“For fuck’s sake! Answer the phone. Mong, where the fuck are you?”
Mong came running from the direction of the lavatory, buckling his belt. Regan felt bad disturbing the man’s dump. The daily dump was a sacred part of the day as far as Regan was concerned.
“Mong. Sorry. Answer that, please.”
“It’s for you, Mister Steve.”
“Who is it?”
“Fon.”
Regan jumped from his chair, leapt over the bar counter and spoke into the mouthpiece, “Fon! Where are you? When are you coming back?”
“I don’t know, Steve. I don’t know.”
She sounded strange, different. Regan couldn’t figure it out. His heart dropped like a stone. He shivered and fought an urge to cry.
“Fon! All I need to know is are we okay?”
“We are okay. There are things I have to do. Leave it at that. Important decisions. Understand please, Steve.”
“Right. I understand. I trust you. I’ll see if I can get a flight to London tomorrow. How will I get in touch with you?”
“You can’t. Don’t ask. Please trust me.”
“I trust you. Think of me often, Fon. Especially before you go to sleep at night.”
“I do Steve, every night and every morning when I wake. Bye.”
The phone line went dead.
17
Sabai Sabai
Regan made one last trip to the Dutch Consulate to use the secure line.
“Graham, sorry about yesterday. I’m going to see if I can get a flight today from BKK to Heathrow.”
“No need for apologies. I understand the stress and strain you have been under. Use the Regan passport and credit card, okay?”
Regan said, “Right, I’ll use the drop box to leave them for safe collection, all right?”
“Wise move,” Graham replied.
“Yes. I’ll call from the airport with flight details. Will someone meet me at Heathrow?”
“Yes,” Graham said.
* * *
Regan caught a Royal Thai Airways flight from Phuket to Bangkok and paid for a single flight onwards to Heathrow with the same carrier. He had a window seat on take-off from Phuket. He saw the blues and greens of the Andaman Sea to his left. The green reminded him of Fon’s eyes. As the plane banked, he saw the Sarasin Bridge way below and sighed.
Above the horizon was a light caramel coloured tint to the sky to the east. The same colour as Fon’s skin. His chest welled, and a tear rolled down his cheek from one eye. He sighed deeply and said to himself softly, “Sabai Sabai.”
He swore it was Fon’s voice he heard, not his own. In just over one hour he was disembarking in Bangkok. Regan followed the ‘international connections’ signs then checked the destination board. Royal Thai Airways bound for London was on time and scheduled for departure in one hour. He found the airline’s lounge with ease, located a phone booth, inserted his Steve Regan credit card and dialled.
“I’ll be landing at Heathrow in about fifteen hours, Flight Number TG 924.”
Regan slept for most of the flight. He did what he needed to at baggage reclaim then walked through an almost empty Heathrow passport control.
“Welcome back, Mr. Regan,” the officer said, glancing at the name in the passport, as he ushered him through.
* * *
John Barnard and Red were waiting for him in the arrivals hall. No one spoke. There were firm handshakes all round but Red and Regan hugged like the old buddies they were. Regan followed them out to the car park and got into a new Range Rover. Once in the privacy of the car, they spoke.
“Nice wheels,” Regan said. “The company’s?”
Red said, “Yes, but we might have to give it back seeing you lost twenty-five thousand dollars in Thailand.”
Barnard laughed and said, “Search him, Red.”
Regan snapped back, “Twenty-five fucking k! You’d think I’d steal twenty-five thou’ and get the sack for the sake of four month’s wages. Fuck me! I thought I knew you guys.”
“Steady on, Steve. Only a joke. What the fuck’s wrong with you, man?” Red said.
“I lost my sense of humour as well as the dough, all right?”
“Look, take it easy. We know you had a bad time out there,” Red said.
“Bad time? I guess you could call it that.” Regan sighed.
“Steve, I know that look. I know you. How many years have we worked undercover?” Red asked.
“Maybe too many,” Regan said.
There was silence for two minutes. An awkward silence broken by Red. John Barnard decided to stay out of it. “Woman problem?”
“What makes you say that?”
“I know that little boy lost look. I know you. You have a habit of picking the bad ones.”
“Hmmm. Carry on.”
“Caroline Sewell for one. That badass barrister, judge, whatever she was. Bill Morris tried to kill her then she tried to kill you. Fucking coke dealer too!”
“She’s nothing like her.”
“So it is a woman?”
“Yes, Sherlock. A woman I fell in love with. So, leave me be.”
* * *
Heathrow to the South West London suburb where the DOCS Headquarters is located, took Barnard forty-five minutes to drive. The remainder of the conversation before they arrived was briefing Regan on the American Steak Bar raid.
“Who shot the fat cop? The police chief.”
“Me,” said Barnard.
“Good. He was a bent cop. He was the one who arrested me and Fon on a trumped-up charge of murder. Watkins sliced the girl right in front of us. The cop was paid by the Texan, Watkins, to frame us. Probably knew about the heroin, gun running and the sex trafficking. Good fucking riddance.”
Regan failed to register the puzzled expressions on the faces of his colleagues. “Here we are,” Barnard said.
“Looks the same,” Regan said.
“For now,” said Red.
“What the fuck are you going on about?” Regan asked.
Red slyly winked at Barnard and said, “They plan to erect a sign outside to help the postman - TOP SECRET - DESTROY ORGANISED CRIME SYNDICATES brackets DOCS close brackets.”
“Oh, fuck off you two!” All three men laughed.
“I guess the arm is fine then, Red?”
“Good as new. Which it is of course.”
More laughter followed until the rear passenger door opened to reveal Graham, holding an umbrella and looking more like Lee Marvin than ever, with his leather jacket, and crewcut grey hair. “C’mon Steve, and welcome home. Sorry about the London weather.”
“Bit colder than Thailand, for sure.”
All four men went through to the large main office next to the state-of-the -art comms room.
Graham asked, “Tea?”
“Fuck me! Thought you’d never ask. I did like Thailand but no decent tea.” Graham left the room. Regan thought that weird - the boss going to get the tea. He thought, Oh, well!
The main office was about twenty yards long and thirty yards wide. It was filled with several working desks, cabinets, chairs and small tables. Typewriters, a couple of new-fangled word processors, desk-lamps, filing trays and telephones adorned the desks. In the centre of the room stood a fine Cherrywood table surrounded by six mock Regency armchairs.
Regan sat in one of the armchairs with his back to the door and facing the large panoramic window. He saw the vast landscaped garden at the back of the building. It was drab in the fine drizzle of an English spring. He thought, Good to be back but this weather is grim. Where’s the sun? He heard the door hinges squeak behind him.
“Great, the tea. I see no one’s oiled those hinges since I’ve been... ”
Graham’s voice boomed, “Steve, I’d like to introduce you to our new colleague, Detective Bangorn Chanahan of the Australian Federal Police.”
A svelte woman dressed smartly in a black business suit walked briskly into the room. She wore an eye patch. Regan turned a
round to see the new arrival. The new detective was suddenly illuminated by a shaft of sunlight lancing through the window, piercing the gloom of the day.
His heart beat faster. “Fon! Fon! Fon!”
She ran to him and clung to him tight as tight could be. “Orn. My name is Orn, Steve.”
They kissed hungrily devouring each other. Tasting, sensing a shared passion; smelling the scent of a heady brew of mutual attraction, a potent sexual chemistry. The flame was rekindled.
Graham coughed and said, “Let’s leave these two kids alone. They have much to discuss. By the way, Regan, did you really think we wouldn’t have another undercover in place to watch your back?”
“Figures. But I’d never have guessed.”
As Red left, he said, “Mate, she’s a cracker!”
“Yes, bud, much better looking than you.”
* * *
Regan surfaced for air. He held Orn’s hands and stepped back to take in all of her. “Well, well, well,” Regan said.
“Is that all you can say?”
“No. Because I have a ton of questions,” Regan said.
“I’d better sit down,” she said and took a seat in one of the armchairs.
Regan followed suit and rearranged his chair directly facing hers. He fixed his gaze on her, delighted but so confused.
“You look good with the eye patch. Sexy, even. How is the eye?”
“Good. I will almost certainly lose sight in it, but I’ve come to terms with that and it means no more undercover work for me.”
“So you Thai or Australian?”
“Aussie but I was born and raised in Thailand.”
“Mama-san? How did you fake that so easily?”
“I did work the bars. That bit was true.”
“You were a bar girl, bar lady?”
Orn frowned and said,“Yes. For four years in Pattaya.”
“How did you manage the Thai-style pidgin English?”
“That was the hardest part. I had to stop myself from speaking proper English. I just fell back on my memories of working the bar,” Orn said.
“What else is, or was true?”
“I have a daughter. That’s true. I was married but now divorced. My Papa did teach me about guns.”
“Tell me about that.”
“He was a colonel in the Thai Police. He was incorruptible and blew the whistle on many internal scams. He taught me how to shoot at our home for protection from corrupt cops. That was after they came looking for him one day. They shot my mother dead because he wasn’t there. I hid under a bed.”
“What happened to your dad?”
“He had to flee Thailand. Australia granted him asylum, but it was years before I could join him. He had no money in a strange land. That’s why I started working bars to send him money like a good Thai daughter does.”
“No feelings, just sex, right?” Regan asked.
“Exactly. Do you have a problem with that?”
“No. I didn’t with Fon in Phuket so why should I feel different now?”
Orn squeezed his hand and said, “Thank you. It worried me.”
“As they say in Oz, no worries,” Regan quipped.
They smiled at each other. “How long you been a Fed?”
“Five years.”
“And undercover?”
“Two years.”
“You are good at it. Damn good.”
“So are you. What is your real name?”
“Steve.” Regan laughed.
“No. I mean your real family name. Vitale was right. You are a smartass.”
“If I tell you that, you have to agree to marry me. Then it would be a family secret.”
“Is that a proposal?”
“Yes, Orn, it is.”
She rose from her seat, threw her arms around Regan and said, “I agree. I love you, love you, love you!”
“Hanrahan, Steve Hanrahan.”
“You’re teasing me.”
“No.”
“Hanrahan is almost Chanahan.”
“I’m mixed Irish and Thai.” Regan laughed.
“How is Mae’s family?”
“Fine. They said to say, ‘Thank you.’”
“For?”
Orn whispered in his ear, “The money. They will send Mae’s two younger sisters to college, so they never have to work in bars.”
“That’s good to hear. Where is your daughter? I’d like to meet her.”
“In Australia. I need to fly back next week to tie up loose ends. Fly back with her and plan for our future.”
“Please don’t be away too long.”
“One week. I fly next week and I’ll be back the week after that.”
* * *
Twenty Weeks Later
“It seems longer than five months since you came back with Kamon. She seems happy.” “Of course. She knows I’m happy. She’s already calling you Daddy. You okay with that?” “Okay? I’m thrilled. She is delightful. I love her and her mum,” Regan said kissing Orn on the forehead.
“Steve?”
“What, babe?”
“I have an eye check-up in a fortnight at the hospital.”
“Yeah, it’s in my diary.”
“Well, there’s going to be another little voice calling you ‘Daddy’ soon. I have an ultrasound appointment for the same day as the eye clinic.”
“What?”
“Don’t be so surprised. I reckon it was the day we had the blow-out.”
“Blow-out? Yeah, I had a feeling about that, no condom, no boom-boom, huh?”
Orn put her finger to her lips and said, “Shhh Kamon might hear.” Then she smiled that cheeky, mischievous smile that so enchanted Regan.
“Steve, one other thing. Let me show you this.” Orn went into the kitchen and checked her daughter was occupied with her dolls. When she returned, she pulled a VHS tape from a padded envelope.
Regan said, “What’s that?”
“Never mind. Watch.”
Orn switched the TV on and activated the ‘Play’ button on the VHS remote. Regan watched in silence. The two-minute tape showed a man in a hospital bed. The man’s eyes bulged out of the sockets. Mucous and saliva streamed from his nose and mouth. The bed blanket was thrown back to reveal what Marco had called a diaper. It was a large nappy, wrapped around the man’s buttocks and genitals. Though there was no sound, he saw a silent scream of agony evident in the man’s face. Next, the man’s eyes closed. The man in the hospital slumped back on the bed as if in a coma or dead. Both Orn and Regan recognised this man.
The tape was destroyed. Regan and Orn never discussed or mentioned Carlo Vitale again. An unsigned note was attached to the tape.
It read: Per i miei amici totale silenzio per sempre [For my friends total silence forever]
* * *
One Week Later
Regan and Orn did discuss names for their expected child.
“Steve, do you want to know the sex when I have the scan?”
“Of course, I want sex. You’re beautiful.”
“Stop fooling around. Seriously.”
“No. As long as we have a healthy baby, I’m happy.”
“Marco for a boy,” Orn said.
“Great choice. I like that name. What about Mae for a girl?”
Orn kissed him and whispered, “Jai dee. Beautiful name.”
“Sabai Sabai,” Regan whispered.
Regan said, “Sabai Sabai, no dramas, no dilemmas.”
“What that mean?” Orn said, Thai Fon style. They both laughed.
THE END
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Did you love Dilemma? Then you should read Rivers of Blood by Stephen Bentley!
The Gripping Fast-Paced Series Finale t
o the Steve Regan Trilogy - Original-Concept Crime Fiction Based on a True Undercover Cop Story
There's only one thing more dangerous than becoming a confidential informant and that's being an undercover cop. They have something in common - living on the edge.
Steve Regan is still undercover working for the same UK secret government department. He sets off on what he thinks is a last assignment: seconded to the Australian Feds posing as a hit man hired to assassinate a liberal Australian politician.
The Australian murder plot leads to the discovery of a frightening far-reaching white supremacist conspiracy to overthrow the government of the United Kingdom. The plotters include nobility, politicians, and high-ranking police officers.
Regan reluctantly agrees to infiltrate a London CID department in order to gather evidence against the cops, as it is suspected some of the detectives are involved in sporadic racially motivated attacks as part of the plot's grand design.
Regan's undercover infiltration is the most dangerous and audacious assignment he has faced.
Will he succeed? Or will this dangerous game endanger someone close to him?
Who will survive and who will die?
If you like Reacher or Milton, you will love Regan - the 'real deal!' - Undercover cop fiction written by a former undercover cop
Read more at Stephen Bentley’s site.
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Dilemma Page 10