t his son, and he’s used my information to ferret him out or, even more strange, help him hide the man.”
“Slow down. This may make your work easier.”
“How? And now Nevio is on my case about my time away from the family. Jesus, I get that. We know he has a role in this, an important role, and he obviously knows this Ghost.”
“All this helps. I’ll get back to Langley and Chris with the information.”
“Be careful. It’s all tainted. I need to know a lot more before I’m satisfied. Chris is going t
o have a heart attack. He’s forced me out onto thin ice with this case. Each step, I hear the cracking. I need to move fast, or it all breaks. He won’t believe me when I tell him that Detective Tran Phan is my half brother, that the Ghost is his son, and that this is all one big fat Vietnam War hangover.”
They walked farther, and the never-ending noise of motorbikes continued from the boulevard behind them. Another party boat powered up the river, blasting hip-hop. The colored lights in the boat’s interior hypnotically flashed to the beat—a surreal perpetuation of the chaos in her head.
“Have you told your father?” Javier asked.
“He knows about the Ghost, but not his real name—I didn’t know it. I called him before I met with Phan. All he knows—hell, all I know—is that his girlfriend, Yvette, survived the war. He thought she died. He also knows she had a child, and I know now that child was a boy—his son, Tran Phan. God, I wish I was there with him. He shouldn’t be doing this alone.”
“Your mother is there.”
“It’s going to be tough on her. She’s built a family that’s strong and hardworking. She minimized surprises and made sure all us kids made it.”
“To think they survived that war,” he said. “Amazing.”
She changed the subject. “Anything more with Como and Nevio?”
“Yes, but it’s more about Karns. He’s been spending a lot of time behind closed doors with Lucchese.”
“I’ve seen that.”
“Chris isn’t sure what to believe about Karns. They go back a long time. Chris has confidence in him, but he’s seen a few little things. Karns doesn’t respond to emails as fast; cell calls go to message. And he has a new one-hundred-and-fifty-thousand-dollar Porsche in a private storage locker near his home in Hong Kong. Jake ferreted that out before he came to Saigon. Karns is a Ford F-150 guy. All out of character.”
“Interesting. We look for those things during drug investigations. Drug dealers and high-paid athletes all do the same thing: buy stupidly expensive cars. It’s like a big sign that’s stuck on their back that reads ‘Arrest my fucking ass!’ What is Chris doing?”
“Just watching,” Javier said. “If Karns is playing for the wrong team, Chris wants to be sure. Then all holy hell will drop. The CIA has engaged Chris and TSD, on the down low, to seriously pursue this Chinese connection. That’s why Jake came to HCMC. When Karns asked Chris about Jake, he told him Jake was in Singapore. You’ll have to ask Chris about what else Jake’s doing—that’s all I know.”
“With the potential of TSD being compromised, why would the CIA engage us? Seems like asking for trouble.”
“Yes, there’s that. But my ass is out on the line here as well. I vouched for Chris and TSD. We understand the risks.”
“I hope you do,” she said, and looked at the motorbike. “I haven’t driven my Harley for over a year. Let me take you for a ride.”
“You have a Harley-Davidson?”
“Middle age crisis. I got it at a police auction. Paid a quarter of its street value. It may be the one thing I keep after I clear everything else out. It’s a solid bike.”
An hour later, Alex was positive that Javier had left bruises on her midsection where he’d held on for dear life. She was glad he hadn’t seen the smile on her face as she wove in and out of traffic and heard the fear in his voice after every near collision.
“You scream like a little girl!” she yelled over her shoulder.
CHAPTER 34
Con Ma sat on his motorbike in the shadow of a statue in the park near the Lucchese apartment building. For the last hour, after the two Americans had left the waterfront park, his mind and soul had twisted in turmoil. He had disconnected the laser microphone from his helmet and stuffed it into his backpack. He wished he’d never eavesdropped on the woman and the man. He pulled a cigarette from a pack, lit it, inhaled deeply, and blew the smoke toward the river.
The past two hours had turned his paranoid world into a seething morass of self-doubt and hate. His grandfather—if this woman were to be believed—had a real name, Roger. His father, the man who refused to understand him, was the brother of this American blonde. He could no longer trust anyone. Were the Italians going to turn against him and the Chairwoman? Would he have to atone to the Chairwoman for being the son of a policeman (a small detail of his old life that he’d kept hidden for eight years)? He was replaceable—would he feel the sharp point of a blade to his neck?
He now understood why this woman intrigued him—not in some personal, sexual way, but in a clear, professional way. He’d seen her in Dubai and in Ho Chi Minh City with the family. Lucchese had said she’d been a cop. That was nothing; he’d dealt with cops since he was twelve. They were either inept, thugs, or on the take. His father was the exception. His father could look into his soul; even he himself didn’t look into his soul. Everything there, misshapen and confused, scared him. When he was on drugs, sometimes at night the shadows would completely enfold him. He found it hard to breathe, to swallow. When fear filled his mouth, it stopped everything—even his screams.
Bui doi, children of the dust. Even the second generation suffered at the hands of the xenophobic Vietnamese. It wasn’t his fault. It was the fucking Americans! They came and destroyed his country, they destroyed his family, and they destroyed him. They made him into what he’d become. The American now had a name, Roger. His own name came from the Chairwoman. “I will call you the Ghost—in Vietnamese, Con Ma,” she had said one evening after months of training. “It suits you. I want you to become one.”
Con Ma was close to the reality of bui doi, a ghost hidden in the dust. He now reveled in it. It was sweetly perfect. It was his way of not looking into his soul.
The man on the motorcycle was CIA—interesting. She’d called him Javier. He needed more. He thought that the man was just a boyfriend, but now he knew better. He was a tây, a Westerner and American agent.
And what about the other tây, what would he do about him? Could the TSD man be trusted? The Chairwoman said he’d been helpful, but how helpful? He was sure that if a man was bought, he could be sold. It was only a question of how much.
He looked up to the top of the apartment building. Karns had said that Mr. Lucchese lived on the top floor. This woman had to be there.
He’d wanted to follow the CIA agent, but decided against it. There would be time later. Their affection for each other was obvious—the agent would be back. Now he knew why Lucchese and Karns in Dubai hadn’t told him about this man—they didn’t know. If this woman was here for security for the family, as Mr. Lucchese had said, then why was the CIA also here? Did the Chairwoman know?
Now his father, the man he’d hidden from for eight years, most likely knew he was alive. This was something that he’d not counted on, or wanted.
The Chairwoman had texted him that he had less than a week to finish; again, did she know? They had another assignment for him in Guam and Hawaii. He hated American food—greasy, tasteless, and unimaginative. After the next operation, he promised himself, he would return to his island in China, where at least everything was clean and simple.
He crushed his cigarette into the coarse grass of the park and started his motorbike. Five minutes later he was in the swarm that filled the streets of District 1. He was hungry.
Javier sat on his decrepit machine and watched the man in the park. He’d picked up the tailing motorbike as he and Alex left the apartment building earlier. Now that tail was a lone figure waiting in the darkness across the road. Even after an hour walking along the waterfront and then Alex’s scary joyride, Javier never lost sight of the man and his motorbike. He said nothing to Alex. After dropping her off, he drove around the block and found a vantage point where he could watch the man. When the man removed his helmet and lit a cigarette, the white hair of Con Ma surprised him.
Ghosts should be better than that.
His phone vibrated in his pocket. He smiled at the ID.
“Did you see the man on the motorbike
?” Jake asked.
“Yes, I saw him,” Javier said. “I’m going to stay with him. Can you remain here and keep an eye on the apartment?”
“Yes, I’ll let Chris know.”
“Thanks.” Javier clicked the phone off.
Javier reversed his thin rain jacket, turning it from bright blue to black, and put on Alex’s yellow helmet. He secured his black helmet in the lock case mounted on the back of the motorbike. He watched the Ghost leave the shadows and head back toward District 1.
After being in Ho Chi Minh City for five days, he had regained an appreciation for the ancient city. It was his third trip, all under orders by Langley. The city seemed freer of the paranoia of the other so-called communist countries in the Far East. In some ways, it reminded him of an oriental Houston, a place where everything and anything goes. Entrepreneurs—from shop owners to high-tech moguls—led the way, money their first goal.
As he kicked the engine on, a body dropped into the seat behind him, startling the hell out of him.
“So, you saw him too, cowboy,” Alex said in his ear. “Do you think I’d let you go chasing after the son of a bitch without me? I also assume it was Dumas you were talking to?”
“Don’t you miss anything?” Javier said as they slid into the traffic.
“I’m the cop, you’re the bureaucrat.”
“So romantic.”
“Faster, he’s getting away.”
Ahead of him, the Ghost wove through District 1’s droves of two-wheeled machines. A bizarre lightshow of red taillights, bright headlights, flashing overhead neon, and fluorescent-lit billboards rolled past. Some motorbikes had pigs tied to the back of them, some were packed with three or four people, and still others dragged behind them small trailers filled six feet high with broken-down cardboard boxes. Drivers jockeyed for position at one of the infrequent stoplights, then, in a roar, flew off in a cough-inducing smog. Block after block of street vendors and their ten-by-ten-foot shops lined the narrow streets. Even at night, commerce ruled.
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