“Where will you go?” asked Temple.
“I know Amrita wanted you to take her to America. I do not want to go to America. They do not like people like me, I’ve heard. I’m not white and I take jobs from Americans. No, I will go somewhere else. India, maybe South America. I will fit in better there. Much better. I can work and have a little house and grow old without bullets flying around.”
“How will you get there?” asked Temple.
“I will find a way.”
“Look, you help get us out of Myanmar and I’ll pay your way to wherever you want to go,” said Temple.
Thura looked at him closely. “Is this bullshit or the truth?”
“I mean it, Thura.”
“Okay, I will hold you to that.”
And they had left it at that.
They took turns surveilling the Friendship Hotel, where the four people were staying. The only time anyone had ever left was when the young woman went to a pharmacy. Thura was coming on duty and Nash off, but Nash followed her while Thura settled in to keep eyes on the hotel.
Wearing his hooded cloak, Nash went into the pharmacy and bought some mosquito repellant and gum. The woman was getting a prescription filled. Nash drew close enough to overhear the pharmacist confirm in English that the prescription was for digoxin.
Nash didn’t know the term, but he searched for it on his phone.
Another name for digitalis. Probably for the elderly woman, who must have a heart problem of some kind.
While pretending to look over some headache medications Nash studied the woman’s reflection in a mirror set up on one wall. She was in her late twenties or early thirties, he estimated, tall, wiry, fit, and focused.
After she departed he took his time leaving, paying for the gum and repellent. He knew where the woman was going back to, and if she was suspicious of his presence in the pharmacy, his not following her back would hopefully alleviate that concern.
When he returned to the hotel Thura told him that no one else from the party had left the hotel. Nash filled him in on the digitalis, and Thura said, “My mother took that before she died. Big heart problems.” He tapped his thick chest. “I might have them, too, who knows?”
“Surely you’ve been checked for it,” said Nash.
“Of course! I go to doctor every week to make sure I am good to go,” said Thura with heavy sarcasm.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Not to worry. I hear your health care is not too good, either. What is it you Americans do with all your money anyway?”
“It mostly goes into the pockets of a few, and the rest get the scraps.”
Thura’s expression screwed up in confusion. “Then why not change it, so the few don’t get so much?”
“Ever heard of the termlobbyists?”
Thura shook his head.
“Well, I wish I hadn’t, either.” Nash paused. “You’re taking a risk helping us. You don’t even know what we’re here for.”
“Life is always risky, at least for people like me. And I know you are interested in the prison and the four people in that hotel. Do I need to know more?”
“With the money my boss will pay you, how will you get out of here?”
“How willyouget out of here?”
Nash eyed him and a possibility that had already occurred to him solidified in his mind. “Maybe we can go together.”
“Okay, but you have to think ahead, my friend, to all the bad that can happen and say to yourself, ‘What can I do if the shit goes down?’ I don’t mean when it goes down. I mean before it blows up in your face.”