The Deceivers (13 page)

I'd gotten an advance for expenses from Ranar and that included a business-class airplane ticket, but after I did some quick calculating I realized I could pay two months' rent from the excess if I flew coach both ways.

I took my usual antihistamine pill an hour before my flight because of my allergies, but halfway through the flight I had to take another one because my ears were starting to get that familiar stabbing pain. I didn't travel anywhere without what I called the three A's: aspirin, antihistamine, and antacid.

Now I could add aggravation to the list.

When I finally got off the plane in Hong Kong and checked into my room that afternoon, I took two aspirin, fell asleep, and didn't wake up until the following morning. Normally when I arrive at a new place I'm eager to go out and check the area but this time I just wanted to crawl in a warm bed and go to sleep. To be sure I didn't miss my flight to Phnom Penh the next morning I asked for a wake-up call from the front desk clerk.

The five-hour trip to Cambodia was a vast improvement. I flew Cathay Pacific to Saigon and thirty minutes later boarded a Vietnam Airlines plane and an aisle seat for the hop to the Cambodian capital.

I wish I could have taken at least a quick taxi ride into Ho Chi Minh City. It used to be called Saigon and Ho himself was called the devil incarnate … at least that's what Americans were told back during the Vietnam War. Now tourists flocked to the city.

The guidebook I picked up at JFK revealed that Cambodia was a different type of tourist destination. Definitely for more adventurous travelers with a reward of seeing one of the great wonders of the world—Angkor Wat. The antiquity site was an hour's plane ride away from the capital of …
pa-nom-pen.

“Nom pen,” a male voice across the aisle from me said.

“Excuse me?”

I stared at him for a moment, my weary brain scrambling to remember if I had spoken the name out loud. Either the man had very good hearing or he was trying to strike up a conversation. He hadn't said a single word during the flight but he did stare at me a couple of times, a look that gave me the creeps.

“It's pronounced both ways, with and without the
pa
, but most of us expats hanging around the city try to slur the name to sound like we're locals, so we pronounce it
nom-pen
.” He shifted in his seat and extended his hand across the aisle. “Emmet Bullock.”

I shook his hand. “Madison Dupre.”

Even though the cabin temperature was a little cool, his hand felt warm and sticky. I felt like using an antibacterial wipe to clean my hand but decided to do it later when he wasn't watching. He had a weak handshake, a trait I always considered to be a character defect.

He nodded at my guidebook. “I saw you reading the book. First time to Cambodia?”

“I'm afraid I'm a first-timer when it comes to the Far East,” I said.

Bullock was middle-aged, heavyset, with pale, unhealthy-looking skin and drooping jowls. Seated, gravity had bunched up much of his excess bulk around his midsection. The man needed to lose a good fifty pounds. Maybe more. He wore a wrinkled white linen suit, a Panama hat, and a hot pink shirt with black necktie. Other than old movies, the last time I had seen anyone wear a Panama hat was years ago on a trip to Aruba.

“Going to Nom Pen on business or pleasure?”

“Pleasure. Mainly as the staging area for a trip to the Angkor site.” I wasn't in the mood for conversation but I didn't want to be rude. “Is there much to see in, uh … the city?” I decided not to try the abbreviated name. It didn't sound right to me and I'd already memorized the one from the guidebook.

“Plenty to see … a regular Disneyland in a way. One designed by the Marquis de Sade,” he said with a throaty laugh.

A strange analogy. The marquis was a nineteenth-century French writer famous for his erotic and scandalous writing. He spent much of his life in prison and insane asylums for his perversions, but managed to etch out a place in history nonetheless.

“It sounds a little … offbeat.”

“Offbeat. That's a good one, I hadn't heard that before. Strange, bizarre, La-La Land, I've heard those descriptions. No question, it's fascinating for some people and repulsive to others. A marvelous place to examine all the carnal sins … and a few even the Bible doesn't mention. Everything that's ugly on the planet can be found in Cambodia and it's nicely gathered in a central section of Nom Pen.” He leaned a little closer and smirked. “You can satisfy any appetite … if you know what I mean…”

He didn't have to explain. I knew exactly what he meant. And he looked like the type with a big appetite for creepy things.

I cringed in my seat and signaled him with a look that maybe we shouldn't be talking too loud about the horrors of the country in a plane loaded with Cambodians. He obviously didn't care or was oblivious to it.

Ugly American
, I thought, the sixties term connoting arrogant, rude, and thoughtless behavior by travelers in poor countries. He spoke loud enough to be heard by others. I got the sense that he was doing it deliberately. Either he liked attracting attention to himself or had utter contempt for the sensibilities of other people.

In other words, he was a shit.

His tropical white linen suit reminded me of actor Sydney Greenstreet's cultured villainous style of dress during the Golden Age of Hollywood, but that's where the similarity ended. Sydney Greenstreet only
acted
as if he was a high-class crook. Bullock desperately tried to look classy and fell way short. A greasy food stain on his lapel didn't help.

I took an instant dislike to him.

“You've heard of the Killing Fields, haven't you?” He asked the question with the sort of arrogance that guaranteed he would play one-upmanship regardless of the answer.

“Wasn't that a movie?” I played dumb. I never did watch the movie that Bolger suggested.

“More like a real-life horror story. After breaking away from France's colonial empire in the fifties, Cambodia became a violent extension of the Vietnam War. We bombed the hell out of it. But the real nightmare began in the mid-seventies when a communist group called the Khmer Rouge took control in the country and set out to take it back to the Stone Age. Pol Pot became the head honcho despite the fact his family had royal connections.

“It was the crazies taking over the asylum, so to speak These nuts tried to completely redesign society by first getting rid of the existing people, the businesses, even the economy. The regime was so naïve and inept, they outlawed money. They thought they could rearrange the economy so money wasn't used. Can you imagine that?”

He stopped and looked at me for some kind of response.

“No,” I muttered. Two passengers looked back at me and I was sure they understood what he was saying.

“They drove people out of the cities and forced the entire country back to an agricultural level. I guess they figured the system wouldn't work if the people had any brains, so they set out to kill anybody with any sort of education. Can you imagine that?”

I shook my head back and forth.

“They murdered about one out of every four or five people in the country of seven or eight million. Can you imagine—”

“No.”

Bolger had told me the same thing. I did a quick calculation and realized if that happened in the United States, the figure would amount to some sixty or seventy million people.

“Of course, Pol Pot's dead now and his regime is out of power, but the old Khmer Rouge warlords still rule large areas of the country and the corruption is ubiquitous at all levels of government. It's damn crazy. People are poor, the police are corrupt, fourteen-year-old prostitutes are common, and murder can be hired rather easily. Can you imagine that?”

The only thing I could imagine was this guy on the other side of the aisle splattering blood as he whacked people with a chain saw on a busy street. Through gritted teeth, I said, “No.”

He leaned closer, the lewd look appearing in his eyes again. “If your personal tastes run toward birds of a feather, I'm sure the girls there won't mind as long as you tip them well.”

The guy got on my nerves up to the point of no return. I tried to come back with some clever remark but nothing hit me. What I really wanted to tell him is what a jerk he was but I thought … what for? He had no meaning in my life and after I got off the plane I'd never see him again. “Thanks for the advice,” was all I said.

Hearing a description of the country again was an eye-opener. It had been depressing when Bolger talked about it, but I heard it thousands of miles away. Now I was about to be knee-deep in a country with a scary past and an uncertain future. A poor, traumatized, corrupt third world country with bloodthirsty warlords and hungry crocodiles wasn't exactly where I wanted to be.

I looked back down at the guidebook, staring at nothing, hoping he would take the hint and stop talking but no such luck.

“I hang out at Nom Pen for business and pleasure. I'm in the art business. Buy, sell, appraise, import, export, you name it. I do it all. Let me know if there's anything I can help you with.”

I don't think so,
I told myself.

“Here's my business card.”

“Thanks.” I gave him a feeble smile and took his card, then closed my eyes to shut him out.

The more I thought about it, the more uncomfortable I felt about him. He claimed to be in the art business. Now wasn't that a coincidence. Here I'm on my way to investigate an art theft ring and this sleazy guy who's in the art business strikes up a conversation with me on the plane. I didn't buy it.

A list of questions swirled in my head. Was this character involved? Was there a leak in Ranar's operation? Someone knew I was coming and had told the criminals? Was Bullock really in the art business?

I put the creepy guy out of my mind, determined that win, lose, or draw, going to Cambodia at the very least meant I was going to see one of the great man-made wonders of the world.

Thinking about Angkor Wat made me feel a little sad because it brought back memories of my father. His lifelong dream had been to go there and help restore the ancient site. I always remembered him saying he would go when the time was right. Of course, the time never came. What he didn't realize was that sometimes you just have to bite the bullet and do it. You don't wait around, otherwise you'll always find an excuse not to go.

He missed out on seeing one of the top wonders of the world—for some art lovers it was number one on their list.

I wondered if all those times he talked about the wonders of Angkor wasn't the reason I avoided Far Eastern art in my studies and career, whether his disappointment in not realizing his dream had made me avoid it.

Had he known that modern tomb robbers with electric diamond-edged saws and trucks were taking out large statues, even temple walls, and selling them to waiting customers?

If there was an opportunity for a crime in this world, it seemed like someone was always around to step in and commit it, even if it meant the destruction of cultural treasures thousands of years old.

I dozed off with a mental image of Bullock ripping up an Angkor Wat stone temple with a screeching chain saw. I was there too, only I just stood, my feet frozen in place. I wanted to move but I couldn't. I tried yelling at him but nothing came out of my mouth. He saw me and starting laughing, then continued cutting away like a frantic lumberjack.

I woke up with a start. Bullock's hand was nudging my shoulder and I stared at him.

“Looks like you were having a bad dream or something. Your body was twitching.”

“More like a nightmare.”

“Well, it's a good thing I woke you up then. By the way, we're landing in thirty minutes.” He had a smug look on his face as if he knew something I didn't.

“Thanks.”

I got up and went to the back of the plane just before the fasten seat belt sign came on. I had to use the toilet but I also needed some water to take two aspirin because I felt the tension starting to build in my neck area. This man really got to me.

Just my luck to be seated across from a scumbag instead of a tall, dark, and handsome stranger.

 

H
ORROR
S
TORY:
W
HEN THE
C
RAZIES
T
AKE
O
VER THE
A
SYLUM

 

U.S. Department of State Bureau of East Asian and Pacific Affairs

 

The Khmer Rouge turned Cambodia into a land of horror. Immediately after its victory, the new regime ordered the evacuation of all cities and towns, sending the entire urban population out into the countryside to till the land. Thousands starved or died of disease during the evacuation.

Many of those forced to evacuate the cities were resettled in new villages, which lacked food, agricultural implements, and medical care. Many starved before the first harvest, and hunger and malnutrition—bordering on starvation—were constant during those years.

Those who resisted or who questioned orders were immediately executed, as were most military and civilian leaders of the former regime who failed to disguise their pasts.

The new government sought to restructure Cambodian society completely. Remnants of the old society were abolished, and Buddhism suppressed.

Agriculture was collectivized, and the surviving part of the industrial base was abandoned or placed under state control. Cambodia had neither a currency nor a banking system. The regime controlled every aspect of life and reduced everyone to the level of abject obedience through terror. Torture centers were established, and detailed records were kept of the thousands murdered there. Public executions of those considered unreliable or with links to the previous government were common. Few succeeded in escaping the military patrols and fleeing the country.