Hwang Sok-Yong - The Shadow of Arms

“Now that their support detachment has been separated and put on the MAC compound,” Yong Kyu quietly asked, “do we have to pass any of our own information to them? They don’t give us any information at all.”

The captain nodded. “That’s why you need a bit of military know-how.”

“I’m not quite sure yet, sir, but it’s possible they may change the military currency, sir.”

The sergeant grabbed Yong Kyu’s arm. “What? Are you sure? That’ll ruin everything.”

“Wait a minute. Yes, I think they dropped a vague hint about that at the meeting today. That was it; the PX inventorying starts next week. Even though they said it’ll just be a period of closure to do a thorough check of stocks. .”

“There’s no doubt they’ll do it. I don’t know the exact date yet, but it’s in the air.”

“I’m in big trouble, now. Tomorrow I’ll have to run around buying stuff.”

“Don’t worry. If you don’t mind losing a little, I can bring you dollars for your military currency.”

“Sergeant Ahn, you and Toi need to bring me just one case. I’ll have to finger an NLF dealer or scare up a channel into their organization.”

“I’m returning home soon. If I interfere with their internal operations, they won’t leave me alone.”

“But you can do it in late August or at the beginning of September, and then take off.”

“Why?”

“I’m afraid they may change the chief of the investigation team. Krapensky’s term is almost finished. When the commander changes, I guess they’ll do a review and evaluate our performances. Besides, we’ve got to get them to think of our territory as a fait accompli. That’ll make it much easier for us to work.”

Yong Kyu thought for a while before responding. “I’ll talk it over with Toi, sir.”

The captain ordered a special Korean dinner. Then, almost in passing, he said to Yong Kyu, “Wait, I almost forgot. What’s her name, that woman they call Mimi, telephoned you. She wanted you to call her right away.”

“Who’s this Mimi?” the sergeant interrupted.

“You know, Miss Oh Hae Jong, the one I got to know because of the C-ration case.”

“Oh, you mean that bitch who’s shacked up with that Vietnamese bastard from the governor’s office?” the sergeant said. “Why don’t you coax her away?”

“I need her for business. She’s no ordinary woman.”

“She’s not ordinary at all,” the captain agreed. “There’s not a man of power in Da Nang she doesn’t know. I’ve given some thought to Major Pham’s dealings over at the provincial office, and I’m planning to hand over some information on him to the US investigation team.”

“That’ll cause a lot of trouble,” Yong Kyu said.

“Not for us, though. We’ve got to let them know we’re not all scarecrows.”

Yong Kyu neither confirmed nor refuted the captain’s remark, but merely said, sarcastically, “You have that memo thanks to me, so I suppose it should be used in some way. But don’t use it at too cheap a price, sir. We don’t know who’ll be coming in to replace Krapensky, but it’s not unlikely he’ll push and pull too hard at first. But then, scared at the roots that become barer and barer, he might try to cover them up. By that time, it’ll already have made a huge commotion.”

The captain shut his notebook and put it back in his pocket. Then he patted his pocket a couple of times.

“Neither the US Army nor the ARVN can ignore us now.”

Meanwhile, at the house in Son Tinh, Hae Jong was having lunch with Major Pham. He had been out with Nguyen Cuong to supervise the transport of the cinnamon collected between Ha Thanh and An Hoa. They were about to conclude some negotiations with a number of merchants in Da Nang. The price was not bad at all. Cinnamon from the jungle forests had always been a scarce commodity, and now that the highlands had been the site of fierce fighting for some five years, it was almost impossible to lay hands on any quantity of cinnamon. There were eager buyers from as far away as Taiwan, not to mention India and Singapore, and as many as you could wish for. They would stream into Da Nang with suitcases full of dollars.

That morning Pham Quyen had gone straight to the provincial office from the heliport and made a brief report to General Liam, adding that due to the business he would not be able to accompany the general on his trip to Saigon. The governor had told him there had been a change in schedule in any case, and that he should remain focused on the cinnamon operation. Pham Quyen was in a rather uplifted mood, partly at being back home after an extended absence, but mostly because the business was shaping up so profitably.

“How long are you planning to stay in Da Nang?” Hae Jong asked.

“I’ll be here through the end of this week,” answered Pham Quyen, all smiles.

“You know something? I have good news. The Americans are changing their military currency.”

“Is that a fact? Whether they do or don’t, it’s of no concern to us. The payment for cinnamon will be made in good old greenbacks, or in gold, at international rates — that’s the deal. Mr. Nguyen Cuong is the one with the exporter’s license, and he’ll execute all the business for us.

“Then you’re a mere laborer out in that mosquito-infested jungle?”

“It’s sort of a joint venture. The governor is the chairman, General Van Toan and I are executive directors, and Nguyen Cuong is, how shall I put it, the managing director?”

“Watch out for public opinion. I’m telling you, everybody knows what’s going on.”

“Everybody? Who are they? There’s nobody who dares to interfere with our work.”

Pham Quyen had a deep suntan and there was a growth of stubble on his chin, and he looked to be in better physical shape than when he had been on office duty. Instead of summoning the maid, Hae Jong went out herself to retrieve a bottle of wine she had put in the refrigerator to cool.

“Is there a moneychanger you know well?”

“It doesn’t matter whether I know them or not. If I need to, I can make them listen to me.”

“I’m getting started with gathering up military currency. And in the last few days before the exchange deadline. .”

Quyen immediately understood. “Has someone promised you help?”

“Yes.”

“An American?”

“Naturally. In the finance office.”

“Not bad.”

“It’s better than that. If I handle it properly, we’ll make a huge sum. Military currency that can’t be officially exchanged is worse than wastepaper. You can exchange it at one-tenth — no, one-hundredth of the face value after the expiration date. Ten dollars go from being a thousand piasters to worth only ten piasters. Isn’t that something? What’s the rate now, honey?”

“One hundred twenty piasters to a dollar, maybe. But the black market rate demanded by moneychangers may be as high as five hundred piasters for a dollar — for greenbacks, that is. That’s why the moneychangers from all over Southeast Asia are swarming this battle zone.”

Hae Jong’s eyes sparkled. “Even with greenbacks, they’re making no more than fivefold profits, and we’ll be doing business that pays a hundredfold profits. Half of the gains will go to the American, but it’ll still be a lot, won’t it?”

“Sure will. When is the day?”

“Saturday.”

“Better hurry up, then. Are you going out? I know a moneychanger just right for this.”

“Madame Lin at the Sports Club is also in on this. I imagine she’ll hire her own moneychanger.”

Pham Quyen finished his second glass of wine, then got up.

“Time for me to head out. I’ve got to see Nguyen Cuong and some of the buyers. How about we meet at seven o’clock? We’ll go see the moneychanger and then have dinner together somewhere.”