by Roland Perry
‘There is always a late plunge.’
‘I might do it!’ he said with a laugh. ‘Look, Jacinta, why don’t you join me? I won’t be drinking. I want an early night too.’
‘No,’ she said after a pause. ‘But thank you.’
‘The traffic’s at a standstill,’ he said, looking out the window at cars at a five-way intersection.
‘What is that sound?’ Jacinta asked.
‘It’s a low-flying chopper,’ Cavalier replied, looking up. ‘One of yours, I think. It has police markings.’
‘I have left two tickets for you at the stadium office on Tuesday. You wouldn’t get in otherwise. It’s a sell-out.’
‘Thank you! I was going to watch it on TV, but it’ll be much better live.’
‘Will you take a girlfriend?’
‘No, why do you ask, two dogs?’
Jacinta was silent for a moment. ‘You are taking dogs?’
‘No, no,’ he laughed. ‘It’s a silly Australian saying. A joke.’
Jacinta again did not react. He filled the gap by saying, ‘Look after yourself and keep an eye on the Russian’s right fist . . .’
‘I have no intention of his right fist going near my eye!’
‘Sorry. My Thai translation of an Australian cliché was not quite right.’
‘Bye,’ Jacinta said with a rare laugh.
Across town at the Grand Millennium, the Russians had their second visitor for the day, but this one had been expected for some months. Police Chief Azelaporn and two deputies arrived at their floor via a service lift. The chief, ebullient and charming, as he could be if he wished, was all smiles and backslaps.
‘Now, about your payment,’ he said. ‘We agreed to half a million, yes; win or lose?’
Kritov nodded. ‘You were going to offer a bonus . . .’ he said.
‘Yes, another two hundred and fifty thousand dollars if Yuri . . . er . . . unfortunately er . . . were not to win.’
‘We would expect more,’ the manager said. ‘Yuri Ivanovitch Goulov is the biggest name in MT boxing. Losing is a very poor option for him. Very poor indeed. He has never lost a fight.’ He turned to Goulov. ‘Not even at junior level, have you, Yuri?’
In Russian, Yuri began, ‘There was this one kid in Kiev, when I was twelve . . .’
Kritov ignored him and turned back to Azelaporn.
‘How much were you expecting?’ the chief asked.
‘Another million.’
Azelaporn removed his dark glasses and rubbed his eyes. ‘You are receiving half a million just to turn up!’ he said with an aggrieved expression. ‘Now you wish to triple it. That is too much!’
Kritov opened his hands and pulled a face. ‘One million is not enough for his reputation, which will plummet after a loss. Five hundred thousand extra, take it or leave it.’ Then he added, with a sly grin, ‘I would imagine you have much invested in this fight.’
‘All right,’ Azelaporn said. ‘You can have a million altogether.’ He pointed at Goulov, ‘Just make sure he goes down in a credible way!’ He stood to leave, jerking his head at his two deputies.
‘And where is the money?’ Kritov asked.
‘You’ll get it after the result.’
‘How many judges will there be?’
‘Three, including the referee.’
‘Are they taken care of?’
‘Of course; if it is down to a score, it will go Jacinta’s way. But I much prefer if it appears that Yuri here has been struck down. I am sure you understand.’
Kritov nodded and escorted his visitors to the door. When they had gone, he said to Goulov, ‘Fantastic, isn’t it?!’
‘I’m not sure . . .’ the boxer said with a confused look.
‘You now have options,’ his manager said, counting them down on his fingers. ‘One, you lose and collect one million; two, you win but don’t kill her, you get half a million; and three, you win and kill her and you get five million.’
Goulov, still befuddled, said, ‘Then I must kill her?’
‘If you want the maximum, yes.’ Kritov’s sly expression returned. ‘But, don’t forget, a month ago, I got fifteen to one that she would win.’
‘How much did you bet against me again?’
‘A hundred thousand dollars.’
‘Which means, if I decide to lose, we receive another million and a half?’
‘Yes, making two and a half million all up for a loss!’
‘But we get a lot more if I kill her?’
‘Double, Yuri, double. Five million American dollars!!’
Yuri jumped from his chair and made a few shadowboxing moves, accompanied by some loud guttural noises and nose snorts.
‘I must kill her,’ he said.
Fifty minutes after his phone chat with Jacinta, Cavalier arrived at the Mandarin Oriental, which was a stunning colonial building, the oldest hotel in the city. The ramp to the entrance was blocked. He peered out the window and could see a crowd on the front terrace. Cameras were flashing. There were TV reporters. Cavalier paid the driver and, as he alighted, received a text from Jacinta.
‘Don’t come to me at the entrance,’ it said. ‘Go inside. I’ll meet you in the restaurant in half an hour.’
Cavalier, surprised, moved through the crowd. Jacinta was doing a media conference outside the foyer, attracting an audience of fifty or so curious onlookers. She wore a white hat with a navy blue band tilted at a rakish angle. Her black and white jumpsuit was tight fitting.
He heard a journalist ask: ‘Where have you been since your last fight? It’s been a year.’
‘Finding an inner peace.’
Another called, ‘What do you think of your opponent?’
‘He is a handsome farang.’
This drew laughs from the onlookers. The Russian had seen too many cage fights to be called handsome. Apart from his hideous nose, his ears had long ago become cauliflower; one had been chewed.
‘Will you win?’ a reporter asked.
‘I have asked for the Buddha’s assistance.’
‘You expect to lose, then?’
‘I did not ask for a win. That would be impertinent.’
‘Then what did you ask for?’
‘Grace under pressure.’
This elicited applause even from some of the journalists.
‘Will you kiss him after the fight?’
‘I hope so.’
This brought more applause and laughter.
Cavalier walked to the hotel’s west wing, and wandered upstairs to the suites, several of which were named after authors such as Somerset Maugham, Joseph Conrad, Noël Coward and James Michener. He made his way back to the main lobby with its glittering chandeliers, then along a passage to the open dining area facing the river. Tourist boats were ploughing past. He found his table, under a large umbrella and a discreet distance from other diners, for which he was thankful now that Jacinta, in all her mysterious celebrity, would attract attention. Cavalier settled in and noticed a police helicopter on a pad close to terraced steps leading down to the river. The night was balmy, rather than muggy, but rain was expected. Stars struggled to be seen through the thick, floating cloud.
Everyone in the dining area stared when Jacinta joined him. Instead of the usual couple of waiters for each table, eight men and women hovered. Two jostled to pull her chair out. She took off her hat, and two more grabbed at it. Jacinta shook her hair out. Phone cameras flashed from surrounding tables, ten metres away. Cavalier was uncomfortable. He turned his face away. The last thing he wanted was his photo all over the internet, which it now could be.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘but I wanted to surprise you. I was in the helicopter above you.’ Jacinta looked at the other tables and smiled. ‘At least the hotel stopped the media disturbing us here.’
‘You are a superstar!’ he said, glancing at the amateur photographers. He turned away again.
‘Huh! Once a year I enter this circus for a couple of days. My boss gives me an
ything—chopper rides, presents and so on. I do media stuff. I am a sort of novelty: a woman who was a man, who was a boxing champ.’
‘You love it?’
‘No. I do it for the rewards. And this fight may be my last.’
Three waiters hovered and took their orders. Cavalier ordered coconut juice for both of them. When the waiters had backed away, he asked why she might not fight again.
‘I prefer my police work to the circus,’ she said with a shrug, ‘and I don’t enjoy the fights, especially against bulls like the Russian. Tomorrow I will win; but I will pay in bruises and injury.’ She was melancholy for a moment, before adding: ‘The novelty will wear off. In two days, I shall be just another investigator and mostly hidden from public view; effectively a backroom techno, who occasionally is allowed to do something challenging in the field.’
After their drinks were served, Jacinta continued: ‘Next year, my boss may find another “act”. Maybe a midget; perhaps another ladyboy. Possibly a woman. There is one whom I would find hard to beat even now. She is big, very masculine and strong. She pours testosterone into herself and pumps herself up even more with new exotic drugs. I think she will have her moment soon. She is just nineteen. Within a short time I shall be forgotten by the public, which does not bother me. I’ve had my time in the sun. It will be about survival, and my family depends on me. As long as I have my anonymous police job, I shall be content.’
They were distracted by the noise of the chopper that had brought her to the Mandarin starting up. The pilot waved and Jacinta responded. The chopper took off.
‘Why are you protecting Mendez?’ Cavalier asked.
‘I am not protecting him!’
There was a frosty silence. Waiters hovered, as though they felt they should fill the void. They asked about the drinks, and received grunts of appreciation and winced smiles of thanks.
‘I have the fight. Then I will be detailed to Gaez; not the Mexican, never!’
‘You will protect General Gaez?’
‘He has had countless death threats. We are obligated to protect him during this hiatus.’
‘But he will have his own guard . . .’
‘We have to make sure there are no riots, if and when he addresses a rally.’
A child of about ten came to the table and asked for Jacinta to autograph her menu. She obliged with a telegenic smile, and cameras at other tables clicked and flashed once more. Waiters served their entrees. Jacinta looked at her food and started picking at it.
‘Your boss has a vested interest in looking after Mendez, which puts you in a tough position,’ Cavalier persisted. ‘You want him “dealt with”, but can’t do anything.’
Jacinta looked uncomfortable. He seemed to have touched a nerve.
‘Did you tip the CIA off about Cortez?’ she countered.
‘No,’ Cavalier said.
‘A couple of agents arrived at the hospital after his accident in Chiang Mai, but he was gone,’ she said.
‘Where is he?’ he asked.
‘Still in Chiang Mai, recovering. He is expected here soon.’ She shook her head. ‘The Americans have already left. They won’t pursue it; not yet, anyway.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘To get Mendez and Cortez, they’d have to send in Navy Seals. Their Chiang Mai compound is heavily fortified and most of it is underground, I’m told. It’s massive. Drones would not do much damage.’
‘Just tell me one thing,’ he said. ‘Am I being tailed?’
‘Don’t overrate your importance.’
‘I’d be very pleased not to be rated at all. But are you following me? Yes or no? Natt was obvious, but . . .’
Jacinta took a deep breath. ‘I will be preoccupied until Wednesday. Then I must focus on General Gaez and how to protect him, which may go all week. This will be a top priority.’
‘Why?’
‘The junta does not want him killed, even if he is a challenge to it. The generals want the image of a new, clean regime; closer to Buddhist principles.’
‘I wonder where Mendez and his zillions sit with all this,’ Cavalier said as he watched more diners being seated. ‘Who does he prefer?’
‘He will blow with the wind,’ Jacinta said. ‘It doesn’t matter to him who has power. He will deal with whoever has it. Right now, Azelaporn will deal with him on the the generals’ behalf, as long as they believe his investments are clean.’
‘And protect him at all costs?’
‘He has his own guard—I think maybe twenty-five armed men. That’s more than any Thai prime minister or even the junta’s triumvirate of generals. They shield him everywhere. Chief Azelaporn will add police to that contingent.’
‘Do you have any idea how long Mendez will be in Bangkok?’
Jacinta shrugged. ‘Just as long as it takes to meet with the junta’s leaders. He will feel much safer in his bunker at Chiang Mai.’
Cavalier continued eating. He watched a tourist boat sail past on the river, its lights dazzling. A band was playing ‘All of Me’ for the passengers.
‘The coup hasn’t frightened them off,’ he observed, nodding at the boat.
‘They can’t fly out at the moment. The tourist show must go on.’
They ate in silence for a minute before Jacinta said vehemently, but without making eye contact, ‘I don’t really care what happens to that evil Mendez.’
‘I’ll write something exposing him as soon as I leave Thailand.’
‘What good will that do?’ she asked, glaring. ‘Do you really think an article in an Australian paper . . .’
‘And on the net.’
‘Okay, and on the net. Do you truly believe that will have any impact on someone with that much money and power?’
‘It may put some pressure on him. It’s worth a try.’
Jacinta sat back, twirling her glass. ‘Just don’t quote or mention me,’ she said crisply.
‘There’ll be no need,’ he said. Before she could ask him to elaborate, Cavalier raised his glass and said, ‘Here’s to a win for you on Tuesday.’
Jacinta nodded, and smiled for the first time since signing the child’s autograph. ‘And for you,’ she said, ‘at whatever you most desire.’
‘That would be a century on Saturday,’ he said with a wry smile. Then he frowned and remarked, ‘One other thing. I’m intrigued by your brother monk, Ya t’ing. There’s just something familiar about him.’
‘The Buddha has forgiven him, but he once promised to build a golden Buddha wat in Isaan. He collected a lot of money, and built a very modest-sized Buddha, which was only painted yellow.’
‘It was a fraud, right? He absconded with millions . . .’
‘Of baht, yes.’
‘There were other things too. Stories about him fathering children.’
‘He served his penance.’
‘Jail?’
‘He escaped after just a year and went to live in Cambodia, his home.’
‘But he’s here!’
‘The king pardoned him. Our king is a compassionate man. But Ya t’ing will be gone from Thailand soon, sadly.’
‘Oh?’
‘It is alleged—falsely, from my reading of it—he has committed another crime,’ Jacinta said. It was obvious that the conversation was painful for her. ‘The police want him again.’
‘What alleged crime?’
Jacinta waved her hand and shook her head.
*
Cavalier kept the conversation light for the next hour, as they finished their meals and had coffee. He did not wish to antagonise or stress her. For, although she seemed calm about the fight, he suspected she was churning inwardly, given the formidable opponent who, Cavalier feared, could really do her damage. Yet, she said confidently: ‘Whatever happens, the Buddha will look after me; I know that. If I am fortunate, he will allow me to win.’
At precisely 10 p.m. they both looked up to see the police chopper whirring in again.
‘My lift home,’ she
said, as they watched it drift in noisily to the helipad on the bank. Its draft sent napkins flying off tables.
Cavalier walked her down to the bank. He kissed her on both cheeks and whispered, ‘I’ll be there to support you.’
‘Thank you,’ she replied, with a low wai. ‘And may the Buddha support you.’
THREAT OF THE ACHILLES
Cavalier woke early on Tuesday after a fitful sleep and was preparing to go for a run when he noticed the numbers of soldiers in the street. Something was up, possibly either a demonstration by red shirts or Gaez supporters. Instead, he had a work-out in the gym. After half an hour on the running machine, he felt a familiar strain in his right Achilles. Irritated, he stopped to stretch it out and massage it for three or four minutes before resuming exercise using light weights. As he returned to his room, he received a text from Rafferty, telling him the second cricket match—in Bangkok—was still on. Cavalier texted back, asking if he knew a good physio. Rafferty gave him the name and number of Waew Ing, describing her as the ‘best in BKK’.
After showering and dressing, Cavalier took his coffin, including his cricket gear, to reception. Because of his injury making the coffin more difficult to carry, he asked for it to be delivered by courier to the curator at the cricket ground, fifty kilometres north of the city. The hotel staff told him that the streets were clear of rebels and police after the early-morning confrontation at Asok. He walked the short distance to Soi 8 and again had breakfast at Viva, then rang Waew Ing. It was arranged he would have a session at her Soi 23 office, off Sukhumvit, at 3 p.m.
Cavalier read the papers and checked the internet. There were several previews of the fight, but they focused more on the Russian, who, it was claimed, had never been beaten. The junta, meanwhile, was moving forward with its coup. It had fired a raft of governors, police officers, and even generals within the armed forces, and shifted others to lesser positions. In each case, it had replaced the dismissed individual with a crony or compliant operative who would support it. Editorials in both the daily Bangkok English-speaking papers concerned their journalists being detained in retaliation for articles they had written. Once more, there was no reference to the king’s condition, only more photos of the generals waiing a huge gilt-edged photo of him.