The Burma Effect (28 page)

He pushed open the swinging doors and spoke briefly to an orderly wearing a green smock and sur geon's cap. The orderly consulted a clipboard at his small desk and led them to a row of large stainlesssteel drawers at the back. He pulled open one drawer, revealing a body covered in a muslin shroud.

“This is where Mr. Kellner's story ended,” Maung said.

He motioned for the orderly to remove the shroud. Kellner's body was the pale yellow-green hue of those long dead—not decomposed because kept very cold, but the wrong colour altogether, a morgue colour. The body bore a number of marks: scrapes, cuts, bruising. The face was badly bruised, one corner of the mouth had been cut and a scab remained.

“Shall I tell you when I am sufficiently frightened?” Delaney said.

“You are arrogant, Delaney,” Maung said. “This is no place for arrogance. Here, or anywhere else in this prison.”

They stood looking at each other over Kellner's body.

“I know it is in your power to put me in one of these drawers beside Kellner,” Delaney said. “I know that already. But I tell you, I have told you, that you are wrong about me. And if I disappear, my country will know it was at the hand of your government. That is all I can say.”

Maung stared at Delaney for a long time. The orderly stood at ease, hands clasped behind his back “No one has come for Kellner,” Maung said.

“Someone will,” Delaney said. “You and I are not the only ones to know he died in Burma.”

Back in his cell, Delaney thought for a long time about Kellner. About his crazy life and the way he had ended up in a cold prison morgue somewhere very far from home. Delaney tried to understand what would have prompted the man to embark on such a wild and dangerous scheme.

He thought of the safe house in Mae Sot, with the special room dedicated to Aung San Suu Kyi. Everything carefully assembled and laid out, everything she could possibly want, except her freedom. An insane private shrine to the lady of Kellner's dreams.

He thought of Kellner's study in Bangkok, of the photographs of Suu Kyi carefully pinned up, of the bizarre love letters that never got mailed. The notebooks, the planning, the obsession with one woman, the image of one woman.

He thought also of Mai, Kellner's daylight woman, his real world woman. She would grieve for Kellner, miss him terribly. She was young, beautiful, bright, articulate and kind. Why was she not enough? Why was any real world woman never, apparently, enough?

The Australian embassy official was Bruce Jopson. He looked extremely hot and flushed when he was escorted into Delaney's cell. His short-sleeved shirt was damp with sweat, his necktie was as loose as it could be and still be called a tie.

“I've been trying to get these bastards to let me see you for two bloody weeks, mate,” Jopson said. “Your lot have been driving me mad with phone calls and emails and diplomatic pouches. You must be a bloody media superstar over in Canada.”

“I'm glad to see someone at last,” Delaney said.

“You look bad. You look like death warmed over, mate. You're one lucky lad your government knows you're in here, or you'd probably never get out,” Jopson said. “This is a nasty bloody place.”

“I'm pretty keen to get out,” Delaney said.

“Well, you've pissed off a lot of people, mate. An awful lot of people. It's going to be a bit tricky, this is. You'll be lucky to get off with no jail term. They don't like journos here, they just don't like journos. And the bit of bother the other day with the mercenaries, well, that's really pissed a lot of important people right off.”

“They buy into me being a journalist?” Delaney said.

“Oh yeah, I suppose. Yeah. Your lot have been telling everybody that over and over. And me too. Now you are actually a journalist, you're sure about that, are you?” Jopson said with a conspiratorial smile.

“Lifelong, card-carrying,” Delaney said.

“No other freelance activities?” Jopson seemed to need something, anything, more, just to know where he stood. “For your lot back home?” Delaney paused. “Hardly any,” he said. “Right, then we better bloody get to work and get you out of here,” Jopson said.

“How are you explaining your side of things?” Delaney said.

“What side might that be, mate?”

“Up north, in Mongla. The mercenaries and their deal with the casino guys. The security arrangement.”

Jopson straightened up.

“Very sensitive stuff, that is. I wouldn't go too far down that road if I were you. In here or when we get you out. Sensitive stuff, that. It's a tough place to do business, Burma. Really tough. Our people do what they have to do to make an honest buck out of their investments.”

“An honest buck,” Delaney said.

“Absolutely,” Jopson said.

“With some pretty nasty partners,” Delaney said.

“Welcome to the world of international business, mate. Welcome to the real world.”

“Mercenaries. On the payroll of an Australian business doing work in Burma.”

“Nothing to do with me. A business transaction. Their choice. Nothing to do with Australian policy over here. Business.” “But you knew about it.”

“We know a whole lot of things about what our businesspeople get up to in this part of the world. That's our job.” “Right,” Delaney said.

“Those mercs are history anyway,” Jopson said. “The whole idea's dead, if you'll pardon the expression.”

“Right,” Delaney said.

Eventually, they let him make a phone call to the Canadian side. They let him call the Canadian embassy in Bangkok. Jopson gave him a name to ask for. It was Rawson.

“Delaney, for God's sake, are you all right over there?” Rawson said.

“Not bad, OK for now. I was sick for a while. Hoping to get out of here soon. How's that looking?” Delaney said.

“Hard to talk about properly on the telephone, Francis. We're doing all we can. We are making a strong case for you, trust me on that. From the highest levels. But you've broken some national laws over there. Your newspaper is not too happy with you about that either, by the way.”

Delaney knew this was for the benefit of the DDSI people surely also on the line.

“The paper knows all that's happened?” Delaney said.

“Most of it, Francis,” Rawson said. “Details later,

OK?”

“You coming over to Rangoon?”

“Best if I stay here in Bangkok. I can get more done here, I think. The Aussies are making strong representations on our behalf.”

“There's an Australian angle to this story too, Jon,” Delaney said. “Up in Mongla.”

“We're aware of that,” Rawson said.“All sides are aware.”

“Can you call someone for me?”

“Sure, who?”

“Kate Hunter,” Delaney said. It felt good to have a woman to ask about. A daylight real world woman.

“Already done. I'll call her again.”

“She OK?”

“Very worried about you, Francis.” That felt good too.

A few days after his phone call with Rawson he was taken out of the prison in an army van. There were no windows in the back, but through an air vent in the side he could see the crumbling streets of Rangoon sliding past. They went to a colonial-era building inside a fenced compound. There were many army vehicles and motorcycles moving about.

His destination, it turned out, was General Maung's office. Maung was there, surrounded by the trappings and memorabilia of a career in the Burmese army.

An enormous, highly polished glass-topped desk. Water decanter and glasses neatly set out near a black telephone and intercom. Glass-fronted bookshelves jammed with awards, medallions, small commemorative flags, banners, paperweights. Diplomas and certificates of appreciation and commendation on the walls.

Two other senior officers in uniform sat on leather armchairs in a corner opposite Maung's desk. Maung motioned for Delaney to sit on a leather sofa. He looked very much out of place in his prison khakis.

“Mr. Delaney, these men are my esteemed colleagues,” he said. “Senior General Thun Shwe and Major General Sein Ye Aye.”

The two generals nodded briefly at Delaney. Shwe was the oldest, a man with a very puffy face and drooping sacs under his eyes. Ye Aye wore tortoise-shell sunglasses even though indoors.

A young secretary wearing a tight shift dress came in carrying a tray of tea already poured into floral-design cups. She placed the tray on the low table in front of the sofas, looking furtively at the Westerner sitting in his prison garb. The two generals picked up cups and added sugar and milk to their tea. Maung stayed behind the desk.

“You may drink tea,” he said to Delaney. Delaney reached for a cup and set it down on the table in front of him.

Maung spoke briefly to the secretary as she left. She nodded. A few moments later, she came back in with Bruce Jopson, looking impressive now with a tan summer suit, sky blue button-down shirt and a carefully knotted tie. He was wearing wire-rimmed spectacles, giving him a professorial appearance.

“G'day, my friends,” Jopson said, shaking hands with the three military men. “Delaney, I hope you are well.”

“Well enough, thank you,” Delaney said.

Jopson sat beside Delaney on the sofa, helped himself to tea, nibbled on a biscuit.

“Let me say that my government is extremely pleased and grateful to all of you for your cooperation on this important matter,” Jopson said. “My ambassador has asked me to convey to you his personal thanks and best wishes.”

“Thank you, Mr. Jopson,” Maung said.

“The government of Canada, whom we are representing in this, also sends its thanks and warmest wishes. The Canadian ambassador in Bangkok has asked me to do this as well.” Maung and the other generals nodded.

“Serious matters,” Shwe said. “Most grave.”

“Indeed,” Jopson said. “Indeed.”

“Mr. Delaney,” Maung said, “the State Peace and Development Council of Myanmar has, as you have probably gathered this morning, decided to release you into the custody of the Australian embassy. In the interest of our relations with Australia in particular and with your country also we have decided to release you, even though you are clearly guilty of a serious breach of the laws of Myanmar, for which you would under normal circumstances have been given a term in our jails.”

“We thank you once again,” Jopson said, looking sternly over at Delaney. “I am grateful,” Delaney said.

“There are questions that remain unresolved,”

Shwe said.

“Yes, there are many questions that we choose to leave unresolved in the interest of harmonious relations with the international community,” Maung said. “We have decided that we will do this in your case, Mr. Delaney, as a gesture of goodwill.”

“But you are no longer welcome in Myanmar,” Ye Aye said. “You will go immediately and you will never be allowed to return.”

“We have satisfied ourselves that you are a journalist, that is why we have spared you further time in jail,” Maung said. “But you have displayed a reckless lack of regard for our laws here, Mr. Delaney, and you will be deported from our country immediately.”

“This is a generous and far-sighted solution to a difficult problem, General Maung,” Jopson said.

“We are hopeful, Mr. Delaney, that on your return to Canada you will compose newspaper reports that reflect the true situation in Myanmar and the generous way in which you were treated,” Maung said.

“I always strive for accuracy in my reporting, General Maung,” Delaney said. Maung looked at him for a long time. “We are hopeful, Mr. Delaney, that your reports will show clearly how Myanmar is constantly under threat from those who do not share our view of how to best meet the needs of our people. We hope that your reports will describe the evil plot by foreign soldiers to destabilize our government and put Madame Aung San Suu Kyi at grave risk. She does not need rescue. She is safe here and can leave this country at any time. We are hopeful that you will write of this dangerous plan to kidnap the lady, the plan which you became aware of and which brought you into this country illegally.”

“Mr. Delaney is a respected journalist. What he writes always generates significant interest,” Jopson said.

“I will do my best to write something that reflects what I have learned here,” Delaney said.

“We are not monsters here. You have been well treated. You will tell that in your country,” Shwe said.

“I have been well treated,” Delaney said. He looked at Jopson, could see Jopson was willing him not to say too much, not to mention Kellner, to just ride things out to the end.

“There are those in the Western media who spread lies about Myanmar, Mr. Delaney,” Ye Aye said. “This generates bad feelings about this country. It hinders our development, and frightens investors and foreign experts who could help us. We are a poor country, in a development stage. The State Peace and Development Council of Myanmar takes decisions that are not always well understood outside the country. But always we have the interests of our people at heart.”