The Courier

by Gordon J Campbell

  “There’s been serious debate as to the competence of the leadership in the Tokyo office, starting with your experiment with an amateur. Did Gregg Westwood’s inexperience broadcast our presence, or did he sell us out?” asked the gray-haired man.

  “There’s no evidence pointing toward Gregg’s incompetence or motive for counterintelligence. He was selected after identifying his anonymity and his personal and professional background data was combed over with careful scrutiny. We confirmed the identification and tracking of Gregg from the Conrad Hotel, and he may have been followed as early on in his mission as the Bangkok Airport. Finding the cause of the security failure is our highest priority,” responded Brown.

  “The elimination of Hamid was textbook perfect and commendable, but the fallout after the courier’s exchange at the temple is unfortunate. Often an aggressive mistake leads to opportunity and you still have the chance to make something of the situation. Tidy up the mess you left in Bangkok and don’t leave traces pointing in our direction. We’ve taken enough abuse from the State Department and other armchair quarterbacks. You’ve obviously got a security leak somewhere in your operation and you sure as hell better get your office in order soon,” said the gray-haired man.

  “Yes, sir,” said Brown.

  “You don’t want to force us to find solutions for your problems at the Asian office. If you can’t handle your watch in Tokyo, you are welcome to transfer to our office in South Dakota. No threats, just saying,” said the general.

  The gentlemen in Virginia nodded good-bye and the video conference feed shutdown.

  ***

  After leaving the meeting room, Brown pulled Ward into his office. “Let’s go back to basics with this security issue. Try to see if there’s any anomaly in our ledgers. An audit of year-on-year or month-on-month expense reports might offer a few leads. Check out the financial reports and see if any threads stick out,” ordered Brown.

  “I’ll get right on it,” replied Ward.

  “Have you considered what to do with Gregg Westwood going forward?” asked Brown.

  “I was going to have him make his way out here and debrief him. Is there any reason to maintain him now that he’s an American intelligence poster boy in Pyongyang?”

  “Let’s limit our exposure. We’ll deal with it upon his return to Japan. In the meantime, get going on the audit,” replied Brown.

  Chapter 25

  Bangkok Hospital Pattaya

  Gregg awoke and stared up at a black ant crawling across the ceiling. He tried to adjust his position, but every micro-movement was accompanied by sharp and extreme pain. His back ached and wound dressings were applied to most parts of his body. His arms and legs were wrapped with gauze bandages and his right forearm was immobilized by a fiberglass cast. He bent his elbow and inspected his injury and carefully placed the casted limb back on the bed.

  “Where am I?” he wondered as his eyes followed the intravenous line from the plastic saline solution bag hanging above him and into his arm. He spotted a sticker reading “Bangkok Hospital Pattaya” and displaying the bed’s serial number on his bedpost. The room had more of a five-star hotel feeling than a hospital. Sunlight streamed through a skylight above him, and a vase containing roses and Thai flowers he didn’t recognize sat on the bedside table.

  Gregg looked at the equipment monitoring his vital signs. His arms and chest were covered in round adhesive connections linking him to the machine. The bed was modern, and a remote control strapped to the bed rail with Velcro fasteners was positioned near his right hand. He pressed a button pointing up and the bed slowly lifted him into a sitting position.

  A young Thai orderly dressed in dark blue scrubs entered Gregg’s room and pressed his palms together in front of his chest to offer the Thai greeting referred to as wai. “Good morning. How do you feel?” he asked.

  “It hurts to move and breathe, but I’m alive.”

  The orderly smiled a wide grin. “Yes, you are. Please wait a moment and I’ll bring a doctor. Your friends waited all night and they want to see you too.”

  “Friends?” asked Gregg. He got his answer straight away as two men entered the room.

  “Good morning, Mr. Smith. You were in a serious car accident, and it’s good to see you’ve come out of the coma,” said Lundy.

  “I’m not Smith,” replied Gregg.

  “You are until you leave here, and we hope to assist your departure soon. We’ve been told to get you on a plane back to Japan as soon as you can walk,” said Benetti.

  “Who are you guys?” asked Gregg.

  “Good friends you haven’t met yet. Now listen, car and motorbike accidents are common around Pattaya. You were in a car accident and you can’t remember anything. Stay with the concept and you’ll be fine,” replied Lundy.

  “My stuff is at the Conrad Hotel in Bangkok,” said Gregg.

  Benetti held up a small travel duffel bag. “You’ve been checked out. Here is everything from your hotel room and safe.”

  “What about the other guy?” asked Gregg.

  “You mean your bugshit scary partner?” asked Benetti.

  Lundy touched Gregg’s bed rail and said, “He’ll be all right. The damage to his ankle looked worse than it was. He took some shrapnel in the upper ankle, and he’ll need some minor surgery, but he’s expected to make a full recovery.”

  “Is he in this hospital?” asked Gregg.

  “He left the country, and you’d do well to follow his example,” replied Benetti.

  Someone knocked on the door and a Thai doctor followed by a nurse dressed in a traditional white uniform and cap entered the room. The nurse was stunning and stole the attention of the three men. “Good morning. I’m Dr. Krit. And how are you feeling?”

  “Stiff and sore,” replied Gregg.

  The doctor nodded and pulled a small light out of his top pocket and shone it into Gregg’s eyes. “You had a serious concussion but seem to be recovering, as your pupils are fine.” He put the light away. “The cuts on your head, arms, and legs required dozens of stitches. Your forearm has a distal radius fracture requiring immobilization with a fiberglass cast, and you have several cracked ribs.”

  “Were you educated in Britain?” asked Gregg.

  “My undergraduate education was at Cambridge followed by medical and surgical training in Edinburgh,” replied the doctor.

  “All right, old chap, what’s the prognosis?” asked Gregg.

  “You seem to have retained a sense of humor and will eventually walk out of this hospital. Last New Year’s holiday, over a dozen foreign tourists arrived here dead after traffic accidents. Your chances are much better than those poor souls.” He looked at Gregg and smiled before turning to the two agents. “Let’s excuse ourselves. Mr. Smith hasn’t been cleaned properly since his treatment, and nurse Dao will need an hour to give him a proper sponge bath.”

  Benetti laughed and said, “There might be an upside here.”

  ***

  Bangkok Hospital Pattaya

  Lundy and Benetti entered Gregg’s hospital room without knocking. “How was the sponge bath?” asked Lundy.

  “She found a few slivers of glass in my back. Let’s just say it was fine,” said Gregg.

  “We need to get you out of the country. Do you think you can walk?” asked Benetti.

  Gregg looked at the two agents to measure their sincerity. “I’m not sure,” he said. Gregg studied the agents as they exchanged a glance.

  “We were told to get you back to Japan for security reasons,” said Lundy.

  “Am I going to leave Thailand alive?” asked Gregg.

  “We’re here to make sure you do,” replied Benetti.

  “Our orders were to save your ass and we did. Now it’s time to get you home. I don’t know much about you, Mr. Smith, but you seem on friendly terms with our boss,” added Lundy.

  Gregg considered their statements. “I’d like to speak to Jeff Ward,” he said.

  “We’ll arrange for a sec
ure line, and you can speak to him from our vehicle on the way to the airport,” said Benetti.

  “You’ll need to help me get unhooked from these machines. I think they thought I’d signed up for the one-week all-inclusive resort plan,” said Gregg.

  “We’ll send the medical staff in to get you ready to go, and Lundy will take care of the hospital to check out. I will get the car, and we’ll meet you at the hospital entrance,” said Benetti.

  Ten minutes later, Gregg’s room door was pushed open and Dr. Krit was followed by three medical aides into the room. “We don’t think you are healthy enough to leave this hospital, and I’d like to convince you to stay for at least two more days,” said the surgeon.

  “I’m sorry, but I’ve got to get home. Would you unhook me from your equipment?” asked Gregg.

  “We are officially protesting your hospital release, but in the end it is your decision. We’ll do our best to prepare you for travel and send you off with a package of wound dressings and pharmaceuticals necessary to a comfortable journey,” said Dr. Krit.

  The staff unhooked Gregg from the monitors and IV lines before dressing him in street clothes. He found himself drenched in sweat from the effort. “I might need a quick sponge bath before we go,” he said.

  The nurses mopped him up before wheeling him to the front exit where Lundy and Benetti waited in a black Toyota 4Runner. Both men helped him into the back seat and placed his duffel bag and medical travel pack on the seat beside him. The medical staff stood outside the vehicle and raised their hands to wish him a traditional Thai farewell. Gregg and Benetti returned the favor as the car rolled out of the parking lot.

  “We’ve got you booked on the 22:30 Thai Air flight to Narita Airport,” said Lundy.

  Benetti passed Gregg a communication device. “Jeff Ward’s on the line,” he said.

  “Hello,” said Gregg.

  “You all right? I understand you’re beaten up,” replied Ward.

  “You oversold the concept of a paid vacation. Nothing went as planned,” said Gregg.

  “I’m glad you agree with our assessment. Get back to Japan and we’ll bring you up to speed. Do you have your ID and government credit cards?” asked Ward.

  “The two guys you sent brought everything,” replied Gregg.

  “Excellent. Use the government credit card to rent a car at Narita Airport and drive to the base. We’ll have you assessed by our medical people and debrief you upon arrival,” said Ward.

  “You’re all heart,” said Gregg. The call ended.

  Chapter 26

  Tachikawa City, Irish Pub County Cork

  Jeff Ward carried two mugs of Guinness and two shots of Jameson Irish Whiskey to the large booth at the back of the spacious Irish pub. Steve Brown had called this off-site meeting, and they had the entire place to themselves, while music played loud enough through speakers to mask their conversation when other customers arrived.

  “It didn’t take you long to find something after running the expense reports through the filters,” said Brown.

  “We uncovered one anomaly relevant to Gregg Westwood’s Bangkok hotel booking. It was half the cost of what we normally pay through one of our shell companies,” said Ward.

  “Was the Conrad Hotel running a special?” asked Brown.

  “You know they weren’t. One of our local national employees went maverick and made the reservation through the US Post Office at the US embassy. We got the discounted government rate, and the bad guys got Gregg Westwood’s itinerary and LinkedIn profile,” said Ward.

  “Has this employee ever acted against protocol in the past?” asked Brown.

  “She’s been with our office for three years, and we’re doing the forensics on her activities from day one,” replied Ward.

  “You’ll need to bring the ‘Naicho’ into the picture if you find anything. Take it to the interview stage of the process and we’ll act on the results. What’s her name?” asked Brown.

  “Keiko Tanaka. It’s not going to be a walk in the park for her if we bring in the Japanese Secret Service,” replied Ward.

  “No, it won’t, but we have few other choices. Listen, there’s an upside to this entire debacle. The old boys in Virginia got their payback and seemed satisfied,” said Brown. He picked up his whiskey and Ward did the same. “Salute,” said Brown, and the men downed the shots.

  “The downside?” asked Ward.

  Brown took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Let’s start with the State Department. They’re threatening our guys with a witch-hunt if any of our recent activities are exposed. It’s perplexing, and we don’t want to consider entering a discussion on reasons for our interactions with North Korean agents.” Brown took a moment to look over Ward and then stared at the foam head on his beer. “My God, how did a straightforward mission become so convoluted?” he asked.

  Ward stared at Brown, fondled his beer, and cleared his throat. “Lundy and Benetti got our contractors out of Bangkok. The sanitization work at Patpong is progressing, and the Bangkok police came up empty regarding ammunition recovered at Patpong and Rama IV Road. We’ve got people in their crime labs who will make sure nothing comes of their analysis. Interpol has no record of serial numbers or any prints examined, and our connections at Thai media outlets are pushing the terrorism slant. It’s messy and our work’s not complete, but we have reason to be optimistic.”

  “What do we know about the gunmen with the AK-47s and the bitch with the shotgun?” asked Brown.

  “Through reports from informants we’ve narrowed the possibilities. The common denominator is recruitment of bike taxi drivers to a citywide surveillance network. It’s not quite confirmed, but we think it smells strongly of North Korean kimchi,” said Ward.

  Brown picked up his cell phone and glanced at a message. “What about our contracted team?” he asked.

  “Gregg left the Pattaya Bangkok Hospital cut, bruised, and with a broken arm but will fly into Narita. Marron’s surgery in Singapore went well and he’s moved to a safe house to convalesce and for eventual physical rehabilitation,” explained Ward.

  Brown sighed. “Did we get away with it?” he asked.

  “It wasn’t an ideal operation, but we remain off the radar and are working to sterilize evidence and limit our exposure. There are no suggestions of American involvement in the news or circulating within the networks of Thai authorities,” answered Ward.

  “Can we trust the Canadian to keep quiet?” asked Brown. He waited for Ward to look him in the eyes and said, “Let’s make it absolutely sure. We cannot have any blowback or loose ends.”

  “Are you saying you want Gregg taken completely off the board?” asked Ward.

  Brown shook his head. “Hell no. Let’s just get him back to Japan and well debriefed. Who’s going to take a medical sales representative seriously if he starts talking about being a secret agent? Get the guy home and we’ll consider other work for him.”

  Chapter 27

  Narita Airport

  Gregg Westwood felt grateful for his first-class accommodation when his flight landed at 10:00 a.m. at Narita Airport. He’d slept well and the extra space in the toilets allowed him to change his shirt and some wound dressings. He disembarked the plane first, ahead of the crowd, and accepted the service of a man with a wheelchair who was waiting for him on the side of the off-ramp tunnel.

  It sped things up and eliminated a grueling walk to immigration and through customs. He was nervous about moving through the checkpoints but passed through each stage without a single question from the uniformed officers. His only challenge materialized at the medical security desk. A man wearing a blue uniform approached him and asked if he was feeling ill. “Do you have a contagious disease?” he asked.

  Westwood shook his head. “I suffered a car accident and my broken bones and bruises won’t hurt anyone but me,” he said.

  “I’m sorry, and please get well soon,” said the Japanese official. Gregg exited into the Narita arrival lobby wonde
ring if anyone admitted to carrying an infectious disease. He put the thought aside and walked to the rent-a-car counter. As Gregg approached the booth, he noticed the female clerk frown while looking at something behind him. He turned but noticed nothing out of the ordinary.

  “What’s wrong?” Gregg asked.

  “Some young guy creep was looking me over. Please don’t worry about it. Do you need a rental car?” asked the female clerk.

  ***

  “What?” answered the voice.

  “The guy came out of the airport right on time and rented a car. We’re following him,” said the punk.

  “Of course he did. Follow him until you get a chance to take him out. Don’t call me again until you’ve done your job,” said the voice. The line went dead, and the punk spat on the ground. He continued following Gregg who walked at the speed of an arthritic old man.

  ***

  NARITA AIRPORT PARKING LOT

  Gregg left Narita in a rented Times midsize vehicle and headed South toward Yokohama and his home. It wasn’t long before the coffee refills energetically poured by the cabin attendants in first class caused discomfort. He pulled into a highway rest stop near Narita City and ignored the aches and pains while getting out of the car, but after one step regretted the wisdom of refusing painkillers to drive more safely. He punished his aching body by rushing to the public restroom and stepped in front of the first urinal he found.

  The toilet area was empty except for Gregg, but when he turned around while zipping his fly, he was surprised by two men who had noiselessly entered the room. One blocked the entranceway and the second stood uncomfortably close to him. Both were young, and Gregg assessed them as teenagers or in their early twenties. Their hair was dyed multiple shades of yellow and orange, and they wore dark long-sleeve shirts and jeans in spite of the heat. The intruders were tanned brown, looked rough but fit, and smelled of trouble. Gregg’s adrenaline spiked when he caught an arrogant sneer on the face of the punk by the door. He stepped forward, brushing aside with his arm cast the thug who blocked his way, and offered an angry, “Excuse me.”