Stephen felt his stomach begin twisting into knots.
Po sighed. "I didn't want to discuss our true purpose here until you were fully recovered from your flight. Stephen, listen carefully and don't speak until I'm finished. We have been planning an operation for three years. Its code name is White Storm. The operation is now in its last phase-phase six. Within two and a half weeks it will be over, and if it is successful, you will be taking part in the rebirth of our country. The plan came into being three years ago when the Triad approached General Swei with a proposal for our prime minister. Our success in ending the rebel insurgencies had stopped the opium flow. The Triad offered our government a percentage of the profits if we would allow the mountain people to continue growing and harvesting the poppies and allow the trafficking to continue. General Swei told the prime minister of the Triad's proposal but strongly advised him to refuse. Swei explained that there would be no way to control the trafficking and that the word would sooner or later leak out that the government was involved. Such a revelation would force the prime minister and the junta out of power.
Swei then offered the prime minister a plan of his own to give the Triad as a counterproposal: White Storm.
"Swei's plan would minimize the risk to the junta while increasing the percentage of profits fortyfold. You see, the Chinese had offered a below-market price for our raw opium.
Swei told the prime minister that if we produced the heroin and took the risk of shipping it, then we could take a much greater share of the profit. That was just part of Swei's plan.
More important, our enormous profits would not be traceable or questioned, for they would come to us in the form of loans. Do you see the beauty of it? Our profits would be placed in banks the Triad controlled and they would offer us dummy loans that would never have to be repaid. Swei is truly a genius. White Storm would give our government the funds necessary to pay off our other loans and begin rebuilding the economy. The prime minister agreed, and Swei proposed the plan to the Triad. As businessmen they saw they had everything to gain--they would even make an additional profit since the tools and machinery we would buy for rebuilding would come from their legitimate Hong Kong companies."
Po smiled. "Swei promised the Triad ten American tons of heroin a year for six years, beginning this year. What the Triad does not know, my friend, is that the shipments coming in the next three weeks total our entire six-year commitment and much more. We are bringing in over 120 American tons of heroin in three freighters over the next two and a half weeks."
Colonel Po looked into Stephen's shocked eyes and continued, "Once the delivery is made, our country will be credited with more than two and a half billion American dollars.
Upon the safe arrival of the first shipment, the funds will be transferred to our accounts and our heroin production facilities will be torn down. The poppy fields will be destroyed and the mountain people will be compensated with a salary equal to what they would have received for poppy production for four years. Also, the rebuilding programs you proposed will be put into effect. Wells will be dug and the necessary irrigation systems and machinery will be provided to grow rice and other crops, making the mountain people self-sufficient. And you, Stephen, will be the one who implements the plan for the prime minister."
Stephen's face held a look of disbelief. For the past year he had worked on the economic rebuilding plans. He had had no idea he was actually supporting drugs and the Triad.
Po fixed his stare on Stephen. "As I'm sure you know, you have no choice but to support us. You are critical to this phase of the operation, and for that reason your family is being very closely monitored."
Stephen's face paled. "You are holding them hostage?"
"Stephen, please, of course not. They are fine and know nothing of all this. I just wanted to remind you of your responsibilities to us. When you return you will be considered a hero by the prime minister, and he will place you in charge of the rebuilding programs for the minorities. Stephen, none of us have a choice. As deputy finance minister you know that within six months our country will be bankrupt. Without money to pay the salaries of the. government workers and our armed forces, our government will collapse. Such a disaster would trigger riots that could only end in starvation and despair for hundreds of thousands. Then China would step in as a helping big sister and impose her will on us. Stephen, don't you see this is our last hope? The opium is our country's only asset. General Swei is not a heartless man. He knows how destructive the white powder is, but this is the only way to save our country. Once we receive the funds from the Triad, it is over-nobody will ever know."
Po nodded to Captain Sing, who drew back the curtains.
"Look at those people out there, Stephen. The most decadent people in the world. They are rich beyond belief, and most of them don't know it. They throw away food after a meal that would feed a Burmese family. To them the lai is nothing but forbidden candy that gives them pleasure."
"It will kill them," Stephen said, skewering Po with an accusing stare.
Po avoided the heat of his eyes by looking at the pool.
"Perhaps some. It is not your concern. Think about the future of our people and what White Storm will provide for them."
Stephen felt as if he were caught in a whirlpool, but he knew there was nothing he could do. If he refused, his family would be killed.
Po turned from the window, looking at Stephen with a searching stare. "Are you still concerned about the Americans?"
"No," Stephen replied, setting his shoulders and straightening his back. "Like you said, this is our country's last hope."
Po smiled. "Good. I knew we could count on you. I'm going to need your help tomorrow. We are responsible for processing the shipments when they arrive and will hand off the lai to the Triad representatives. Thirty men from the Directorate have flown in over the past three weeks and are billeted at our rented processing plant. Our workers will break down the cargo once it arrives. As for you, tomorrow we have a meeting with the Triad representatives. If they begin speaking among themselves in Cantonese, I want to know everything that is said. I've dealt with them before, and they like to talk among themselves. At this meeting I will surprise them with the news of the three large shipments. They should be quite pleased to hear that the first shipment will arrive in just two days."
Po looked again into Stephen's eyes. "Do you have any questions or doubts about the operation or the part you play?
If so, speak now, Stephen."
Stephen glanced at the silver bracelet on his wrist, praying the Teacher would understand. He leaned back in his chair. "I have only one concern. What is to become of my father?"
Po's eyebrows lifted. "I thought you hated him."
"Yes, but he is my father," Stephen replied, realizing too late his heart had spoken rather than his mind.
Po's eyes hardened. "He was one of the few Sawbaws who did not accept our agreements. The others agreed to our truce and have helped us by running the lai facilities. Your father has caused us too many problems to be forgotten when this is over."
Stephen kept his eyes on the small man until Po sighed and said, "Your work for us is far more important than petty revenge. As a gesture I will make the necessary calls to ensure that he is not harmed or imprisoned. But Stephen, he will not be allowed to lay claim to Sawbaw status anymore.
He will have to live out his days in the mountains where he will be no threat to us."
Stephen got up and bowed. "I am indebted to you. Thank you, my friend. I am your servant and will do whatever is necessary."
Po stood and clapped Stephen's shoulder, using the Shan way of expressing that he had made a vow and could be trusted.
Stephen ached to grab Po's throat, but instead he just smiled. He would become like them and lie and act as if they were his friends. He would bide his time.
The Waterfront, Washington, D. C.
Meg saw him coming and turned her bag of popcorn upside down on the sidewalk for the sparro
ws. She hurried up the walkway and grabbed his arm. "Are you in trouble?" she snapped in an accusing, high-pitched whisper.
Josh kept a straight face, knowing Meg must be having one of her really weird days. "I'm not pregnant, if that's what ya mean," he retorted.
She dug her nails into his arm. "I'm serious, dammit! Two suits were here an hour ago looking for you. I told them you weren't here and that Stef had gone shopping. They came over to my boat and started asking questions about you. I think they're IRS ... or maybe hoods ... or maybe FBI.
What did you do?"
Josh tapped her hand to remind Meg that her nails were still embedded in his skin. "Relax. Some of the boys from Vice probably wanted to follow up on some information that I gave Kelly."
"No, Josh, these weren't cops. They weren't wearin' polyester and they didn't know you from Adam. They showed me a picture of you. You were in uniform, short hair, cute. They asked if you looked the same."
Josh gave her shoulder a light squeeze. "And you told 'em I was better lookin' now, right? Hey, don't worry, it's nothin'.
I haven't done anything wrong, and if I have I'm tellin' them you made me do it."
Meg shook her head and walked with him to the security gate. "I don't know why I bother trying to take care of you.
You're hopeless, Hawkins. I mean it. You-"
She stopped in midsentence. The two men she'd seen before were walking down the steps from El Torito's outside cafe and heading directly toward them.
Josh saw her worried stare and turned around. The tallest of the two men reached into his inside suit-coat pocket and flipped out his identification badge. "Colonel Hawkins, I'm Captain Sooter, DIA. Sir, you have been ordered to report to-"
Josh held up his hand. "Whoa! First of all, Captain, I'm Mr. Hawkins, and second, nobody orders me to do anything, especially the DIA. Get lost."
"Sir, we have orders to-"
"Son, don't make a scene. I don't care what your orders are or who they came from. I'm a civilian and don't want to talk to you. Go back and tell that to whoever sent you."
Josh took Meg's arm, walked her up to the marina's heavy metal security gate, and punched in the code. He swung the gate open for her and glanced over his shoulder at the two men, who were walking away.
Meg didn't speak or look back until they were even with her boat. Then she whirled to face Josh and whispered, "I told you, I told you they weren't cops-or were they? What is DIA?"
"Defense Intelligence Agency," Josh said, grimacing as if the words tasted bad.
"Intelligence? They sure came looking for the wrong guy on that score. What did they want from you?"
Josh's jaw muscles rippled. "I don't know and don't care.
I want nothing to do with those people."
As he turned and began walking to his boat, Meg asked worriedly, "Will they be back?"
"Probably," Josh said as he continued walking.
Stefne stepped down into the cabin and saw him sitting at the desk with his back to her. "Well, I hope you're happy! I was on the telephone all day instead of studying because you decided to take your assistant to the happy hunting grounds.
That's not what you promised me, Dad. You said Bob was supposed to help me out."
Fully expecting her wrath, Josh swiveled the chair around with an apologetic frown. "Sorry, hon ... but did he tell you we almost had him? If the damn trap hadn't broken, we'd-"
Stone-faced, she raised her chin and marched past him into the galley. Slamming a bag of groceries on the counter, she took out a box of crackers, opened a cabinet, and threw the box inside. Next, a can of green beans got equal abuse.
Josh sighed and got up before she got to the eggs. "I'm sorry. I got a little carried away this morning. Anyway, I wanted to check him out and see if he had what it took."
Whistling, he walked back to the desk. Sitting down, he turned on the computer and tried to look busy.
Stefne couldn't take it and turned around. "Well, did he pass?"
"What? Oh ... You talk about a sissy. I'll start lookin' for somebody else tomorrow. I can't have a wimp like Bob working for-" He paused to take in the stricken expression on her face, then winked. "Gotcha! He did real good. He was even man enough to ask my permission to ask you out."
Stefne blushed. "He didn't."
Josh stood. "Yeah, he really did. But don't you let on I told ya. He was sayin' things like you were `beautiful' and `different' to suck up to me. The guy must be desperate."
Stefne lowered her head. "What did you say?"
"What any dad would say. `Boy, what are your intentions?' Naw, I told him you were old enough that this old man's opinion didn't matter."
Stefne walked over and wrapped her arms around his neck.
"Your opinion will always matter to me."
He gave her a gentle hug and whispered, "He passes, 'cause he believes me now. Unlike some I know."
"Daaad."
Josh finished a complete tour through all the restaurants on the Front without receiving a single call. It was going to be a slow night. He pushed open the door of the Channel Inn, waved to the night clerk, and strolled back to the Pier 7 bar.
The place was almost empty. Still feeling the effects of the racquetball game, he sat down on a tan leather barstool to take it easy for a while.
Lester, behind the bar, nodded. "You skatin' tonight, Hawk?"
Josh gave the gray-haired black bartender a wink. "And gettin' paid for it, Les. Ain't that some shit?"
Lester poured him a tonic water. "You got him yet?' he asked with a twinkle in his eye.
Josh's brow furrowed as he picked up the glass. "I was close today, real close." Out of the corner of his eye he saw a middle-aged woman across the bar slide off her barstool and give him a once-over. He ignored the look and shifted his full attention to Lester. "Les, you know any welders? I gotta modify my special trap and can't do it myself. I warm get a professional this time and-"
Lester backed away and gave Josh a nod. "I'll talk to you later, Hawk. Looks like you got some company." Josh turned, and there was the woman he'd seen checking him out.
She smiled disarmingly and said, "I'm sorry, but I couldn't help overhearing the bartender call you 'Hawk.' I was wondering, are you the Hawk of Hawkins Security I've heard so much about?"
Josh made a quick scan. The lady in front of him was in her early or mid-forties, with nice auburn hair cut in an easy to-manage pageboy, not a lot of makeup and not too much perfume. Five-five, maybe six, in black pumps that matched her suit. An expensive, white silk blouse showed no cleavage, telling him she wasn't on the make. The left hand was the one problem. She was unmarried, so she was making a move on him or wanted something else. He guessed she wanted something else, for her brown eyes weren't flirting.
"Yep, I'm the guy," he said and waited for her next move.
He figured she'd get around to what she really wanted in three.
The lady stuck out her hand as if she did it a lot. "It's a real pleasure. I'm Glenn Grant. I live across the street in the apartments. A friend who works at Phillips Flagship has told me a lot of stories about you."
He shook her hand. "I'm Josh. I hope the stories were good ones. I bet you thought I was younger and bigger, right?"
She winked. "You're just what I pictured. I was wondering ..."
Josh smiled inwardly-three on the nose.
".. . if you would do me a favor."
"Depends."
"Would you mind if I asked you to show me which boat you live on in the marina? I know it's strange, but my friend said you lived on a boat. We strolled down the channel walk the other day and were trying to guess which one was yours.
Dumb, isn't it?"
Josh shrugged. "We can see my boat from the window.
Come on." He slid off the stool and put his radio in his jacket pocket. Taking her arm, he guided her to the large windows overlooking the channel. All lady, he said to himself, feeling more than seeing how she walked with him. Not too close but
close enough, yet something was wrong with the picture.
Her clothes were nice but she didn't look quite comfortable in them, and she had an athletic look, strange for a woman her age. But he liked the distraction and her company, so he decided to play along a while longer. He looked into her twinkling brown eyes and asked, "Before I point her out, which one did you think it was?"
She looked him over before tilting her head to the side.
"Let's see, you don't wear pinkie rings or gold chains, so that means you wouldn't have anything that's real big or flashy.
Forged in Honor (1995) Page 16