The Burma Effect (29 page)

The other generals nodded and looked at Delaney for a reply. Delaney looked at Jopson. Jopson said: “May I have some more tea?”

*

The Australian embassy car was parked in a small patch of shade near the entrance to Maung's office building. It was a black Toyota. The muscular young driver looked far more like a Special Forces man than garden variety embassy staff. He had left the car idling with the air conditioning on; he got out to open the back door when Delaney and Jopson came into the sunlight.

“Clear?” the driver said to Jopson.

“Almost,” Jopson said. “Let's go.” The leather seats inside the car were ice cool. Delaney slid into the back. Jopson came in afterward.

“Go,” Jopson said.

The driver headed to the gate of the compound, headlights on. A small Australian flag fluttered on a standard attached to the right-front fender. A soldier at the gatehouse came out and pushed up the metal barrier. The car glided into the swarm of Rangoon's afternoon traffic and the barrier went back down.

“Just like that. Not going back to Insein, nothing?” Delaney said.

“That's how it works. No fanfare. You're out with just the shirt on your back. And that's bloody lucky. Let's get you onto a plane and let me start playing tennis again.”

They went to the Australian embassy on Strand Road. The doorman and the receptionist looked startled and then amused as Jopson and the driver hurried Delaney up the stairs and through security in his prison overalls.

“Special guest, Bruce?” a young clerk in a golf shirt called out from behind the glass of the visa section.

“Too right,” Jopson said.

They hustled Delaney into a reception room on the first floor. The driver stayed with him, clearly more than just a driver.

“Tim Scott,” he said, shaking Delaney's hand.

“I'll be going with you to the airport.”

“One of our tough guys,” Jopson said. “There's a Thai Airways flight out to Bangkok tonight at 21:00. Timmy's going to fly over there with you. There's a shower in the room through that door over there. Get yourself in there and have a shave and clean yourself up a bit. There are some clothes in there for you too.”

As the warm soapy water cascaded over him, Delaney began to relax for the first time in many weeks. When he got out of the shower, he regarded himself in the bathroom mirror. He had lost weight, 10 kilos at least. His hair was long, too long. He had big dark circles under his eyes. Media superstar, he thought.

Jopson had organized some lunch. Delaney sat on a couch eating from a tray on a low coffee table. Salad, fruit, sandwiches, juice. Things he had not seen for weeks. Jopson and the driver sat watching him eat hungrily.

“That's bloody pathetic, mate. Oliver Twist stuff, that is,” Jopson said.

“More gruel, please sir,” Scott said.

“Can I make a phone call?” Delaney asked when he had finished eating.

“Best if we just get you out of here, I think,” Jopson said. “Rawson is aware in Bangkok. And they tell me you've got the world's smallest family. Not many people to call anyway. A sister in LA and that's it. Plus some Mountie girlfriend. Bloody pathetic.”

Delaney said good-bye to Jopson on the steps of the embassy.

“Glad to see the back of you, cobber,” the Australian said.

“Thanks, Bruce. Really,” Delaney said.

“Don't get soppy now,” Jopson said.

“Thank the ambassador for me,” Delaney said.

“He doesn't want to know anything more about you, mate. Sick to death of you and he hasn't even met you.”

“Thank him for me.”

“He will be scanning the world's press, of course, for your excellent forthcoming articles on Myanmar,” Jopson said. “And on Australia's fledgling business interests here. Investor confidence. Very sensitive stuff, that.”

The Canadians had sent over a new passport for him. Delaney thumbed through it as Scott manoeuvred the car through darkened streets to the airport. The picture of him was perhaps ten years old, a press ID photo they had retrieved from somewhere or other. He was no longer the person in the photograph, hadn't been that person for a long time. But he liked his new passport very much. His old one had been battered and beaten, full of the stamps and stickers and remnants of years of solitary travel. This one was crisp and fresh and full of possibility.

R
awson was waiting for him at Bangkok Airport. He was accompanied by another tired-looking CSIS man who said nothing at all. They took Delaney and his Australian escort into a shabby VIP waiting area with bad drapes and low wooden coffee tables strewn with an assortment of cups, saucers and multicoloured metal tea flasks. Thai policemen and a haggard Thai government official hovered nearby.

“Mr. Rawson, on behalf of the Commonwealth of Australia I hereby turn over the prisoner to your good custody,” Tim Scott said with a huge smile. He winked at Delaney. “Good riddance.”

“My government thanks you and your colleagues very much,” Rawson said.

“I'm going downtown to get pissed,” Scott said.

“Can you blokes organize some transport?”

“Of course,” Rawson said. He motioned to the other CSIS man, who went over to have a word with the Thai official.

“Delaney, I won't say it's been a pleasure,” Scott said, offering his hand.

“Thank you very, very much,” Delaney said, getting up. “Really.”

“If you are ever in Canada . . .” Rawson said.

“Never, mate. No chance,” Scott said. “Too bloody cold.”

He headed off with a Thai policeman. Rawson and Delaney sat back down.

“Are you all right, Francis?” Rawson said.

“Yes. Now I am.”

“Was it bad?”

“At the beginning.”

“You are very lucky to be alive. Lucky just to be out of that damn jail. It took everything we had to get you out of there. You know that, don't you?”

“I would imagine it did,” Delaney said.

“We were all dreadfully worried.”

“I was too.”

In the car, moving through the midnight traffic and heat haze, they said surprisingly little. Rawson was leaving Delaney alone with his thoughts, but also clearly thinking about damage control, information gathering, next steps. Delaney simply watched the city slide by; resting, giving thanks.

Rawson was not a Royal Hotel sort of man. He had booked them instead into the Oriental, one of Bangkok's best, in Thanon Silom on the river front.

The parking lot entrance was gated, manned by uniformed hotel security. The lobby was palatial, ice cool, all but deserted in the early hours. All surfaces gleamed, all was peace and safety and elegance.

“Breakfast debrief,” Rawson said. “Too late for any of that now. We've put some things in your room for you. From back at the Royal, and some new stuff. You should be all right for tonight. I'm in 2107.”

Delaney was in 2118, with a view of the river and the gilt-covered wats and snow white pagodas on the other side. Rawson had put them both on the same floor but had spared them the unease of rooms side by side.

His suitcase was placed neatly beside the bed and there were a few plastic bags with new shirts, underwear, toothpaste, shaving gear. His laptop bag was on the desk.

Delaney knew he would not be able to sleep for hours, if at all. He took a long shower in the five-star surrounds of the bathroom. He put on the hotel bathrobe, helped himself to a miniature bottle of Jameson's from the mini-bar, munched on overpriced cashew nuts, stared out the window at the scenery.

As he was cracking the seal on a third tiny whiskey bottle, his laptop was booting up. He connected to the Internet through the hotel's data port on the desk, logged on for email, and his life cascaded back out to him on the computer screen.

Dozens of messages: from Rawson, then Kate, O'Keefe, Tribune people—many from the newspaper. A couple from his sister, one from the Jung Society, more from Kate. A trail of connections and obligations that he had, for more than a month, been forced, or in some cases fortunate enough, to neglect. Kate's messages ranged in tone from routine inquiries and chitchat to the concerned, then to the gravely concerned. The newspaper's messages went though that range as well, but ended with the profoundly displeased. There were many loose ends for Delaney to untangle or re-tangle. That would be for another day, however. Tonight, he would only call Kate.

She picked up the direct line phone at her RCMP desk.

“Hunter,” she said.

“Delaney,” he said.

“Oh, Frank, for god's sake, where are you?”

“Bangkok. Safe and sound. In a very fine hotel looking out over the city. No problem.”

“For god's sake, Frank. Are you all right? I've been so worried. I got some calls from Ottawa with news but no one really seemed to know what was going on at all. They said you had been arrested in Rangoon, no one knew exactly where you were, no one knew when they'd let you go or if they would let you go. What on earth happened to you? Did they hurt you? What were you doing in Burma anyway? You said you were in Thailand.”

“I'm OK, Kate. Really. I'm OK now. It's a very, very long story and I will tell you all about it soon.”

“All?” Delaney paused.

“Probably,” he said. He paused again. “You're the first person I've called.”

“I'm so glad to hear your voice, Frank,” she said.

“I'm glad you're glad to hear my voice. I'm glad you're the first one I wanted to call.” The Australians would accuse him of getting soppy.

“I missed you, Frank. I was very, very worried. More than you deserved.”

“Thank you for your worry, Ms. Hunter. I will make it up to you.”

“When are you coming back to Montreal? When will you tell me about all of this?”

“I can't come back right away. There are still some things I have to do.” “Frank, for god's sake.”

He surprised himself by saying: “I think you should come over.”

“Where, to Bangkok?” Kate said.

“Yes.”

“When? You mean right away?”

“Yes. Come stay with me in this terrific hotel while I tie up some loose ends and then we can go to the beach somewhere for a while. Ko Chang is good. Come over.”

She paused at the other end of the line.

“Nice idea,” she said.

“Can you get away?”

“Probably. They know I've been worried about someone, that I've had some troubles.”

“Tell them it's a family thing,” he said, aware how soppy that sounded. “Nice idea,” she said.

“There are flights every day,” Delaney said.

“Vancouver, then Bangkok. The bathrobes are good at this hotel. Fluffy white ones, with a nice monogram. I'll get them to send one up for you.”

“You should get yourself arrested by the Burmese police more often, Frank,” she said. “Seems to do you good.”

“Something they put in the water over there,” he said.

The next morning Delaney and Rawson had a very long breakfast in the Oriental's gigantic main dining room, busy with international business types hurrying back and forth to the buffet table for their scrambled eggs. The hotel hubbub gave them privacy.

Delaney filled Rawson in on almost all he had discovered on his latest CSIS assignment. Rawson, as always in these matters, looked on impassively, giving no sign of how much or how little he already might have known. Every bit the CSIS spymaster now.

“A real shame about your driver, Francis,” Rawson said eventually.

“I'll try to see his wife later today or tomorrow.”

“Who actually killed him? Which of the mercenaries?”

“A guy named Abbey. Nigerian.”

“And you're sure that one's dead? You're sure all members of that group are dead?”

“Yes, very sure. No one could have got out of that apartment alive. Not with all that firepower and not with how angry the soldiers were that day.”

“There's not a lot we can do about your driver now, Francis.”

“I know that. I'll handle it,” Delaney said.

“We can't do much for Kellner's girl either,” Rawson said.

“I'll handle that too.”

“You are absolutely sure that was Kellner's body you saw in Rangoon.”

“Absolutely.”

“Not sure if they'll ever release the body back to us,” Rawson said. “They haven't even officially acknowledged they had him, let alone that he's dead.”

“Jon, my best guess now is that your guys knew he was dead before you even sent me over here,” Delaney said. “But as always, I get only the minimum information required and then you set me loose.”

“Not quite like that, Francis.”

“Did you know Kellner was dead before I came over?”

“We knew he was in some serious trouble.”

“Did you know about his crazy idea to kidnap Suu Kyi?”

Rawson did not answer.

“Jon, I almost got killed on this assignment for you. My driver was killed. He had a wife and two kids. You can't just sit there now and play spy. You send people out on these things—they need to know what's what. Preferably before they go, but absolutely they have a right to know afterward exactly what's been going on. Who knew what. I keep being sent to places where people get killed because I don't know enough about what I'm involved in.”

“Easy, Francis.”

No one mentioned Natalia's name. No one needed to.

“Did you know about the Suu Kyi angle?” Delaney asked again.“Kellner got himself killed with that stupid idea. Did you know about it? And did you just let him carry on to see how far he was going to go?”

“No, Francis. If we had been sure what he was up to we would have stopped him before it got out of hand.”

“It was out of hand the minute he started planning for such a crazy thing. You should have stopped him right away.”

“We weren't sure. We were never sure. We only had reports he might be going down that path.”

“Who from?”

“You know I can't tell you that, Francis.”

“You can if you want to. Someone owes me the full story. Or I'll get it myself.”

“Francis, there can be no stories about this. Never. You know that.” “I'm a journalist, Jon.”

“Not always. Not on this assignment.”

“Either I'm a spy, or I'm a reporter. If I'm a spy, you tell me the whole story, so I know.”

“All anyone needs to know is that a Canadian citizen with delusions of grandeur was, thank god, not able to intervene in Burmese politics. His wild scheme would probably have gotten an awful lot of innocent people killed, including possibly the best hope that country has for a democratic leader, and maybe started a civil war in a country he had no business being in in the first place. We couldn't have allowed that to happen and we wouldn't have allowed that to happen. No matter how we might originally have found out.” Rawson went silent, stirring coffee.

“Who tipped you off to the Suu Kyi plan? When?” Delaney asked again. “Who told the Burmese? I need to know that.”

“Why? So you can go after someone? That's not your job, Francis. That's not even your style. And we were never quite sure what the plan entailed until you found out for us. We just had indications.”

“Look, Jon, we both know Kellner was crazy; he was addled by drugs and booze and the whole idea was literally a pipe dream. But he got himself killed doing it and in a crazy way I think he honestly thought he was doing something good. He thought he was going to save Suu Kyi and start a process in Burma that would be a good thing for the people there. He was completely off his head, but I believe he thought he was doing a good thing. I want to know how it all fell down and whose fault it was that the Burmese found out and killed him. He deserves at least that much.”

“That's not how we see it,” Rawson said.“He's no hero in my eyes.”

“He might have ended up a hero,” Delaney said.

“You can't be serious,” Rawson said.

“If someone gets killed doing something he believes in, even if it's crazy, even if it's some druginduced pipe dream, if he's trying to do something he thinks is a good thing for someone else, then he at least deserves to have people around him know what exactly went on. Maybe he's no hero, but he deserves a little bit more than a drawer in some Rangoon prison morgue and no marker.”

“So how many people get to know, Francis? Where do you stop with something like this? How far does the story go? Who needs to know? Who else may get hurt by it?”

“Whoever spilled this to the Burmese, no matter whether it was direct or indirect, got Kellner killed. He almost got Ben Yong and me killed in Bangkok that day outside Kellner's apartment. He eventually did get Ben killed. We would never have blundered into Kellner's place in Mae Sot like that if we had known everything we needed to know.”

Rawson looked very thoughtful. He lit a cigarette, a rare thing for him to do at this time of the day.

“Let's just say, Francis, that Kellner had some indiscreet friends. At least one very indiscreet friend. Word can then get around fast in a place like Bangkok. That's all I am going to tell you and it's far more than I should be telling you.”