Finding Moon Part 4

The cabbie was a short, skinny man with very black hair and a barber who had shaved the back of his neck unusually high.

"I wonder if I gave you the right address," Moon said, and repeated it. "Would there be law offices in this part of the city?"

"Oh, yes," the cabbie said. "One more block, I think. Then just around the corner. Then we will see." He laughed. "If not here, we try somewhere else. In Manila, lawyers you can find everywhere."

The cab stopped at a two-story structure of faded pink concrete block with the barred windows that seemed common to this part of Manila. A half-dozen signs lined the front door, a midnight blue that had weathered, but not enough to fit its pink surroundings. The first sign advertised an accountant, and the second read: LAW OFFICES.

CASTENADA, BLAKE AND a.s.sOCIATES.

The cabbie turned enough to show Moon his profile. "Here it is," he said. He announced the fare in pisos. That reminded Moon he'd forgotten to change any money into Philippine currency. After laborious conversion mathematics, the cabbie took his pay in U.S. cash and Moon pushed through the blue door with the disgruntled feeling of the tourist who suspects he has been cheated.

The hallway was narrow and dark, floored with linoleum tiles. Moon walked down it, irritation replaced by uneasiness. The door at the end of the hall had a law offices sign beside it. It stood partly open. Alice down the rabbit hole, Alice down the rabbit hole, Moon thought. At the hotel he had felt uneasy about going to this appointment wearing rumpled slacks and a shirt he'd rinsed in his Los Angeles hotel room. That worry had long since vanished. Moon thought. At the hotel he had felt uneasy about going to this appointment wearing rumpled slacks and a shirt he'd rinsed in his Los Angeles hotel room. That worry had long since vanished.

The door opened into a small reception room. A chair, a padded bench, a secretarial desk with telephone and Rolodex but no secretary. Beyond the desk, another door with a little sign on it saying: MR. CASTENADA MR. CASTENADA. No door for Blake. No doors for a.s.sociates.

Moon tapped on the only door.

A masculine voice said something in what Moon guessed was Tagalog and then "Come in" in English. Moon pushed the door open.

He had expected Roberto Bolivar Castenada to be as emphatically Old Spanish as the name. Although this man sat high behind a huge and heavy desk, he was small, frail, and very dark. Emphatically a Filipino. Black eyes prominent in a narrow face, black hair showing gray, a sharp prominent chin, a tentative smile showing large white teeth. About sixty, Moon thought. Maybe older. How could you tell with an unfamiliar race?

"Mr. Mathias," the man said. "Ricky's older brother. It is good to meet you at last." The smile faded. "Even though the circ.u.mstances are bleak."

"You're Mr. Castenada?" Moon said.

The man nodded, made an embarra.s.sed gesture. "You will please excuse me for not rising to greet you." He held out a slender hand, expression wry. Moon leaned forward to take it and saw why the man sat so high. He was propped on cushions in a battery-powered wheelchair.

"Malcolm Mathias," Moon said. "How do you do."

"Welcome to Manila," the man said. "Electra has gone out to get some coffee and sweets for our meeting. Otherwise you would have been greeted more properly."

"No problem," Moon said. "I have my pa.s.sport and the papers our mother had with her if you need to look at those."

The man chuckled. "You are clearly the elder brother of Richard Mathias. You are exactly as he described you. And like this." The man slid open a desk drawer, extracted a photograph, and handed it to Moon.

The photograph had been enlarged to eight by ten inches, and from its glossy surface the face of Ricky beamed at him. And there he was, standing beside Ricky, wearing his standard stiff snapshot expression, clumsy in his dress uniform, looking slightly stupid, the bridge of his nose bent slightly to the left to remind him of a mistake he'd made trying to block a linebacker who was a half step faster than he'd expected. He hadn't seen this photo before. He stared at it now, remembering.

Ricky had handed his camera to Halsey, and Halsey had said, "Look brotherly," or something like that, and shot it.

Moon turned the photo over. Nothing there. It was the last time he'd seen his brother. They'd taken him back to Kansas City to catch his plane for Los Angeles and Tokyo and Saigon, and that was the end of Ricky. They'd driven back to the base and stopped at the General Patton Lounge for a few drinks-and that was the end of Halsey.

Moon cleared his throat. He handed the photo back to Castenada.

"Ricky gave you this?"

"Actually, he gave it to Electra. She asked him for a picture."

Moon didn't want to pursue that. He wanted to get his business done here and pick up Ricky's child, deliver the kid to his mother, and go home. But what was he going to do with Ricky's kid if Victoria Mathias was still in the hospital? As she would be, of course. And what if his mother didn't make it? What would he do with the kid then?

"You said the child hadn't arrived yet. When is she getting here? I was hoping I could pick her up today. Or at least get the paperwork done. Does she have a pa.s.sport? Or does a child that young need one?"

Castenada's welcoming smile had disappeared while Moon was looking at the photo. Now his face was somber.

"The problem is we don't know where she is," he said. "She wasn't on the flight she was supposed to be on. So I have a man out at the airport checking all the flights coming in from Saigon. He is also checking everything that comes in from Bangkok or Kuala Lumpur or Singapore or anywhere else appropriate, in the event they could not get her onto a direct flight and took a roundabout way. All flights have been checked. And there are no flights any longer from Phnom Penh."

"You don't know where she is?" Somehow this didn't really surprise him. Somehow he'd half expected some awful screwup. It seemed fitting and logical. He just hadn't allowed himself to think of it.

Castenada was shaking his head. "Not in Cambodia, we think. And that is the very important thing. Because if she was still in Cambodia it would be very, very complicated. And maybe not in Saigon, which is where she was supposed to be placed on the flight. Thailand closed its border with Cambodia, and Ricky's people in Bangkok say they don't believe she came there."

"My G.o.d!" Moon said. "You're telling me you really don't have any idea where the baby is?" His voice was louder than he'd intended.

"Not yet," Castenada said.

"Not yet," Moon repeated. "When will you know?"

Castenada's expression suggested he'd not liked Moon's tone. He removed his hands from the desktop, leaned back in his chair, and examined Moon over his gla.s.ses. "Perhaps never," he said. "If you wish me to be realistic, perhaps never."

"I'm sorry," Moon said. "I just don't understand the situation. My mother was too ill to explain anything. I hoped I was just coming to Manila to pick up the girl and take her back to the States. All of this is-"

"Of course," Castenada said. "I should have taken time to explain on the telephone." He explained now, his expression cordial again but still leaning back from the desk. He said Castenada, Blake and a.s.sociates represented small international companies, mostly export-import, which operated across the various borders of Southeast Asia. Ricky had retained him first to incorporate R. M. Air in the Republic of the Philippines, then to handle the leasing of property where Ricky intended to establish a repair operation north of Caloocan City, to unravel a misunderstanding with a bonded warehouse in Singapore, and to recover an aircraft impounded by Laos authorities at Vientiane. Castenada delivered this recitation slowly, digressing to explain if it seemed necessary. He paused and threw his hands open in a gesture of finality.

"The point is that our relationship was primarily business. Which bureaucrat at Bangkok in which office did one need to approach? Which law in Malaysia was being enforced this year and which one winked at? So I know his business a.s.sociates. But I do not know his friends."

He paused again, thinking, then added, "Only a few of them. And of course one's daughter would be entrusted to friends, not to business a.s.sociates."

Moon could think of nothing to say to this.

Castenada waited, made a wry face. "I think to find the child you will need his friends. To help you."

"I don't know his friends either," Moon said. "Not his friends out here."

If Castenada heard this, he ignored it. "Because I think this person who was bringing out the child, I think he must have gone to earth somewhere. Somewhere safe until they could travel again." Castenada threw up his hands. "Everything is going to h.e.l.l over there. Dangerous, dangerous, dangerous. Nothing can be counted on, nothing. Offices closed. Flights are canceled. Telephones go unanswered."

"So," Moon said, feeling totally out of his depth, "what do I do now?"

Castenada considered, looking first at the pyramid he'd made of his fingers and then at Moon. To Moon's amazement, Mr. Castenada was grinning.

"Oh, I know about you, Mr. Mathias," he said. "Ricky told me. I think you will find a way." The grin widened. "I think if Ricky's daughter can be brought to Manila, you will bring her."

"What the h.e.l.l did Ricky-" Moon began, but the question was interrupted. A short plump woman slid into the room, bearing a black laquered tray. On it were two cups, a plate of rolls, and an oversized black Thermos.

"Mi, here is Electra," Castenada said. And with a sweep of his arm: "Electra, we have with us Mr. Malcolm Mathias."

Moon stood. "How do you do," he said.

Electra's expression reminded Moon of a woman he'd seen on a television newscast being introduced to Queen Elizabeth.

"This is Moon Mathias," Castenada said. "This is the older brother Ricky has told us about."

Electra was blushing. She performed something like a curtsy. She said, "Oh, yes, I am so glad to meet you," and hurried out of the room.

Castenada poured, and served, and talked.

He a.s.sumed Moon knew Ricky had died intestate. That meant that in the absence of a will, and in the absence of any evidence that the child was actually Ricky's daughter, Ricky's heir would be his mother and-in most jurisdictions-his siblings. He said he understood Malcolm Mathias was the only surviving sibling. When Moon nodded, he said Ricky seemed to have been, as far as he could tell, a legal resident of Oklahoma, in the United States, even though his business address had been in the Republic of Vietnam. Therefore the estate would be adjudicated in an Oklahoma probate court and Moon would inherit- Castenada paused, sipped coffee, eyed Moon over the cup, continued.

"-one half of the estate. Presuming, of course, that there is no litigation."

Castenada awaited a response from Moon, who had none to make. He hadn't thought about this. He didn't want to think about it now. How much could Ricky have acc.u.mulated-a retired army captain trying to get a business started?

"After legal fees, of course," Castenada said, grinning at Moon. "Lawyers are known to be avaricious. International lawyers notably so. Your mother has asked me to handle this. I've retained a Vietnamese lawyer who did some work for R. M. Air last year. Reasonably honest, I think. But"- Castenada threw up his hands-"where is he now? When I tried to call him about the child, telephone service was no longer offered to his office at Can Tho. I think perhaps the Vietcong are running the telephone exchange there now."

"Look," Moon said, "I don't want to talk about this. I want to talk about how to get the kid to Manila and from Manila back to the States."

"All right," Castenada said. "We talk about that. All I can do is give you the names of some of Ricky's friends. Maybe they can tell you where to go."

He flipped open a Rolodex file on his desk and began jotting notes on a pad. "Let us hope, let us pray, that they don't tell you to go find her in Vietnam." He glanced up at Moon, face somber. "Or, even worse, in Cambodia."

1740 hrs. 4/16/75 TO: OfcMgrs FROM: McK. Emba.s.sy STATUS: Eyes Only-Burn. Rocket from H.K. this date orders top priority evacuation of nonessential personnel. Top limit essential U.S. citizens is 2000. Submit plan by 1400 hrs 4/17 listing essentials your mission and departure schedule for all others. Avoid any leak to non-U.S. personnel.

THE LIST OF FRIENDS MOON TOOK away with him was short, and only three of those named on it might have been in Manila. First came George Rice, a name Moon remembered from the letter in his mother's purse. Rice, Castenada said, was in Manila "now and then, bringing things in and taking things out." He had called some time ago about difficulties he was having about an aircraft he had flown into Quezon City.

Castenada had been leaning forward, expression quizzical, remembering the details. "Yes," he'd said. "Mr. Rice said the customs people were talking of filing a charge and he wanted me to handle it. I told him this firm has no expertise in criminal matters and recommended another law firm to him."

"Criminal?"

Castenada raised a hand, rubbed thumb against fingers. "It seems to have been some problem with the papers. The manifest. The customs agents of President Marcos follow the example of their leader and handle such things informally." He smiled at Moon, making sure he understood. "And if the person involved is not willing to be sufficiently generous in rewarding this courtesy, there is sometimes the threat of arrest."

"Oh," Moon said. "So, what happened?"

Castenada shrugged. "The lawyer I recommended is experienced in such matters. I heard no more about it."

"So he may still be here?"

"Or he may be gone. He said he had flown in an old aircraft that needed some sort of equipment installed. How much time does that take?" Castenada's expression said he had no idea.

Next on the "possibly in Manila" list were Thomas Brock, who Castenada described as marketing manager for R. M. Air, and Robert Yager, at the Quezon Towers Hotel. Yager was the name Moon remembered seeing scrawled at the end of the letter to Ricky in his mother's purse. What did Yager do?

Castenada could only guess. "In Asia in these troubled times a business like Ricky's needs someone who knows everybody, has connections everywhere, can find out-" Castenada hesitated, looking at Moon quizzically again, seeming to ask himself how much this American would understand such things. "Someone would know if General A actually works for the CIA. if General B is about to be fired. If Imelda Marcos is fond enough of this third cousin to cut him in on a construction contract. That sort of thing. I think Mr. Yager is a person who-if he does not know everything-knows someone who does."

"I see," Moon said. If Mr. Castenada was giving him accurate information, Ricky's business seemed to be-well, less orthodox than he'd a.s.sumed.

"That is just an impression," Castenada said. "Just an impression." He made a deprecating gesture. "One hears things," he said. "Some true. Some not."

On the page he'd torn from his notebook to list the friends, Castenada now added the address of Ricky's Manila apartment. He creased the page into a precise rectangle and put it in a folder. Then he extracted a small envelope from his desk drawer, waved it at Moon, and said, "For you. It came this morning." He added the letter to the folder, then tore the top sheet from his memo pad and dropped it in.

"Someone named Lum Lee called for you," Castenada said. "Yesterday. It's all there on the memo sheet." He reached across the desk and handed Moon the folder and, with it, two keys on a ring.

"The keys to Ricky's apartment," he said. "You'll be more comfortable there than in the hotel, and it's cheaper." He glanced up at Moon.

"Remember, I am at your service. And at your mother's. I think you will have to be here in Manila for a while." He considered that and nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, I think so."

And Moon had thought, Like h.e.l.l I will! But now as he dumped the contents of the folder on his hotel room desk, he had a sick feeling that the frail little lawyer might be right. Maybe he'd be here forever. The alternative was going back and telling Victoria Mathias he'd failed her again. Not that she would be surprised. But this time he would have failed in what was likely to be the last opportunity she would ever give him to succeed.

He sat for a moment considering the wallpaper. It was brownish and gold in some sort of geometric design. Then he looked at the memo page. It was dated 10:20 A.M. A.M. yesterday. yesterday.

Please would Mr. Malcolm Mathias telephone to Mr. Lum Lee concerning a matter of mutual interest: room 919, Pasag Imperial Hotel.

Moon put the memo aside. Mr. Lee would still be hunting his ancestor's bones, or an urn full of cocaine, or whatever it was. A tired old man on an impossible quest. But no more impossible than his own. Moon smiled, remembering Lum Lee in Los Angeles, offering to help him find Ricky's child. Playing Sancho Panza to Moon's Don Quixote. The metaphor fit rather well. In this part of the world the old man would be the wise one, the one who knew the reality of Southeast Asia and the rules of the game. He'd call him. But first he picked up the letter.

The envelope was a standard business size, addressed to Mr. Moon Mathias in care of Castenada's office. No return address. The postmark was faint, but it seemed to read KUPANG, TIMOR KUPANG, TIMOR. Timor? An island, Moon thought. Something like Ceylon. But where? And who there would know him as Moon? Know him at all? Have any business with him? He tore it open. The single sheet of paper was as plain as the envelope.

Dear Mr. Mathias: I am a former client of Ricky's and I think of him as a friend as well. Only today did I hear the sad news of his death. First please accept my condolences. I am sure that the immense admiration Ricky felt for you was mutual and that the loss must be a terrible one. I, too, have a brother with whom I am very close.

I am asking Mr. Castenada to forward this letter to you. By the time you receive it, or very soon thereafter, I will be in Manila at the Hotel Del Mar. Please call me there. I would not ask this of you if it was not a matter of extreme importance. In fact, it is a matter of life and death.

Sincerely, Mrs. Osa van Winjgaarden Moon found the Hotel Del Mar in the phone book, picked up the telephone, and then put it back. Life or death or not, it could wait until tomorrow. Mrs. what's-her-name probably wasn't even here yet. He did a bit of mental arithmetic and set the alarm beside his bed for two A.M. A.M. if he had the time zones right that would be ten if he had the time zones right that would be ten A.M. A.M. in L.A. and eleven in Durance, a decent time to be ringing telephones there. in L.A. and eleven in Durance, a decent time to be ringing telephones there.

In fact, it was a little early for the person he most wanted to reach. Dr. Serna was in surgery and "not available." The nurse in his mother's ward reported her officially in serious condition but sleeping comfortably.

The receptionist answered Debbie's office number. Someone new. She reported Debbie was off today. She'd called in sick. Try her at home. Moon called his home number, let the phone ring twelve times, and hung up feeling uneasy. Sick? How sick? Debbie was never sick, not even during her period. But Debbie often didn't bother to answer the telephone. And sometimes Debbie wasn't home when people thought she was. And for Debbie, calling in sick would not necessarily have much to do with the state of her health.

Moon called the paper. Shirley sounded delighted to hear his voice. How was his mother? How was he? How was Manila? When would he be home? Shirley was going by his house every day to feed her dog and wanted to know how soon- "Why?" Moon asked. "Debbie can feed the dog until I get back." For Shirley, "going by" his house meant driving a dozen miles in the wrong direction. She was sticking herself with a long round trip just because she was too proud to accept a favor from Debbie. Downright silliness. Moon's mood had shown in his tone, and Shirley's tone showed she had noticed it.

"I think Debbie may have gone off on a little journey. Or something."

"Well," Moon said, wondering how he could make amends, trying to remember how he came to be tending Shirley's spaniel. Yes, it was because her apartment had changed ownership and the new landlord didn't allow pets. She needed a dog tender until she could work something out. "Maybe Hubbell could feed the dog," Moon said. "What do you think? You know he rents a room from me."

Shirley laughed, placated. "I think he'd tell me to take care of my own d.a.m.n dog," she said. "Or maybe something a little worse."

"You're right," Moon said. "But switch me over and I'll ask him."

Hubbell said he'd be willing to haul Shirley's dog out into the San Juans and let the coyotes solve the problem. And how was Moon's mother? And were the Manila women as slick as they were when he did his navy time in the Islands, and when was Moon coming back, because it was time to get going on the d.a.m.ned vacation edition, and he was pretty sure Rooney was nipping at the bottle again.

"Bad?"

"You tell me," Hubbell said. Papers rustled. Hubbell read three of yesterday's headlines and started a fourth one.

"Lordy," Moon said. "Did they go to press like that?"

"Those were the ones I didn't catch."

"Let me talk to him."