by John Curtis
We did have two big fights while we were there, but our only escape from each other in the studio apartment was to go out onto the verandah. Each time we did we were eaten alive by mosquitoes, and it was damn hot, forcing us to come back inside into the air conditioning and sort it out. Russell and his wife Virginia came to visit for two weeks and were staying across the hall from us. They commented that they didn't see how we could have lived in that small apartment for three months without killing each other. I guess we were just right for each other.
Nothing was ever easy in Thailand, though. We'd get a lead on an underage girl, or a paedophile, but then there was always some reason why we couldn't act on it straightaway. It was frustrating. I'd thought that by being on the scene I could make things happen faster, to my timetable. I'd misjudged Panom and the Major, and I'd misjudged Asia. The simplest of requests would take days to be resolved. When I talked to Panom about future operations it seemed all the discussions we'd had via email had gone in one ear and out the other. Instead of concentrating on rescuing kids, he would come up with proposals to raid and shut down brothels staffed by adult women, as though he was still working for IJM.
I spoke to my ex-girlfriend Fon, who was then still working at Empower, and asked her if she was getting any leads on underage kids in the sex industry. She was visiting brothels, educating the girls about AIDS and other health issues and distributing condoms, but she told us she'd seen no underage girls lately. In fact, none of our sources was turning up much. It seemed that the problem of underage prostitution had gone so far underground it was impossible to find kids to rescue anymore.
As I've mentioned, I hadn't set up The Grey Man as a vigilante organisation to track down paedophiles, although from time to time in the past we'd been called on by the Thai police to help track down western expats and sex tourists who were abusing kids. Now, Panom and the Major had new information on some suspects. There were innocent kids in Chiang Mai who might not have been trafficked or sold, but they were still being abused. There was work to do.
In early 2009, Panom and the Major told Misao and me over lunch that four girls in their early teens claimed to have been molested by two men – one white, the other Thai – at an orphanage in Chiang Mai. A local schoolteacher had contacted the police when she'd noticed the girls from the orphanage were acting strangely. They'd become difficult to deal with, couldn't concentrate or apply themselves to their work, and they were reluctant to return to the shelter at the end of the school day. The teacher spoke to the girls and uncovered the allegations of sexual abuse.
‘The police need our help to get close to the main guy,’ Panom said in between mouthfuls of khao soi, a noodle dish popular in northern Thailand.
‘Are you sure that we'll get a result from this?’ I asked the Major. It was difficult to get a conviction in paedophile prosecutions because often they would buy their way out of a case. It was also difficult to get sworn evidence from the victims, which would be necessary to organise a warrant.
‘Yes, I am sure. We have videotape of the girls giving their evidence,’ the Major said.
I didn't share the Major's enthusiasm for the case, but I asked Robbie back in Australia to do some research on the American guy who owned the orphanage; I can't mention his real name so I'll call him Harris. The other suspect was the Thai manager of the institution. The key finding in the report that came back was that Harris was well connected. He'd been in Chiang Mai for many years and had lived in Asia most of his life, which meant that he probably had a web of contacts in the government and the police.
According to the Major an investigation had begun, but had later been shelved. It wasn't clear what had happened, or who, if anyone, had been paid off. If a bribe hadn't changed hands it was possible that the arresting police had backed off simply because they didn't want to take the risk of prosecuting such a high-profile westerner with strong contacts.
I gave the go-ahead to start a Grey Man investigation of Harris and his associates. In the time since the case had been opened, it turned out that Harris had kicked out of the orphanage the girls who had testified against him. The teacher who had sounded the alarm had overseen the repatriation of the girls back to their home villages. No matter how bad their home lives were, they couldn't be any worse off than they had been under Harris's care.
I asked the Major if the fact that the girls were no longer in Chiang Mai would weaken the case against Harris. He maintained that since the police had their sworn affidavits and video evidence the case would be watertight. If it was that strong, I wondered why the original police had backed away from it. Money, I guessed, answering my own question.
To get the case moving again the police needed as much information as they could get on Harris and his operations. Harris was a Christian evangelist who had grown up speaking a number of different languages as his missionary parents moved from country to country spreading the word of the Lord. These days he was known as a bit of recluse and lived in a house in a walled compound that also held one of two orphanages he ran. The original investigating police had been denied access to Harris's personal lair. The Major and the new crew of officers on the case thought that if I could gain Harris's trust, and maybe an invitation to meet him in his sanctuary, then I might be able to sneak in a couple of Thai cops who could serve a warrant on him and get the ball rolling again. The Grey Man would be helping out with transport and logistics – hiring vehicles and actually getting the police to the target. This was typical of so many operations we'd been involved in. Sometimes it was the little things, like organising a van and a car, which we did in this case, that galvanised the cops into action. I could never quite figure out why the cops couldn't just issue a warrant and do it themselves. Maybe they needed our cash, or maybe they had us there as the fall guy if things went wrong.
Misao had been in on the briefings since the beginning and when I told her I was going undercover to try to make contact with Harris she asked if she could come along. My initial reaction was to tell her she would be better off staying in the condo, but I wanted to share these experiences with her. I didn't see what I did as particularly dangerous – unlike our operatives who'd been involved in the bust of the Laotian people traffickers, I'd never carried a weapon on operations in Thailand and I'd never felt the need to – although there was an element of risk and you didn't like to think about what might happen if your cover was blown and there was no backup close at hand. I weighed up the risks and we decided that she would accompany me.
In fact, Misao enhanced the cover story that we concocted together. Rather than knocking on the gate of Harris's walled fortress we decided we would make contact with one of his orphanages outside Chiang Mai first and offer the one thing that any NGO needs most – money. With an undercover cop posing as our hired driver, Misao, Panom, the Major and I took a car to Harris's other, more accessible orphanage where we introduced ourselves to the first carer we met as representatives of a made-up philanthropic organisation. The man went and fetched another Thai guy, the manager of the facility.
‘Can I help you?’ the manager asked when he emerged from his office to greet us. He glanced at the business card his subordinate had presented to him. I'd had the bogus cards printed up the day before at an instant printing place in town.
‘I'm from the Brosnan Foundation – we're a charitable organisation formed in 1960 to assist with the education of children in developing countries. We like to keep a low profile, and we see our main value as supporting worthwhile programs that are already in place, rather than building schools or orphanages of our own.’ Kerching, the Thai manager's eyes seemed to say, as he smiled politely.
I'd picked the name of our organisation after Misao and I watched GoldenEye, the Bond film with Pierce Brosnan, one day on my laptop. Using the name in an undercover operation seemed like a fitting homage to 007 and his creator.
I introduced Misao as a Japanese liaison officer who was visiting from our Tokyo office. Misao told the manager t
hat she wanted to take some pictures of the orphanage and that if we agreed to support the work they were doing then we would put some information about the facility in our newsletter. She charmed the manager and he told her she could take pictures of anything she wanted. He took us for a walk around the orphanage, which was largely empty as most of the kids were at school. It was a big place, with a large dormitory that could house hundreds of children. The facilities were pretty spartan – slat beds with thin foam mattresses – but Panom told me afterwards that he'd been there years before during his time with IJM and that the place had been cleaned up since then.
Misao asked questions and kept the manager engaged and occupied. Our tour was drawing to a close when I noticed a western man waiting for us near the entry gates. ‘What's going on?’ the white man asked the manager in Thai.
I followed the conversation as best I could. The manager, who seemed to have bought our story, told the man we were looking for schools and orphanages to donate money to. The stranger still seemed a little guarded when he introduced himself to us. It turned out he was a Harris, but not our target.
After I'd given the man the full spiel again about the Brosnan Foundation, he seemed to relax a little. ‘You need to talk to my cousin; he's the guy who runs this place. I'm just here from the States for a few months visiting and helping out where I can.’
I nodded. ‘Well, I'm really impressed with what I've seen so far. This looks like just the sort of place the Brosnan Foundation would like to put some money into. Do you think we could have a word to your cousin?’
The man rubbed his chin, perhaps torn between a natural wariness of strangers bearing gifts, and the thought of what his cousin might say if he found out he'd turned away some foreigners with money to spare. ‘That'd be up to him, but I'm happy to mention you to him. He's kind of a private guy, but I can see if he's got time to see you.’
‘Can't ask for more than that,’ I said, smiling as I shook his hand and said goodbye to the manager.
Later, Panom contacted the orphanage by phone and asked to speak to the Thai manager, who then told him that Harris, the boss, would be happy to meet with us sometime the next day. I teed up with the manager that we would come back to the orphanage and collect him. He said he would finalise a time for us to meet with Mr Harris at his home on the site of the other orphanage.
In the meantime I spoke to Panom and the Major and found out that they were chasing up the preparation of the warrant for Harris's arrest with the local police. In addition to the rented car we'd been using, I got Panom to organise a van, so we'd have enough wheels to transport extra officers who would be targeting the second compound. We would be hitting both premises at once.
The call came through from the orphanage manager that he had sorted a time for Misao and me to meet Harris. I arranged to call by the institution first to pick up the Thai manager, as both he and I agreed that he should be present for the meeting with Harris. Our hidden agenda was to have him in the same premises at Harris at the time the warrants were served, as the police would be picking him up as well.
The next morning we assembled in the underground car park beneath the condo where Misao and I were staying. Misao, Panom, the Major, Mee and I decided to take the van, while the posse of Thai police would go in the car. Before we left, I asked Panom and the Major whether they had confirmed that Harris was at his compound, mainly because there is often communication breakdowns in this line of work. It seemed like a logical thing to check, but they hadn't. Even Misao, with no investigation experience, was shocked to think that they hadn't bothered to check if Harris was at home.
‘What if we go through all this and he isn't there?’ I said.
‘Oh well, we can do the raid again on another day,’ was the reply.
‘I don't think that's an option,’ I said, exercising as much control as I could. ‘We've put a lot of resources into this.’ I'd used money donated by people in Australia to hire the vehicles we were using to transport ourselves and the police and it would mean needlessly spending the same amount again for another day.
They begrudgingly rang the manager and he confirmed Harris was at home. The two teams set off.
When we neared the orphanage the police parked on a side road and we arranged for them to sit tight and wait until they got word from us that we were inside the compound and that both Harris and the manager were in position.
Mee drove us to the orphanage and we picked up the manager, who seemed much more relaxed than on our first visit. We made small talk while Panom played the part of our chauffeur and navigated his way around the streets of Chiang Mai. I introduced Mee as one of our local Thai staff who was helping us in our search for worthy causes to support, and also assisting us with making a corporate video. Mee had his digital video camera in the boot of the car.
Panom's mobile phone rang and he muttered a few short phrases in Thai, then passed the phone back to me. ‘Hello?’ I said, wondering what was about to go wrong. I'd guessed from Panom's hushed words and the look on his face that the shit would be on the fan blades and spattering soon.
It was the Major on the phone. ‘We have a problem with the warrants.’
The orphanage manager glanced at me and I gave him a smile. It was odd to be sitting behind a man who could soon be in gaol – his life turned upside down because of his sexual weaknesses. However, that outcome suddenly appeared less likely. ‘Really, why?’ I said into the phone, still smiling for the benefit of the manager.
‘The warrants aren't ready yet. You will have to stall.’
Inwardly I groaned. I hated this country sometimes as much as I loved it.
‘So what do we do now?’ I asked myself. It was only a short ride to Harris's place and I didn't know how long he'd want to spend with us. I needed to slow things down. ‘Hey,’ I said to Panom, ‘pull over into that service station. I need to go to the bathroom.’
Panom nodded and pulled off. I got out and went to the counter to ask where the toilets were. I found them, lingered as long as I could, and then went back out to the car. ‘Do you need to powder your nose?’ I asked Misao. She looked at me and I gave a short, sharp nod of my head. Understanding dawned on her face.
Misao left to go to the toilet and when she came back Mee decided he needed to go as well. I could tell the manager was getting antsy. He got out of the car, pulled out his phone and made a call.
When he hung up I struck up a conversation with him about his new mobile phone, telling him how much I wanted one and asking him where the best place was in Chiang Mai for me to buy one.
Panom was on his phone again too. I left the manager and slid into the back seat of the car behind Panom. ‘Where is the warrant?’ I whispered.
‘Nearly ready,’ Panom said.
The orphanage manager got into the car again and we went on. I told Panom to drive slowly so that Misao could take more pictures for the Brosnan Foundation's newsletter. I was sweating on the Major's call.
The manager's phone rang and he answered it. Now he was looking worried and I could hear a raised voice on the other end of the line. The Thai was too fast for me to understand. The manager passed his phone to Panom, who said a few words and then, to my surprise, handed the phone to me.
‘Hello?’ I said, not knowing who was on the line.
‘Who are you exactly, and why are you coming to see me?’ a voice asked in an American accent.
It was Harris. It appeared that despite what he had told Panom, the orphanage manager had not told him he was bringing three people and a driver to see him. There had indeed been a breakdown in communication and while Harris confirmed his cousin had told him about our visit to the orphanage, no one had let him know about our appointment. He was very guarded at first, but as I gave him my spiel about the fictitious Brosnan Foundation and our quest for worthy projects to fund, I could sense him start to relax. By the end of our conversation he said he would meet us. Misao often says I am a master of BS. Even Panom admitted later that I ha
d turned the day around for us.
My relief was tinged with worry that the Major would fail to get the warrants organised and it would all have been for nothing. Still, we could stall the manager no longer, especially now that Harris was ready to see us. We pulled up outside the American's compound and a uniformed security guard opened the gate. Harris came out to meet us and invited us in for coffee. Mee and Panom stayed outside with the manager and Misao and I followed the urbane, well-dressed expat into his lair.
Inside, Harris's home was furnished with an eclectic but tasteful collection of Thai antiques and hill tribe craftwork and weapons. Wanting to spin the meeting out for as long as possible, in the hope that it would give the Major and the other police time to get their shit together, I asked Harris about the provenance of a well-made wooden crossbow.
‘I grew up among the hill tribes,’ said Harris. ‘I learned to speak their languages as fluently as English. I played with hill tribe kids when I was a child and we'd often go hunting in the forest.’
‘You sound like you really love them,’ Misao said.
‘I do. Now, tell me more about the Brosnan Foundation . . .’
We actually found Harris to be a very interesting, intelligent and well-educated guy. In the short time Misao and I spent talking to him I found myself warming to him. I had to balance that, though, with the stories of abuse I'd heard about him.
However, a few minutes into the conversation we were interrupted by a knock at the door. Harris got up and went to open it. Misao and I stayed seated for the moment, and I could hear the Major politely asking Harris if he would come into the courtyard.
‘I wonder if you'd excuse me for just a minute,’ Harris said to Misao and me.
‘Of course.’
Harris went outside with the Major. Amazingly, the Thai policeman had come through and I knew he would now be serving the warrant against Harris, and that Panom would be telling the orphanage manager he was also under arrest.