I got to my feet and walked to the far wall, the three of them following me with their eyes. There, I turned and leaned back against the wall, tapping the side of my head with one finger. “Okay, but talk is just that, right? How can I prove there’s a traitor?”
I began pacing slowly back and forth in front of Nguyen. “Go back in time. Think about the movers and shakers of Truong’s organization. Think of what you’ve been told about Truong’s motives. Remember his little brother? The shooting in San Francisco? The end of the Chinatown Gang at the hands of the Dragon Boys? Truong On Ha was the apple of his brother’s eye, and he was destroyed in a fight between two gangs-the very kind of life Van Loc had hoped On Ha would never be a part of.”
“Truong vowed vengeance, but it was a family matter-a personal problem. And that’s how it stayed for several years, as Truong and Lam went after the hit team, one by one. But then came a problem. After knocking off all the underlings he could find, Truong set his sights on the man who had set them in motion in the first place. He went after Wang Chien-kuo.”
“But Wang was now a big-time leader, isolated in the cocoon of a well-armed gang, untouchable, especially since a few earlier attempted hits had made him almost reclusive.”
“So Truong had to increase the heat, turn a personal vendetta into a financial enterprise-a hit not just on the man but his entire organization.”
I stopped in front of him. “Think back, Nguyen, before all that let’s-go-for-the-money talk. Remember how it all began.”
I opened the folder I’d brought with me and extracted one of the mug shots Sammie had received from California. I slapped it face-up on the table before Nguyen Van Hai, like a playing card. “Johnny Xi was the first Dragon Boy killed, in Vancouver-tied to a door and skinned alive. A killing so brutal it was guaranteed to make the rounds-to put fear into a select few, and give Truong a reputation he could put to good use.”
One by one, I pulled out the four shots with deceased stamped across them, and slapped them down next to Xi, announcing each one’s name as I went. “Each one was hunted down, each one killed for what he’d done. There’d been nine of them altogether, four of whom were never found. But two of them had been drivers and hadn’t actually taken part in the shooting. And one was found dead in Florida just recently. I don’t know who killed him.” I laid a sixth photograph at the end of the row.
“But one got away. He moved, he changed his name, he severed all contact with his former life-with one large exception, which I’ll mention in a minute. And then he did something really clever. He hid in the one place where no one would think of looking for him. Remember the name, Lo Yu Lung? Truong must have mentioned it a thousand times, like anyone does who’s nursing an obsession. Ever see a picture of him-the last of Johnny Xi’s shooters-the one that got away?”
I slapped Edward Diep’s picture down in front of Nguyen.
Considering that when we’d first met, I’d had a difficult time telling if he was breathing, Nguyen’s reaction was downright explosive. After an audible intake of breath, he looked up at me with his eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Bullshit.”
I laughed with real pleasure, convinced I’d just kicked free the one logjam separating me from Truong Van Loc. I placed both hands flat on the table and put my face a foot from Nguyen’s. “Think about it. I can tell you what we’ve got-how we figured it out, digging and scratching. But you were there.”
I tapped Diep’s picture with my finger. “Knowing who he really is, go back in your mind, ask yourself why he did things the way he did, why he was at one place when he might’ve been at another, what he said about himself and his past. Run it through your mind, and then tell me I’m wrong.”
I straightened up, tapped Walt on the shoulder, and moved toward the door. I then took my biggest gamble. I turned and added, “While you’re at it, ask yourself who planted that car bomb in Brattleboro-the one that stimulated the creation of a federal task force and spelled the death sentence for your whole organization. We’ve got two witnesses who sold him the parts.”
I got the satisfaction of a half-opened mouth and a stare of disbelief.
“We’ll let you talk to your lawyer alone, Nguyen-for a few minutes. Truong Van Loc is as good as gone. Either we’ll get him, or Lo Yu Lung will, right between the shoulder blades. But if Lo beats us to him, you’ll be on your own. Time’s running out. We’ll be outside.”
But Nguyen raised his hand to stop us. “This is just to see if I will deal with you?” His English was clear, precise, and carefully spoken.
“For openers, yeah.”
“And you are able to get people out of Hong Kong and into this country?”
“How many?” I asked, realizing, as I’d hoped, that even this emotionless killer had a weak spot-something both Truong and I had found a way to exploit.
“Members of my family-five.”
Frazier spoke for the first time. “If we can find them, we can get them out.” Nguyen nodded. “I will deal.” Beside him, ignored, Doubleday nodded his agreement.
Walt and I sat back down. “We want more than just bits and pieces. We want a breakdown of the organization-who runs it, who’s in it, how it’s operated-and we want to know all the watering holes, from the Far East to New York and Boston, including every way station in between.
“But,” I added with emphasis, “since we know you could feed us a lot of crap we wouldn’t be able to check out, we also want a good-faith offering up front. Our sources have it that Truong’s going to try to recoup his losses by making a big run across the border, bypassing the pipeline altogether. We need to know how he might do that-what routes he favors, what contacts are left that he still can rely on, and what technique he’ll use. If you give us that-along with the other intelligence I mentioned-and it pans out, we’ll honor whatever deal we agree to.”
“You’re not tying this to Truong’s capture, are you?” Doubleday quickly demanded.
“No. But the information he gives us had better be useful. We don’t want to be standing around in one place and have Truong take a route we knew nothing about.”
The lawyer looked at his client. “Can you do that? Can you be that precise?”
The answer was fast and unequivocal. “Yes.”
I glanced at Frazier, trying to hide the surge of relief that one word had stimulated.
Walter, the complete poker player, merely nodded. “All right. Let’s do business.”
27
"What kind of deal did you cut?" Spinney asked, as we drove toward Swanton, Vermont, the sector headquarters of the U.S. Border Patrol.
“He does ten years in a minimum-security can, and we import five of his relatives from a Hong Kong refugee camp, where they’ve been available to Truong if Nguyen ever screwed up. In exchange, we get all the dope on the ‘Sonny’ organization and, more to the point, a description of his border-crossing operation, with names, places, and favorite routines.”
Spinney shook his head. “Christ. That’s pretty good, considering how talkative he used to be.”
“I think Diep was a big shock-better than I’d hoped. He was brought in by Henry Lam, just as we thought. Diep had wooed the socks off him after meeting him and Chu in Lowell, so Truong went along with the recommendation. The night Marshall Smith stopped that car was the first time Truong and Diep had set eyes on each other-they hadn’t even exchanged real names. Despite Lam being the matchmaker, they were still playing footsy, protecting their identities until they got to know each other better, presumably by killing Da Wang’s red pole in Montreal. I guess you could call it an initiation of sorts. ’Course, Diep knew perfectly well who Truong was.” I let out a short laugh of admiration. “When I talked to him that night, he seemed totally innocuous-all sweat and rolling eyes. The other two scared the hell out of me, but I figured Diep was way out of his element-And it turns out Diep is the missing third man in Benny’s murder-that’s what really pissed Nguyen off.”