“Who’s the contract between?” Logan asked.
“The Burmese company name isn’t important. Ultimately, it has to be controlled by the Myanmar generals.”
“But who’s buying the rights?”
Daeng flipped through the pages.
“It should be right there on the front, shouldn’t it?” Logan asked.
“I would think so, but the company’s name isn’t mentioned. There’s a signature at the end, but I can’t read it.”
He held it up, but Logan couldn’t read it either.
“It must be this Lyon Exploratory place,” Logan said. “They just don’t want their name in print.”
“Possibly.”
Logan thought for a moment, then pulled out his cell phone, and opened the web browser. But after several tries, he realized it wasn’t working. Apparently he could get calls and texts, but no overseas Internet access.
“Can you get on the web on your phone?” he asked.
“Sure.”
Logan held out his hand. “Do you mind?”
Daeng hesitated for only a second, then hit a couple of buttons on the screen of his phone, and put the phone in Logan’s palm.
Logan brought up Google, and typed in Lyon Exploratory Research, then hit Search. The top result was the company’s website. He went there.
The company’s main focus seemed to be geological research—finding things like oil fields and mineral deposits, but not, as far as he could tell, actually pulling what they found out of the ground. He went back to the search results, and started scrolling through. He was halfway down the third page when a link jumped off the screen at him. He clicked on it, and read the accompanying article.
When he was through, he looked up. “Son of a bitch,” he said under his breath. It all finally made sense.
By the time he finished telling Daeng what he’d discovered, they reached the small side street where the NS Guest House was located. Since the road was so narrow, it was easier for Logan and Daeng to get out, and walk down.
As they headed over, Daeng said, “Those bastards.”
“Yeah.”
“We need to stop them.”
“We do.”
“We need people to know.”
Logan nodded. “They will.”
The hotel was a modest, four story place squeezed between apartment buildings near the center of the city. There was an opening in the wall right in front, and a sign that read:
NS GUEST HOUSE
Welcome
They turned onto the walkway and found themselves under an L-shaped veranda that skirted around a swimming pool. Ahead of them was the reception desk, and under the veranda where it jutted to the right beyond the pool were several tables, three of which were occupied. At one was a young Caucasian couple eating a meal, at another a solitary Asian man reading a newspaper, and at the third four larger Asian men, none of whom were drinking or eating or even talking. In fact, what they were doing was watching Logan and Daeng.
When the two of them reached the front desk, they were greeted by a casually dressed Thai man with shoulder length hair, a goatee, and tattoos running up both arms. “Welcome NS Guest House. You need rooms? We have very nice ones.”
“We’re looking for one of your guests,” Logan said.
If the man was disappointed, he didn’t show it. “Sure. What is their name?”
“It’s a woman. Sein Myat.”
This time the man’s smile faltered, and his eyes involuntarily flicked for a split second toward the four men sitting at the table. “Sorry. No guest with that name.”
“You didn’t check,” Logan said.
“Didn’t have to. I know all guests’ names. It’s my job.”
Daeng said something to the man in Thai. Logan tried to read the body language as their conversation went back and forth. It was obvious the man was nervous. Then he stopped in what sounded like mid-sentence, and his gaze moved to something beyond Logan’s shoulder. He gave a quick, tentative smile, bowed his head, then walked away from the counter.
When Logan turned, he expected to see the four big men standing behind him. Instead, he found the smaller man who’d been reading the newspaper.
“Can I help you?” the man said. His English was very clean and proper, but with the definite hint of an accent.
