“It’s not exactly the police.”
“No, it isn’t. And the implication of that-of the people who are looking for you-is that you’ve somehow brushed up against the War on Terror.”
“That’s the implication.”
“And then you talk to me about someone who was involved in the Phoenix Program. I’m assuming that what happened in that village was the Phoenix Program.”
“It was.”
“This is freshly interesting, since the Phoenix Program is one of the blueprints for the War on Terror.”
“Something done badly is worth doing badly twice. An American saying.”
“The man in the village is the man who’s after you?”
“He is.”
“I’m sure there’s a simple explanation for that, but I think I’ll dispense with it and go with my conviction that you’re in the right.” He looks at Ming Li. “Which is, in turn, based on the way you’ve presented yourselves-both of you-during this conversation. Instead of talking to my colleagues about you, I’ll focus on the recent murder of a current or former citizen of Vietnam and a present-day threat posed to other Vietnamese citizens, living here in Thailand. By a man who also happens to be a war criminal.” He shifts his weight onto one hip, reaches behind him, and pulls out a slender black wallet, which he opens to reveal a notepad and a thin gold pen. He removes the pen, clicks the point into position, and says, “Name?”
Rafferty says, “Murphy. Haskell Murphy.”
Nguyen puts the pen back without writing anything. He says, “Well, of course.”
26
“DID WE JUST accomplish anything?” Ming Li says. The rain is back, and whoever sat on the cab’s backseat before them was very wet. The damp has already seeped through Rafferty’s jeans.
“I can only stir the pot,” Rafferty says, beginning to dial the phone. “And see what comes to the top.”
“You sound like Charlie Chan.”
“The Vietnamese are efficient people,” Rafferty says. “Nguyen’s official diplomatic nonsense notwithstanding, they’re not known for turning the other cheek. And he’s already heard of Murphy, so yes, at the very least we’ve created an awkward situation for Mr. Murphy, turned a few more eyes on him. Hang on.”
“Before you push those buttons. Are you frightened?”
“Scared senseless.” Rafferty punches in the final numbers and presses SEND.
Ming Li watches the plume of water thrown up alongside the cab as Rafferty says, “Hello, Jiang and Thuy, this is Poke. Hope you’re both okay. Someone will probably call you from the Vietnamese embassy. You’ll know the call is the one I’m talking about because they’ll say they’re calling about Helen. Then it’s up to you whether to call them back, but I think we should try to shine light on Murphy from as many directions as possible.” He glances over to Ming Li, eyebrows raised.
“Just tell them hello.”
“Ming Li says hi,” he says, and disconnects. “What I want to do right now,” he says, keying in another number, “is make Bangkok feel very small to Mr. Murphy.”
He checks the number he’s dialed against the one on his list, but before he can make the connection, the phone rings in his hand.
“Yes, Arthit.”
“Well, this is interesting,” Arthit says. “The man who called the TV news director spoke English, and the news director was pretty sure he was an American.”
“And the name. I’m assuming he got a name.”
“He did,” Arthit says. “His name was Frank Rafferty.”
“Is trap,” Vladimir says, making it rhyme with “pep.” He’s shiny with alcohol sweat, and his eyes are so glazed he looks like a baked fish. Across the table Janos does his chameleon act, blending into the upholstery.
“Of course it’s a trap,” Rafferty says, putting down a mug of weak coffee. “The woman is dead, and she wants to meet me. The question is how close we can get to her without stepping in it.”
“Why you want to get close to her?” Janos asks.
“Look,” Rafferty says, “and you look, too,” he says to Ming Li, “whatever your name is supposed to be-”
“Minnie Lee,” Vladimir says with a ghastly attempt at a smile. The door to the restaurant opens, and all eyes go to it and look away as a stranger comes in. A gust of air strikes the table, rich with the fatty smell of frying bacon. Vladimir’s eyelids drop as though in self-defense.
“You look, too, Minnie,” Rafferty says. “I haven’t got a master plan, okay? The goal is to pull Murphy offside, to get him into territory where he’s vulnerable. To create a lot of territory where he’s vulnerable. To get a bunch of people thinking about him and wondering whether he should be here at all.”
“And this woman fits in how?” Ming Li asks.
“She’s an opening. She’s something he’s investing energy in. If he hangs her out there somewhere, she’s going to have a hook in her. And Murphy’s going to be on the other end of the line.”
“And you’ll have a hook in your mouth,” Ming Li says.
“Maybe not. Maybe we’ll steal his bait.”
“And after you make him uncomfortable? After you steal his bait? And then?” Vladimir says.
“Well, ideally,” Rafferty says, “we kill him or put him in the position where someone else will do it. That seems like the simplest solution.”
Vladimir shakes his head, very carefully. “They will still be looking for you. Shen and his people, they will still-”
He breaks off as the waitress sets down a plate of fried eggs for Rafferty and a stack of pancakes for Ming Li. To Janos she says, “Oh, sorry, I forgot about you,” but as she turns, Vladimir grabs her sleeve.
“Beer,” he says. “Big one.”
“This is Breakfast House,” the waitress says, pronouncing it “Hout.” “Beer not have.”
“Here,” Vladimir says, holding out a bill. “Is twenty dollar. You go across street, buy beer, bring here, keep change. You do this, you go to heaven.”
The waitress takes the twenty, turns it over to check the back, and shrugs. She heads for the front door.
“Drinking last night,” Vladimir says apologetically. “But Shen-”
“I’m not thinking about Shen yet.” Rafferty leans forward, his elbows on the table. “I have to do this one step at a time. Right now Murphy’s what I need to think about. He’s driving this train, and, what’s more, the son of a bitch is overdue.”
“Getting personal, no good,” Vladimir says.
“Me?” Rafferty cuts into his eggs. “Personal?”
“Speaking of personal,” Ming Li says, “I want to try something out on Vladimir and … and this gentleman.”
“Janos,” Janos says.
“Thank you.” Ming Li gives him a smile that makes him smooth his shirt and sit straighter, and Rafferty realizes she’s got it calibrated, and that was about a 6.8. He thinks, God, what’s she going to be like at twenty? She says, “I’ve been wondering about the time they almost caught you in that hotel near Khao San. It doesn’t feel right to me.”
“Ahhh,” Vladimir says, nodding. “This is talent.”
Ming Li says, “You, too?”
“How could I not?” Vladimir says. He passes an open hand over his brow, reducing the shine somewhat. “It doesn’t work.”
Rafferty says, “What doesn’t?”
“This is the way it’s supposed to look,” Ming Li says. “This is what you’re supposed to think happened. Shen watched the house until Arthit left, and then he went in and tricked the seventeen-year-old maid into telling him which neighborhood you were hiding in. Is that about it?”
Rafferty nods.
“And the maid knows this,” Ming Li continues, “because nothing is kept secret from her in that house, even though Arthit’s contact with you could put him in jail. It’s nothing he’d keep from a maid.”
“Well,” Rafferty says, feeling uneasy, “Pim and I have a history. I put her there.”
“Baby Spy wery smart,” Vladimir says. “This is not something Shen could know. That you and small-girl maid have friendship. How? What record is this on? What paper, where?”