“I’ll need a day or two to think this one through, and then I’ll probably want to nose around on the ground in his old stomping grounds. Bangkok. I’ve never been there, so that will increase the difficulty level. Ideally you would have gotten all the information on where to find the target, and then I’d take it from there. This is a completely different situation. So, not only do I have to figure out how to get the diamonds back and take him out, but I also need to find him.” She fixed him with a cold stare. “I don’t have a magic wand or I’d bring Hannah back and make you disappear.”
“I’ll need forty-eight hours to get you an ID and put a cover in place.”
“No, you won’t. You’ll just need to give me back my Belgian passport and identity cards. And come up with a big wad of cash to spread around so I can get some answers over there.”
“Money’s not a problem.” He stood, looking around the small room, then moved to the door. “I have every confidence in you. But I don’t have unlimited time. Sooner the better is what I’m trying to convey.”
“This is the type of operation that would ordinarily take a month to think through. Assuming I had the kind of support I’m accustomed to. David was the best at what he did. But now he’s gone, and you’re handing me a black box and asking me to pull a rabbit out of a hat. Your last two attempts on this target failed. Have you considered that might have been a function of how ill-conceived they were?”
“Yes, I have. Which is why I brought you into this.” He waved a gloved hand dismissively. “You’ll figure it out. Just don’t take too long.”
“It’s like making a baby. Still takes nine months no matter what you do or say.”
He opened the door. “Point taken. Whenever you need to get in touch, call me,” he said, as he reached into his jacket for a cell phone and tossed it to her.
Her eyes remained fixed on him as she snatched it out of the air.
“Will do.”
Jet spent the rest of the day studying the reports, going over the satellite footage, trying to piece together a strategy. By nighttime she was worn out and seemed no closer to a breakthrough than when she’d started the day. The target had an armed encampment, but they didn’t know where, other than it was in the territory of a hostile regime that was notorious for being a drug production and smuggling center. And the warlords in the heroin business there were every bit as dangerous as the Myanmar military, if not more so.
The information that the Thailand CIA team had been able to glean from informants wasn’t promising, and contradicted itself in as many places as it agreed. The only thing for certain was that she would need to get to Bangkok sooner than later and do her own nosing around. Which was how the last team had discovered the lead that directed them into the jungle, even if the ultimate outcome had been disastrous.
As she lay on the bed in the dark, staring at the ceiling, a whirlwind of possible approaches ran through her mind. Eventually she closed her eyes and pushed the rush of ideas to the side, replacing them with the image of her daughter laughing delightedly in her car seat, oblivious to her role as a pawn in a deadly chess game.
Her last thoughts as she drifted to sleep were of David, confessing his betrayal as his life seeped from him on the deck of the Russian’s mega-yacht, his strained apology an inadequate lullaby to accompany her slumber.
The following afternoon, Arthur tipped the brim of his hat in greeting and took a seat opposite Jet, who ignored the formality and cut straight to the chase.
“I want to be in Bangkok within twenty-four hours. I’ll need twenty-five grand in cash, a debit card that will allow me to withdraw another seventy-five and a contact there who can get me weapons and anything else I need,” Jet instructed. There was no point lingering at the safe house when all paths led to Thailand.
Arthur regarded her impassively, nodding as she outlined her requirements.
“So you are ready to get started. Good.”
“My big problem is that what you’ve supplied is all but useless for finding the target or understanding what his true defenses are, which means I need to dig around on the ground there and see what I can stir up. And that will require time and money.”
“As I said, we have money. Time isn’t in such a generous supply.”
“What’s the rush?”
“I’m receiving pressure over this regrettable incident, and my superiors want the matter concluded. They don’t have the same appreciation of the delicacy of the dynamics that we do.”
“Well, there’s nothing I can do about that. I’m not going to go charging into a situation I know nothing about. If you’re in such a hurry, how about finding out where his camp is? Then all I need to do is figure out the logistics of the assault.”
“Yes. All you need to do.” Arthur sighed and brushed lint from one knee of his expensive slacks. “Believe me, if I could have supplied you with more helpful intelligence, I would have. The limitations of the area are as frustrating to me as they are to you.”
“With an important difference. I’m the one who is going to have to risk my life in the jungle. You’re going to be monitoring it on a screen, safe, halfway across the world.”
“We all have our roles in this. I shall get you everything you require and arrange for a hospitality committee upon your arrival.”
“No. I want to limit the number of people who know anything about this. I’ll need a satellite phone to reach you. Beyond that, I only want to meet the ranking agent in Thailand. Nobody else. You have no idea what kind of reach the target has there. He was in place for a decade. In a tightly knit society like the Asian criminal syndicates, I have to believe that he’s got as good or better a network than you have. Anyone could tip him off. I’d rather not be the latest body to be discovered in a ditch somewhere.”
Arthur nodded and rose with effort from the sofa, taking care to adjust the rake of the white fedora perched on his head. In the late afternoon light, he resembled nothing so much as a mottled pink moray eel in a creme-colored suit and hat. Thankfully, his reptilian eyes were shielded behind a pair of dark sunglasses.
“It shall be as you wish. I’ll arrange for a first-class ticket to Thailand on the next flight out and have an operative bring over the cash and the card. The phone will be in Bangkok when you arrive. I’ll leave it to you to decide where you want to stay.”
“Perfect.”
“Your passport and things are all there.” He motioned at the small package he’d placed on the table when he’d arrived. “I do hope you’re successful with this. I really don’t bear you any ill will. This is strictly business, and you are helping me solve an embarrassing problem. I’ll keep my end of the bargain. A million dollars and your child back, no further strings.”
Jet didn’t believe him for a second, but said nothing. She was sure he would try to betray her once the mission was concluded. That’s how his type operated. She wondered idly whether he thought she believed him, then decided it didn’t really matter.
“Well, then,” Arthur said. “I suppose this will be the last time I see you until your triumphant return. Good luck. Contact me for anything you need.” He stepped to the front door. “There’s a contact protocol in with your ID. Blind e-mail, my dedicated scrambled line. All the usual.”
“I’ll be waiting for the courier,” Jet said, anxious to be rid of him. She had a difficult time keeping herself from hurtling across the room and tearing out his throat when she was in his presence. If he sensed that, he showed no indication.
Jet watched as he took careful steps down to the street and slid into his waiting car, the driver holding the rear door open for him before trotting around and climbing behind the wheel. When the car pulled off, she felt a palpable sense of relief.
The package contained everything. She methodically scrutinized the contact information and committed it to memory, absently rubbing the spot on her arm where the chip had been recently implanted. She went to pack.
It would be a while before the courier w
ould arrive, but Jet wanted to be ready at a moment’s notice.
Chapter 10
Jet peered out through the window as the huge plane banked over the Gulf of Thailand on final approach to Bangkok Suvarnabhumi International Airport, on the outskirts of the city. The serpentine brown of the Chao Phraya River poured its polluted rush into the sea, turning the blue water gray as it pervaded the coast. One of the region’s near-constant cloudbursts had just rolled through, and the runway was slick with evaporating moisture as the wheels struck the tarmac and the behemoth decelerated down the long, black strip.
A buzz of energy circulated the cabin as the jet taxied to the stainless steel and glass terminal. The flight had been a long and turbulent one, and the travelers were glad to be on the ground. About half appeared to be Thais returning home, and the others were tourists or business travelers, groggy and restless after nearly eighteen hours of flight time from Los Angeles.
Even before the flight attendants opened the fuselage door, the atmosphere had changed to the exotic. Small differences in the way the passengers interacted with each other hinted at social norms that were markedly different than in the Western world. The Thais executed small bows from the waist with their palms pressed together to each other as they terminated their in-flight discussions and reached to help with overhead bags. She had spent the flight immersed in a primer on the culture, and the wai was one of the first items discussed — a bow that was combination traditional greeting, farewell, and ‘thank you’ gesture. One of the countless ways that Thailand was different. She would need to adapt quickly to the culture if she was going to fit in.
The language would also be a problem for her. She didn’t speak Thai, but her reading had assured her that many natives in larger metropolitan areas spoke English due to the massive tourism trade that catered to English-speaking visitors from New Zealand and Australia, as well as from the United States and England — many of whom came to Thailand for sex tourism — a libidinous attraction the country was infamous for.
As she waited in customs, an older Thai man approached her and wai’d, then began speaking to her in the native tongue, mistaking her for a local due to her features. She smiled but shrugged, and he switched to English, embarrassed, apologizing profusely. That boded well for her ability to blend in, and she hoped it would make her relatively invisible in the bustling city.
Once through immigration she collected her sparse luggage and set out for the taxi stand, where again, the attendant rattled off a question in Thai, and then, realizing his error, he switched to English before blowing on a shrill whistle and waving a car forward.
The driver placed her suitcase into the trunk and waited expectantly for direction. She told him to take her to the Dynasty Hotel, located a few hundred yards from the entrance of the Nana Plaza — one of the five major sex tourism destinations in Bangkok — and near the site of Lap Pu’s main brothel. He nodded and opened her door for her, then rounded the car and jumped into the driver’s seat.
Driving in Bangkok was more of a suicidal rite of passage than mere transportation. She was convinced they were going to collide with motorcycles, bicycles and other cars at least a dozen times every few blocks, and by the time they reached the hotel, she’d concluded that the locals had a death wish.
Jet checked in, noting the predominantly Caucasian male clientele, many accompanied by young Thai females. She was pleased to find that her room was nicely appointed — and quiet. Her travel had taken over twenty-six hours between getting to Los Angeles, the layover and then the Thailand flight, and because of the turbulence, she hadn’t gotten much rest. She turned down the bed, unpacked her suitcase and locked her valuables in the safe, and then set out the Do Not Disturb card on her doorknob.
The Bangkok skyline was breathtakingly beautiful, with skyscrapers beaming out every color of the rainbow. The recent rain had scrubbed the city clean, for a time, and it was as radiant a jewel as any she’d seen. She took in the display from her window for a few minutes as she sipped a bottle of mineral water, and then pulled the curtains closed, ready for some serious sleep. Tomorrow would be a big day. She was supposed to touch base with Arthur in the morning and arrange a meeting with the CIA operative who ran the Bangkok station. Hopefully, he’d been productive over the last twenty-four hours while she’d been in the air.
Jet had agreed to meet Edgar, the CIA’s point man, at one o’clock at Benjakiti Park, a half mile south of her hotel. When she arrived, she spent five minutes reconnoitering the rendezvous spot before moving to a cluster of trees on the edge of the expansive pond, where a group of children were playing under the watchful gazes of their mothers. She was there an hour early, wearing sunglasses and a forest green baseball cap she’d bought from a sidewalk vendor.
Dressed in jeans and mauve blouse, she blended in easily with the office workers eating lunch on the grass — she could have been a low-level clerk or a shopkeeper on her break. The rental boat pier that was the meeting place teemed with tourists, milling about and taking photographs of each other with the impressive edifices of the skyline as a backdrop.
At the agreed-upon time, a man matching the description she’d been given walked to a bench and sat down, taking off his red windbreaker and folding it by his side. He removed a bag from his satchel and unwrapped a sandwich. Jet watched as he munched on it and then walked by as he was finishing.
“The boathouse, thirty seconds,” she said in English and continued ambling towards the pier.
He rolled his wrapper into a ball and dropped it into the bag, then stood and picked up his windbreaker and walked to the boathouse, Jet now out of sight. He waited expectantly, but was still surprised when she materialized behind him, seemingly out of thin air.
“Damn it. You scared me,” he said with a grin, then hugged her. She returned the hug and then moved down to the rental boats, holding his hand with the abandon of a lover.
“I rented one. Come on,” she said playfully, and within two minutes, they were pushing away from the dock in a floating swan-shaped contrivance, pumping the pedals with their legs.
Once they had traveled several dozen yards from the pier, he began speaking.
“I’m Edgar. You must be Kyra.”
“Correct,” she lied. “What do you have for me?”
“We’ve narrowed down our man Hawker’s likeliest associates to Lap Pu. We think he’s definitely in regular contact with him and that they meet once every few weeks up in Myanmar or Laos. Our intel says Hawker is now involved in facilitating human trafficking — girls from Laos or Myanmar, sometimes just children, for sex work in Thailand. Lap Pu has a host of bordellos here, most of them masquerading as ping pong clubs with motels or rooms available for rent by the hour.”
“Ping pong clubs? That wasn’t covered in the file.”
Edgar explained the concept — a sex show involving everything from ping pong balls to snakes.
Jet didn’t say anything, her face stony.
“And this is legal?”
“No. Not technically. But the laws aren’t enforced, and bribery is rampant. Many times it’s the police or politicians who own the clubs. In this case, Lap Pu pays the right people, so he’s untouchable.”
“And there are many of these places?”
“Tons. And the only real customers are farangs — white men. Thai men wouldn’t be caught dead in one. It’s a cultural thing.”
“How noble. So the clubs are sort of a freak show for sex tourists.”
Another swan boat, containing a laughing couple precariously pedaling away, veered towards them before straightening out and continuing on its way.
“Correct. And of course, there’s the prostitution angle. Nothing like picking a girl after the show to help you relax…”
“How is the target involved in this?”
“It’s unclear. Could be he just uses Lap Pu as his eyes and ears on the street, or could be he’s helping traffic minors in the slavery trade.”
“I read the
report. Fully forty percent of the prostitutes are under eighteen?”
“Supposedly not, but the truth is that number might be low.”
“And this is culturally acceptable?”
Edgar rubbed his face. “No. It’s condemned. But the biggest customers for prostitution are actually Thai men, so what they say and what they do are two different things. The view about sex here is different. While it’s not really out and out acceptable to frequent sex workers, it’s tolerated, and in some cases viewed as a reasonable choice for males.”
Jet digested that.
“And what about the women?”
“That’s also a mixed bag. Many of the adult workers view it as a legitimate way to make money in an environment where they have no other options.”
“There are always options.”
“Try telling that to a fifteen-year-old with a fourth grade education who hasn’t eaten in a week and is culturally expected to do everything possible to support her family. Prostitution is an economic crime, in the end, whether it’s males or females. Many of these kids are starving to death wherever they live, so a life of sex work is preferable to death. It’s a pretty stark reality many westerners don’t understand. They can’t imagine a world where there isn’t a safety network to catch those at the fringes. But here, it’s not the fringes. Most of the peasants in northern Thailand as well as Laos and Myanmar live in extreme poverty. It’s the same everywhere human trafficking is rampant.”
“I’m not from the U.S..”
“Hmm. Anyway, the attitude in Thailand is different. There isn’t as much of a stigma to being a sex worker. For many, it’s their only chance at making more than sustenance wages. If you have a family of brothers and sisters and two sick parents all depending on you, it’s a vicious circle and the money’s compelling. But anyway, let’s not get hung up in the detail. The point is that Lap Pu operates some ping pong clubs, and we know which ones, and we’re currently staking all of them out, so we’ll know whenever he shows up.”
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