Gaijin Cowgirl (10): Long time no see
"You’ve got something very precious to them. Maybe they want something precious in return."
(Previous chapter, or start at the beginning.)
The American embassy rose prominently alongside Kasumagaseki, the seat of Japanese bureaucracy. It was an easy walk to the prime minister’s residence, the ministry of finance and to the Diet, Japan’s legislature. Like most edifices in Japan, the embassy’s dumpy corporate façade betrayed no hint of power, but its location said enough.
Val had taken the subway and approached on foot. Just before she reached the entrance, her cell phone rang. It was Stephen.
“The police say it’s too early to file a missing persons report. He hasn’t contacted you?”
“No.”
“He’s still not answering his cell.”
“I can’t go back there to look.”
“I know. I didn’t mention you, just told the police that he skipped work and I’m worried about him. They said they’d go round there tomorrow night if he still hasn’t shown.”
“You don’t think…”
“These are bad men we’re dealing with, Val. Black connections. You’ve got something very precious to them. Maybe they want something precious in return.”
“Kidnapping? A lawyer who’s suing them – they can make that go away?”
“Call me, day or night, if you hear from him.”
A US marine took her cell phone and her old New York driver’s license and gave her a visitor’s pass. She waited in the lobby wondering what to say to him, how to greet him, how to be around him, but she was greeted instead by a big white woman in a baggy pants suit and a cheerful smile. “I’m Lucy Mathers! It’s so nice to finally meet you!” She was the sort of person whose sentences always seemed to end in exclamation marks.
“The Congressman is so eager to see you! You’re having dinner in the executive dining room. The food’s great!”
They wound through the building, its ambience suspended somewhere between corporate office and high school, as workstations intermixed with bulletin boards announcing the latest basketball outing and next month’s Easter egg hunt. Lucy babbled on about the diplomatic life and the charms of Congressman Benson, and wasn’t Val lucky to have such a father?
“Real lucky.”
Lucy escorted her to the top floor and into a well-appointed dining room crowded with formally dressed embassy staff. “I’ll leave you two,” Lucy said.
The room overlooked the Diet building, a ziggurat floodlit in gold. A man stood admiring the view by a window-side table. A little flab softened his sturdy jaw, his mane of luxurious hair was a distinguished silver. His height and a well-tailored blazer softened his paunch. As she entered the room he turned and fixed her with sapphire blue eyes.
Fred Benson smiled. “Val.”
She hesitated and forced a clumsy, cold smile in return.
“Come on, give your old man a hug,” he said, stepping toward her.
“Can we settle for a handshake?”
“No.” Instead he took his chair. The two of them sat facing each other for a stony moment. “This isn’t supposed to be hard work.”
“I’m sorry, Daddy. But it is hard.”
“Snowflake, I’m thrilled to see you, I really am. I was hoping you’d be looking forward to seeing me too.”
She said nothing.
“So how’s Japan? I think it’s a wonderful country. Wonderful. The people here are so kind. Great hospitality.”
The waiter came over to hand them menus and explain the chef’s special. A busboy poured water and Val asked for a glass of California chardonnay while the Congressman opted for a Sam Adams. They ordered – she the consommé and the grilled vegetables, he the Caesar salad and the steak – and they returned to an island of awkward silence as the other diners clinked silverware and droned on.
“Jeez,” he said, glowing at her, “it’s been a long time, Val. Too long for any father not to see his little girl.”
“I’m not that little girl anymore.”
“I can see that. You’re a woman now, a beautiful, smart woman, just like your mother used to be, God bless her.”
“I really would rather you didn’t mention her.”
“Don’t say that, Val.”
“You and that Melissa woman—”
“Keep your voice down,” he said, looking around. “That ‘Melissa woman’ is my wife, Val.”
“Some mother she’d make.”
“Actually, she’s expecting. Eight weeks to go.”
The retort on her lips faded. “You’re kidding.”
“Most people don’t frown when they hear this kind of news.”
“Mom’s still alive.”
“I know, but she hasn’t recognized a single family member in six years. I still visit your mother, you know, but she’s not really alive. The marriage sure wasn’t.”
“No thanks to you.”
He looked down at his fingers. “I know I wasn’t always a good father. I was in Washington all the time. It wasn’t fair to you. By the time I realized it, you had already grown up. I truly regret that.”
“That wasn’t what I meant.”
He looked at her with sadness. “Are you going to make this so tough for your old man?”
“Go on.”
“I cheated on your mother. I’m not proud of it, Val, but you don’t know what it was like, watching your mother slip away like that. And Melissa and I are happy together. Can you please understand that this had nothing to do with you or…or…”
“Or Tyler? Go on, Daddy, say his name. You said it plenty of times on TV when you were trying to get votes.”
His face reddened. “I wasn’t surprised when my opponents accused me of exploiting your brother’s death,” he rumbled. “I expected you’d have a little more sense.”
“I was there, Daddy, remember? It was your affair that drove Mom over the edge. It was the scandal you caused, the shame you brought on us, that made Ty come home that night. You killed him. You killed all of us, you son of a—”
“Stop right there,” he thundered, slamming a fist on the table. Several heads swiveled their way, but the Congressman ignored them. “You are out of line, young lady.” Then, in a lower voice: “How dare you accuse me of killing my own son? And as for driving your mother crazy, I believe your less than sterling antics in school more than helped.”
“You bastard.”
“Let me tell you, daughter, that you have been too judgmental of me.”
“Oh, I have, have I?”
“The Bible tells us, ‘Judge not, that ye be not judged,’ and I have come here to seek your forgiveness and…and to find you, make sure you’re all right and tell you, sweetheart, I’m sorry, I’m sorry for what I did, but you have to forgive me, because I’m going to be a father all over again. I want the baby to know she has a big sister who will love her.”
The waiter reappeared, forcing them into another uncomfortable silence as he served drinks and fussed over a selection of bread rolls. After the waiter left Val remained paralyzed, staring blankly at her empty plate as he gouged the butter.
“Come on, Val. Break bread with your father.” He took a bite, chewed with the relish of a man used to getting his way. “Remember when we’d eat out back, snowflake? Just you, me and the fireflies.”
“You shouldn’t call me that.”
“I’ve always called you that.”
“Well I’m tired of it.”
“Fine. I’ll call you whatever you want. Just stay and have dinner with me and tell me about your life. Humor the old man.”
“I came for a reason.”
“Okay, that’s a start.”
“I’m in trouble. I need your help.”
He took a swig of beer. “What kind of trouble?”
She opened her big handbag and took out a plastic folder. With a cautious look around, she removed several photographs that Suki had developed. Most of the black and white snaps were blurred or wild, but one of the men was captured clearly, the older white man called Candle.
The Congressman’s face scrunched up as he lifted the cleanest image. “What the hell…”
“The night before last, my friend and I were at this house out in the countryside. It’s the residence of a man named Takahashi. He’s a business tycoon and a war criminal.”
“What were you doing at this man’s house, Val?”
“He likes to paint pictures of girls’ pussies.”
His jaw stopped working. “I see.”
“Remember what you said about judging people.”
“Go on.”
“Out of nowhere these American guys showed up. There were three of them but my friend Suki who was with me, she took these pictures, she could only get a good shot of this one. There was a lot of shooting, one Japanese guy got killed, then this one, the old one, came in and shot Takahashi.”
“This man….”
“He called himself Candle, as in the butcher, the baker and the candlestick maker. Those were their little names for themselves. But I think I heard Takahashi call him by his real name, Maxwell.”
The Congressman nodded. “Jeb Maxwell.”
She gasped. “You know who he is?”
“Personally. And snowflake, I’m sorry to see you do too.”
She put the photos away as the waiters brought their dinner. Neither of them paid much attention as one waiter described their servings. The Congressman cut him off by thanking him and he left.
Her father dug into his food. “I’m starving.”
She could barely touch hers. “Who is this guy?”
“John Ellis Burnett ‘Jeb’ Maxwell. I met him in Thailand in the Sixties, when I was working for US AID. We had a tight-knit community in Bangkok, you know, and he and I occasionally crossed paths when I was coordinating Air America food drops and refugee assistance programs in Indochina. He was a CIA handler, coordinating all kinds of stuff – ammo drops, infil and exfil operations, running drugs.” Frowning, he added, “He went into business for himself.”
She pointed to the scab on her cheek. “His buddies did this to me.”
His fork and knife sagged in his hands. “Val, what have you got yourself into?”
“Takahashi had maps. Treasure maps. And I found out just today that Takahashi was helping the Japanese Army steal gold from all over Asia. So these maps must be for some of this loot. Takahashi destroyed them except for one, which is when this Maxwell guy shot him. But Suki and I got away – and we took the map.”
“Honey, what the heck did you do that for?”
“Because there’s only one copy of this map, and we’ve hidden it somewhere they won’t find it. We’re scared, Daddy. They’re coming after us and that map is the only thing that will keep us alive.”
“No, get rid of it. Give it to the police.”
“We can’t. One of Takahashi’s gang is a police detective, Yoshino. These people know where I live. They know where Suki lives. And nobody’s seen Charlie for the past twenty-four hours. We have to get out of Japan.”
“Yes, I think you’d better.”
“Daddy, we don’t need money, I’ve seen to that. But I’m scared to have to go to the airport. I don’t know who’s there, who’s watching for us. These are powerful people. They’re capable of a lot.”
“I see…I think I can guess where this is heading.”
He waited.
She said, “You’re going to make this hard for me?”
“It’s your turn.”
“Well, Daddy, I need you to get me and Suki on an airplane. I’m worried the police will be looking for us at immigration. But you can get us through the diplomat’s channel. Can you do that?”
He thought it over. “Yes…yes, I can, for you. I don’t know about your friend, though, if she’s not an American national.”
“I’m not leaving without her.”
“I’ll make some discrete inquiries. Let’s say we get you on an airplane. Then what?”
“I’m still thinking it over.”
“The map?”
“Safe.”
“You’re taking it with you or leaving it behind?”
“Not sure. But I think I want to take it with me.”
“Val, no way. It’s far too dangerous. Why don’t you just give the map to me?”
“I came here to ask for your help, Daddy, but that’s it. This is my problem.”
“I can make sure it gets to the right people.”
“So can I.” They stared at each other, and she said, “I think you owe me something, and this is what I want.”
He shook his head. “Always stubborn. Never seing sense. You know where Maxwell is now?”
“No and I don’t want to know. Are you going to help me?”
“Snowflake, I…”
“If that’s the way you’re going to be—” She started to rise when his hand stayed her.
“Let me tell you about that map. I’ve seen ones like it. The Philippines is covered with treasure sites. The Japanese Army had an operation called Golden Lily to extract as much wealth as possible from the countries they had conquered. But they didn’t just unearth local goodies. Oh no. You see the European countries – the French and the Dutch in particular – had moved a lot of their national treasuries to vaults in their Asian colonies, because they were afraid Hitler would get them. So Golden Lily turned up more riches than anyone could believe.
“The tricky part was getting the loot back to Japan. Most of it got as far as the Philippines, which was one of the Japanese army’s last holdouts. And the Japanese transported a lot of it by submarines, many of which were sunk. The seas around the Philippine islands are littered with wrecks.
“A lot of these sites have already been disinterred, either by Ferdinand Marcos, who made his fortune from Japanese gold, or by the Japanese themselves. There’s a lot of construction and engineering companies building roads and such in the interior of Luzon. It’s all a cover to go digging for buried gold. I took a fact-finding trip back in the early nineties to the Phils, and we went up to Banaue. All you could hear were bulldozers and drills; the mountains were full of them. There’s no construction there, no industry. Just treasure hunters, all over the place.”
He caught his breath and stared at his daughter, his eyes full of sadness.
“A lot of treasure did make its way safely to Japan. That wealth has made a handful of people millionaires many times over. People in the LDP or with those kinds of connections. The rot goes deep in all sorts of directions.”
She said, “So some of it’s still underground and Takahashi kept the maps. But how did some CIA guy know about it? He was old, but not that old. They knew each other. Like they had some deal before that didn’t work out.”
“Maybe they did. Maxwell must have somehow learned that Takahashi was still sitting on some maps. Maybe through some black channels from his old spook days. There’s a lot of questions about exactly what our government knew about this gold. Our committee has investigated some of these things. We know that MacArthur lent a lot of support to right-wing figures in Japan after the war because they were anti-communist. But we also suspect that the OSS – what became the CIA – wanted some of that money too. Melt down that gold, it isn’t traceable. Makes a great slush fund for dirty tricks operations. Keeps watchdogs like me from finding out what’s going on. It’s possible that certain people in both our governments had a deal to work together to recover the gold, secretly, and split it. No one has ever actually admitted this gold exists – which makes it even easier for crooks like Maxwell and Takahashi to line their pockets.”
“Maxwell’s not working for the CIA anymore?”
He finished his beer.
“I’m pretty sure he’s not. He was discredited when an Air America plane sent to drop food and medical supplies to Hmong tribesmen got shot down – with a load of heroin on board. Reporters happened to witness it and of course Hanoi milked it for all it was worth. The pilots had no idea what they were carrying, but Maxwell was acting as a mule to keep some Lao generals funded. Happened all the time, this stuff was sanctioned all the way up the chain, but Maxwell’s screw-up was too public.”
“How do you know all this?”
“I was the guy trying to coordinate the refugee evacuation. I chartered the plane. Maxwell ended up getting a lot of innocent women and children killed in that one.”
“There’s one other thing about this map.”
“Okay.”
“Maxwell asked Takahashi if the map was for the Philippines or even Japan.”
“Just about all of the war gold was transported to the Philippines.”
“But then Maxwell – well, one of his men – said that if it were in the Philippines, the map would indicate it’s in the middle of the ocean. And then he said something about the Thai border. Now Takahashi never served in the Philippines. He served in China and Thailand, setting up brothels for soldiers and overseeing the looting.”
“Our committee never investigated war gold in Thailand; it didn’t seem to be a center of that kind of activity. But based on what I remember about Maxwell, yes, I would think Thailand’s a reasonable guess.”
“So, Daddy, this is what I’m going to do. I’m going to Thailand. I want to find that gold myself.”
“Val, don’t be ridiculous. I can’t think of anything more foolish or dangerous. Believe me, I’ve met people in this business, and you have no idea what you’d be getting yourself into. Forget about it.”
But Val was thinking about Mrs. Kishi. “No, Daddy,” she said, “I’m going. Not to try to get it. I don’t know if I could do that. But if it really exists, then everyone should know about it. I don’t know who deserves that gold, but it isn’t the Japanese government or the CIA. If everyone knows it really exists, if there’s like an audit, then these politicians and spies can’t move it around like they’ve always done. Maybe some people who really deserve it will get some.”
“You seem pretty sure of yourself.”
“I want to do this. I need to do it. That’s why I came here tonight, Daddy. To see if you can help me figure out how.”
He closed his eyes. “I can’t have you go there.”
He refused to meet her furious stare. Val tossed her napkin on her plate and pushed her chair away. “I knew coming here was a waste of time.”
“Val, please. You don’t understand.”
She grabbed her photos and her purse. “You’re holding out on me, Daddy, I can tell.”
Fred Benson rubbed his temples and said, “Okay, okay! I know a man who could help you.”
Val sat down again. “Who?”
“He’s an ex-treasure hunter who’s done work in the Philippines. He testified before my committee about ten years ago. He’s about the only living Westerner who can translate those maps. McKenzie. Muddy McKenzie, he calls himself. Australian guy. A real nut job.”
“He’s crazy?”
“Nobody who’s sane makes a living hunting for Japanese war gold. But that’s what he did, for a long time. I think he’s given it up, though. Almost got killed too many times, and he never got his hands on any treasure. Broke him. I hear he’s leading the simple life these days working on construction sites in Hong Kong. Engineer by training.”
“How can I find him?”
“Don’t know. I guess if he’s still there, the construction companies or developers will know him. Muddy doesn’t exactly blend in.”
“I need to get on a plane first thing tomorrow morning for Hong Kong. Can you arrange that?”
“I’ll see what I can do. Leave me a number where I can reach you.”
“And Suki’s coming with me too.”
“I remember. What about Charlie?”
Val paused. “Charlie’s work is here.”
“You haven’t told him you’re leaving,” her father guessed.
“He’ll be happier left to his crusades.” She retrieved a pen from her purse and wrote down her phone number for him.
“Snowflake, honey…what do you say, you know, about what we talked about earlier, about coming home?”
“Let me think about it. I need some time.”
“Tell you what. It’s almost April. The baby’s due in June. Come home this summer. We’ll have a cookout in the back yard. Meet your little sister. Be a family again.”
“It’s not that simple for me.” The disappointment on his face hurt her more than she expected. “I promise I’ll think it over.”
“That’s all I’m asking.” He stood with her. “Snowflake, how about that hug?”
She let him embrace her. She didn’t want this but when she closed her eyes, she could still tell it was her father.
“It’s so great to see you,” he said.
“You too, Daddy.” She pulled away. “Now I really have to go.” After a few paces, she turned. “Do you have a name for the baby?”
“We’re thinking of Olivia.”
“Olivia Benson. That’s pretty.”
“Thanks.”
She departed with a brisk walk, confused, embarrassed – frightened, determined. Lucy Mathers met her by the elevators. “How did it go with the Congressman?”
They descended. Lucy chatted on about what a swell guy the Congressman was. Val nodded absently, wondering what else her father knew about Maxwell. She collected her ID and cell phone from the marines.
As she had received her belongings at the door, she failed to notice a knot of men passing nearby, trading small talk as they left the office for the evening. Embassy badges hung from their necks. One of the men looked at her. He was black, tall, and trim. A bandage covered a wound on the side of his bald head.
Baker saw Val, halted in amazement, then ducked out of the way before she could spot him. He reached for his cell phone.