The Night Trade (A Livia Lone Novel Book 2)

by Barry Eisler

  There was a long pause. Then Kanezaki said, “No.”

  “Course you wouldn’t. And neither would I. Which is why I have to assume the worst here. Gant’s people likely know about me, and they’re likely to figure I know more than I can be trusted with. Hell, for all they know, I killed old Gant because I had qualms about his op. Which wouldn’t be so far from the truth, as it happens. This would be bad enough if it were just about retaliation. But it’s not.”

  “You’re right. It’s also about protecting the integrity of their op.”

  “That’s the way I see it. Because whatever the op is, it’s important enough to kill a UN official over. There’s going to be a lot of heartache for Gant’s people if any of this comes out. Be a lot cheaper to just kill me and hire someone new to take out Vann.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  Dox considered. His inclination was to kill a whole bunch of people, some of whom would have been direct threats, and others who would get the message: Back the fuck off, or the next head converted to a fine pink mist from a half mile out in low-light conditions is likely to be yours.

  But Kanezaki had already claimed to be getting the vapors at the thought of Dox burying the hatchet in the wrong person’s head. So he decided a little more subtlety would be the right way to go.

  “I can’t really know what I’m going to do until I know more about who. And why. And the place to start is with the UN guy. Mr. Vannak Vann himself. He’s right here in Phnom Penh. If you really know him like you say, I want you to get me in to see him. And pronto, too. ’Cause I don’t want to stick around here longer than I have to.”

  7

  The morning after her late-night epiphany, Livia was sitting across from Donna Strangeland in the lieutenant’s office. She had explained the opportunity with Homeland Security, and why she thought it would be good for the department and for her long-term effectiveness as a cop. But she hadn’t made up her mind, she said, and to that end, she wanted to go out to Bangkok for a week or so right away to get the lay of the land and see if this was something she would be comfortable doing for the six months Little had mentioned.

  Strangeland was a thorough listener—her posture, her expression, her nods and occasional grunts of agreement or acknowledgment conveying a sense of complete attentiveness to the speaker. It was a powerful approach for elicitation in interviews and interrogations, because there were few things people responded to more than the feeling of being listened to, really listened to. Livia realized it was having that effect on her, so she wrapped up her pitch and then waited.

  A long moment went by while Strangeland nodded to herself as though carefully considering everything she had just heard. Then she said, “You want to tell me what this is really about?”

  Livia looked at her, feeling wary. “I told you. Working the wholesale side of trafficking, the supply side. Learning how the networks operate from the other end. Bringing the knowledge back here and applying it at the demand side, the retail level.”

  Strangeland just looked at her, her brow slightly furrowed, her expression mildly skeptical, the overall impression that of a woman who already knew everything you knew, everything you were trying to hide.

  “LT,” Livia said, “I’m not really supposed to say more than that.”

  Strangeland shook her head. “I’m not talking about what Little wants from you. I’m sure there are levels to that, one for public consumption, others more need-to-know. I’ve worked with the feds. That’s how they roll. But don’t think for a minute that when Little told you the ostensible purpose of this joint operation and then shared the real purpose, he was actually leveling with you.”

  Not for the first time, Livia was in awe of the accuracy of Strangeland’s instincts. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean he’s playing his own game, too. I could smell it on him. Why does he want you for this? You specifically. Yeah, you’re a great cop, Livia, everyone knows that. But there are other great cops. Other cops doing outstanding work against trafficking. I’m sure he told you being Asian is a plus because you can blend, and they wanted a woman because blah blah blah, but I’m not buying it. What I can’t tell yet is whether you are.”

  Livia didn’t respond. The truth was, she hadn’t sensed any additional angle. But was that because she hadn’t wanted to?

  “Why do you want to go out there early?” Strangeland continued. “It’s not like you. You’re smart. You never play it eager, even when you are. And this fed Little wants something from you, something you could bargain for. Instead, you’re dropping everything to run out to Bangkok early, which tells him he’s got you, he doesn’t have to make concessions.”

  “You really think it seems that way?”

  “I know it does. And so do you. So why?”

  Livia considered. She didn’t know how much the lieutenant knew about her past. They’d never talked about it. But maybe now was the time to open that door. Just a little. There was nothing like a layer of truth to conceal a lie.

  “LT, do you know where I’m from?” The hesitancy in her tone wasn’t feigned.

  “You mean in the States? Or before that?”

  “Then you do know.”

  “I know some. You were trafficked to America and rescued in a police raid. You think people don’t know about that?”

  “I don’t know what people know.”

  Strangeland chuckled, not without compassion. “Livia, I gotta tell you, this is one of the things I like so much about you. It doesn’t even occur to you how renowned you are.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It all happened in 2000, right? The articles are on the Internet. You went from trafficked girl to straight-A student and state wrestling champion in three years. People love a story like that. You’re like the embodiment of the American dream.”

  Hearing that people knew even this much made Livia uncomfortable. It felt like a flashback to when she had been a girl in the Lones’ house, struggling with English, and visitors would invariably tell her how “brave” she was and express sympathy for her “ordeal.”

  “I didn’t think . . . I mean, who would want to look up those old articles?”

  “Call it a paradox. When you offer so little, it makes you a mystery. Mysteries make people curious.”

  She realized she should have seen that herself. Maybe the problem was that she just hadn’t wanted to.

  “I guess I don’t really like to talk about it.”

  “I think people sense that. And respect it.”

  “And you’re one of those people. Thanks for that.”

  Strangeland shook her head as though it was nothing.

  “You know I was trafficked,” Livia said. “But do you know from where?”

  Strangeland nodded. “Thailand, wasn’t it?”

  Livia realized she should have known. “Why do you even ask me questions? You already know everything.”

  “I know more than most, because I make it my business to know. And because I know more, I can’t help but wonder why Little really wants you for this gig. Or why you want it for yourself.”

  There was a long pause. Livia said, “Do you have demons, LT?”

  Strangeland shrugged. “Everybody does. Or at least, that’s what I tell myself.”

  “Well, I have some. And I need . . . to see if I can face them. See if I can go back there.”

  “Are you sure this is even wise? If your demons are back there, why not just stay here?”

  “They won’t stay there. They never have.”

  Strangeland sighed. “What about Little? He’s using you. I don’t know for what, but he’s using you.”

  “Maybe we’re using each other.”

  “The one doesn’t negate the other.”

  “No. But it offsets it. Give me a week. A week to figure things out and see how I feel about this opportunity. To make up my mind. Come on, I never take vacation. I’m due.”

  “I’d be a lot happier about a vacation than I am a
bout this.”

  That sounded encouraging—like the prelude to reluctant acceptance. Livia said nothing. Her deception had been subtle, and she thought it would work. She didn’t want the week to make up her mind about the task force. Not exactly. She wanted it to see how much she would be able to accomplish with Homeland Security’s intel. Whether she would be able to finish Square Head and Dirty Beard. Whether she would be able to find that little girl. Whether she could find this man Sorm, who she was now sure had been instrumental in her and Nason’s abduction. Probably she couldn’t do all that in a week, not even with the intel, but if she could, she might never need to go back.

  Or maybe she’d need to go back for a long time. Or again and again. But none of that mattered. What mattered was being out there. Hunting those monsters. Protecting that girl. Finding the truth.

  Strangeland sighed. “You know I’m not going to tell you no. What I’m going to tell you is to be careful. There are depths to this thing. I know that. I can’t see them, but I feel them. And if I’m not seeing them, then neither are you.”

  “I’ll be fine, LT. Really.”

  “Everybody always says that, Livia. But it isn’t always true. This is personal for you. But personal and professional, they don’t usually mix well. Not for anyone, and especially not for cops.”

  Livia nodded as though in understanding. On the one hand, she knew Strangeland was right. But on the other hand, Livia had indeed been mixing the personal and the professional since the moment she put on the uniform. Professionally, she’d secured hundreds of years of prison time for rapists. Personally, she had killed six of them. She’d won accolades for the prison sentences. No one knew about the others. But still, she’d been managing. Mixing the personal and the professional.

  She didn’t want to stop now. And even if she did, she wasn’t sure she could.

  8

  Say what you would about Kanezaki, that boy got shit done. He’d contacted Vann’s offices in Phnom Penh and arranged a meeting for that very day. “I told him you’re an NGO worker,” he’d explained to Dox over the phone. “With information vital to Vann’s work with the UN Global Initiative to Fight Human Trafficking.”

  “Well, I am nongovernmental,” Dox had said, “and my information does seem vital, so you didn’t even have to tell a lie.”

  “I told him he could trust you. That’ll count for a lot. But be careful about how much you say. I don’t want this backing up on me.”

  “Roger that.”

  “And call me as soon as you’re done. I want to know what you learn.”

  “Don’t you ever sleep?”

  “Power naps. And only when I need them.”

  He came to the office building he had passed before, again noting the cameras. He half expected another damn sword attack, but the street was utterly sleepy. He needed to get this done and get the hell out of Phnom Penh.

  He walked up to a barred window adjacent to a metal door in the wall and presented the passport he’d been traveling with to the uniformed guard inside. “Adam Johnson here,” he said. “I believe Mr. Vannak Vann is expecting me.”

  The guard examined the passport, then said a few words in Khmer into a landline telephone. A moment later, the door buzzed and Dox walked inside. Another guard appeared and led Dox into the building. He was taken through a metal detector, which was no problem because he’d hidden his knives and the burner under a cinderblock at a nearby construction site. Not having anything sharp on his person did leave him feeling a bit naked, especially following his recent close encounter of the pointy kind, but the type of cutlery he used for everyday carry would have been concerning to your average security guard, and memorable besides.

  The inside of the building was warm. Whatever air-conditioning they had was obviously being fought to a standstill by the wet heat outside. Dox didn’t mind it, though. He rarely used the air-conditioning in his own place on Bali.

  They rode a cramped elevator to the fourth floor, then walked down a short corridor. In front of the office at the end of it stood the man himself—Vannak Vann, elegant despite the heat in a gray suit that matched a luxuriant head of hair.

  The guard said a few words in Khmer—to which Vann offered a sampeah in thanks—and then left. Vann extended his hand. “Hello, Mr. Johnson,” he said, his English lightly Khmer-accented, and his smile imbued with the outsized warmth Dox had first witnessed at the Raffles Hotel. And it was lucky he had, too. That warmth might not have shown up as well through an AN/PVS-14 night scope, in which case Dox might easily have just killed the man in reliance on Gant’s bullshit information.

  “Hello, Mr. Vann,” Dox said, shaking his hand. “Anybody ever tell you you look a whole lot like the Dalai Lama?”

  Vann laughed. “Sometimes. If I lose my hair, I’ll probably be asked for autographs. Please, come in. Can I offer you something to drink? It’s hot outside, I know, and not so much better in here.”

  “No, thank you,” Dox said as they stepped inside the office. “I don’t want to take too much of your time.”

  Vann closed the door behind them. The office was nice—much nicer than the building’s exterior, with Khmer artifacts and artwork on a dark wooden desk and surrounding bookshelves. There was a lot of natural light—so much so that Vann hadn’t bothered to turn on the overhead—and by reflex Dox scanned outside for the places a sniper would set up. Seeing nothing that alarmed him, he followed Vann’s gesture to a wooden chair and sat. Vann took the chair across from it, without even a coffee table between them. It was a small thing, and maybe it was silly to think, but even the seating arrangement suggested this man preferred not to have barriers between people.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Johnson,” Vann said. “You come highly recommended by our mutual friend, Tomohisa Kanezaki.”

  “Well, sir, that’s high praise, because Kanezaki’s a good man. How do you two know each other, anyway?”

  Vann smiled and the corners of his eyes creased into a series of delighted wrinkles. “Ah. I’ve known Tom since he was a young man. It’s been most satisfying to see what he’s made of himself.”

  It looked like Vann was going to be as circumspect as Kanezaki. You had to respect that kind of discretion.

  “Yes, it has,” Dox said. “And I’m glad he was able to put us in touch. You see, I have some information I think you might need regarding that man who was shot the other night.”

  Vann raised his eyebrows. “Yes?”

  “The thing is, sir, that man wasn’t the intended target. The intended target, I regret to say, was you.”

  Vann’s brow furrowed, though seemingly more in confusion than alarm. “I’m sorry?”

  “What I’m trying to tell you is that someone is fixing to kill you. And that man Gant was setting it up to happen. If my information is correct, you’re out to prosecute a child trafficker named Rithisak Sorm. Gant was trying to protect him by removing you from the equation, so to speak.”

  There was the oddest sympathy in Vann’s eyes. Damn, did the man not realize the danger he was in?

  “How do you know this?” he asked.

  Dox wasn’t surprised at the question. “I apologize, sir, but I’m really not at liberty to say. I’m only here because I want to help you.”

  Vann nodded slowly. “That man Gant told me the same thing.”

  “He did?”

  “Yes. He told me he had information relevant to my investigation. And he did. What he provided was useful. I assumed this was why he was killed.”

  “I don’t doubt he gave you something real. That sort of thing seemed to be his stock in trade, as far as I can tell. But whatever he gave you was intended just as a kind of false bona fides, to convince you to trust him and let your guard down. So he could get you to a certain place at a certain time, where he’d have a man waiting in the dark.”

  Vann’s brow furrowed again and he nodded as though to himself. This time, the expression looked like sadness. Dox didn’t know what to make of it. He
’d been expecting the man to at least be concerned, maybe even to freak out. Instead, he just seemed . . . well, sad.

  A moment went by, and Vann said, “So you’re telling me Mr. Gant was not trying to assist my work. Rather the opposite.”

  “Yes, sir, that’s one way to put it, I guess.”

  “It’s my own fault, I suppose. Even after all these years, it’s hard for me to believe people would align themselves with such . . . evil. Don’t they realize they have a choice?”

  Dox had come intending to talk about intel and logistics. He hadn’t been expecting the conversation to take a philosophical turn. “I expect they do realize,” he said. “The choice they make is just the wrong one.”

  Vann looked at him and said gently, “And what about you?”

  Damn, the compassion in the man’s eyes . . . it really was like talking to the Dalai Lama. “Well, sir, I reckon I’ve done some questionable things along my merry way, but I’ve always tried to be one of the good guys. It’s why I’m here today.”

  There was a pause. Then Vann said, “Was it you?”

  Dox knew exactly what he meant. “Sir, I’d like to help you, but I can’t answer that.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Until they kill me, I’ll continue my work.”

  “Well, sir, that’s very brave and noble. But you have to understand, while you’re going after Sorm with prosecution and all that—which I very much admire and respect, I should say—he’s coming after you with something a whole lot worse. And you don’t want to count on the next person they hire having my uncommon ability to recognize human goodness even from a distance.”

  He realized he probably shouldn’t have said that, but hell, Vann already as much as knew.

  “Is such a thing possible?”