The Tears of Autumn - Charles McCarry [72]
“Take two of each,” Christopher said.
3
At Luong’s house, the old woman who had given Christopher food that morning told him that Phuoc had gone away to pray. Christopher found him in the Xa Loi Pagoda, where the Ngos’ enemies had waited for arrest only a few weeks before. He sent Pong, a Buddhist, into the pagoda. Phuoc came out alone and got into the car without hesitation.
Phuoc looked at the submachine gun and the two-way radio and turned his body in the seat, watching Christopher’s profile. Christopher gave Phuoc the Polaroid photographs Pong had taken and turned on the interior light.
“These are the men,” Christopher said. He opened the glove compartment and brought out the long-barreled .22 pistol. “This is the gun.”
Phuoc examined the dead faces of his brother’s murderers. Christopher turned off the dome light.
“How did they die so quickly?” Phuoc asked.
“They drowned. It was an accident. I wanted to talk to them, but they went off the road and overturned in a paddy.”
“You wouldn’t have killed them?”
“No. I would have given them to you.”
Phuoc gave his sputtering laugh. “I see.”
“Do you know them?” Christopher asked.
“How should I know them? They look like boys.”
“So did Luong when I found him.”
“Tho.”
“All right, Tho,” Christopher said. “Phuoc, have you ever seen them? If you have, tell me.”
Phuoc slapped his palms together twice, sharply, in the dark. “Yes,” he said, “they were outside Yu Lung’s, drinking in the street when Tho and I came out the other night.”
“You went with him to Yu Lung’s?”
“Yes, I know Yu. His father taught me horoscopy.”
“Did you sit with Yu and your brother while they talked?”
“Yes,” Phuoc said, “but Yu said nothing of value. He wanted money, that’s why my brother was coming to find you. He thought you would have it.”
“What was Yu going to tell your brother in return for the money?”
“That wasn’t clear to me. Yu can talk like a fool when he wants. When Tho spoke about Le Thu, Yu became very alert. He talked about a voyage. Tears must be carried in a special vessel,’ Yu said.”
“What voyage? What vessel? He spoke to me in a very brisk way, like a French psychiatrist. Why should he talk to your brother in riddles?”
“I’ve known Yu since we were boys—he suits his approach to the client. He’s Chinese.”
“He said nothing more?”
“Oh, yes,” Phuoc said. “He leaned across his desk and whispered, ‘Five thousand dollars.’ Then we went away, Tho to get the money from you. I came here—I sleep nearby.”
Christopher touched the brake pedal twice, to signal Pong. Pong came out of the shadows, walking in a slight crouch, his head moving from side to side as if to catch a scent. Christopher was reminded of the drowned men, following him through the crowd in Cholon.
“I won’t see you again,” Christopher said.
Phuoc opened the door and seemed startled that his action bathed them in light. He still held the photographs in his hand; he glanced at them again before he closed the door, and gave them back to Christopher.
“One thing I know,” Phuoc said. “This Lê Thu—it was the death name of one of the Ngo women. She was killed in ‘54, by the French or the Viet Minh, no one ever knew which, as she was coming down from the North. The Viet Minh brought her child, a small girl, to the Ngos. Their Truong toe raised her. It’s said he loved her mother.”
“The child was Dao, the one who calls herself Nicole?”
“Yes, Dao. It means ‘peach blossom.’”
“Who was her father?”
Phuoc opened the door again. Sitting in the light with his face turned away, he said, “Do Minh Kha. Do went with the Viet Minh in the early days, and after they won, he gave up his wife to stay in Hanoi. She and all the other Ngos who were Catholics came south after Dienbienphu. The Truong toe had a great passion for this woman—Ho Chi Minh himself wrote a poem about it, how she had chosen a brave fighter over a rich man. Do chose the revolution over Lê Thu and the revolution killed her. So the Truong toe got