He had never harbored any desire to settle down after his wife died in a car accident eighteen years ago, struck down without warning in the prime of her life. Companionship was easy to find when you were a rich sex industry magnate in Bangkok, and he had a virtually endless stream of eager friends to share his bed and table. It might be a shallow life, but it had its pluses, he mused, blowing a white cloud of nicotine at the uncaring ceiling.
Pu tossed back the last of his scotch and stretched, enjoying the familiar burn of the smoky nectar as he cracked his neck and then stubbed out his cigarette. He glanced at his watch. It was time to rinse off and then gear up for dinner, followed by the inevitable meetings that were a part of managing his network of businesses.
He padded to his nightstand and unclasped the stainless steel Rolex Submariner that he’d been wearing for a decade — preferring it to the more ostentatious styles worn by his peers, whose platinum Masterpieces and Presidents screamed wealth to anyone interested. Pu preferred a low-key appearance. He knew how much money he had, and he didn’t need to proclaim it to the world. Leave that to the younger peacocks intent on fanning mating displays with their feathered finery. At fifty-nine, he didn’t have any need to prove anything to anyone — the only benefit from growing older he could see.
He placed the watch next to his empty glass and dropped the cigarette butt into it, the ember hissed out in the dregs, a few drops he had neglected but nonetheless came to good use. With a final look at the skyscrapers stretching endlessly into the distance, he turned and moved into his mammoth master bath suite, custom-designed to his taste by one of Bangkok’s top firms and lovingly crafted from the finest Italian marble — one of his few indulgences, to be savored in private.
Jet watched the scene on the screen of the PDA she clutched in her hand, twenty feet above Pu’s balcony on the roof of the thirty-two-story building, a warm sea breeze caressing her features as she followed his progress into the bathroom. With a final glance at the image, she reeled up the fiber-optic camera she’d lowered into place and zipped it in her windbreaker pocket before stepping off the building edge into nothingness.
Six seconds later, she had rappelled down to the terrace and was sliding the glass door open — it being a safe bet that Pu wouldn’t lock it that high in the sky. She knew he had a complement of bodyguards in the front room, but nobody would be expecting an intruder from above, much less a black-clad female ninja.
Without wasting a second, she made for the nightstand and scooped up the Rolex before moving soundlessly to the corner of the room and dropping into a crouch.
She pulled a tool out of her pants pocket, affixed it to the case back, and turned. The waterproof casing gave with a jolt. After placing the watch on the polished granite floor, she retrieved a small plastic bag containing the micro-transmitter, which could be tracked by satellite as well as with a handheld device — much like the one she’d been implanted with.
The chip fitted perfectly, the dot of super glue holding it firmly in place on the inside of the case back. A tiny battery with six months’ life was incorporated into the circuitry.
Jet’s ears strained for any suspicious sounds as she reassembled the watch, locking the back into place with a snick. She looked at her own watch and saw that she had been in the condo for ninety seconds.
She rose and replaced the Rolex on the nightstand, listening as the old sex lord finished his shower, and inched to the door again. She stepped out onto the terrace, and just as she was closing the door, she heard the water shut off.
When Jet reached the railing’s edge, she snapped herself back into the hanging harness and began winching herself up, but the damned contraption caught with a lurch and stopped winding.
A flicker of motion caught the corner of Pu’s eye from the terrace as he emerged from the bathroom with a plush green towel wrapped around his slight frame.
A moth fluttered against the glass and then flew off into the sky in pursuit of more hospitable surroundings. Pu watched its unsteady flight for a few seconds and then turned, scooped up his watch and put it back onto his wrist before returning to brush his hair and shave.
Jet clambered over the roof edge, panting from the exertion of pulling herself up the two stories using only her arms, having given up on the winch after a few frustrating seconds. She lay in place for several moments, gazing up into the night sky at the glowing tapestry of stars, and then willed herself to her feet, carefully coiling the line.
Holding a micro cell to her ear, she dialed Rob.
“Mission accomplished.”
“I’ll alert Edgar. He’ll have it tracked from headquarters and follow it via a remote link in his office. When should I pick you up?”
“Give me five minutes. I’ll duck out the service entrance. Anyone in sight?”
“Negative. All quiet.”
“I’ll be down in a few.”
“Roger that,” Rob finished, and then the line went dead.
Chapter 15
Rob and Jet entered the club again, after a different smarmy hawker had pulled them in from the street. They followed the same gladiator girl to the same booth as the prior night.
The festivities were in full roar, with cries of drunken delight from a contingent of mid-thirty-year-old men, all wearing the same red T-shirts.
Rob edged closer to her. “Bachelor party.”
“Lucky bride. I wonder if the groom is going to tell her how he spent his time? My guess is he’ll leave out the sex tourism part.”
“It’s an imperfect world.”
“I’ll say.”
Pu entered a few minutes later, which they were expecting, based on the signal from his car. They’d pulled into a parking spot only minutes ahead of him.
It was the same routine as the night before, his entourage of hired muscle leading the way back to his offices, trailed by several Thai men who had business with him. Jet noted the way his eyes roved over everyone in the club, lingering on her for a fraction of a second before continuing. Did he remember her from the prior night? She felt a momentary chill and took a sip of her beer. Their cover was to be seen in the club, a debauched couple out for wild times, so it didn’t really matter if he recalled her or not. But it still gave her the willies, for some reason.
The grand finale onstage was greeted by a cheer from the bachelor party. A slim female performer bowed theatrically and winked at the groom, his friends cheering him on as she gave him a salacious smirk and gestured at the rooms in the rear with her head. He stood with a shrug to much back slapping and took her hand, following her into the shadows as the music blared back to full roar — a twenty-year-old Snoop Dog rap groove with an ominous beat.
“I want to talk to the mama-san,” Jet announced.
Alarm flashed across Rob’s face. “Why?”
“I just do. Do you think she speaks English?”
“It’s a bad idea. A really bad idea.”
“I’ve been thinking about it all day. It’s not such a bad idea. It would actually be in keeping with our cover as a rich, spoiled couple.”
“What are you going to do?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“You’re going to blow our cover.”
“No, I won’t. Trust me on this.”
Before he could argue any more, she stood and made for the back of the club. The mama-san was waiting like a meaty specter just inside of the doorway.
“What you want? Anything you want,” she began, then recognized Jet from the night before. “Ah. You back. You want more?”
“I want to talk to you.”
“Talk? What about?” she inquired suspiciously.
“The little girl.”
“Oh, sure. You want I send her to you? Finest kind. Cutie…”
“No. I want to make you a proposal.”
“Proposal? I no understand.”
“I want to buy her.”
“You know the price. Same as last night.”
“No. Not for a
n hour. I want to buy her.”
The woman’s eyes widened for a nano-second and then narrowed.
“Buy?”
Jet nodded. “That’s right.”
“I no can sell her. Not mine.”
“Then let me talk to whoever can.”
“Impossible. He busy-busy.”
“I think he’d be interested in making a lot of money, don’t you?”
She eyed Jet shrewdly. “You give me tip, I ask. Okay? Good tip, I ask harder.”
Jet pulled a wad of cash from her front jean pocket and peeled off a fifty-dollar bill.
“Go ask real hard, and there’s another one if you come back with a yes.”
She snatched the bill, and it disappeared into the folds of her dress, and then the woman trundled down the long hall to the far door, a pair of armed bodyguards framing it. After a brief discussion, she ducked inside, and then two minutes later emerged with a big smile.
“I ask very hard. Told him you nice lady. He see you now.”
Jet slipped her another fifty and moved past her, taking her time to walk down the hall. The bodyguards stopped her and did a fast search, lingering a little longer than necessary on her breasts and bottom, but she didn’t bat an eye. The stouter of the two pawed the door open and gestured for her to go inside.
The suite was huge, occupying at least a quarter of the total club area. Pu excused himself from his discussion with the two men he’d arrived with and motioned for her to accompany him to his adjacent private office. She took a seat in front of his hand-carved desk, and he closed the door behind him before plopping down in the black leather executive chair.
“What you want?” he demanded.
“I want to buy the girl.”
“She not for sale. That not how things work. You go home now,” he snapped.
“I want her for myself. I’ll pay good money. How much?”
“You police?”
“No.”
“Reporter?”
“No.”
“Who are you?”
“Someone who wants to give you a lot of cash for the girl. Tonight. Easiest money you ever made.”
“She not for sale,” Pu repeated, but in a tone that left the door open.
“What did you pay for her? Five hundred dollars? A thousand?”
“None of your business.”
“I’ll give you ten thousand dollars for her. Right now.”
Pu acted insulted. “No way. Bye-bye, lady. Talk over. Enjoy a drink on me.” His English was improving.
“Fifteen thousand. In your hand. You’re never going to make that much.”
“You no understand the economics, do you? She good for two hundred thousand dollars over next two to three years. Then she too old, but still good for hundred an hour.” He reached over and stabbed at the oversized keys of a calculator and then held the screen up so she could see it. There were a lot of zeroes.
“She no for sale. Have a nice night. We done,” Pu said dismissively, then rose.
“Twenty-five thousand dollars tonight for the girl. You can buy twenty like her for that.”
“Not like her. She special.”
“You know that’s a good deal.”
“Then you go buy twenty. You no hear so good. Talk over. Bye-bye.” He depressed a button on the underside of his desk, and one of the bodyguards appeared within seconds. “Show nice lady out. Bye-bye, nice lady.”
“You’ll be sorry you didn’t take the money.”
“Sure I will. Remember, next beer on me.”
The oversized thug grabbed her arm, and she shrugged free, debating whether to cripple him, and then acquiesced. Her objective wasn’t to cause a spectacle. Jet forced herself to think of Hannah. That was the long term plan. Think of your daughter, she commanded herself.
A girl in a schoolgirl uniform, who appeared to be all of sixteen, was climbing the stairs to the stage, a Burmese python draped around her shoulders. Jet hurried to Rob, who sensed something was badly wrong.
“Let’s get out of here. Now,” she demanded.
“Why? What happened?”
“I’ll tell you in the car.”
The gladiator appeared as if by magic next to them with two beers on a tray. “Compliments of the management,” she said in a squeaky voice and then placed the drinks on their table. Onstage, the girl was walking around, brandishing the snake, which was a juvenile, barely four feet long. The crowd whooped, and the men in the bachelor party stamped their feet.
“Let’s go,” Jet repeated.
“Sit and drink your beer. Calm your ass down. You’re making a scene,” he said evenly and then raised his beer in a toast across the room to the bartendress, who for no reason either of them could fathom was wearing a Santa hat in addition to a red negligee. She winked at them and returned to wiping down the bar with a rag.
“I’m behaving consistently with our cover.”
“What did you do?” He took another sip.
“I made an offer to buy Lawan.”
He almost blew his beer through his nose.
“You what? Are you out of your mind? So you met Pu? Talked to him?”
“I want to help her. Somebody has to.”
“Not you. You don’t have to. That’s not your job. It isn’t why you’re here.” He took a breath. “How did it go?”
“Not so well. He refused.”
“What did you offer?”
“Twenty-five.”
“Twenty-five hundred dollars? You’re low.”
“Twenty-five thousand.”
“You’re insane. For a girl you just met.”
“For a human being in trouble.”
“I gather he wasn’t interested?”
“Correct. By his calculations, she’s worth a half million to him.”
Rob whistled. “Wow.”
“Yes. Apparently, the money in child sex abuse is big.”
He drained his beer. “Okay. I agree we should get out of here. But you’ve just made it very difficult for us to come back. Ever.”
“It doesn’t matter now. We have the tracker in his watch. As far as I’m concerned, I never want to see this shithole again.” The schoolgirl was now performing a provocative dance with the snake, to the delight of the spectators, the music having slowed to a pulsing Middle Eastern beat, presumably evocative of snake charmers.
Jet pushed to her feet. “Come on. I’m done with this.”
Rob followed her to the exit after flipping two hundred baht onto the table. They were just pushing the curtain aside as a moan went up from the crowd.
“You leaving now? You miss the best part!” the street hustler admonished at the exit and then stepped out of Jet’s way when he caught a glimpse of her eyes.
Rob shrugged at him.
“Touch me, I break your arm,” she warned the man, who backed slowly away, his hands held high.
“Okay. Have a good night, lovebirds,” he sang with a cackle and then spun, off in search of more prospects.
“You handled that well,” Rob said as her boot heels snicked against the sidewalk.
“Don’t talk to me. I need a minute.”
“Sure thing. You just about blew our entire operation, but no sweat. Take some ‘me’ time. Why not?”
She threw him a black look and then slowed.
“I’m sorry.”
“You should be. I thought you were pro. Mind telling me what the hell was pro about any of that?”
“I figured it wouldn’t hurt. And it could have worked. Anyway, it was worth a try. No harm done. So we don’t go back to the club. Our job there is finished, anyway.”
Rob sighed. “I suppose it is.”
They resumed walking again and crossed the street to the next block. Tonight, the area was quieter than the prior evening, with only a few tuk tuks roaming the road in search of fares.
Neither of them had much to say. At the mouth of the alley where they’d parked, she hesitated. The area was as black as the night, the
overhead light on the building by the car having burned out while they were inside. She was just about to warn Rob that something was wrong when a figure rushed out from the shadows and lunged at her with a knife.
Chapter 16
Jet spun to the side and pitched her purse at the assailant’s head as she simultaneously blocked another blow from a second man who’d swung a hatchet at her shoulder. A third grunted as Rob executed a flying kick that caught him in the chest, snapping several ribs with a crack; he crashed against the wall, his machete falling harmlessly into the gutter. A fourth attacker stabbed at Rob with a wicked-looking stiletto, but he parried it and landed a series of rapid strikes against the man’s neck.
A gunshot rang out from down the alley, and Jet heard the distinctive sound of a bullet whiz by her left ear as she ducked, fishing into her purse as she dodged another swing of the hatchet. The knife wielder slashed at her, and she jumped back, tossing her purse to the side as she freed her pistol. She heard Rob grunt as the stiletto sliced his ribs, and then she slammed the butt of her gun into the side of the hatchet man’s head, dazing him.
The man with the knife lunged at her again, just as another shot boomed and a slug ricocheted off the brick wall beside her. She brought her weapon up and fired, blowing half the knife fighter’s face off, and then shot the hatchet man twice, point blank in the chest. Even as he was falling, she dropped to the ground and fired two more rounds down the alley at where she’d seen the shooter’s muzzle flash. Another shot rang out, grazing her leg, and she fired her final round at where she’d seen movement twenty yards away. If she’d had her Beretta, she’d have hit the shooter, but with the Sig Sauer it was dicey.
She heard a thunk from behind her and rolled to see Rob leaning against the wall, the gore-crusted machete in hand, his two attackers dead on the pavement. She grabbed her purse off the ground and launched herself at the alley mouth.
“Move!” she yelled, and then tore off without waiting for him. She rounded the corner as more shots followed her, blood streaming down her leg from where the bullet had grazed her quadriceps. Rob was behind her and was also oozing blood: from his abdomen. Jet slowed her pace.
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