A Gorgeous Femme Fatale
Chapter 9
Angie Kham was a Eurasian beauty. I was immediately smitten when Chi introduced us at the bar in the hotel where I was staying in Nong Khai. She looked to be about five and a half feet tall without her heels and had long, black hair which flowed in a shimmery cascade to her slim waist. Most striking though were her green eyes and skin complexion; a European and Hmong blending that lightened her facial coloration and smoothed out the angular, Hmong features. The overall result was a stunning, young woman. If it weren’t for the age issue, I would have hit on her hard. I pegged her to be in her mid-thirties, but couldn’t be sure. Regrettably, she was too old for me. Moreover, I didn’t like mixing business with pleasure.
After the perfunctory and very proper Thai introductions, we all sat down at a booth at the back of the bar where we had some aural privacy. Good operational security practices never go out of style in this occupation, I thought as we took our seats. I remembered a lot of similar nit-witticisms from my earlier career with the DSS too.
Chi began the meeting by saying that Angie had been his top operative and informant when he was commander of the police drug suppression operation here. She’d been responsible for providing top-notch, actionable intelligence on several drug cartels in the region that resulted in the arrests of a number of senior drug traffickers.
“You are much too generous in your praise, Khun Chanchi. I was only a small player in those dramas,” Angie spoke using excellent English.
“It was you who coordinated the arrests that broke up the cartels,” she added.
I later learned she spoke fluent Mandarin, Lao and, of course, Thai as well. However, I now had to sit through a few more minutes of Thai fawning and face enhancing. I guessed, like good operational security practices, obsequiousness in a superior and junior relationship like this one never went out of style in Thailand. It was like the old: thank you, no, thank you, routine, but spoken in Thai.
I listened to their back and forth banter for a couple of more minutes and then interrupted them. I could get away with the rudeness because they considered me to be an unsophisticated foreigner with no manners whatsoever. It was nice to let feigned ignorance work in my favor when necessary.
“Thanks for joining our team, Angie. Chi tells me we need you for what you do best: intelligence gathering, being able to insinuate yourself into situations where others can’t. You know the players in the region and the layout of the land like no one else. I don’t mean to offend you, but I suspect your good looks open many a door.”
“Thank you Khun Avery for your kind compliment and yes my appearance does help open many doors, bedroom ones to be blunt about it. Sometimes I feel like I’m an Asian Mata Hari,” she laughed without blushing.
Although with her makeup and darkish complexion, I couldn’t be positive. In any case, this lady didn’t seem to hold anything back and I found that refreshing. While I was taken aback, I guessed my quip about doors framed her very open and direct response.
“Seduction is a time-honored method of eliciting information, as you’re well aware, I’m sure. A little innocent pillow talk after sex is often very informative and useful in my work.”
“Well, that was certainly an unexpected and candid answer if I do say so, Angie. I like your openness and directness. It’s not a typical Thai trait and I appreciate the candor.”
“I’m only Thai by being raised here. My mother was a Hmong and my father was an American GI whom I’ve never met. He was sent here by your government during the secret war and bedded my mother, but never wedded her. I don’t know who he is or where he might be. I may be many things, but not really Thai, at least in my own mind.”
“My mom fled Laos when I was five years and we lived in a couple of different refugee camps for about 10 years before she died without ever seeing her homeland again. It was sad because she vowed she’d return to the hills where her family had lived for generations before the Pathet Lao army killed or forced all of the Hmong out.”
“Khun Chanchi mentioned you stopped to visit Na Pho on your way here. What a miserable hellhole that was! My mom and I stayed there for a couple years before being transferred to the camp outside of Nong Khai.” Angie’s eyes watered up in the telling and she daintily dabbed them with her napkin.
She quickly composed herself and continued her story.
“I was shunned by other Hmong in the camp, especially by the other children because I was a half-breed, an outsider for all intents and purposes. The teasing and harassment never ended. I was depressed as a child and probably still am for what it’s worth. One night when I was about 7 years old, a European volunteer came to our tent and told my mother he needed to talk to me alone. We knew him and trusted him. He’d always been kind and gentle with us. He held my hand and we walked to a small clearing and he sat me down and removed my clothes. I was terrified and confused. Why was he doing this to me? I wondered.”
Angie paused and took a sip of her martini. It was then I noticed the bright, red nail polish she’d meticulously applied to her fingernails.
“Of course, it wasn’t long before he made his intentions known. I was sexually molested while he masturbated himself. I’ll spare you the details if you don’t mind because I don’t want to relive the experience. I learned much later that rapes and other sexual practices involving children were fairly common in the camps. When complaints were lodged, the officials would simply shrug them off. Nothing happened to the volunteer who molested me. He continued working at the camp for several more months before he transferred elsewhere. He took away the only thing I owned, my innocence,” she said, a tinge of anger still present in the telling of her betrayal.
I felt sorry for Angie. No one deserved to go through the hellish ordeal she’d endured, but it helped explain her matter-of-fact admission of her role in espionage. But it was time to concentrate on our case. I expressed my regret at what she’d gone through, agreed that the camps were hell holes, and changed the subject, which judging by her facial expression was a relief for her as well.
“Our target is Kris Amar, but I’m sure he’s not using his name since he’s a wanted criminal. The only thing we have to go on is his nationality and physical description along with a couple of grainy black and white shots of his face, but that’s all. We believe he lives in Vientiane and makes occasional trips to Nong Khai for his drug trafficking business, but little else is known about his exact whereabouts and activities. That’s where you come into the picture. We want you to help locate him for us. No problem, right?”
Angie laughed at my little attempt at humor.
“No problem, Khun Avery. I’m pretty good at finding needles in haystacks as you Americans say. I believe less in miracles these days though.”
“So while Chi works his former police colleagues for leads, I want you to work your underworld contacts for information, especially those in the drug trade, to find Amar for me. I want him very badly because there’s a score to settle between us. This is a personal matter, at least for me.”
I then slid a large, manila envelope across the table to Angie containing Amar’s photos, his physical description, as best I could remember, and a thousand dollars for walking around money for bribes. Business expenses, stipends, honoraria and gratuities were okay and within State Department regulations, but bribes not so much. Therefore, my travel voucher would be replete with one helluva lot of undocumented, taxi rides and meal chits! I’d feign ignorance with Jersey and he’d accept my loopy rendition of bureaucratic Alzheimer’s. Fraud was frowned upon by the department’s bean counters, but forgetfulness wasn’t a crime, at least not yet, if I remember correctly.
I hoped my choice of envelope from another Asian country didn’t offend Chi’s nationalist sensibilities. In the Diplomatic Security Service, we enjoyed pushing the envelope and, quite frankly, never remained stationary for very long, fearing we might go postal if we did.
We spent the remainder of the meeting going over logistical details, tradecraft items, and security precautions. Everyone understood their roles and responsibilities.
Angie was the first to leave. As she got up from the table, I bussed her cheek and gave her a big, fatherly hug. I watched as she walked away and couldn’t help but notice her svelte, sexy body as it deftly moved along on a pair of high heels. Her tight, black Capri pants and long sleeve, white blouse accentuated her positive attributes. God, she was one hot lady!
Chi was giggling like a schoolgirl and I didn’t have a clue why. I thought the meeting went well so it must be something else amusing. It was to him, but it wasn’t a bit funny to me.
“Ah, Khun Dick, you are becoming more Thai every day. You just kissed and hugged a Lady Boy!” Now he was belly laughing at my expense.
I was dumbstruck, emphasis on dumb. Jesus, I should have immediately known or guessed. When a Thai woman was simply too attractive, she’s likely to be a Lady Boy. Looking back, Angie was too damn perfect. Her overly, feminine mannerisms, expertly applied makeup, delicate physique and her overt sexuality should have tipped me right away, but I was awestruck like a deer caught in the headlights.
Perhaps Ron was prescient when he mentioned the confusing bit about Karma. Perhaps the cosmic wheel had, in fact, turned in my direction for past sins. Perhaps the old saw about what goes around was really a truism after all. Perhaps I should have used the word maybe instead.
Fifteen years or so earlier, my assistant and I would take our visiting, unwitting law enforcement colleagues to a Bangkok bar located a couple of blocks from the embassy. After inviting lovely women to sit with them, the guys would share rounds of drinks and swap some spit with their companions. The groping came next and that’s when all hell broke loose at the table. They had just discovered a package, rather than the goods, between the legs of their new best friends. My assistant and I laughed our asses off. Our out-of-town visitors didn’t find the experience to be hilarious in the slightest. Their manhood had just taken a beating and they cursed us to high heaven for setting them up. They probably worried they’d just contracted a social disease that could be passed to their wives and girlfriends, one called gayness.
Sometimes those who served and protected got their comeuppances after a large helping of just deserts.
“Khun Richard, there’s one more secret you need to know about Angie. She’s what we call a cutter in Thailand, a self-mutilator. Did you notice she was wearing a long-sleeved blouse? That was to hide the scars on her wrists. Maybe she cuts elsewhere on her body, but I never bothered to look or ask. I think it has to do with the traumas she experienced growing up in the camps, losing her mother at a young age, not knowing who her father was, and being sexually molested. Those things and the fact she’s a product of miscegenation as well as being a transgendered person. I believe it’s all about a poor self-image and self-loathing. She hates who and what she is. Perhaps she’s a man-hater too. I just don’t know.”
I could see the sadness in his eyes and expression. Despite her many personal hang-ups, it was obvious he really liked and respected Angie.
My empathy for Angie went up a couple more notches, although she was one very disturbed person and I now wondered if I’d made the right choice in hiring her. However, Chi believed in her abilities to get the job done and that was good enough for me.
Nonetheless, I worried she might play both sides of the street for greater personal gain. I certainly hoped that wasn’t the case, but remembered Ron’s admonition about trusting no one. That’s what I intended to do starting first with one Mr. Jersey Briggs who’d likely stiff me on my travel voucher when I returned home, if I returned.