Break point, thought Frye.
Dien shook his head. His thin lips pursed; smoke poured from his nostrils. He glanced toward his men at the curtain.
“Do you want me to go on?”
“Please, Mr. Frye. Tell me everything you know.”
Inside, Frye laughed without mirth or joy. Tell me what you know, little boy, so I can figure out if I should have you for lunch or save you for dinner. “Let me explain a little something about myself, General. I used to be a reporter. I’m nosy. You see, I watched Loc rip off my house. I came home right in the middle of it, hunkered at my neighbor’s place, and watched through a window while they totaled my home. I called the cops, but do you think they could get through the tourist traffic in time? So I followed Loc and his boys myself. An old station wagon. Loc drove. Straight to Westminster Park, where I watched him drop off a box I happened to recognize as belonging to me. He put it in the men’s room.”
Frye studied Dien, but there wasn’t much to study. The leathery face had locked. The eyes looked amused.
“And did you go in and collect your precious box?”
“I didn’t have a chance to.”
The general smiled. Frye could sense the relief coming off the old man. Dien lifted his tea. “I’m sorry, Mr. Frye. I truly regret the criminal inclinations of some Vietnamese youth. I do not know this man, Lawrence. Your tale is interesting, but it goes nowhere.”
Frye leaned forward, speaking quietly. He didn’t have to act sincere, because he meant his next words as deeply as he’d ever meant anything in his life. “I was thinking you might help. It’s extremely important, sir, that I get that box back. No questions. Nothing. Just the box. It isn’t for me. It’s for Li.”
“What was in it?”
“That only matters to me.”
Dien smiled. “But, Mr. Frye, I told you. I know no Lawrence.”
Frye waited and watched. If Dien won’t budge, he thought, I’ll give him the final push. “The story has a twist ending, though. See, it wasn’t Lawrence who made the pickup.”
For all the general gave away, Frye thought, he might have been listening to a radio ad.
“I must tend to business now, Mr. Frye.” Dien folded his hands and gave Frye a look of regretful closure.
“I guess you do.”
“Thank you for confiding in me. I will keep my eyes and ears alert for this Lawrence. Perhaps something will come of it after all.”
The general stood.
Frye stood too. “General, I just have one more thing to tell you. Li got kidnapped Sunday night, and I’ll do whatever I have to to help get her back. Anything, I happened to like Tuy Xuan quite a lot. When I saw what happened to him, it scared me first, then it did something else to me. It made me mad. You’re a big important man, and I’m squat. But I’ll tell you this: I won’t quit. Ever, I know you’re a tough old bastard, but, General, you don’t know what tough is until you’ve tangled with Charles Edison Frye.”
“You are arrogant and a fool. You are worse than your brother.”
“That’s the nicest thing I’ve heard all week.” Frye looked at the guards, who were now looking at him. He shrugged and walked out.
Two minutes later he had found Loc at Pho Dinh. He was with the Dark Men, five of them. “Dien knows we talked. He isn’t happy with me, and he won’t be happy with you.”
Loc stared at him for a moment, then nodded. “Duc has still not come back.”
“I wouldn’t bet he will. Be careful, Loc. You can come stay with me if you want, get out of Little Saigon.”
Loc shook his head. “I will wait for Duc. I have my friends. The general cannot surprise me now.”
“You know where to find me.”
“Thank you, Frye.”
He picked up three newspapers at the stands outside. They all carried stories on Tuy Xuan, killed by intruders in his Westminster home. They all said he’d been shot. No suspects. Motive: robbery.
He tossed them into a trash can as he headed back to his car.
Chapter 15
The FBI offices were in the Federal Building in Santa Ana. Frye waited in a nondescript lobby for thirty minutes before anyone was ready to see him, while a receptionist answered the phone, channeled calls, took messages.
She finally showed him to a back office. It was spacious, with a view of downtown, an overactive air conditioner, and cool gray carpet.
Special Agent-in-Charge Albert Wiggins shook Frye’s hand with federal authority, then pointed him to a chair. He was thinner in real life than he looked on Xuan’s TV set, with eyes a little too close together and an undentable layer of confidence about him. His coat was on, his tie was knotted tight. “I’m glad you called this morning, Chuck. In fact, I was about to call you. There are a few things I’d like you to think about. You feeling okay today?”
Frye nodded.
Wiggins sat back. “First, what can I do for you?”
“I think you ought to pay some attention to the Thach angle. I know General Dien has been trying to tell you the same thing.”
Wiggins smiled. “What angle is that?”
“That Thach has engineered things like this before.”
“What are you referring to?”
Frye told him what he knew of Paris and Australia, the beheadings, Thach’s mission to obliterate the resistance. “I had a long talk with Xuan about three hours before he was killed. He more than suspected Thach’s influence in Little Saigon. When he died that way, it was too much of a coincidence to ignore.”
Wiggins nodded along with the whole story, as if he’d heard it just a few minutes before. “Yes, well, you can be assured that we’ve not been ignoring it either. Despite what your Vietnamese friends tell you. It’s a fact that Hanoi has its eyes and ears in Little Saigon. We kicked a few loose back in seventy-eight, more in eighty. All small-time people. They were encouraged by Hanoi to send reports about what was happening, and to send dollars. You might know that Vietnamese currency isn’t negotiable outside the country. The dollars are extremely valuable.”
“I imagine.”
Wiggins leaned back in his chair and linked his fingers behind his head. “You’re a reporter.”
“Used to be.”
“You know, we’re extremely cautious about this Thach angle, as you call it. Any mention of Colonel Thach is enough to stir up the refugees. They’re terrified of him. You wouldn’t be contemplating an article, a piece on him, would you?”
“I’m contemplating how to find Li, is all.”
“I understand. We’ll find her. But you have to know that by implying Thach’s influence here, you would be creating a great amount of fear and causing a potentially dangerous situation in Little Saigon. In fact, we believe this is what Xuan’s killers and Li’s kidnappers may well want.”
“Who are they?”
“If I knew, I wouldn’t be here talking to you, now would I?”
“You must have some ideas.”
Wiggins nodded, leaned forward. “I might. And you, Chuck, are the last one I’m supposed to share them with.”
“I know that.”
Wiggins stood, crossed his arms, gave Frye a governmental stare. “But I’ll do it anyway. I think — and this is purely a personal opinion at this point — that we’re not looking at a political situation at all. We’re not even looking at two related crimes. Listen. I think the kidnappers will come through with a big ransom demand, once they’ve sweated your brother long enough. God knows, between him and your father, the resources are there. When they do, we’re ready for them. That’s what Michelson and Toibin are there for. They’re the two best ransom men we’ve got. The second those kidnappers try to pick up the money, we’ll have them. I guarantee it.”
Wiggins took a deep breath. “Coffee?”