The Corsican (51 page)

Luc grinned at Peter, reminding him of their days together as boys. “I know why Colonel Duc sent them, Pierre,” he said. “I've been close to you for several weeks now.”

“Grandpère again,” Peter said.

Luc shrugged. “He worries. He is old now, and he worries.”

Peter's eyes blinked. “Luc, when you warned about harm coming to his family. That did not include Ba Lin, did it?”

“She is no longer a member of his family,” Luc said. “She no longer exists for Duc.”

Peter rubbed his face, his jaw tightening. “That's right,” he said. “She has a price to pay too. I wish I could do something about that.”

“You can do whatever you want,” Luc said.

Peter stared across at him, confused. “I don't understand.”

“Duc will be visited soon for a …” He searched for the correct word. “For a discussion of this matter. I think he will do whatever he is asked.”

“Even as far as Lin is concerned?”

“If you want, that could be a condition.”

“Well, of course I want it,” Peter said.

“Then it will be done,” Luc said.

Peter stood and paced again, still not understanding all he was hearing. He turned quickly back to Luc. “Who's going to meet the colonel?” he asked.

Luc's eyes widened. “Why, your grandfather, of course. When we telephoned him about this he told me he would be here in the morning.”

His grandfather had not mentioned that when they had subsequently spoken. He had only wanted assurances that Peter had not been hurt. It made Peter wonder why the information had been withheld.

Peter poured another Scotch both for himself and for Luc. They were getting a little drunk, but right now that was exactly what he wanted. He stared across at the smaller Mua tribesman, who had been such a major part of his life as a boy and who now had probably saved his life as a man.

“I'm troubled by something, Brother Two,” he said.

Luc stared across at him, waiting for him to elaborate.

“It seems there are many things I'm not being told. You being so close all these weeks. Grandpère meeting with Duc tomorrow. I understand the reasons for them, but I don't understand why I wasn't told. It makes me wonder about the things I was told about.” He stared at Luc. “Will you talk to me about these things?”

Luc shifted uncomfortably in his seat. His eyes were slightly glazed now, and he seemed to be having trouble deciding what to say. “It is difficult for me, my brother. I owe your grandfather much. He has trusted me. He has cared for my family and my people. I do not want to be disloyal to him.”

Peter raised his hands. “I understand that. But as brothers we have a loyalty to each other as well. Do this for me. Let me ask you things. If you can, answer me. If you feel an answer would be an offense to Grandpère, I will understand your refusal.”

Luc took a long drink of Scotch and shrugged his nervous agreement. “I think I'm getting a little drunk.” He laughed softly. “But how can I refuse the man I helped put snakes under Auguste's bed?”

Peter joined the laughter, and wondered if they could ever recapture those boyhood days together. Luc was far different from the boy he remembered. Tougher, colder. But so are you, he told himself.

“How long have you worked for Grandpère?” Peter asked, hoping to start slowly, to move around his concerns.

“From the time I was twelve, right after you left. I worked as a houseboy. Then later, at seventeen, I began carrying messages to the Meo at Xieng Prabang, taking merchandise from one place to another. When I was twenty-one, my father died of an illness. He was your grandfather's bodyguard then, and your grandfather honored me by giving me the job of my father.”

“I'm sorry about your father,” Peter said. “I was never told, or I would have written you.”

“Death is only a passing from one place to another,” Luc said. “Your grandfather made it easier for those of us left behind by caring for my mother, and by allowing me to assume the honor he had given to my father.”

“And you're still his bodyguard?”

Luc nodded, then took another long sip of Scotch.

“Does his business involve that much danger?”

Luc inclined his head to one side. “Southeast Asia is a dangerous place, as you are finding out.”

“That's not what I meant, Luc.”

Luc remained silent, then smiled. He waved his hands toward the windows and French doors that led to the terrace. “You noticed the windows in this room,” he said at length. “The glass is bulletproof. Let us just say that your grandfather's life still involves difficult people.”

“Like those who deal in opium?” Peter asked.

“The Meo who grow it are under his protection. Sometimes this offends people.”

“They grow it for him?” There was a hard edge to Peter's voice, and he realized he must control it.

“They grow it for themselves, Pierre. It is the only way they can live.”

“You mean he takes none of it for himself, none of the profit?”

“I don't know, Pierre. I know they do other services for him, and that he protects them from the government, keeps others from cheating them, lowering prices. You must understand, Pierre, nothing happens in Laos that your grandfather does not know about. Some things he chooses to involve himself in, others he does not. Very few people know what those things are, and I am not one of those people. It is part of his strength, Pierre, that few people know a great deal about him.”

“He told me he was involved in the opium trade years ago, helped establish it as it now exists. He also told me he was no longer involved.”

“It is as I said, Pierre. People think he controls many things, and he allows them to think so. I don't believe he would lie to you. I think he might choose not to tell you something, but I do not think he would lie. Your grandfather is not ashamed of his life, and he asks forgiveness of no man, not even you.”

“You sound like Benito and Auguste,” Peter said. “I think you're more Corsican than I am.” He stood and paced the room for several moments, then turned and spoke softly to Luc. “There are people, in other parts of the world, who think dealing in opium is not an honorable thing.”

“I cannot speak for other parts of the world, my brother. Here it is a way of life. The tribesmen grow what people will pay them to grow. If they do not, they do not live. It has been so for centuries. I know it is abused by some people, and so does your grandfather. It is why it is banned among the Meo.”

“What do you mean, banned? Tell me about that.” Peter returned to his chair and sat on its edge, leaning toward Luc.

“Years ago, an arrangement was made with the headman of the Meo who your grandfather protects. The headmen were angered because some of their people were smoking opium, and the production from their fields had become very low. Your grandfather told them to make it an offense to use opium. Now if a tribesman does so, he is banished from his village and can never return. All his property, even his wives, is taken from him, and he is driven away. If it is found he has given opium to others, the punishment is even greater.”

“What happens then?”

“He is beheaded.”

Luc had spoken the final words as though referring to the death of some insect. Peter sat stunned by the coldness of it, the unreality it registered in his mind. “On my grandfather's orders?” he finally said.

“There are no orders, Pierre. It is the law among the tribes.”

Peter stared off at a far wall. “I don't know, Luc. It's difficult for me to grasp, to understand.”

Luc leaned forward in his chair. His eyes were heavily glazed now, and there was a slight slur in his voice. “What is there to understand, Brother Two? Your grandfather protects these people, just as he has protected you.”

Peter snorted, the Scotch having its effect on him as well. “I guess I have caused him a bit of a problem, haven't I?”

“I too once caused him embarrassment,” Luc said.

Peter perked up. “Really? What did you do?”

Luc shook his head. “It is something I have great difficulty speaking of, my brother.”

“Come on, Luc,” Peter urged. “Brother to brother.”

Luc twisted in his seat, stared at the floor for a moment, then looked across at Peter, a sick expression on his face. “I will tell you as much as I can. The rest gives me too much shame.” He paused as if not knowing where to begin.

Peter leaned closer to him. “Well?” he said.

Luc twisted again, then began to blurt out the story. “Several years ago, I was sent here to Saigon to help Philippe handle a business matter for your grandfather. I became distracted and the business matter went badly. Your grandfather was cheated out of much money.”

“Grandpère, cheated?” Peter began to laugh. “I didn't think that was supposed to happen to Corsicans. Who cheated him?”

“That I cannot tell you, my brother. It is still too painful for me.” Luc's eyes were riveted on the floor again, and he took a long drink of Scotch without looking up.

“So what happened?” Peter asked.

“Your grandfather had to come here and correct matters. I was much dishonored.”

“But he obviously forgave you,” Peter said. He hesitated, wondering if he should pursue the matter further. “What was the distraction you spoke of?” he finally asked.

Luc looked at him sheepishly. “A woman,” he said. “It's a weakness I have.”

Peter began to laugh softly. “It's a weakness I obviously share with you, my brother. It seems that Grandpère has had to get us both out of bedroom problems.”

“For me it was even worse,” Luc said.

“How so?” Peter asked.

“I never even got to a bedroom,” Luc said.

Chapter 34

Philippe Francisci's house was small and unassuming, hidden behind a high wall in the same section of the city where Colonel Duc lived. Sitting in the small living room, overburdened with heavy old European funishings, Duc felt fully out of his element. Even his crisply pressed uniform carried none of the weight and power he normally felt when he wore it. He had been summoned and he had come, and much to his chagrin, he knew he had no choice in the decision.

On the table before Duc was a tray of croissants and a silver service of coffee. Across the table sat Buonaparte Sartene, his mood rigid behind a soft voice. They spoke in French, further emphasizing—to Duc—that he was without power within these walls.

“If I had known I would have come to you before acting,” Duc said. “There was no way for me to know.” Beneath his uniform he could feel the perspiration run along his chest and back.

Buonaparte nodded, his face showing none of the age and weariness it had in recent years—almost as though he had been revitalized by the renewed activity. “I understand that, my friend. I am sorry that your men had to die. It was unfortunate.” He paused a moment, as if remembering something. “How was that handled with the authorities?” he asked.

“Like most deaths here,” Duc said. “It was blamed on the Viet Cong.”

“Good,” Sartene said. “I wish it could have been avoided. We all see too much death. But I'm sure you understand, I will not allow my grandson to be harmed.”

Duc twisted in his seat and offered a rare smile. It reflected both his discomfort and his fear. “It was a matter of face, Don Sartene. I know you understand these things. Like my people, you Corsicans have great pride in your honor.”

Buonaparte nodded. “I understand that and accept it, my friend.” His voice was so soft that Duc was forced to watch his lips to be sure he caught every word, every nuance. “And I promise you will be compensated by me, for this unfortunate attack on your honor.” He gestured widely with his hands. “The boy is young, and foolish, and he lacked understanding in the matter. I assure you of that.” He looked Duc straight in the eyes. “I assure you of one other thing. Whatever befalls Pierre while he is here, in your country—large or small—the same will befall you.”

“But I can't—” Duc was cut off by Sartene's raised hand.

“You will make it your business to see he is not harmed. If it is something outside your own doing you will warn me of it …” He paused, then added, “… before it happens.”

“I will try,” Duc said.

“There are two other matters,” Buonaparte said, watching the apprehension in Due's eyes deepen. “The woman, the wife of your late son. She must not be disgraced.”

“But …” Duc's objections were stilled again by Sartene's hand.

Buonaparte smiled. “Think about it, my friend. To disgrace her would require a reason in the minds of your peers. If they learned of it, they would ask why the man had not been punished. Then your honor would truly be in jeopardy.”

Duc nodded his head, unable to raise his eyes from the table. The humiliation was too great. But resisting the request could bring even greater harm. If not death, then certainly disclosure of past and present business activities that were better left hidden. “You said two things more,” Duc finally said, still staring at the table.

“I want to know who told you of this matter between Pierre and Ba Lin.”

Duc looked up, mildly confused. “I thought you knew,” he said. “It was one of your countrymen. A man who once worked for you.”

Sartene's eyes hardened. He knew the name before Duc spoke it.

Francesco smiled across the chamber at Lin. “If I had been involved, my dear Cao, or if I had chosen the men who were, Pierre Sartene would not have had breakfast this morning.”

Lin's eyes were cold, unmoved. “I don't believe you. It would be typical of you to find someone else to do your work for you. That old man in Vientiane still makes you tremble in your sleep.”

“You push too far, Cao,” Francesco said, his voice gravelly and dry.