“That doesn’t answer my question. I could make one of them on my computer, give me more.”
The men exchanged glances, and I observed the other, younger man smile.
“I’m sorry to startle you, but this is necessary, I assure you,” said John, his accent discernable. It immediately reminded me of Harry in the gaol. I wondered if he was still there.
“Why?” I asked.
“You were seen at a restaurant with a man earlier this evening. Could you tell me how you met?”
“No. First, you tell me why you want to know, and how you got into my room. Otherwise, I call the police.”
“You don’t want to do that.”
“No, you don’t want me to do it. Give me some reason why I shouldn’t.”
“The police are part of the problem.”
“What problem?”
The men exchanged glances again. I saw John nod, so the younger one spoke for the first time. His Australian accent was more pronounced than his colleague.
“Miss Blanchard, my name is Trevor MacAllister, I’m a police officer from New South Wales, on attachment with the Customs Service. We arrested some Vietnamese immigrants in Australia that we believe are one link in a chain of drug and people smuggling across South East Asia. One of the men we arrested is working with us and gave us the next link in the chain. He’s a businessman here in Hanoi. We believe he’s shipping the opium to a factory in the country where the raw product is processed into heroin. We’ve been observing him covertly for three months and he has links with several local police officers and other minor officials here. These men actively recruit foreign women, usually single and on their own, to pass onto another individual or individuals to carry packages in their luggage to relatives in Australia or elsewhere. They give the excuse that duty is excessive and it so much cheaper to by-pass the customs. They usually offer a reasonable payment for the mule, but it could end up with them receiving five years in gaol or worse.
“We believe you have unwittingly stumbled into such a recruitment attempt. These recruiters don’t actually pass on any drugs, but simply recruit mules and act as go-betweens. One of them you know as Lieutenant Huynh Trung.”
I couldn’t help laughing. For all my concerns over my safety, the bastard had simply been lining me up as a potential mule, which meant that his interest in me was purely business and there were no hormones at work at all. I felt very angry, but also could see the humour and irony in the situation. My reaction surprised the two Australians.
“We’re not joking, Miss Blanchard.”
“That’s Julianna, and I know you’re not. Let me put it this way, life has a way of playing cruel jokes at times.”
“I’m sorry?” said Trevor. I’d obviously baffled both men.
“It doesn’t matter. How can I help you?”
“We’ve checked you out with UNC, and your employer speaks highly of you. We’d like you to meet Huynh again, but wear a wire. We aren’t interested in him, but we're more interested in his contacts outside Vietnam. It would help if we could identify the next links, and thereby shut them down completely.”
“Are you working with the local authorities?”
“Not a chance. The government here makes all the right noises, but if the truth be told, the drug export business means a lot of revenue for Vietnam, such a revenue they could never hope to make legitimately. We believe that those involved at the top end are tied into the Vietnamese military and arms industry.
“Like Cu`ong Pho’?” I asked.
The men looked surprised and alarmed.
“I’m a journalist, I do my homework. I don’t only research fashion stories, as I intend to get into mainstream reporting as soon as I can. I read an article in the New York Times. Pho’ was quoted as being the foremost mover and shaker behind the scenes in Vietnam today.”
“Okay, then you may know what’s at stake.”
“Would it help if I get an invitation to Pho’s home?”
“You can?”
“I have no idea, but I just love his garden.”
Once more, both men looked completely baffled.
“Again, I’m kind of making a joke, but you wouldn’t understand.”
“This is a serious situation, as corrupt officials still have the power to make life difficult. You could get sent to jail.”
“No thanks, I've been there!” I muttered, but not for them to hear.
“So, what do you want from me?” I asked instead.
“We need to obtain details of those persons involved at our end. Even if we get solid evidence of Pho’s involvement, there's not a lot we can do about it, but we don’t want to place you in any danger.”
“Look, I’m a big girl, quite capable of screwing up my own life, so if you guys give me some back-up, I’m sure I can help a bit. What if I play Lieutenant Trung along just so far, and then see where I get?”
“Are you sure?”
“Two conditions.”
“Two?”
“One, you back me up and get me to safety if things go wrong, and two, I get an exclusive on the story.”
They had no problem with the first condition, but looked worried about the second.
“I’m a journalist and fashion is, as I said, rather dull.”
“Okay, but only when we have everything we need and have initiated proceedings, said John.
“Agreed!”
Chapter Eight
Fashion isn’t dull.
Acutely aware of my peculiar circumstances, it took me probably a good deal longer than most women to get myself presentable for such a world. Being an average sized Caucasian male, meant that I was considerably taller than many of the local men, let alone the women, so I dressed as conservatively and anonymously as I could. Avoiding extra high heels kept my height manageable, but I was conscious of my rather too long legs, so kept my skirts longer than when I first arrived.
Make-up was still like an alien life form for me, but with practice I managed to give my face sufficient camouflage so my mother would walk straight past me in a crowd. As she was dead, I'd find that particular hypothetical exercise rather surreal, but you know what I mean. I was actually rather pleased with the result, finding the new me quite attractive to the old me – is that weird or what?
As for clothes, well, I was now so used to dressing as a girl that I gave it not a second thought. I tried hard to be as feminine and sexy as I could, without being either obvious or cheap. I guess I must have been successful, as I wasn’t raped or asked how much I cost, but I did receive what I hoped were appraising glances from most of the men I met.
I actually attended the show for the next few days, asking the right questions and making copious notes for any watchers’ benefit. I took photographs of the models on the catwalk and at the many press gatherings. I was just one of over a hundred journalists from all over the world. The models were mainly Vietnamese, but there were Caucasians and Africans as well. I wore a radio mike for the Australians in my bra. I was a simple transmitter, just in case I managed to talk to anyone in whom they might be interested.
On the third evening, held at a large central hall, I saw Lieutenant Trung waiting on the fringes. He hadn’t called, so I’d sort of forgotten about him. As soon as I saw him, I felt the anger rise, as he had hurt my almost-female pride. I had believed he was attracted to me, so it stung a little to realise he was just going to use me and discard me.
I pretended that I hadn’t seen him, so feigned surprise when he approached me.
“Julianna, how are you?”
“Oh, hi Hyunh, busy, how about you?”
“Yes, very busy, but I have a couple of days off now. Would you care to go out to dinner again?”