Competing Voices
Chapter 28
When it rained, it poured, Kris thought, thinking of the old, American saying. It was the beginning of the monsoon season so he guessed it made sense in some sense, but not sure how. It was another stumbling block on his road to making money that now endangered his entire business enterprise. First it was the sinking of the Pearl of the Orient and now this. It greatly threatened his supply of opium and the flow of funds to his Islamic brothers fighting in Allah’s name. Perhaps there was some karmic aspect to it, but Kris refused to believe it. In any event, just another bad piece of freaking luck!
Kris acknowledged to himself that things weren’t going in his direction to put it mildly. Dick Avery hot on his heels, the ship sinking, Puneet Chopra blaming Kris for the sinking and jeopardizing the entire India operation, the drug rip off, the untimely death of Ron Johnston, his informer and protector, and now this turn of events. Life wasn’t being fair to Kris Amar, he sadly reflected on his current circumstances. His entire operation seemed to be unraveling into disarray. He had to turn things in his favor if he wanted to continue bankrolling his terrorist brethren. That was his sole goal in life and he planned to achieve it no matter the cost to himself or others.
The Shan State Army was now his latest worry. It formed many decades ago to fight for independence from Myanmar and controlled a large swath of the mountainous north of the country. Things were stalemated between the two warring parties despite the government’s many military offensives to oust the rebel forces. The Shan State was a de facto state within a state and there seemed to be no hope of dislodging the Shan from power anytime soon, despite Yangon’s best efforts. The Shan State financially supported its ongoing war by smuggling opium out of the country. Arms from China were expensive and it was a cash only transaction with the dealers; no shoes, no shirt, no cash, no service.
Kris Amar cared little about the politics of the remote region, but a lot about the fact that it was the premier poppy growing part of Myanmar. Its farmers were the source for his supply of opium. And the Shan State Army was making his life a living hell with their interference in his business operations.
Army soldiers were stopping his mules and demanding bribes to let them pass. They called it a tax and for Kris it was most definitely taxing. If the mules couldn’t come up with cash, the soldiers would seize a portion of the opium stash instead. His potential profits were being cut by at least 20 percent as a result. That couldn’t continue. He had to work out some mutually agreeable solution that would benefit both sides of the border. No Shan trolls would stop him from crossing the bridge that divided the two countries, he gruffly vowed to the empty coffee cup sitting on the kitchen table in front of him. Like his mute corpses, Kris Amar enjoyed the company of inanimate objects and people because they never spoke up or out to correct any of his occasional, notional pronouncements.
***
Kris Amar must be getting a little hinky in his old age, Albert thought. The last two shipments of corpses were delivered by his assistants and not personally by him. That was odd since Kris enjoyed the nightlights and amenities of Nong Khai much too much to stay away for long. Well, maybe he was too busy or ill or whatever to make the trip. Albert wasn’t particularly worried, only curious about his absence. All of the business accounts were up-to-date; payoffs and payments made to all concerned parties; and product received and delivered on schedule, so everything was in order. Moreover, the intermittent, clandestine communications between them suggested the same. All seemed to be copasetic on both sides of the river, so he couldn’t figure out the reason for Kris’s absence.
So, where in the devil was the devilish Kris Amar? Albert supposed only Satan knew his whereabouts and activities to stay with the hellish theme running through his mind. Albert long ago had given up his beliefs about a heaven and hell, good and evil, damnation and salvation, karma and the cosmic wheel of rebirth, so he wondered where he’d come up with his nonsensical thoughts. Money, and a lot of it, was the subject that usually occupied his mind. Perhaps he was the one who was getting hinky in his old age!
It seemed Albert had been cooking the books and they were all well done by his own account. He’d been skimming money off the top and hadn’t shared it with Amar. The opium weights had been falsely recorded by him in the business ledger that Amar rarely examined during his infrequent visits to Nong Khai. So, a few ounces of opium here and there would be shorted in the courier trips to Bangkok. No one would notice the discrepancies. Albert sold the skimmed product to other dealers for a tidy profit. By his guesstimate, he’d netted about $160,000 off the books over the two years he’d worked with his partner. Kris wouldn’t be happy with his little side business if he ever learned of it, but his chances of finding out were slim to nil or at least Albert hoped so for his sake. Anyway, what were friends for these days?
***
The e-mail from Jersey Briggs wasn’t sweet, but short and to the point: wrap up the case and come home, tout suite. Jersey liked to show off his facility in foreign languages. He considered himself fluent in many, but only with a handful of words. And this was one example of his facility in French. It was the pretentious way of saying things for a worldly man of the world in the Foreign Service like himself. It was also the way certain, unnamed jerks spoke to subordinates who couldn’t complain.
As usual, Jersey was whining about the cost of my junket and that he had other investigative priorities to fund. That was unadulterated bullshit. I had a very good sense of what his budget was, having served in the same position for several years. Moreover, it was the beginning of the fiscal year so there was no chance he was running low on money. I suspected he was envious and simply saw my travel as a sunny vacation at taxpayer expense. Of course, he didn’t give a damn about taxpayer money. It was the fact it was me travelling rather than him that rankled his sense of self entitlement.
There was no way I was going to fold my tent or hand and run home empty handed or empty headed for that matter. We’d come much too far and were getting closer to Amar by the day. No, I planned to stay the course despite Jersey’s order to cease and desist.
***
Puneet Chopra was not known for his patience or sense of humor. He was still smarting over the loss of the Pearl of the Orient. Well, not the loss of the ship, but its precious cargo of opium. He’d spent weeks laying the groundwork for its processing and distribution throughout India. He was beginning to think Kris Amar was incompetent and perhaps an unworthy partner in their new business venture. However, Puneet understood he couldn’t make the plan work without Amar since he didn’t have the moxie or contacts in Myanmar to collect the raw opium from the farmers and move it safely to a port. It was too risky for Puneet to consider doing it on his own, so he desperately needed Amar’s help.
His network of Thugs had been briefed on the essentials of the distribution scheme, minus Amar’s name and role. There was no need to disclose that part of the plan. Territories were then assigned and divvying up the profits discussed at length and with some arguments ensuing. Finally, all aspects of the operation were agreed upon.
Thugs liked to accomplish things with a certain degree of amity and unanimity, especially when it came to strangling the throats of their innocent victims. With them, it was all about acting out with a macabre panache, along with a quirky flair for the joie de vivre.
Puneet urged his followers to report any gossip or information relating to the operation they might pick up on the streets. He greatly worried about a leak that could bring them down. He didn’t believe in following the money, only the yellow brick road to riches.