Learning the Smuggler's Blues

The only instructions I got from Howard was to "clean it up by any means necessary," and not to screw it up.

Clearly Howard was willing to let me take on whatever duties I was willing to.

After they left, I had the keys to the kingdom. I knew what was being shipped, through who and to where. The more I learned the more I realized how serious it was. Secrets on secrets on secrets. I remembered an old saw about secrets - "they could kill you for knowing that."

These secrets were important enough that they really could, and I had no doubt Howard and Pogo would if they thought I was a risk.

Whenever one of the teams was passing through, the safe house buzzed with activity. The guys were great to be around - I liked Kurt's team best, but they were all amazing - it was like having a bunch of big brothers in the house.

The single guys, like Hollywood, spent a lot of time in Pattaya, staying there in the hotels with bar girls they'd "bar-fined." The married guys, like Kurt and Amos, followed Howard's rules to the letter.

Kurt and Amos actually laughed when I commented that the married guys only rarely went into Pattaya and never stayed the night.

Amos chuckled in a tone so deep I could feel it through my boots rather than hear it. "Ronni would go full Jerry Springer if I ever touched any of that. And then there's Needles."

Kurt gave a wry grin. "Even if the Colonel wasn't a hard-ass about it, it wouldn't be worth it. Hollywood can double wrap it if he wants, but it isn't worth the risk. We had a damn good medic, Needles. He left right before you came over to us. The Colonel recruited him from an ODA - a Special Forces Alpha team. His wife divorced him, left him for a lawyer she'd been seeing for years whenever he was gone. He had no idea anything was wrong, she moved away with the kids, and got their heads all turned around about him so they wouldn't even talk to him anymore. Needles kind of came apart. He pretty much kept to himself out here, but one night he headed into Pattaya alone, just to get a drink." He took a sip of his beer.

Amos picked up the story. "I rode up with the driver the next morning to see if there were any new kinds of beer for the house. We swung by the Twins to pick up some of the guys who stayed overnight. So I'm waiting by the front desk when Needles comes out of the elevator with a girl. She was beautiful, an absolute hammer. Probably the only girl in Thailand with a real ass." He paused looking like he knew he should be embarrassed by that, but wasn't sure why. That made me grin - they were just treating me like one of the guys. "...anyway, Needles looks embarrassed as hell, and he has a kind of sick smile on his face. She's just bouncy as a puppy. He sees me, starts to shuffle away from her. She grabs him, gives him a big kiss and then flounces out the door. After that, he just walked around like a zombie for weeks."

Kurt closed his eyes and shook his head. "It took us a month to get the story out of him. It was a really slow night, Needles was pretty much the only guy in the bar and Ratana - that was the girl's name - was bored out of her skull. So she sees him moping in the corner and sits down to talk, got the whole story of his divorce out of him, even though her English isn't all that great. She paid off her own bar fine and took him to the hotel. She decided she was going to put a smile on his face if it took her all night. So the next morning, she finally asks him what he does for a living and he tells her he's a paramedic.

"She asks him. 'What's that?'

"So Needles tells her: 'It's kind of like a doctor.'

"She squealed and held both arms out to him: 'Oh! Can you test me for AIDS?'"

At that point both Kurt and Amos began laughing softly, but it built quickly until they were roaring with laughter.

I was horrified. "Did she have AIDS?"

Kurt shook his head. "We caught up to Ratana, she was fine. She was actually a good kid. Ended up marrying a high ranking Thai Foreign Service officer. I think he's an ambassador now. But Needles was practically a hermit after that."

"Whatever happened to him?"

"His divorce had him more screwed up than anyone thought. He was hooked on valium and oxy, finally got caught. The Colonel let him retire; lost the paperwork, 'accidently' screwed up the chain of custody on the evidence. Needles had always done right by the team, so the Colonel did right by him. Made him go into a rehab program first though."

The teams weren't around near often enough though, and I spent a lot of time watching old movies they brought in for me. Twice-weekly trips to Bangkok to manage our shipments there and drop by Soi Cowboy were pretty much the norm. I managed to run into Chip on a regular basis and let him catch me up on business gossip. I justified the fact that I was hanging out with a drug smuggler by telling myself he was a "source."

It became sort of a regular thing. Chip was a great remedy to the regular overdoses of muscle and masculinity that surged through the safe house. Lord knew I liked having the teams pass through, but the sheer testosterone overload was mind-numbing. The bills for steak and beer when they came through were enormous. Chip's easy-going attitude was almost soothing. I found out he'd been Flight Lieutenant in the Australian Air Force before he'd cashed in an inheritance for his AN-24. He wasn't weak, he was just much more normal than "my" guys.

I started building on the gossip to get a handle on what was really going on.

I called in one of the favors the unit was owed from one of the "three letter agencies," and had the travel itineraries of all our principal connections tracked and relayed to me - the information arrived in an anonymous daily email on the single heavily encrypted computer in the house. I started tracking our shipments more carefully and managed to fix a lot of accidental inefficiencies in our system.

I noticed a pattern in the Huang brothers' shipments. Every sixty days or so, a shipment would suddenly become hung up in customs, costing us several thousand dollars extra in "special fees" to get them moving again. I hadn't seen it before because I didn't have all the information.

I wanted to talk to Howard and Pogo about it, but they didn't drop by before the next "hang up" in Macau happened. And my morning email showed the Huang brothers were both in Macau as well. I hesitated, but I remembered Howard's instructions - "by any means necessary." I sent a note outlining my plans, grabbed a stack of travel cash out of the safe. With a certain nervous trepidation, I took five gold Krugerrands from the "don't touch this" emergency cash.

I was on the next flight to Macau. Some of the stories I'd heard in Bangkok had been about the "Eight Golden Lotus" the Huang brothers-owned nightclub in Macao. I decided that would be where I would start.

It was an early morning flight so I spent much of the day resting at the hotel and trying to convince myself I was doing the right thing. Wendy O'Connell, Sergeant, US Army, Cargo Handler, was preparing to have it out with a pair of international smugglers, who, according to all the rumors, were "murderous bastards."

I put off actually going to the club until late, telling myself I was waiting until I was sure they were there. Eventually I had to choose between going or putting it off until the next day, when I couldn't be sure they'd be there since I didn't have access to my secure email.

I eventually put on the understated black skirt suit I'd had made on a whim in Bangkok, grabbed my fake Hermes crocodile bag with my little stack of gold coins and called the front desk for a limousine to the club. I hesitated a bit, but slid my noisy little gun in its pancake holster onto the back of my skirt at the small of my back. I certainly didn't plan on shooting the Huang brothers in their own club, but I felt undressed without my gun now.

Once we reached the club, I slid out of the limo, telling the driver to wait. I knew I'd be out soon, or not at all.

While my impression of the Huang brothers had been one of fine silk suits and expensive Italian shoes, "The Eight Golden Lotus" was anything but tasteful; it'd have stood out as obnoxious and crass in Las Vegas. It had to cover half a city block and had more brilliant pink neon and gold leaf than I thought could legally be in the same country, much less on and in one building.

I paused at the bottom of the broad staircase before heading up, trying to channel Rita Hayworth's "The Lady from Shanghai" and Barbara Stanwyck in "Double Indemnity." Then I set my jaw and headed up the stairs.

The club was all flashing lights, with a group of professionally bored-looking, Chinese "Robert Palmer Girls" playing "Addicted to Love" on the main stage, backing up a guy who was actually doing a pretty convincing imitation, though with a slight Russian accent.

From the stories and gossip I'd collected in Bangkok, I knew the brothers had a slightly raised room to the rear of the club, so I began to work my way through the massive crowd to get there. I could see the room, with double doors standing open to allow the brothers to look down on their little kingdom. Then I noticed something very disturbing - Pogo had appeared on my right side without a word, without eye contact, but keeping in perfect pace with me. He must have gotten my note. I wondered if he was waiting for me to succeed or fail.

I caught a glimpse of Kurt coming up on my other side. I wasn't sure how I felt about that; I didn't want him to see me screw up.

I finally spotted the brothers' table and watched as a supplicant who'd been seated across from the pair of them left, leaving his empty chair.

Perfect timing. I swept up the steps, pausing to touch their personal waitress on the shoulder. "A Cuba Libre, if you please." Then I slid into the chair. The tiny scar under David's eye was obvious in the light.

"Jonathon. David." I nodded to each in turn with a slightly plastic smile.

They were obviously shocked and had no idea who I was.

I paused for a long moment, glancing down at my nails, essentially ignoring the brothers for a few seconds. It's what Barbara Stanwyk would've done. "I do apologize. I just feel like we've been working together so long we know each other. I'm Wendy."

I saw confusion rather than recognition. Of course. David's mouth worked a bit, but nothing came out.

"You're holding one of my employers' shipments for ransom here in Macau, as you've done on a regular basis. They no longer find it amusing. It would really be best for everyone if it were released immediately."

A flash of anger crossed Jonathon's face and he started to turn to one of his bodyguards to snarl something. Anticipating it, the bodyguard began to reach into his jacket.

Everybody froze quite suddenly. Nobody was even breathing. The bodyguard was trying not to even blink, the muzzle of Pogo's gun stuck firmly in his ear. Kurt had produced an automatic in either hand, one pointed at David's head, one at Jonathon's. Pogo and Kurt were stone faced, impassive as statues. They'd moved so quickly that their movements weren't even a blur. Even having seen Kurt and the other team Monsters at the range, it was unbelievable. I couldn't imagine what it must have seemed like to everyone else.

My heart was pounding, but I forced myself to relax. What would Barbara Stanwyk do?

I opened my purse, pulled out my compact and checked my makeup in its mirror, pretending to touch up the lipstick on the corner of my lip.

"My heavens. Isn't this exciting." I made it a statement, rather than a question, carefully keeping an air of detached disinterest in my voice.

I closed the compact and slid it into my purse. "Excitement is bad for business. However entertaining it might be."

I gave a slight, dismissive wave of my hand. Kurt and Pogo made their weapons disappear. The threat wasn't gone, though, now that everyone knew that the Huang's bodyguards were completely out of their league.

A moment later, while they all calmed down, the waitress returned with my drink, utterly oblivious as she placed my drink in front of me.

I took a slow sip. "Excellent." I casually dropped one of the gold Krugerrands onto her tray.

Jonathon wore down first. "Who are you and who do you work for?"

"I'm Wendy and I do whatever needs to be done to keep my employers happy. Jonathon, to your second question; wise men do not ask questions they do not really want to know the answer to."

He resigned himself. "What do you want?"

"It's not about what I want. It's about what my employers want. They want their shipments to be trouble free. Your cousin can easily do that for his normal fee."

Both of them nodded. Very slowly.

I gave them a fake-warm smile. "See? We're friends now. Almost family. I think a little gesture on your part would be nice. Maybe a family discount. Say, ten percent?" I took another sip of my drink.

They both nodded again, obviously numb.

I let my smile slip just a bit. "Then we're agreed. No more games. My employers have a very limited supply of patience." Raising one eyebrow, I glanced around. "I'd hate to lose a club that can actually make a decent Cuba Libre."

I cocked my head just a bit, nodded once, then stood up and stalked, maybe just a bit imperiously, out of the Eight Golden Lotus. I didn't look back, even though I could feel every eye on me. I trusted Pogo and Kurt to get me out of there alive.

The limo was waiting, but the driver was gone. Pogo politely opened the back door for me while Kurt went around and got into the driver's seat.

Pogo slid into the seat opposite me. As Kurt pulled away, I waited for Pogo to rip into me for taking the chance I did. Instead, his jester's grin spread across his face.

"That was perfect. Where the hell did you come up with that shtick?"

I almost gasped in relief. "Old detective movies. I know it's cheesy..."

"But it worked. And it worked well. I never even thought of it. Instead of hiding, just be something nobody wants to look at. Right now, they're trying to figure out if you work for the Triads, the Russian Mafia, the Chechens, the Yakuza or..." He paused.

I cut in. "...or somebody worse."

He chuckled. "...or somebody worse. Like us. Your note said there are other organizations that need straightened out?"

"Kuala Lumpur, Taipei, Djakarta, Kabukicho, Vladivostok, a few more."

"I think, maybe 'The Wendy' needs to introduce herself to the community."

Over the next several months, we did the tour, timing the visits for maximum impact. I mostly bounced in and out of Bangkok, popping over to see Chip when I could. He was reliable as clockwork. That struck me as a little bizarre. A drug smuggler with a steady schedule.

Pogo and Howard swapped out my 'bodyguards' to give the impression of a huge organization. Howard even went on a couple of my "Friendship visits."

He chuckled all the way to the airport afterwards, commenting that I had a flair for the dramatic that was perfect. He actually insisted that I use operational funds to buy a full wardrobe of black skirt suits in silk, fine wool, and cashmere, with shoes to match, and a couple real Hermes alligator bags. He didn't want me to be caught out because of a cheap imitation. I just figured it was a sacrifice I had to make for my country.

The rumors spread through the underworld like wildfire. To add to the effect, a sumo doorman in Kabukicho - the giant red light district in Tokyo - found himself dragged through the street by his queue of hair as if he were a toddler; Amos felt - or at least pretended to feel - that the doorman hadn't shown enough respect when I arrived. I deliberately ignored the whole thing, acting as if it were beneath my notice. By the time I reached Russia and stepped in the front door of the Club Troika in Vlad, an obviously terrified white-blonde waitress was already waiting wide-eyed with my Cuba Libre. She'd been sent over as soon as I'd been sighted at the curb. To say the negotiations went smoothly was a massive understatement.

That's how I was reborn as "The Wendy" again. This time, though, instead of contempt, the name inspired fear and respect. I had to admit to myself that I loved it; the drama, the infamous reputation, most of all, the respect of the guys in the unit. Instead of being the "little sister," I was an equal. Maybe not a gunman, like them, but still an equal.

There was one unpleasant side effect I hadn't anticipated.

After several months, I dropped by the bar to say "hi" to Chip, but I only caught a glimpse of his crumpled hat as he slipped out the door at the back. At first I assumed I it was a weird happenstance, but it happened two more times and I realized he was avoiding me.

I had a sick feeling I knew what was going on. Chip was too wired into the rumor mills to miss it forever, but it took me a few weeks back at the safe house and a kick in the gut to decide what to do.

None of the teams were in, so I was pretty much by myself when a formal looking envelope arrived in the dispatch bag for me. It was my final divorce decree. In a lot of ways it didn't mean anything. I hadn't seen Rob since the day I'd caught him with Captain Silicone. I'd sort of vaguely heard that he'd been transferred to Fort Benning at some point. Probably Daddy Shirling's efforts to keep the whole mess quiet. Still, it hurt a lot, like I'd done something wrong.

Maybe under other circumstances, I'd have cried it out on a girlfriends shoulder. If Kurt's team had been in, they'd have poured rum and coke into me until I couldn't see straight, then have Amos and me singing the Team version of "Family Tradition" on the Karaoke machine. All twenty versus, even the three original, printable, ones. That's what they'd done when I was upset at being stranded in the safe house alone over Christmas. It actually worked pretty damn well.

But they weren't in and I didn't have any girlfriends to speak of. So instead, I convinced myself that I needed to check on cargo in Bangkok. Never mind the fact that there wasn't actually anything worth checking on coming down the chute.

I didn't even try to lie to myself very convincingly.

I got into the bar early, wearing a sundress for a change, and found a table in the corner to lie in wait for my prey. Of course that lasted about five minutes before Jack wandered over. It was probably the dress that really caught his attention.

"You're Chip's friend, eh?"

I nodded. "You know where he's at? Is he in town?"

"He's about somewhere, probably come in a little later." Jack pulled the other chair our and sat down. "I'll keep ya company till he gets here."

Jack spent the next twenty minutes telling me stories about his adventures across Asia, framed to make him manly and heroic. Maybe, before Rob, before hanging out with the guys on the teams, I'd have been more impressed, maybe it would have worked better. As it was, he didn't have Hollywood's smoky charm, and he simply didn't measure up against the guys on the teams.

He droned on and on until I stopped listening completely. Chip had come in and was drifting our way. He couldn't quite see me in the dark, and he seemed fixed on talking to Jack. Right up until he stepped to the table and saw me sitting there.

I was going to grab his arm, but he stepped back too quickly, like he'd seen a cobra on the floor.

He looked over at Jack, a muscle twitching in his jaw. "You're playing with fire there, Mate."

Jack held up his hand. "I wasn't moving in on her, Chip. Just keeping her company."

Total bullshit, of course. Guys like Jack were always on the prowl and they were too shallow to care if they hurt a friend. If they actually had any friends.