Authors: Claude Bouchard
Hoang stopped and
turned to Scorpion. “You underestimate our resourcefulness and capabilities. I
will know exactly where to find you when the time comes.”
He turned away
once more and strode off, pulling out his mobile phone as he went. Scorpion
watched Hoang’s retreat for a moment then pulled out his own phone and made a
call.
“Our exchange
didn’t go as smoothly as I hoped. Unfortunately, the Colonel was more
disagreeable with my proposals than I expected. I’m going to get out of here
for now because he might be calling a platoon in to come and get me. I’ll talk
to you later.”
He cut the
connection and casually glanced in both directions to ensure nobody was around
then walked a short distance to the nearby dwelling of a local resident.
Rapping on the door jamb to announce his arrival, he slipped in through the
open door and made his way through the tiny front room to the back of the
house.
“
Đó là
thời gian
,” he said to the old woman chopping vegetables in the
kitchen.
“It is time,” she
repeated in Vietnamese, calling out through the open back door before pointing
with her knife to a chair in the corner.
Removing the
bright red polo shirt he wore, Scorpion donned the loose white cotton top and
nón
lá
, the traditional conical straw hat, which he found on the chair. As he
tied the chin strap, a thin, spry old man appeared in the doorway and nodded to
Scorpion then turned and left as quickly as he had arrived.
Scorpion followed
the man to an antiquated motorbike which fired up on the first crank of the
kick starter. He climbed on behind the man and they left immediately, following
a narrow dirt trail leading them away from the road through the dense,
jungle-like vegetation. After a few minutes, the trail ended at a wider, more
often used dirt path and the old man turned up the throttle as they headed
north to the opposite side of the island.
A few minutes
later, Scorpion could see the river ahead as well as the waiting boat he had
chartered. The motorbike came to a stop and Scorpion hopped off, handing the
old man a wad of four million Dong, a veritable fortune in local terms but a
minor expense of under two hundred U.S. dollars for Scorpion. In moments, he
was on the boat and on his way to My Tho, confident that he had not been
followed.
* * * *
Hoang was down the
ladder and into the boat before it had fully reached the dock and was calling
his superior before his two men had boarded.
“General, Hoang
here.” he said once connected. “It is as we suspected. The man I met introduced
himself as Scorpion of the Devil’s Delight. I have no doubt he is responsible
for Cao’s death. I am certain Cao’s organization has been well infiltrated over
several months and is now fully in their control. Their plan is to
substantially increase poppy farming and opiate production for export…
“No, we don’t know
his identity yet but my men took several photos of him while we were talking
and they will follow him back to wherever he goes. He is likely American or
Canadian rather than European, based on his accent. With the photos, his street
name and his association with the Devil’s Delight, we should know exactly who
he is soon enough… Yes, I will forward them to you immediately, General.”
He cut the
connection and scrolled through the dozen photos his men had taken during their
two passes on the motorbike and subsequently emailed to him. Though Scorpion
wore sunglasses, several photos showed his facial features well enough to make
him identifiable.
Satisfied, he sent
the photos on to the General then settled back for the remainder of the short
boat ride. They were now in the channel between Dragon Island and Unicorn
Island, already halfway to My Tho. As he gazed about, he noticed the boat’s
skipper answering his mobile and almost immediately terminating the call. Then,
to the surprise of Hoang and his two men, the skipper climbed onto the edge of
the boat and dived, fully clothed, into the Mekong River.
“What is going
on?” Hoang managed to shout before their craft exploded into a fiery ball,
sending bits of wood, plastic, metal, bone and flesh flying high into the air.
Allan B. Polunsky
Unit, Texas Department of Criminal Justice, Livingston, Texas
Life had been good
for forty-nine year old Pablo Martinez until the previous Monday when officers
of the Attorney General’s Law Enforcement Division had interrupted his dinner
to arrest him for capital murder. He had immediately been transported to the
Allan B. Polunsky Unit, the location of men’s death row, given the opportunity
to contact his lawyer and locked up for the night.
Since, following
several meetings with his lawyer and state prosecutors, even one in the
presence of the Attorney General himself, it had become increasingly clear that
death row might well become his new home. Craig Cunningham, a senior prosecutor
for the state had emphasized he would do all in his power to ensure Martinez’s
stay on the government’s tab would be ‘short-lived’.
Originally from
Los Angeles, where he had headed a well-organized gang involved in drug
distribution, Martinez had been approached in 2001 by Jerry ‘Jazz’ Kovac and
Dennis ‘Scorpion’ Roy of the Devil’s Delight with a merger proposal. Jazz, the
Delight’s leader, had explained how they were moving away from the attention
attracting biker style and transforming their organization into a well-oiled,
international drug distribution syndicate. Scorpion, originally from Canada and
believed to have been assassinated, would be working on developing their
network, both within North America and abroad.
Martinez had
accepted to join them and quickly moved up in the ranks. Following Jazz Kovac’s
death in an automobile accident in 2005, Scorpion had assume leadership but
maintained his involvement in domestic operations to a minimum, preferring to
devote his time to his continued international development efforts. As a
result, Martinez had now been overseeing distribution for the southern half of
the United States from his Houston hub for the last eight years. Two other
associates played similar roles for the northern U.S. and Canada.
As is the case
with any given business, problems sometimes arise and must be dealt with. For
Martinez, one such problem had been Dewayne Ryerson, a Houston-based competitor
who had reverted to violence and intimidation to increase his market share. Not
a man of great patience, Martinez had soon grown weary of Ryerson’s
unacceptable tactics and hired someone to terminate him. Unfortunately, the
killer, and his two accomplices who had been present when the hit was
contracted, had subsequently been caught and confessed… and pointed the finger
at Martinez.
The door to the
meeting room where Martinez waited opened and Mike Hopkins, his lawyer,
entered.
“So, what’s
today’s chat gonna be about?” Martinez demanded though his fear showed through
his tough façade.
“I have no idea,”
Hopkins admitted. “All I know is the Attorney General’s office told me they
wanted to meet with you again.”
“Just wanna rub it
in my face that they wanna kill me?” Martinez retorted. “I got that part.”
“We’ll see what
they want, Pablo,” Hopkins replied, “But it’s not looking good. Murder for
remuneration is a capital offence and they have a pretty solid case. I mean,
Jesus, one of the guys recorded the whole conversation with you and your prints
are on the cash.”
“Hey, tell me shit
I don’t know, okay?” Martinez shot back as he glared at the wall.
The door opened
anew and Craig Cunningham from the Attorney General’s office came in, though
without his usual entourage.
“Morning,
gentlemen,” he said as he sat. “I’m going to get right to the point. Mr.
Martinez, I’m certain your attorney has made it clear to you that we have an
open and shut case on you for the murder of Dewayne Ryerson. I’m guessing if we
go to court with this, the trial will be over within a day or two and you will
be found guilty. We’ll go for the death penalty and we
will
get it. We
had you sent here to impress upon you how serious we are.”
“Is there a point
to this?” asked Hopkins.
“There is,”
Cunningham replied, his eyes remaining fixed on Martinez. “We’re willing to deal
with you. The more you give us, the more we give you.”
“Whatcha willing
to give me?” asked Martinez.
“Off death row to
start,” Cunningham replied. “A further sentence reduction is a possibility and,
if you really make us happy, relocation and witness protection.”
“That’s most
generous of you,” said Hopkins. “What are you expecting from Mr. Martinez in
return?”
“We want the
Devil’s Delight,” the prosecutor replied. “We’re working with the federal
government on this and we want every shred of information which Mr. Martinez
has in his head or stashed somewhere. We want to know who he works for,
records, locations, contacts, routes, everything. We want to take this gang
down and Mr. Martinez is in a position to give us everything we need to make
that happen.”
“No offence, but
that sounds like an all or nothing deal,” said Hopkins.
“None taken and
you’re damned right it is,” Cunningham agreed, “Because if your client only
gives us enough to keep him off death row, we all know his days will be
numbered anyway. What do you say, Mr. Martinez? A chance at a new life or death
by the needle, or worse?”
Pablo gazed at the
prosecutor then turned to Hopkins and said, “Once I’ve given them what I’ve
got, you know you’re a dead man. You best negotiate yourself a ticket outta
this neighbourhood, hombre.”
He turned back to
Cunningham and said, “Let’s get this all in writing so my butt’s good and
covered. After that, I’ll start telling you about my boss and stuff but we’d
better get moving cuz he’s gonna start wondering where the hell I’ve gone.”
Offering a rare
smile, Cunningham opened his briefcase and handed a folder to Hopkins. “We
threw something together, in case Mr. Martinez agreed to be cooperative.
There’s a separate offer in there for you as well, Mr. Hopkins. You have an
hour to review these. Then, as your client suggested, we need to get busy.”
Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon),
Vietnam, mid-morning
Quang Tich Ty,
General of the People’s Police of Vietnam, climbed out of his official vehicle
and waved his driver on before heading up the steps to the entrance of the
Saigon Central Post Office. As soon as he entered the building’s vast lobby
with its vaulted ceiling, his mobile trilled.
“
Á-lô
,” he
said, answering the call.
“Go to the second
booth,” a voice commanded before the call was disconnected.
Quang made his way
to the bank of antique, sculptured telephone booths along the wall to his left.
He reached the second booth and, ignoring the
Out of Service
notice
affixed to the glass, opened the door and entered. As he closed the door behind
him, a mobile phone of the inexpensive, throwaway variety which lay on the
booth’s shelf began playing the opening notes of
Tiến Quân Ca
,
Vietnam’s national anthem.
“
Á-lô
,”
Quang repeated, answering the new phone.
“Good morning,
General,” said Scorpion. “Thank you for making some time for me in your busy
schedule.”
“You said you
wished to meet with me,” Quang replied. “Where are you?”
“I’ve decided to
be a bit more prudent for now,” Scorpion explained. “After seeing how Colonel
Hoang disregarded my request to come alone on Wednesday, I’d rather be careful
until I’m convinced we’ve established a level of trust.”
“My understanding
is you
did
meet with him alone,” Quang argued. “His men stayed away as
you requested.”
Scorpion sighed.
“General, let’s not start off on the wrong foot here. Minutes after Hoang and I
parted company on Wednesday, a boat with eight of your men was arriving at the
dock to try to track and find me.”
“The Colonel was
killed after he met you,” Quang shot back. “Of course we had men in the area.”
“Yes, a boating
accident from what I understood,” said Scorpion, “Which happened after your
extra men showed up on the island. Don’t insult my intelligence, General. Hoang
had them waiting by for me.”
“Well, I am a man
of my word,” said the general after a moment. “I am here alone, as I promised.”
“I believe you
are,” Scorpion replied. “However, there is no need for a face to face meeting
at this time. All I want for now is a verbal agreement that we can carry on
with a working relationship, much like you had with the late Mr. Cao.”
“I believe we
can,” said Quang, “But we will have to discuss some of the finer points,
particularly your intent to export to other countries.”
“The Colonel left me
with the distinct impression that he didn’t approve of my group’s intended
business plans in your country,” Scorpion replied. “I trust, General, that you
are a more open-minded man. Otherwise, we are bound to run into some
difficulties along the way.”
“I simply wish to
make sure all is managed carefully,” said Quang, “Such that your endeavours
provide benefit to those involved and do not result in any embarrassing
situations for my country.”
“In that case, you
have nothing to worry about,” said Scorpion. “You should already know I’m a
very careful man in everything I do. Anything or anyone I become involved in, I
research extensively to know what or whom I’m dealing with. My information
sources are extensive and reliable so I know what’s going on and can react
quickly if problems arise.”
“I am pleased to
hear this,” Quang replied, thinking he would have to be careful with who he
involved in this affair going forward. “What is our next step? How can I
contact you if needed?”
“There isn’t
anything I need from you for now,” was Scorpion’s response. “I still have work
to do to finalize the transition of Cao’s affairs into our organization. I’ll
stay in touch to keep you informed of my progress as required. In the meantime,
continue doing your excellent work but
do
take some time to spend with
your family, especially those wonderful grandsons of yours.”
Quang clenched his
jaw as he tightened his grip on the phone. “Yes, I will look after my family as
I have always done. Is there anything else?”
“One more thing,” said
Scorpion. “There’s an envelope taped under the shelf in front of you. Pull it
out and look inside.”
Quang slid his
hand under the shelf and retrieved the bulky, letter-sized envelope. Inside was
a thick stack of American one hundred dollar bills.
“What is this
for?” he asked.
“That’s twenty
thousand dollars for you as a show of good faith on my part,” said Scorpion.
“I’ll be in touch soon. Have a nice day.”
The call
disconnected, leaving Quang alone with his thoughts as he stared at the bundle
of cash in his hand. A career police officer all of his adult life, he had
dealt with more than his share of criminals but never had any of them, even the
more violent ones, left him with feelings of anxiety and fear as did this
Scorpion.
There was no doubt
this man was responsible for the deaths of Cao as well as Hoang and the two
other officers on the boat near My Tho. Not only was he willing to revert to
violence without hesitation, he clearly was already organized and connected
with others. This worried the head of the country’s police force since he had
been unaware of Scorpion being in Vietnam until mere days earlier. Even more
troubling was the fact that it was Scorpion himself who had informed them of
his presence in their country.
Quang would have
to be extremely careful in his dealing with this situation. Not only would his
life be in danger if he erred going forward, Scorpion’s mention of his family,
particularly his grandsons, had not been lost upon the general. His immediate
concern was in determining whom he could trust versus who might literally stab
him in the back along the way.
With a sigh, he
stuffed the envelope of cash and the disposable phone into an inside pocket of
his jacket then left the booth, calling his driver as he went. He stepped
outside into the warm, sunny morning and as he headed down the handful of steps
toward his approaching car, he made a decision. He would take a well-deserved
day off and go spend some time with his grandsons.