Are you serious, man?”
“Well... you know.”
There was a little silence while Jello digested that.
“You dog,” he murmured after a moment. “You goddamned hound dog.”
“Can you get a message to Kate to call me on this cell number or not?”
“Probably.”
“Will you do it?”
“Maybe.”
“What the hell does—”
“That’s the best you’re getting from me right now, pal. The very best. Just live with it.”
“Good enough then.”
“You’re sure this is nothing to do with politics?”
“Nothing, Jello. You have my word on it.”
“You goddamned, fucking hound dog.”
Close enough for government work.
***
ALONG SHEPHERD’S ROUTE back to the Grand, he saw more and more signs of the tension that was tightening on Bangkok like the jaws of a vice. The parking lot of the Dusit Thani Hotel was now entirely closed off with metal barriers. Cars were being allowed to leave, but none were being permitted to enter. The traffic on Silom Road had thinned noticeably and the sidewalks were nearly empty. Every shop he saw was now closed, their facades covered with metal grates. Even the Duke had gone dark. And the street vendors and touts had completely disappeared. He didn’t think that had ever happened before.
Shepherd speeded up a little, jogging back to the Grand a bit faster than he had been going when he left. He felt silly doing it, but he did it anyway.
FORTY-SEVEN
SHEPHERD HEARD NO obvious signs of life coming from behind the door of Keur’s hotel room, so he went to his own room and stood under a very hot shower until the water turned tepid. While he was toweling off in the bathroom, the telephone on the bedside table rang, but it stopped ringing before he was dry enough to answer it. Keur must be awake now, Shepherd thought to himself. Since nobody else knew he was at the Grand, who else would be calling?
He pulled on a polo shirt that wasn’t too wrinkled and a pair of chinos. The he slipped into some boat shoes and walked down to Keur’s room and knocked. When Keur came to the door, he was rubbing sleep from his eyes.
“I thought you were awake,” Shepherd said.
“I can’t imagine why you’d think that. Real people need sleep, Jack. We’re not all vampires like you.”
“That wasn’t you on the telephone?”
“Did it sound like me?”
“The phone stopped ringing before I could answer it. I just assumed it was you since nobody else knows we’re here.”
“Well, it wasn’t me.”
It wasn’t entirely true that nobody else knew they were there, of course. Shepherd had told Jello he was in Bangkok, and Jello could have easily guessed where he was. But there was no one else. He was sure of it. He and Keur just stood there in the doorway and looked at each other for a moment.
“Don’t get paranoid,” Keur said. “Somebody just called the wrong room.”
“You’re probably right.”
And Keur probably was right. But there was still something unnerving about a telephone ringing in a hotel room where nobody was supposed to know he was.
“Give me ten minutes,” Keur said, “I’ll get dressed and come right down.”
***
TO KILL TIME while he was waiting for Keur, Shepherd turned on the television and flipped through the channels. He watched CNBC for a few minutes, but the stock and currency market reports he normally monitored now seemed far-off and inconsequential, like the light from distant stars that had been created thousands of years before. He flipped over to CNN, but World Sport was showing again, and no matter how bored he was he wasn’t going to watch replays of Portuguese soccer games.
Keur knocked at the door. Shepherd muted the sound, but he left the TV set on.
“That was fast,” he said when he opened the door.
Keur didn’t respond immediately and that was when Shepherd registered that Keur’s eyes were focused on something over his shoulder. He glanced around and saw that CNN had shifted back to the news.
On the screen now was a city street that looked a lot like Silom Road. It was Silom Road. Shepherd grabbed the remote control off the bed and punched the sound back on.
“—from yesterday afternoon,” a male voice was saying. “Elizabeth Corbin of The New York Times is in Bangkok and she has the latest developments from there for us.”
Keur came in and closed the door behind him and they both stood with their arms folded and watched the screen. Liz appeared holding a microphone above a big, half-empty street. Shepherd thought she must be standing on one of those pedestrian bridges over Sukhumvit Road. He was pretty sure he could see a corner of the Marriott Hotel in the background.
“There have been two important developments in Bangkok today, Keith.”
It seemed to Shepherd that Liz looked a little jumpy.
“The first development is that we have just learned that some local fishermen have found a shipping container in the Gulf of Thailand which is filled with what appears to be numerous sets of human remains. The container was found in an area about two miles offshore from a beach resort called Hua Hin that is about fifty miles south of Bangkok.”
“Holy shit,” Keur said.
“The fishermen refused to be interviewed on camera for fear of reprisals, but one of them told me there could be many more containers and hundreds more bodies in the same area. They also say they think that explains the exceptional catches they have been making in the area recently.”
“Christ,” Keur murmured, “I’ll never eat fish again.”
“There is intense speculation in Bangkok that the area was used as a dumping ground by the military for the bodies of hundreds of protesters who disappeared during what has become known as the Yellow Shirt Uprising just before the last election. We have been trying to obtain some comment from an authorized spokesman for the Thai military, but none of our calls have been returned.”
“Oh, man,” Shepherd said, shifting his eyes from the screen to Keur. “If that turns out to be true, then—”
“What the hell?” Keur interrupted, still staring at the television screen.
When Shepherd glanced back, it took him a moment to process what he was seeing. Even when he did process it, it still didn’t seem real to him.
There on the television screen, in vivid color, was a photograph of him. The picture looked slightly familiar, although he couldn’t immediately think where it came from. Maybe CNN had poached it from some web site.
“The second important development today concerns this man,” Liz continued. “He is an American resident of Hong Kong whose name is Jonathan William Shepherd.”
Shepherd stared open-mouth at the television screen, rooted to the spot.
“Shepherd is the personal lawyer of General Chalerm Kitnarok, the Thai military strongman ousted in the elections last October that brought the present government to power. Sources in the Thai government are saying that Shepherd has slipped quietly into the country. It is widely believed that General Kitnarok is plotting a return to power in Thailand and that he may even be arming bands of his supporters in order to launch a campaign of violent revolt against the present government. We are told that this is the second time in recent weeks that a close associate of General Kitnarok has slipped into the country. The first was a Lebanese associate named Adnan Haddad, who has subsequently disappeared without a trace.”
Shepherd knew exactly where Adnan had gone, of course, both parts of him. But, under the circumstances, his superior knowledge gave him very little pleasure.
“These same sources tell me that the authorities here have launched an intense search for Shepherd. They hope that his arrest will shed some light on General Kitnarok’s plans and even perhaps what is in store for Thailand in the immediate future. This is Elizabeth Corbin reporting from Bangkok for CNN.”
The scene shifted to a middle-aged male in a st
udio somewhere. Shepherd was still rooted to the spot, visions of Adnan’s severed head dancing in his mind. Keur took the remote control out of his hand and muted the sound again.
“Have you told anyone where we are?” Keur asked.
He could see the answer right there on Shepherd’s face.
“Who?”
“Jello isn’t responsible for this.”
“What the hell kind of a name is Jello?”
Shepherd told Keur who Jello was and about asking his help to reach Kate.
“He’s my friend, Keur. He knows I don’t have anything to do with Charlie’s politics. Jello isn’t responsible for this.”
“But he’s a high ranking policeman.”
Shepherd nodded.
“Did you tell him where we’re staying?”
“No, but I told him I’m in Bangkok and he’d guess. I always stay here.”
“Pack,” Keur said. “We’re leaving.”
“Come on, I don’t think—”
“Do it now,” Keur interrupted. “Don’t argue with me. I’ll be back in five minutes.”
Before Shepherd could say anything else, Keur was gone.
***
SHEPHERD SAT DOWN on the edge of the bed and thought about what might be happening. A lot of possibilities came to mind, none of them good. When Keur came back ten minutes later, Shepherd still hadn’t moved.
“Goddamn it, Jack, move your ass. We’re leaving right now.”
“Do you really think—”
“Yes,” Keur snapped, “I do. Pack. Now.”
Shepherd got up and retrieved his bag. While he rummaged around the room collecting his things, Keur sat in the straight chair at the small desk. His own bags, a common-looking wheeled airline bag made of heavy black fabric and a scratched-up brown leather briefcase, were on the floor at his feet. Something about the picture bothered Shepherd, but he couldn’t put his finger on what it was.
“I called a guy I know,” Keur said. “I’ve arranged for us to use a Bureau safe house for a few days until we figure out what this is all about.”
Somewhere between stuffing into his bag what little clean underwear he had left and collecting his toilet gear in the bathroom, it occurred to Shepherd what was bothering him about the picture of Keur sitting in front of the desk with his bags at his feet. It was the briefcase. Keur hadn’t had a briefcase when they checked into the Grand.
“Where’d that come from?” Shepherd asked, pointing to it.
“I asked the embassy to send some stuff over. That’s what it came in.”
“Research material?”
“Not exactly.”
Shepherd nodded and thought that over.
“So it’s not just Jello,” he said. “The American embassy knows where we are, too.”
“They know where I am. I didn’t tell them anything about you.”
“What’s in the briefcase?”
“You don’t trust me, Jack?”
Shepherd said nothing.
A half smile spread over Keur’s face as he stood up and tossed his briefcase on the bed. He popped the clasps and lifted the top. Shepherd could see what was in it from where he stood. There was a black handgun in a leather holster. There was also a small short-barreled revolver that was silver plated and looked like a Smith & Wesson detective special.
“One for you and one for me?” Shepherd asked.
“Not really,” Keur said. “They’re both for me.”
“Why do you need two guns?”
“I don’t like walking around naked,” Keur said.
“You didn’t seem to have a problem with that in Dubai.”
“I felt safe there.”
Shepherd chewed his lip while he contemplated the handguns in Keur’s briefcase.
“Is that a Glock?”
“No, a SIG-Sauer 9mm.”
“I thought you Bureau guys all carried Glock .40s now.”
Keur closed the briefcase and took it back to the chair at the desk. He placed it next to the wheeled airline bag and sat down.
“When did you become such an expert on law enforcement handguns, Jack?”
“It’s just something I remember from somewhere. I’ve got a few friends at the Bureau.”
“Well, here’s your chance to update your knowledge. We have a choice of standard sidearm. Either the Glock or the SIG. Maybe I’m just an old fashioned guy, but I like the SIG.”
“What’s the little revolver for?”
“Sometimes a SIG is hard to conceal and you need something a bit smaller.”
“The Bureau gives this kind of stuff out to agents who’re on medical leave, does it?”
“You sound suspicious, Jack.”
“Just a little curious. A guy insists I move out of my hotel, wants to take me to some apartment he suddenly came up with from somewhere, and then shows up with a bag full of guns. Wouldn’t that make you curious?”
“If Adnan had an armed FBI agent with him, he might still be walking around today.”
“Where’d the guns really come from?”
“The embassy sent them over, Jack. Just like I told you. You’re not the only one who has friends.”
“You talked to Pete Logan? He sent them to you?”
“No,” Keur said.
“I thought Pete was the only Bureau guy—”
“Logan isn’t my contact here.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You don’t really need to, Jack. Now, are you going to pack your fucking bag so we can get out of here? Or do I have to do it for you?”
Shepherd looked at Keur and thought about that for a moment or two. Keur had his own agenda here. He understood that. But how did this safe house and the two guns fit into that agenda? It looked like Keur was preparing himself to take somebody down, if he got the chance, and that somebody was obviously Robert Darling. Maybe Keur had information that Darling was in Thailand and he didn’t want to share it. Maybe he didn’t want to share it in order to make certain that information didn’t get back to Pete Logan and the Bureau. Was this really some kind of a private vendetta Keur was playing out? Was he hunting Darling for some reason other than what he had told Shepherd?
If Keur was stalking Darling for some other reason, he sure as hell wasn’t going to admit it just because Shepherd asked him to. And Shepherd knew he would still needed Keur’s help to find Charlie. He didn’t see how he could pull that off completely on his own. So he needed to keep Keur sweet. Let a few more cards come down on the table. Watch and wait. Stay loose.
Shepherd was good at that. Staying loose. He had been so loose for the last year he was damn near completely untethered. He shrugged, dropped the subject, and finished packing.
FORTY-EIGHT
JUST UNDER AN hour later, Shepherd and Keur were in an apartment high up in a large building on Soi Thonglor, a pleasant thoroughfare on the far eastern side of Bangkok. The apartment was large and expensively decorated. If this was a Bureau safe house, Shepherd figured the Bureau’s safe house budget ought to be investigated by somebody.
The living room was at least forty feet long. It was anchored by a grand piano at one end and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves at the other. Both the east and west walls were broken by a succession of big windows through which Shepherd could see the office towers of the city in one direction and the distant glimmer of the Chao Phraya River in the other.
They sat facing each other on two sofas upholstered in rich damask patterned linen. Between them was a six-foot long square coffee table that was dotted with stacks of art books.
“Nice apartment,” Shepherd said. “When does the butler come in?”
Keur said nothing.
“As much as I appreciate the hospitality, I’m not going to accomplish anything hiding out here,” Shepherd went on.
“You’re not going to accomplish anything by getting yourself arrested either.”
“My guess is somebody doesn’t want me find Charlie and that’s why the arrest order was
issued. They’re trying to keep me pinned down. I’ve got to get that order lifted.”
“How are you going to do that?”
“The first step is to find out where the arrest order came. So I’m going to call Liz and ask her.”
Shepherd swung his feet up onto the coffee table and pulled out his phone. But before he could dial, Keur leaped off the other sofa like he had been stabbed in the ass and wrapped his hand around it.
“What the fuck you doing?” he snapped.
“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m calling Liz to ask her where she got that story. We’re old friends. I’m sure she’ll tell me.”
Actually, Shepherd wasn’t at all sure she would tell him. But he had always believed that sounding confident was more than half the battle, particularly when he actually didn’t have a clue what the hell was coming next.
Keur just stared at Shepherd for a moment, then put the phone on the table sat back down.
“Oh, give me a break,” Shepherd said. “You’re not saying somebody’s listening to my cell phone, are you?”
“Probably not. Cell phone signals are hard to isolate unless they already know roughly where you are.”
“And nobody but you knows where I am right now.”
“Right,” Keur nodded. “On the other hand, I’ll bet a lot of people know where the Times chick is right now.”
Shepherd hadn’t thought of that, but he wasn’t about to admit it to Keur. Instead, he arranged his features in a look of bored disinterest and waited.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Keur said. “You want something to eat?”
“Where are you going?”
“McDonald’s. There’s one next door.”
McDonald’s didn’t do much for Shepherd, but he hadn’t had eaten anything since he got up and all of a sudden he realized how hungry he was.
“Bring me some of whatever you’re having,” he said.
He had always held the view that it didn’t matter what you ordered at McDonald’s. Everything they sold tasted more or less the same anyway.
***
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