Cull. Stafford Ray
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he demanded. “Do you understand me?” He pushed the satchel towards Thang, who took it quickly. A bird in the hand.
“Yes, Director,” he answered in clear accented English. “I understand you. Am I being repatriated?”
“No, no,” Bunton laughed, picking up a plain buff envelope. “I want you to come back here after you finish this mission.”
He held the envelope for Thang to see but did not open it. “In here are your American citizenship papers and your green card.” He smiled. “When you return, you’ll be given the rights and protection we offer all American citizens.”
Thang could not believe what he was hearing. He looked down at the satchel.
“By all means, open it and check,” he laughed. “You’ll find a Vietnamese passport and a US visa to get back in. It’s all there.”
Given permission, the Vietnamese placed the satchel on the desk and quickly riffled the papers, leaving the bills and checks. He was not interested in the money. His family, his wife and three daughters were hiding with friends while he worked for cash – cooking, cleaning, anything low profile.
A green card and citizenship would give his family a real chance to integrate, be properly educated, start a business and live the American dream. There had to be a price and he had not been told what that was. He did have honour. He needed to know.
“I see the papers are as you say, Mr Director. What do you want me to do?”
He expected to be told he was required to spy on his own people as had been demanded of so many others but was surprised.
“All I want you to do is to take the money and help your people buy boats. There is one condition. They must leave for Australia within a week of buying the boat. It is not so far from Vietnam. Australia has plenty of room and they’ll find many Vietnamese already there to welcome them.” He smiled as he watched tension drain from the tired face.
“What do you say? Are you in, or do I ask someone else?” His eyes hardened again. “Of course, if you refuse, you will be arrested and deported.”
The brown face crumpled. He had felt the threat coming. What was the catch? Why were they doing this?
“With respect, Mr Director, why do you need me to do this? There are aid agencies that need money. They would be welcomed in any village back home.”
“You’re right, of course,” smiled Bunton. “There is a reason, and I’ll be frank with you.”
He picked up the envelope containing the green card and citizenship papers. “Apart from the corruption, they move too slowly and far too many people die waiting. We owe the Vietnamese, as do the Australians but they are not taking enough. By next year, hundreds of thousands will be dead from starvation. Even more will be killed for whatever they have. If they can get to Australia, at least they’ll be fed and have a good chance of being allowed to stay. Vietnamese do well there.” He waved the second envelope enticingly.
“What do you say? You’ll be giving thousands of your countrymen a chance to survive. When you return, you and your family can live here as free Americans. Everybody wins.”
“I’ll do it, Mr Director.” said Thang. “When do I go?”
“As soon as you can, preferably today,” answered Bunton. “But, you are a completely free agent. You buy your own ticket. Get yourself to the Mekong. Use your own judgment to get the best deals you can for your people and keep enough cash to get home. Too easy.”
“What if I need to contact you?”
“You will not contact me. You are on your own,” he said. “If you attempt to contact me, the deal is off. Can you handle it? Just say no and there’s a thousand queuing up behind you.”
“No, no,” Thang hurried to assure him. “I just wanted to be clear is all.”
“Good,” smiled Bunton. “And as soon as you get back, come here. Do not call ahead, just come,” he said, again holding up the envelope. “And your new life will be waiting.”
“I appreciate this chance,” began Thang. “I don’t…”
“No need to thank me,” interrupted Bunton. “Just get the job done and hurry back. I want the first boatloads on the water within two weeks. OK?”
“OK!” agreed Thang. “Two weeks.”
His mind was racing over the possibility. A million dollars in his hand. He saluted, hefted the satchel and walked towards the door. A noise from the Director caused him to pause short of the exit. He turned.
The Director was holding out a slip of paper. Thang returned and took it, read the words and blanched. His brown features became a sickly green.
“This is where my family lives,” he croaked. “You knew all the time!”
“Of course!” beamed Bunton. “Did you really think I would trust you with a million dollars?” He laughed, then glared. “And if you stuff up, they’ll be out of here and back to Hanoi before you can say ‘brothel’. That’s where they’ll end up, and you know it.”
Thang sobbed in anguish as his eyes filled with tears. “I will not stuff up, Director,” he managed, with as much aplomb as he could muster. “And I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“That’s what I wanted to hear,” smiled Bunton. “You be a good boy and I’ll take care of you.”
He took out a third envelope and held it towards Thang. “And here’s a little something to tide your family over.”
As Thang reached for it, Bunton withdrew the envelope. “I think not, Mr Nguen,” he said, smiling benignly. “I will have this delivered myself. Your family will be assured you are safe. But if you go anywhere near that address before you report back to me, the deal is off and you are out. Understand?”
“Perfectly, Director.” He left, leaving the door ajar, a small gesture of defiance.
“Pathetic little prick,” Bunton mumbled, as he reached for the intercom. Choosing another folder, he pressed the transmit button.
“Send Wong in!”
5. CONCEPTION OF THE CUCKOO
The president waited by the door as Harry Fromm and Magnus Devaurno passed into the Oval Office, closed it, then led the way to the more informal lounge area and motioned for the others to sit. He spent a moment considering Harry before he spoke. Harry was not comfortable. This had the stink of conspiracy. It brought back memories of other conspiracies and where they led. His unease came more from the presence of Devaurno, who gave the slightest of nods. Tanner took the cue and began.
“Harry, I asked you in to gauge your attitude to a very delicate matter we’ve been considering. We have on the table a proposal that is political dynamite. It must remain absolutely confidential. If we take up that proposal, we can solve the environmental problem and our security problems in one move.” He paused and considered, his eyes wandering over Harry’s impassive face. Satisfied, he continued, “If we go that way, we’ll need you aboard to fulfil a key function. However, at this stage, it could place you in an awkward position if it was explained fully before we have your agreement in principle, so first some questions.”
He noted Harry’s nod and sat to face him as he considered how much to reveal. “Harry, what do you really think are the chances the UN will find sufficient consensus to get this proposal up in time?”
Harry wanted to be sure of the limits to the question.
“In time? You mean within five years?”
“Yes. I’m interested in the ability of our competitors to achieve full implementation.”
Devaurno spoke up. “We’re expecting unprecedented international conflict as climate change makes life harder and we’ll