The Campaigner’s New Deal
Chapter 29
“General Pang, thanks for meeting with me on such short notice. I believe I have an offer you can’t refuse,” borrowing a line from the Godfather to enhance his stature and credibility with the head of the Shan State Army.
Kris Amar had travelled to his headquarters in a remote village in the Shan State to broker a deal that would benefit both parties or so he hoped. The surcharge imposed by the Shan soldiers on his opium passing through Myanmar was getting too damn onerous. It couldn’t continue because it was eating into his profits along with the money he was sending to his beloved cause of jihad. Something had to be done and he thought he had an idea that would make money for both himself and the army commander who controlled all smuggling operations in the region. It had to work or Kris’s cash cow would continue to be slowly butchered piece by bloody piece.
It took Kris a day and a half by bus to reach the end of the road at a small village that apparently had no name. Perhaps the locals called it the end of the road too. One of the general’s aides met him at the bus stop. They then travelled another 10 kilometers by motorbike on a rutted trail cut out of the jungle until they reached the military encampment with Kris holding on for dear life as the pillion rider. His butt was saddle sore after the jarring journey. No matter, he’d arrived safely at his destination with his package more or less intact.
He came bearing gifts of Smirnoff vodka and a carton of unfiltered, Camel cigarettes, knowing they were the general’s favorite vices. Shaking hands, Kris noticed the yellowed nicotine stains on his thumb and middle finger of his right hand, attesting to one of his addictions.
“Your urgent plea to meet and interesting proposal piqued my interest so that’s why I allowed you to come,” the general spoke. “I rarely permit such visits by outsiders since they’re usually wastes of my time.”
Kris thought he was an imposing, commanding figure dressed in a spotless, khaki uniform with bright brass buttons and fancy epaulets. He seemed to be in his early sixties and physically fit by all appearance. He looked the role of a rebel leader, sort of a Che Guevara figure, with his red beret jauntily cocked to one side of his head. His Fu Manchu moustache added to his mystique.
“So tell my about your proposition that I can’t refuse Mr. Amar. I found it intriguing and want to hear more. By the way, I’m quite familiar with Marlon Brando’s role so for my benefit you can dispense with the theatrics. Apocalypse Now was more to my liking since it was filmed in Asia. No matter, tell me what you have to offer.”
Kris’s research on the general failed to mention he was a film buff. He was now chagrined that he didn’t bring a few DVD’s along with his other gifts. Perhaps next time, if there was to be a next time, Kris thought. The general had guaranteed his safe passage, but might not agree to his pitch. So, he kept his fingers and sphincter muscle crossed for good luck. He badly needed to go to the bathroom, but didn’t want an intermission break to lose his audience’s attention!
“Before talking about my proposition, it’s important to discuss what we have in common, how our missions in life are similar. Yours is for a free and independent state for the Shan people and mine is to free our homelands from imperialist infidels who mock my religion, Islam. We share the goal of lifting the domination and subjugation of our peoples.”
“I’ve read much of your state’s history, the struggles for independence, first from British colonial rule, next the French, then the Japanese occupation in World War II, and now by the military junta that rules much of Myanmar. I greatly admire your perseverance in fighting for your autonomy, your right to preserve your culture.”
“My Islamic culture is threatened by invaders as well, the American military forces and their misguided allies. It’s much the same situation. Our recent history has been ruled by secular dictators who have suppressed Islam and the teachings of the Koran, Mubarak, Assad, the Shah of Iran, Kaddafi, and that’s just a few examples of these brutal despots. Now my ISIS and mujahedeen brothers are fighting a holy war, a jihad as we say in Arabic, to liberate the countries of the Middle East and elsewhere and remove the blight that has befallen our peoples.”
“Of course, the damn American government and its ignorant citizens are our sworn enemies. Their interference in our jihad has caused us setbacks in our holy mission. How naive they are to believe in Christianity, a blasphemous religion and curse on the world! Who do they think they are to impose their religious values and political views on others? Is it democracy or theocracy that will ultimately bring peace to our troubled world? It’s outrageous to think they know best.”
A Shan woman delivered a steaming pot of the local tea, briefly interrupting Kris’s monologue. It didn’t come close to a formal Japanese tea ceremony, but was quite nice nonetheless. If things went well, perhaps the general would crack open the vodka bottle later to celebrate. He could only hope.
“They are a culturally isolated, xenophobic people with little understanding of the world at large. Perhaps the fact they have been protected by two great oceans and friendly neighbors to the north and south has something to do with their smugness and complacency. They rarely speak a foreign language unless they emigrated there and have little or no interest in learning one. When they travel abroad they typically stay at high-end hotels, visit the museums and other tourist attractions, but have little interaction with ordinary people. How can they judge the true essence of a country or society with so little information to go on? I don’t understand the phenomenon, but I do understand the consequences of their collective intolerance and ignorance, a world-wide war on Islam.”
The general politely clapped when Amar finished his vitriolic diatribe, temper tantrum and sketchy justification for jihad. Maybe his analogy had badly backfired, he thought to himself.
“I don’t think your attempt to bind our respective situations into one in the same worked very well, Mr. Amar. The Shan have no interest in conquest of other nations either for religious or geopolitical purposes. That’s the main difference between our causes. Regardless, let me hear what you have to offer.”
“Actually general, our causes have one thing in common—the need for large sums of money to support them,” Kris replied to the put-down.
General Pang briefly nodded his head in agreement. He had no love for the Americans as the Shan State had backed the Pathet Lao during the secret war. However, that bit of ancient history wouldn’t cloud his judgment about a proposed business deal.
“Most of your opium is smuggled into China these days. Am I correct on that point?
“Lucky guess,” the general replied while smirking.
“So, what I’m offering you is the entire country of India, a simple turnkey operation that will profit both of us.”
“I want more opium than I can presently get and you can make that happen. You have the wherewithal to deliver larger quantities on a more frequent basis than I can. It’s as simple as that.”
“I have a partner there who will be responsible for processing and distributing the heroin throughout the subcontinent through a highly discreet and disciplined organization. I need your smugglers to move the product south to the coast and there one of my ships will ferry it to Indian ports of call. From there it will undergo the necessary processing and adulteration at one of our labs and then the diluted product will be distributed throughout the country to be sold to local, street dealers.”
Kris failed to mention the disastrous sailing of the Pearl of the Orient, no need to scotch the deal at the very beginning, he thought. Anyway, the general much preferred vodka.
He’d already promised Puneet he’d find a replacement soon, maybe more than one ship if things went well with the meeting.
“You have 1,252,139,596 reasons as of the latest census to accept my proposal. That’s a humongous number of potential users and addicts. Also, keep in mind more and more Indians are moving into the middle class and able to afford what we’re selling. I don’t see a downside, do you?”
“As they say, the devil’s in the detail. What will be the split and tell me the numbers you’re thinking about?” the general asked.
The two spent the next hour going over the devilish details and finally came to agreement on terms, conditions, guarantees and the like. Just two businessmen haggling over a used car purchase.
General Pang broke open the vodka and they toasted each other and their new venture.
Kris was ecstatic. He’d almost double his gross income if the general kept up his side of the bargain to provide the opium in larger quantities. Moreover, he no longer had to pay a usurious surtax since the general’s mules would be carrying it south through Myanmar. All-in-all, he thought it a fair deal for everyone, except Albert Wu, of course. However, Kris could have cared less. With the agreement with the general in place, Albert was no longer needed in the loop since the opium would no longer be shipped in corpses across the Mekong to his mortuary.
He thought he would pension off Albert. For his retirement celebration, Kris envisioned a necktie party with Albert being the guest of honor. In this case, a garrote of prayer beads for his neck would be his going away gift. He knew too much and now that his services were no longer required, he was a serious liability that must be eliminated.
Puneet Chopra would be pleased with the deal, more opium which translated into more money for him and his organization. It would take the heat off Kris because he knew Puneet personally blamed him for losing the ship. He was not someone you wanted to cross because he didn’t suffer fools or incompetents lightly. It wasn’t fair, of course, but sometimes one ended up playing the fall guy riding a scapegoat in this ruthless blame game. It wasn’t an enjoyable role in the slightest and Kris felt the painful pangs of unfairness. However, he didn’t have the slightest say in the matter. He had to gut it out as best he could to redeem himself in Puneet’s eyes.
Kris Amar actually found the bus trip home pleasurable for a change. He didn’t feel the many bumps in the road because he didn’t have any in his life at the moment. And his wish list was getting shorter too, finding a suitable ship and killing Dick Avery, though not necessarily in that order. Murdering Albert Wu was simply an afterthought, just a bit of unfinished business and nothing more to him.
Sometimes the adversaries of those who served and protected had no pangs of guilt, conscience or remorse whatsoever.