controlled. A mere civilian would not be capable of enacting such control. Those with military training, it was believed, might fare better.
Tran Van Sang was the mixed-race overseer at Phu Rieng who had agreed to send reports with any details he could uncover about the plantation management, but most of all, he was there to support covert communist activity in the plantations. He was to help hide such activity from upper management and to encourage the laborers to recruit more men into their fold. Khoi had paid Sang since he returned in ’29. He was our most important link to Michelin. Now Khoi was saying that his game was up.
“Are you sure?” I asked Khoi. He had been out late, and I’d fallen asleep waiting for him to return. I still hadn’t told him how Jessie expounded the praises of Michelin as the benevolent freedom-givers to thousands of coolies. Now none of that seemed important. Sang was our physical link to everything Michelin.
“I’m very sure,” he said, sitting up on the edge of the bed. He still had his beige suit on, the tie slightly loosened. “I received a note from my driver when I was at the Taverne Royale a few hours ago that I had an important telephone call, and we were able to connect. Sang is now in Saigon.”
“How was he found out?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
“Ask me instead who found out.”
“Victor Lesage.”
“Indeed. Victor Lesage. He has only been down on the plantations for a few days, but he already figured out that Sang attended a communist meeting that took place in village three at Phu Rieng under the guise of a play rehearsal.”
“A play rehearsal?” I said, remembering what Jessie had said at the club.
“Yes. A play rehearsal. They have recently added leisure activities to their slave labor. You know, fifteen minutes here and there where they can kick around a ball or sing a song. The overseers smugly assume that their benevolence will keep communism at bay, when really, it’s a perfect time for men who seldom meet to gather and spread their message.”
“Well,” I said. “Then I suppose I support this rise in the theater.”
“Yes, but Sang says Victor has figured this out, too, that plays and soccer games have become excuses for covert meetings of the communist party, so now he is putting an end to it all.”
“But how did he figure it all out?” I asked, trying not to become distraught. “Sang has been so careful. There have been no close calls at all in the last few years.”
“Victor Lesage attended this meeting, under the pretense that he is passionate about bringing art and culture to the workers, and it turns out he speaks enough Annamese to understand them. They had no idea and were still speaking freely.”
“Well, that’s extremely unfortunate,” I said, suddenly remembering how Victor had said that the family took language lessons in Paris. How could they have learned so much in only six months? I had been foolish not to pass that information on to Sang. “But how did he learn about Sang specifically?” I pressed.
“Victor didn’t discover his role right then, but he gave one of the laborers in attendance a handsome payout and money for a journey home if they could speak after the meeting was over. The man talked, of course, and he fingered Sang. Luckily, the worker had some shred of a soul left and told Sang what he had done, giving Sang time to run. He beat Victor to the plantation periphery, and because he’s not just a laborer but an overseer, they let him out. Now he’s hiding in Saigon, but we’re figuring out how to get him north quickly. He’ll be arrested and imprisoned immediately if not. You know what happened to the men who organized the labor strike in 1930.”
I did. Five years’ imprisonment in the French political prison on Con Son Island, a hell floating below Cochinchina.
“I did not expect him to act this way,” said Khoi. “Victor. I imagined he would barely spend time on the plantations at all, and not understand a word of Annamese or attempt to interact with the workers. With his background, I thought he’d spend his days at the Officers’ Club here and at Le Cercle in Saigon, focus on building relationships with government and business officials. Pocketing more people through bribes and cajoling. There must really be pressure on him from Clermont-Ferrand to keep the peace. No repeats of the