Cafe Burma

By Larry Webber

In the midst of the Washington DC government district, sits the Cafe Burma, run by a 40-ish man and his 18-year-old daughter, Dewi. Dewi grew up as an American teenager but was also schooled in traditional Burmese values of maintaining the family’s honor and obedience to your elders. She yearns to escape the long hours working in the family business to learn a trade at college and raise a family of her own in America. Her boyfriend is reluctant to leave the old neighborhood, yet if she stays, she will never break free from the cafe.
Her father has quite different plans and he is becoming desperate. Without a son to inherit his property, all of it will pass to his brother. He has devised a plan to keep his money from his brother. Dewi must become his son through a sex change operation. She is now legal age to leave home, so he must act quickly to force this drastic surgery onto her as a ‘family duty’.
One day a famous Hollywood actor stops by for lunch. After talking to Dewi he eventually offers to talk to her about a potential part in his new movie filming in the area. Her boyfriend is angry because the discussion will take place at the actor’s hotel. The violent argument rips the couple apart. Both regret the split. Whenever things start to work out between them some new events keep reopening old wounds.
The Cafe Burma itself is not what it first seems to be. Hiring, training and supporting an intelligence network is expensive. Smaller countries cannot afford to do that, so they establish a spy team in plain sight. Ethnic cafes are the perfect cover. They are located near government offices in the hopes of someone revealing some secret over an informal lunch. Any profits finance their spy operations.
Many things happen in DC that impact all the other countries of the world. They could be economic, diplomatic, military, legal, financial aid, tariffs, the entire gauntlet of areas and topics. Often a decision or political action impacting a small country is never mentioned by the news media. These countries must ferret out what information they can. Their small embassy staffs deal with official Washington bureaucrats. They rely on their local spy nets to gather relevant information.
Each café was originally financed and staffed by their home country. The wealthier ones have more sophisticated listening and surveillance devices. The poorer ones manage with much less. Most of the managers have been here for years. To keep their dream job, they must feed a steady stream of intelligence tidbits back to their country. They can be replaced at any time. The managers are careful not to do anything that would cause them to be expelled or to be recalled home. With its crime and chaos, they find downtown D.C. a better place to live than their home countries.
A pair of FBI agents monitor the spies in the ethnic cafes like a protective uncle. Better the spy you know than the one you don’t.
Life in the cafe is never easy. Lately a new set of Chinese secret agents have been trying to force all of the small ethnic cafes into working for them, or else face ruin. A new corrupt health inspector is trying to extract bribes from the cafes. The local criminal gang is threatening violence for interference in their activities.
What will happen next at the Cafe Burma?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Larry Webber
• Release date: Apr 6, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005934514

Larry Webber

Larry Webber has an MBA and BSBA from Rockhurst University and a Master of Project Management degree from West Carolina University. He previously served eight years active duty in the US Marine Corps, 3 years in the Air Force Reserve, 1 1/2 years in the Kansas Army National Guard and retired from the Army Reserve as an infantry First Sergeant.Larry has published many business books; this is his first step into writing fiction.•The Disaster Recovery Handbook, American Management Association, three editions, (1st edition also published in India)•Quality Control for Dummies, Wiley, 2007 (Also published in German)•Complete Idiots Guide to Veterans Benefits, Alpha, 2008•Green Tech, AMACOM 2009•Annually updated works:oIT Policies and Procedures, 2003, 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007 editions, Aspen PublishingoIT Governance, annual editions 2008 through 2021, Wolters-Kluwers PublishingoIS Project Management Handbook 2004, 2005 and 2006 editions, Aspen PublishingoIT Project Management 2007, 2008, 2009, 2010 & 2011 editions, Aspen Publishing (also published in Chinese)•Several articles in Computerworld, and in local IT journals

Book preview

On a cold Washington morning, two men drove through the cross-town traffic. The younger one said, Ray, I’m sorry that I couldn’t meet with you before this. I had a touch of the flu. You’ve heard the lecture on how the boss feels about bringing germs into the office.

The older man grunted. He was a crewcut head shorter and stouter than his slender young friend. Tom, I have a limit on how much I share with a partner, and I draw the line at germs. Are you over it or pumped full of meds and still contaminating everyone and everything?

I guess I’m over it. I breathed on my cat before I left home today, and she didn’t keel over.

Great. Just keep your cooties to yourself. I need to make sure you’re up to date on this assignment before we get there. Up to this point, your work in the Bureau has been all clerical. Our boss is using this simple assignment to break you into counterespionage work. Screw it up and the biggest threat to your health will be paper cuts.

All I was told is that I was to follow your lead and eat lunch. Sounds hard to mess that up. I’m an expert on eating lunches.

Ray looked sideways at Tom and continued driving. I hope so. I hate cleaning up other people’s messes. The background of this operation is simple. Many small countries set up ethnic food restaurants to cover their spy operation in Washington, DC. These countries lack the financial resources to fund a professional spy team. The restaurants self-fund their espionage efforts through their profits.

So how long have you been shepherding the small-time spies?

About 20 years. The hardest thing is to not pack on pounds visiting these restaurants. I spot check them by stopping at different ones for lunch, or supper if I draw a late shift. I can retire in two more years and who knows? Perhaps you’ll take over this gig.

Tom looked out at the cars as they stopped for the traffic light. Sounds somewhat sedate for my tastes. I have hopes of moving on to the big time, like chasing the Russians, Chinese or Iranians. I joined the FBI to make a difference, not to babysit a pack of sandwich shops.

Ray looked wistful. Ah yes, chasing Ivan all over town. Those were the exciting days. Lots of what you see in the movies is true. Working all hours, following sneaky people down dark alleys, breaking their codes, identifying their contacts, staking out the message drops, bugging offices and homes–the good old days. Of course, it was dangerous, and I don’t miss being shot at. These days, the Ruskies are more interested in smuggling luxury goods back home while avoiding their own customs officers.

Tom was already tired of this assignment. How many of these lunchrooms do you look after?

A couple of dozen. They are all lunch and supper places. Most are within a few blocks of government offices. They want to be close to pick up gossip, rumors, or solid information from the workers when they go to lunch or for after-dinner drinks. They don’t care so much about accuracy. They need a steady stream of information that will please their bosses back home. Not a bad idea, really. Most of the pudgy government office paper pushers are in dead-end jobs. They prance around in public and like to puff up their importance by spouting off about rumors as if they are facts.

It intrigued Tom. What sort of things could they hear?

Anything and everything. Imagine a house with only one door. That’s easy to protect. Now imagine a house with holes like Swiss cheese. That’s how the vast pool of government information looks. There are many holes to plug, and we can’t fix them all.

Ray continued, The restaurant owners believe I work for the State Department. From time to time, I drop off a few tidbits that might interest a particular country. Whatever we pass on has been cleared for release, so never ad lib beyond the script. For today, play along and agree with whatever I say.

Tom was trying to figure out a few gaps in this set up. If these small guys banded together, they could cast a broader net to collect more information for less effort.

Ray braked the car hard to avoid a jaywalker. In a sense, they do that. They meet on Tuesdays under the cover of a local trade group. To see it, you would think it was a bunch of old guys sitting around drinking mid-afternoon coffee. Mostly, they don’t trust each other. They’re a lot like poker players–smile to your face but hold their cards close. They fear that someone from another country would withhold a piece of information vital to them. If they exchange information, it’s always on a quid pro quo basis.

Ray pulled into an empty parking place. Ok, this is the intel collection point for Myanmar. The café uses the country’s colonial name, ‘Burma’. Remember what I told you. As soon as we step in, and for as long as we are in here, whatever we say and do is likely being recorded. Can you pull this off?

Tom smiled. It should be easy. I minored in drama in college. I was almost the next Hollywood action hero but needed a steadier paycheck. So, I did the next best exciting thing and joined the Bureau instead.

I like to have fun in these places, said Ray. For this one, I always hang my coat where I think the microphone is. It drives the owner nuts.

They walked into the Café Burma, anticipating a long lunch. The owner, Aung Sein, greeted them at the door with a broad smile and said to the older man, Welcome back my friend.

Good afternoon, Aung.

Your favorite table is ready for you. He ushered them to the booth in the far corner next to the large ornate urn of colorful artificial flowers. He glanced at the urn, smiled, and summoned the waitress.

After he left, the older man removed his heavy coat and draped it on the urn.

The young waitress brought over the menus and smiled at the familiar older man.

Good afternoon Dewi. This is my new co-worker, Tom. We would both like hot tea, and he’ll need a few minutes to read the menu.

Tom’s eyes followed the waitress as she moved to the refreshment counter. Wow. Now I see why you like this job. She’s beautiful.

Dewi? I guess so. Do you want to meet her?

Well, yes, I would!

Ray leaned back and replied, Of course, personal relations with the family member of a known spy might mean that it’s time to move to another agency. Based on our chat this morning, I believe you will enjoy the excitement of counting fungus spores on soybeans in Kansas for the FDA.

Tom frowned at the menu. Why do we have to eat lunch here? Why not a desert and coffee? Then visit a hamburger stand that also sells big potato wedges instead of French fries. The last strange café I ate at gave me a case of the trots for three days.

Be careful about what you order.

You must have a cast iron stomach - or at least I can see that it’s well padded.

Comes from many years in the marines. You eat what the mess hall dishes up or go hungry. Looking up, he said, Try the sea bass stew. It’s not too spicy, with a lot of vegetables.

Tom was not happy. No thanks. I’m looking for a salad with a dressing I can pronounce.

You new guys are too soft and need toughening up.

Dewi brought a teapot and two cups. Are you ready to order?

Tom pointed at something on the menu that was written in Burmese. He hoped it was a salad with chicken and house dressing.

The older man closed his menu. Dewi, please bring me a cheeseburger and fries with an extra pickle spear.

She noted their orders on a pad and left.

Hey, that wasn’t on the menu.

You need to know how to read between the lines. These places all have burgers and fries on their children’s menu. If in doubt, Ray spelled, A S K.

Aung was staring at something under his cash register with a puzzled look on his face. He jumped up and made his way to their table.

He smiled and slightly bowed to Ray. Excuse me. Please permit me to move your coat to the rack near the front door. We must conform to the new fire code.

Ray grimaced. Well, Aung, it looks nicer than anything already on that rack. Make sure that no one takes it. And take care the papers don’t fall out of the inside pocket.

No problem, Aung said, smiling the same friendly grin. I will watch it for you. As he removed the coat, he adjusted the urn so that the corner of its base lined up with a notch on the stand.

The two FBI agents look around the dining room for anyone suspicious. There was not much to see. A bunch of office workers talking loudly and downing a quick lunch. The sound of crashing pans in the kitchen. The owner on his usual perch on a stool behind the high cash register counter.

When the waitress brought their lunch, Aung walked over to ask them if their order was correct. He then adjusted the light fixture over their table.

After he left, Ray winked at Tom and cleared his throat. Tom said, So what rumors are floating around in your department today.

Ray looked around to make sure no one was nearby. Well, I heard from the mail clerk who heard from his wife’s cousin in the radio intercept center that a mechanical failure severely damaged the Indian Navy’s aircraft carrier. It’s being kept at sea and cannot launch any aircraft for at least another 10 days. The Indians are keeping it quiet.

Tom quipped, I wonder if their military stuff is like ours, built by the lowest bidder.

That wouldn’t surprise me. The other big news is that we are considering placing a tariff on imports of Jade. Burma exports lots of it.

Tom laughed lightly, Do you think the owner of this place has stock in a mine? If he does, he better ship it all over here before the new tax is in force.

Ray sat for a minute. I thought you would be interested to know there is a new brunette in department 10. She sits with the financial analysts and looks like she is right out of college. Cute, nice bod, brilliant smile. It won’t be long before the usual young bucks cluster around her desk, bird-dogging her for dates. You know, Tom, she might be right up your alley.

She probably already has a boyfriend. Still, the neighborly thing to do is to stop by and properly welcome her to the team.

The pair munched on their lunch while scanning the dining room for problems and suspicious characters. Ray leaned close to his companion and quietly whispered, Those two fellows at the table near the front door sipping tea. I think they work out of the Chinese embassy.

What’s odd about that?

Ray kept staring at the two by the door. It’s a couple of miles across town from here to there. Seems a long way to come through heavy mid-day traffic for a bowl of rice.

Maybe their boss allows them more lenient working hours.

Ray munched on his fries. Could be, but I smell trouble. They might recruit the smaller guys for jobs they don’t want traced to them.

As they rose to leave, Ray said, Leave the tip in cash.

Tom looked skeptical. If it’s not on the receipt, then we’re not reimbursed for it.

Ray dug through his wallet, counting his money. They won’t reimburse us for this. They say we would eat lunch anyhow. If the tip is on the credit card, it goes straight into the owner’s merchant account and Dewi will never see it. Her father keeps it. If you leave cash, she can put it in her personal piggy bank.

You seem rather close to these people.

Ray picked up his check. Just her. She’s about the same age as my youngest daughter. If she were a bad kid, I wouldn’t care. But she is pretty straight and had a rough life helping with the family business.

Tom pulled a few coins out of his pocket. OK, cash it is.

And Tom, impress the young lady with your generosity.

With lunch concluded, the pair paid their bill and walked outside. Ray said, You did pretty good for a first time out.

I told you I minored in theater.

Yes, but you never said that you passed your classes.

Tom shook his head. Ha, ha–funny guy.

Ray continued his earlier explanation. So, Tom, here is the background you would have heard at the team in-briefing. This is Washington DC. Many things happen here that impact all the other countries of the world. They could be economic, diplomatic, military, legal, financial aid, tariffs, the entire gauntlet of areas and topics. With thousands of big and small actions every day, the news media must select what they will report. Often, a decision or political action impacting a small country is never mentioned. These countries must ferret out what information they can. Their limited embassy assets deal with official Washington bureaucrats. Their small staffs lack the time to dig deep into other issues. They use their local spy nets to do that.

Hiring, training and supporting an intelligence network is expensive. These smaller powers cannot afford to do that, so they set up a spy team in plain sight. They do this in all the major cities of the world. Cafes are the perfect cover. Imagine the many ethnic restaurants in this town. The market is enormous. People who want to taste something exotic, traveling businessmen seeking a taste of home while on the road. They also attract government officials whose work impacts these countries and want to soak up a small bit of their culture.

Their home country originally financed and staffed each café. Some are better run than others and have more money for mischief. The wealthier ones have more sophisticated listening and surveillance devices. Most of the managers have been here for years. This is their dream job. To keep it, they must feed a steady stream of intelligence tidbits back to their country. These people are settled here. They raised their families here and occasionally help relatives to immigrate. They don’t want to do anything that would cause them to be expelled or to be recalled home. With its crime and chaos, they find downtown D.C. a better place to live than their home countries.

Most of these places have been in operation for years. Over time, many of the original staff have either returned home or settled elsewhere in this country. Take, for example, the café we visited for lunch. The country now calls itself Myanmar, but the old café name remains. The owner came here 15 years ago with his wife and daughter. Not long after he arrived, his wife was killed in a car accident. He visits her grave often. I watched his daughter helping in the restaurant from an early age. Year after year, I watched her grow up and even helped her sometimes with her homework. She finished high school last year. To talk to her, you would think she is a typical American teenager.

Tom thought for a minute. She looks pretty hot. Do you suppose she’s bait for gathering information?

No, I believe Aung handles that side of the business himself. She acts like she doesn’t know, but it’s a family game they play.

As they approached their parked car, Tom asked, Ray, who else watches these families?

During orientation, they should have introduced you to Department 15’s team. They watch their financial, school interactions, and so on. Sometimes they come up with something we need to check out on site. We’re their ‘feet on the street’.

Ray continued, This is really a fun job. Each of the cafes has its own personality. The owners are all quirky but have one thing in common–they don’t want to give justification for being recalled home. Our job is to keep this cast of clowns under surveillance. Better the spy you know than the one you don’t. We watch for new people joining the café or increased intelligence gathering activity. A few of these countries have long-standing feuds and won’t pass up a chance to score points on each other. We’ve had to step in a few times to stop them from fighting one another. We never allow open warfare. The local criminals don’t appreciate other people shooting it out in their gang area. The cafes from countries that border one another usually cooperate. It’s the ones from farther away that don’t play well together.

Inside the restaurant, Aung motions for Dewi. Watch things here. I will be in my office. He walked up the steps to the apartment over the café. He replayed the recording of the agents. He frowned at the unintelligible voices until he heard himself say he was moving the coat to the rack. Then the audio was clear again. He smiles when he hears the rumors about the Indian navy and began taking notes. This goes tonight! Aung stored away his equipment and returned to the dining room.

Chapter 2

Michael Chiluba, the owner of the Zambian restaurant three doors up the street, walked in, as the two Chinese walk out. They eye each other in passing.

Michael walked over to Aung. Those guys look like trouble.

I heard them speaking Mandarin. I’ve never seen them here before.

Why do you think they are all the way out here?

Aung busied himself behind the counter. It’s part of a never-ending intimidation game. My country borders theirs. They like to remind us of how strong their army is, and they will do whatever they want to. At least this time they paid before they left.

Well, I came over to tell you about the new sound monitoring equipment Matt is installing for me. I have ordered enough cameras and microphones to cover every table. A central control set will monitor the tables by camera and activate microphones for those most likely to spill interesting information.

Aung said wistfully, Sound and cameras covering every table. That’s the proper way to do it. I hope later this year to add microphones to the rest of my booths. Your government must provide a more generous budget than mine.

No, my friend. Like you, we are self-funded. We charge more for dinners than you do and have an alcohol permit.

I don’t see adding zebra steaks and hippo stew to a Burmese restaurant menu.

As a friend, please let me give you a tip. The Zambian leaned forward and spoke in a low, conspirator voice. Americans say that any meat they are not accustomed to has the consistency of chicken, so they do not expect much. Also, if you serve something other than pork, chicken or beef, it seems exotic to them. If the taste or texture is different, you can call it what you want.

Aung thought for a moment. Other meats, like what?

Michael smiled. Deer meat, what they call venison and other animals like buffalo, squirrels, horse, goat, raccoon or even bear. The more they pay for it, the more these gullible Americans convince themselves that it’s whatever you say it is.

Those sound expensive to buy and I would not know how to cook them. I am afraid they would go bad before I sold it all.

Michael pressed ahead with what he considered being good advice to a friend. It does not take long to learn. As always, when in doubt, drown it in a rich sauce. If a suitable sauce is not available, add hot peppers.

Aung sniffed and gazed into the distance. I would be uncomfortable with such a deception. I run an honest operation.

It is honest! You sell food, they buy food. One type of red meat is as nutritious as another. An honest exchange. They don’t want to show a lack of sophistication, so they always complement the food. I know it works and helps to finance a more thorough operation. Michael paused for a moment. Another big money maker is serving alcohol. You would need to apply for a liquor license, but the profits are quite good.

Aung shook his head. I don’t want alcohol here. It leads to problems with theft and fights with drunks. I don’t have adequate space to add a bar. Also, intoxicating drinks would violate our family’s Buddhist beliefs. Alcohol clouds a person’s meditation and selling it is discouraged. I am content to let these customers damage themselves at someone else’s place, like your restaurant.

There was a crash and a shout from the kitchen as Michael said, Well, if you change your mind and want some advice, let me know.

Aung glared in the kitchen's direction. As you know, I have set aside most of my money to invest in my child’s operation. The health insurance will pay nothing toward it.

How’s that coming along?

Aung nodded thoughtfully. The first step is a psychologist’s recommendation, and we have an appointment soon to get that.

The Zambian looked off into the distance. Pity to change her. She’s such a lovely young lady.

After the last of the lunch crowd left the café, the tables were cleared, and the midafternoon lull had begun. Aung said, Dewi, there’re still several weeks before your appointment with the psychologist. Have you been studying the main points that you must discuss with him? We cannot afford to keep meeting with these doctors with nothing to show for it. We need his recommendation for your sex change operation. You must say the right words to him. My daughter must become my son.

Papa, I told you I am happy as I am and don’t want to be made into something that I am not.

And I told you that you have no choice in this matter. I must pass my name and this place on to a son. Otherwise, when I die, my brothers will claim all my property and you will have nothing. Nothing at all! All that I worked for will pay for the luxuries of others. All my dreams will be for nothing. Nothing! Everything that I sacrificed to build. Our small family fortune will be lost. I have done everything for you! You don’t understand the world. A woman in business is constantly harassed, cheated, and bullied. A man is better suited to fight back.

Aung began gesturing wildly. I have sacrificed for many years to pay for this. I who gave you all you ever wanted and now you are trying to crush the one thing I ask of you. Who taught you to be so selfish? It’s from living in this country where they teach disrespect to elders. This is most important to me, to both of us. Why should I waste my breath? You are determined to crush my hopes. If this is all the respect my wishes have, then I am a failure as a father and deserve to lose everything. At least your mother is not here to witness your shame.

Dewi hung her head. It’s that I would not be happy being something I am not. I am happy with the way I am. Doctors can cut and sew on me, but my heart would be the same. And I would still be attracted to boys.

If you feel so strongly about that boy, perhaps the doctors can use him as a donor, and you might exchange pieces.

A shocked Dewi began quietly to cry.

Aung pulled a small calendar from beneath the counter. He pushed it across the counter to Dewi. His finger stabbed at a day circled in red. This is the day! Be ready! He pulled out a pen and marked off today’s date. It will soon be here. Study the symptoms you must recite flawlessly to the doctor.

Dewi was at a loss for what to do. She hated these arguments with her father. Why couldn’t he understand that she does not want this? It’s always his way or nothing.

Dewi sat at an empty dining room table and took out her cell phone to call her friend Thiri. Thiri’s father was an administrator at the Myanmar embassy. Dewi likes her American friends, but Thiri came from a similar culture. Sometimes it was easier to discuss things with someone who looks at them from the same point of view. Thiri understands Dewi’s duty to her father. They went to high school together and both straddle the two cultures, Burmese and American.

Dewi sighed. The call went to voicemail. She would call Matt and unburden herself, but this was one subject he did not understand. His advice was always the same. Tell him you won’t do it. You are over eighteen and can simply walk away. She wondered if all American children have such little respect for their family. Can they so easily walk away as if their parents are of no value?

Chapter 3

The postman dropped off the mail at the front counter where Aung tended the cash register. He sorted through the envelopes. Charity, charity, junk, charity, bill, bill, political junk mail. The bills went into one pile and the junk mail was tossed