“Fon, her name is Fon.”
The consent procedure was settled. Fon was given some tablets to prepare her for surgery. They made her drowsy once again. A nurse told Regan it was best to return later that night after she had undergone surgery. Regan reluctantly agreed as he knew he still had to meet Marco and wrap things up at Lucky’s Bar.
* * *
The taxi was not equipped with flashing lights and two-tone horns so it took fifteen minutes to reach the bar. Regan walked up to Room 302 and knocked on the door. Marco let him in.
“How’s Fon?”
Regan told him what had happened at the hospital. Marco simply nodded.
“Make your phone calls?”
“Yes. All arranged. The ambulance is round the back. We cleaned up Watkins here. Got him a new jacket. Vitale is still heavily sedated, and I’ll give him another shot in the back of the ambulance before we catch the flight.”
“Your removal team sounds better than the CIA or ours for that matter.”
“Hey! I thought you said you were a cop. You sound more like a spook.”
“Let’s just say it’s a bit of both and leave it there.”
“Ha-ha! It’s been a real pleasure meeting you, Steve. Do you want me to mention you to my uncle?”
“No. I’ll pass on that.”
“Your secret is safe. Believe me.”
They embraced once more. “Thanks. Look, I got stuff that needs attending to. Hope to see you again one day in better circumstances.”
“Sure, buddy. Take care of yourself and that woman of yours.”
“I will but can’t say she’s mine.”
“Man! I’m only twenty-five but a blind man could see she loves you.”
“Maybe, but there are complications,” Regan said.
Marco said, “Where there’s a will... ”
“Yeah, I know, there’s a way. I hope so. Ciao, buddy!” Regan interjected.
14
Graham Graham
Regan had to clear his head but first he must call the hospital. He was told Fon was still in surgery and to check back in four hours.
“Four hours!” he said and thought something must be wrong. Regan made another call for a taxi. He wanted to retrieve his Toyota still parked where they were kidnapped by Vitale and Watkins. The taxi crossed the Sarasin Bridge into the Phang- Nga Province and at a steady seventy kilometres per hour he was there in just over one hour.
* * *
The journey brought the events flooding back to him. First, there on the right was the coconut tree fringed beach where the longtail boatman had delivered them to Vitale and Watkins. As the taxi crossed the bridge, it revived vivid memories of the leap into the water to escape from the two Americans. He peered over the parapet through the taxi window and saw rocks under the water barely twenty yards from the point of jumping.
“Lucky,” he said right out loud to himself.
The wreck of the Mercedes was still at the side of the road and he was relieved to find his Toyota pickup truck where he had left it. He fished out his keys, unlocked the driver’s door, turned the ignition key, and heard the engine start first time. Before he drove off, Regan glanced over at the meadow where a few hours earlier Fon and he had spontaneously, lustfully and lovingly climaxed in union.
* * *
Ninety minutes later he was driving down Telegraph Hill in Patong headed for the Dutch Consulate. He felt alone, disconsolate, without Fon by his side. He truly felt a piece of him was missing, a feeling he had not had since his wife and daughter died. Regan entered the Consulate by the usual door, said hello to the security guy, then made his secure phone call to London to file his verbal report.
The head of DOCS, Detective Chief Superintendent Graham, took the call. “Steve, how are you? We heard about what happened in Bangkok and your escape,” Graham said.
“Okay, okay, I guess. Shaken not stirred.”
“I see you still have a sense of humour.”
“And a life, boss.”
“You been out the office too long. No boss, remember. No ranks, just names. Graham will do fine.”
“Right, Graham. Don’t you have a first name?”
“Of course, but don’t laugh. It’s Graham.”
“Graham Graham! Your parents had a sense of humour too.”
“Tell me about it, a wicked sense of humour. Steve, give me a rundown of events.”
“Okay, Graham,” Regan said not able to resist a laugh. “Right. First off, the intel from Jack at GCHQ was certainly good. There were two containers behind the American Steak House, Watkins’ place. One had six girls held prisoner. They were going to be taken to the States by boat to be sold to brothels.”
“Wait up. Sorry to butt in. I need to update you. Red, John Barnard, and a small task force raided the American Steak Bar based on the intel you provided to Broster at the Embassy. That must have been after you escaped, right?”
“Right. What happened?”
“Barnard shot dead one guy, a local cop, a chief.”
“Good, that was the guy who arrested us after taking dirty money from Watkins. It was the Texan who killed Mae. Cut her throat in plain daylight after she told us about the other girls in the container.”
“They found heroin and guns in the other container,” Graham said.
“Great. What happened to them?”
“Broster arranged for a Thai Special Forces Major, Major Thaksin, to act as interpreter and liaison for our guys. He got a Thai Chinook to pick up the payload and drop it off in the oggin.”
“What? The container?”
“Yes.”
“Fucking hell! Fantastic. No wonder Vitale was shitting himself.”
“What do you mean?”
“The guns were for the CIA. Jack was right. Vitale knew the spooks would come for him after he failed to deliver. So, he must have known about the raiding party.”
“Must have, yeah. We know he left a short time before our guys went in. We know he left with Watkins, and one of the Thai henchmen told Barnard and Red they were heading for Phuket after you.”
“Fuck me! Why didn’t they follow on down?”
“Too far. They had too much of a start on our chaps. Red was frantic. He pleaded with the Major to use the Chinook, but he flat refused, saying he had already exceeded his jurisdiction.”
“Look. Let me cut to the chase and it was a chase. I’ll fill in all the detail in writing sometime later. Vitale and Watkins followed us back to Phuket. Took us prisoner ”
“Steve, that’s the second time you said ‘us.’ Who are ‘us’?”
“Me and Fon.”
“The girl from Lucky’s Bar, the manageress?”
“Yeah. But she’s a bit more than a manageress. We escaped once but they recaptured us. Took us back to Lucky’s Bar. Vitale and Watkins were going to kill both of us and torture Fon.”
“Torture? How come?”
“Get me to admit I’m UC, an undercover.”
“Did you?”
“No fucking way. Vitale was shit scared of the CIA repercussions, but he also had this thing about me.”
“We knew that because of Miami and the pop he had at you in Boston.”
“Yeah, it became personal to him. You want to know the real reason why?”
“Why?”
“I called him a fat pig in Miami.”
“No!”
“Yes! And Enrico did warn me at the time he would never forget. He was a psycho.”
“Enrico? Remind me.”
“Enrico Bruno, the Miami Mafia boss, or so we thought. Carlo Vitale was his cousin. In fact Bill Morris, aka Guglielmo Di Maria, was the real boss. He had the balls to become a Mafia plant inside British Customs with a view to infiltrating the DEA.”
“Yes. I remember now,” Graham said. “You keep using past tense when referring to Vitale. What gives?”
Regan thought about the answer. “Steve, you still there?”
“Yes. Vitale is dead, and Watkin
s.”
“What happened?”
“As I said, they took me and Fon prisoner. They were holding us in a room at Lucky’s Bar. Watkins had this home-made cattle prod thing. He was about to torture Fon and probably rape her in front of me when the door burst open. ”
“And then?”
“A guy bursts in, takes the two Americans by surprise, and shot both dead.”
“Left you alone?”
“Obviously. I’m talking to you now.”
“Sorry, stupid question.”
Regan sensed a shift of power in this informal interrogation. “Before you ask. No, I have no idea who he was.”
“What happened to the bodies?”
“Removal team.”
“Must be Langley, CIA.”
“I guess so.” Take the initiative, Steve. “But I don’t know. Why not waste us two, Fon and me?”
“Good point. There are occasions in our line of work when it’s sometimes best not to know,” Graham said.
Regan thought, He knows something, or has an idea about what happened, and he’s letting me off the hook. Thanks, boss, I mean Graham.
“Just one other thing,” Regan said. “Twenty-five k of that drug buy money is missing.”
“Twenty-five thousand?”
“Yup.”
“How did that happen?”
“Possibly, I left the safe open. I don’t know. Maybe they took half, thinking I wouldn’t notice.”
“Okay. We’ll deal with that when you get back to Blighty.”
“Graham, I have some stuff to do before I go back. Personal stuff.”
“Such as?”
“Fon is in hospital.”
“What! Tell me about it.”
Regan said, “The bastard Watkins stabbed her in the eye because she was struggling. He ripped all her clothes off. She slapped him, and he stuck a blade in her eye.”
“Oh shit! Okay, tell you what, one week to sort matters out. No more because I will have an RAF transport plane booked for you one week from today. Understood?”
“Yes. But... ”
“No buts, Steve. One week,” Graham ordered.
“One other thing,” Regan said.
“What?”
“Where are Red and John?”
“Back here at base, waiting for you. They have been sick with worry about what happened to you. I’m sure they will be happy you are still alive and kicking. Bye, Steve. See you soon.”
“Bye.”
Regan replaced the handset and said to himself in the empty room, “Fuck! One fucking week!”
15
Phetchabun, Thailand
Regan drove to the hospital to learn Fon was still under the effect of the anaesthetic so he had no choice but to return to Lucky’s Bar. Before he did, he asked a nurse to make sure she told Fon he had visited and would return tomorrow.
* * *
He returned at eight the following morning. Regan walked down the corridor towards the ward where Fon was located. He spotted the same doctor he had previously seen on Fon’s arrival at the hospital.
“Good morning, Doctor... ” Regan peered at the name badge on the white coat. “Doctor Shinawatra.”
“Ah! Yes, good morning. The boyfriend of the young lady I operated on yesterday evening.”
“Yes. How did it go?”
“All was well in as much as there was no penetration into the cranial cavity so no brain damage whatsoever. And the blade missed the artery. A slightly longer blade may have been fatal. Now she is resting.”
“What about her eye? Did you save it?”
“She will never see again out of that eye. In time I expect the eye to atrophy and a prosthetic eye may be required.”
“A false eye?”
“Yes, but a cheap price to pay for such a traumatic injury.”
“I suppose,” Regan said but wondered if Fon would share the same opinion. “Thank you, Doctor,” Regan said as he wheeled away in the direction of Fon’s bed.
I must give myself a talking to, thought Regan. The doctor’s right and anyway I need to be positive for Fon. He smiled on thinking of her as he approached her bed.
“What are you smiling about?” Fon asked.
“We are both alive and there’s no blade sticking out of your eye.”
Fon’s left eye was heavily bandaged but nothing protruded from the dressing.
“That is true,” she said.
“And you look as beautiful as ever.”
“Crazy man!” Fon said, laughing.
“Oh my God! That smile, that laugh. Do you know you have dimples here when you laugh? I love them.” Regan pointed to his cheeks.
“What are dimples?”
Regan took hold of a small mirror on the bedside table and showed Fon her reflected face.
“Ugly,” Fon said.
“No, beautiful.” She laughed again, and Regan showed her dimples in the mirror.
“Dimples, see?”
“Still ugly!” Fon smiled.
Regan turned the mirror to his own face. He put one finger in his mouth and pulled a face - a gurning grimace. “That is ugly!” Regan said.
Fon laughed out loud so the other patients gawped in curiosity. “Yes, ugly. Ugly Steve.”
Regan too laughed out loud. A passing nurse gestured and said, “Shhh!”
Regan and Fon held hands and stifled their laughter. It gave way to a shared giggling fit.
They settled down, gazing into each other’s eyes, Regan conscious not to stare at the bandages. He had full focus on the one beautiful brown eye with its greenish tinges. He looked at her cute small nose, at her small hands, her full mouth.
He whispered, “I want to make love to you now.” Fon giggled again and looked away coyly.
Regan took the hint. He recalled Thais were not fond of public displays of affection. “Okay, serious now. When are you going to get out of here?”
“Doctor say three days.”
“Three days! I’m expected back in the UK in six days.”
“Steve.”
“Yes?”
“Don’t be angry but when I get out I must go to Bangkok, then Phetchabun.”
“Where is that?”
“About 200 kilometres from Bangkok.”
“Why?”
“Mae’s mother. She leaves a message at bar, Mong bring it here early today.”
“And?”
“I need to go to Bangkok, claim Mae’s body, take to her Mama in Phetchabun for Buddhist wake and funeral.”
“How long for?”
“Funeral last days. Monks come house, pray, eat. All family there, pray, eat, drink. It’s tradition.”
“Can’t someone else do it?”
“Sorry. No. There is no one else.”
“I understand. I’m disappointed but it’s okay. I know you have to do it. I know it means a lot. I am expected to fly back in six days, but I will delay it. I must see you before I go back. Even if only for a day. I need to know what’s going to happen to us.”
“Yes, Steve. I thank you for you understand me. Can you bring in a dress, shoes, bra and panties later? And a small bag with clothes for about five days?”
“What about us? The future?”
“Steve, I do love you. Have faith things will work out. Don’t force things. Your beliefs and mine are not so different. If it is to happen, it will happen.”
“And I love you Fon. Like no other. When I get back I have something for Mae’s family. I know they need money. Mae was sending half her money to her Mama. I know that. Now the poor soul is dead.”
“Steve, that is kind. Jai dee. Good heart. I need some rest now. See you later?”
“Of course.”
Fon rested and fell asleep. She dreamt of a world with Regan by her side.
* * *
Regan returned with a bag full of Fon’s clothes. He gave her the twenty-five thousand dollars and said, “Don’t lose it Keep it safe.”
Fon smiled and said, “It wil
l be safe. You know where I will hide it.” They kissed. A tender long kiss on the mouth.
Fon said, “For you, I make exception. Kiss is good.”
Regan turned around as he left the hospital ward, smiled and waved. Fon blew him an air kiss.
16
Trust Me
The phone behind the bar rang for several minutes. It was nine in the morning. Regan nursed a hangover from the night before. Nothing to do but drink seeing he was still alone, missing Fon. He’d had a heavy heart before but almost forgotten that sick feeling low in his chest and the pit of the stomach. Now it came back to him. The numbness, the helplessness. It took him four years to get over the death of his wife and daughter. Now, he thought, missing Fon is like a kind of bereavement.
Regan consoled himself with the idea she would soon return. It was five days since she left for Phetchabun. He also consoled himself with alcohol but never for one moment was he tempted by any of the other working girls at the bar. There were offers but he wasn’t interested. Last night, more beers were consumed than usual. AA, the local police chief, called in. It was payment time. Regan would be glad to leave the corruption of Thailand but not its ordinary people, the food, or the scenery. He liked the lifestyle but not the corruption.
AA was mad at him initially when Regan said, “No money.”
Then he remembered Marco’s motorbike. It was a new two hundred c.c. model. Regan gave it to AA who was delighted. It was worth more than the usual payment. Regan knew Marco would have smiled at the gesture. There was another reason to get drunk. Regan had a major argument with Graham earlier that day. Graham reminded him there was an RAF flight booked for him the day after. He should have been on his way to the airport now instead of nursing a hangover at Lucky’s Bar.
Regan flat refused and said, “No way. Not until I see Fon.”
Graham flipped and shouted down the phone, “Get your arse back here. There are things you are not aware of, and I’m certainly not going to tell you state fucking secrets over the phone, secure line or no secure line.”
Regan reflected it was an odd thing to say but dismissed it. He was focussed on Fon, missing her like crazy. He even dreamed about staying in Thailand permanently, but then came to his senses. The phone stopped ringing for a while then started again. The tone was annoying Regan’s fragile hung-over brain.
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