Death in the Kingdom

by Andrew Grant

  Once Tuk Tuk’s ticket to paradise was safely on the dock, Choy waved for bodies to help lift the buddha into the back of the wagon. It took six of them to do it, including Choy himself. The Jeep settled heavily on its springs which was my cue to go and bid farewell to Niran and his crew. Would Choy do what I anticipated he would? Harbours were noisy places when you wanted to make a special phone call.

  ‘Gotcha,’ I whispered as The Cabbage climbed into the passenger seat of the Cherokee and pulled the door shut against the din of the port. He glued his mobile phone to his ear as I shook Niran’s hand and turned away, adjusting the stems of my glasses as I did so.

  ‘We have it,’ Choy was saying in Cantonese. His head turned my way as I hid behind a smoke screen and shook hands with the divers.

  ‘So, you will be here by midnight?’ Tuk Tuk asked.

  ‘Yes. By midnight or shortly afterwards.’ Choy paused. ‘What about Daniel? He has his box. It would be easy to get rid of him in the jungle. Then you can take the box and trade it with the British or the Americans. Tri called me. He said it was the Americans who attacked them out on the water.’

  ‘Kill Daniel,’ Tuk Tuk replied. ‘It pains me, but kill him quickly, Choy.’

  My blood ran colder than ice when I heard those words. Without a qualm, Tuk Tuk had consigned me to a shallow grave in the fucking jungle. I kept my face expressionless as I walked back up to the Jeep. Choy closed his mobile phone and dropped it into his jacket pocket. He started to open his door but hesitated as I went to the rear door.

  ‘We go,’ he mumbled as I opened the door and got in behind him. No doubt he had planned to manoeuvre me into the front seat and get in behind me. I had checked him in this most deadly game of chess we were about to play.

  ‘Yeah, let’s go,’ I replied as I settled into the seat behind him. The driver climbed in and cranked the big engine into life. The Jeep felt as heavy as my fucking heart as it moved off. I leaned back against the seat and made a play of closing my eyes. The tint of my Ray Bans hid the fact that my eyes were still half-open. No way was I not going to watch The Cabbage. I doubted he would attempt to kill me in the car, at least not on the move anyway. He was obsessively vehicle proud, so he probably wouldn’t want the mess. At some point he would suggest we stop. A call of nature, maybe, on some isolated piece of road in the park as we cut across the peninsula. Then it would happen.

  We were heading up the coast on Highway 4. I knew we’d cross over the hill at Kapoh to Chumphon and then run on up to Phetchaburi, again on 4, repeating the run I had done days before. Midnight, huh? It was close to a 250-mile drive to Phetchaburi and it was now 17:00. Choy had plenty of time to do what he wanted to. If I let him! I had already slipped the Walther out of its holster. The automatic was cocked and locked, safety off as it rested under my right thigh. My hand rested casually on the seat beside it.

  We passed through Kra Buri without incident, and then started up into the national park. This was where I guessed it would happen. Five minutes up into the jungle I was proven right. There was quite a bit of traffic about, so I guessed it wouldn’t take place on the side of the main road. As I saw the secondary road come up ahead on our left, Choy confirmed it would be then and there. ‘I have to piss,’ he said, indicating for the driver to pull us off the tarmac onto the dirt side road. The man did as he was told. Whether or not he knew what was to come I couldn’t tell. He drove us fifty yards along the dirt road and pulled up where the trees started to crowd in. There was no traffic on this rutted track—no doubt a big factor in Choy’s calculations. As we slowed I slipped my fingers around the Walther’s butt, my finger sliding along the trigger guard.

  It was very surreal the way it was happening. I’d never figured Choy for stupid, not ever. Okay, he didn’t know I’d been eavesdropping on his conversation with Tuk Tuk, but he must have known that I wasn’t a bloody moron and that I didn’t trust him. Maybe it was his extreme arrogance. Maybe his hatred for me just overrode his logic. Whatever, it was all over in seconds.

  The Jeep rocked on its springs as we stopped. Choy started to open his door with his left hand and as he began to get out, he turned towards me, his right hand rising above the seat back. He clutched the massive Desert Eagle and was still aligning the gun when I started shooting. The butt of my own gun was now resting on my right thigh. He never even saw it before he died. I put five shots through the back of the seat into Choy’s chest and left side. That was the thing about those fancy post-production custom seats he’d had installed in the Cherokee. With all that breathable mesh and shit there wasn’t a lot between the front and the back. Certainly not enough to stop a nine-millimetre slug, let alone five of them, going through the same big ragged hole.

  Choy looked surprised in the second or two it took for him to realise he was dead. His hand cannon fell to the ground outside the car, while he slumped back against the front of the doorframe and the dashboard, his legs outside the wagon. He didn’t make a sound. I turned my attention to the driver, raising the Walther to massage his left ear. The guy was frozen in his seat, head turned towards Choy, his eyes bulging. No doubt his ears were also ringing, just as mine were.

  ‘You don’t have to die,’ I said softly. ‘If you have a gun or a knife, open your window and throw them out. He fumbled and produced a small automatic. He opened the window and dropped it out. A switchblade followed a few seconds later. ‘Pass me the keys,’ I instructed. He did. ‘Fasten your seat belt,’ I ordered and he scrambled to obey. ‘If I hear you release it I will kill you,’ I added, probably quite unnecessarily. I got out of the Jeep. The guy had seen first hand how easy it was to die in my little world.

  I searched for a pulse in Choy’s neck. There was none. The Cabbage had gone to meet his ancestors. However, even in death I had plans for him. The easiest option would have been to simply shoot him in the back of the head, but I needed that big ugly head of his more or less in one piece. I completed opening Choy’s door for him, then I turned his body, lifting his legs back into the passenger compartment. I strapped his body back into his seat, picked up his gun and tossed it away into the jungle. I didn’t want the fucking thing. I went around the Jeep and did the same with the driver’s hardware. Then I had a piss.

  As I stood there with my dick in my hand, I felt let down. Not just by Tuk Tuk—I’d sort of expected that—but I’d been forced to kill Choy too damned quickly, too damned easily. I would have liked for him to have seen his death coming. He had brought it on himself with his total obsession to kill me, and I would have liked a few minutes with him to point out the error of his ways. Instead it had all been over in a second and a half. I finished urinating and zipped up.

  I moved to the front of the Cherokee and stood appraising the situation. Choy’s head drooped on his chest and I could see blood glistening on his shirt. He needed more work. I opened the passenger door again and rearranged his jacket to cover the blood. I wiped the trickle off the corner of his mouth with my thumb, and closed his blank stare. I needed to keep his head back in a more lifelike position. If I’d had superglue with me, I would have glued the back of his shaved head to the headrest. I didn’t have any of that magic solution, but I did find an alternative in the elaborate first-aid kit that lived under the driver’s seat.

  The roll of tape was flesh-coloured. I put a band around Choy’s neck under his chin and fixed it to the headrest behind his head. When I arranged his shirt collar, the tape vanished under both it and the thick folds of skin on his neck. The head still leaned forward slightly, but it gave the impression of someone dozing, not of a corpse. I found his sunglasses in his breast pocket and put them on him. That would do. As an afterthought I removed his wallet from inside his jacket. It was thick with both dollars and baht. I took the cash and put the wallet back. It wasn’t simple thievery. Until I got back to my stash in the safe at the embassy annex, I figured I might need a lot more cold hard cash than I had on me. I got back in the vehicle and handed the driver the keys. ‘Do as I say an
d you live. Otherwise you know what happens. To Phetchaburi. Okay?’

  ‘Okay,’ he replied. I noticed that the crotch of his jeans was stained dark. The acrid smell of urine mingled with that of gunpowder and blood. I had the guy turn up the air-con.

  15

  Tuk Tuk would come out to the Jeep. I knew that. Normally he would sit and wait for the world to come to him, escorted by Choy. Not this time, however. Not when Choy was coming to deliver his sainthood to him. This was mountain and Mohammed time. The buddha was definitely the mountain and it was truly immovable.

  I made the driver pull off the highway just south of Phetchaburi. We found a place with more shadows than light. It seemed the guy thought he was going to die. When I explained what was going to happen next, the relief on his face was plain to see. We waited there for half an hour. I wanted Tuk Tuk to become anxious. He and Choy had an ETA of about 24:00.I was going to arrive at 00:15 precisely. That meant I had twenty minutes to show time.

  I removed the mobile phone from my jacket, powered it up and called Bernard. On the third ring, he answered. I pressed the scramble button.

  ‘I have the box.’

  ‘The box!’ The old arsehole sounded stunned. There was something akin to disbelief in his voice. ‘Daniel?’ he asked.

  ‘Of course it’s me. Who else? You sent me to get this damned box. I’ve got it.’

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Just south of Phetchaburi. I may be some time getting to the embassy. I have a couple of errands to run first. I’ll call when they are complete.’ I was starting to hang up when he stopped me.

  ‘Leave your phone on. It may be necessary for a change of plans,’ he said. ‘It’s important. Well done,’ he added as an afterthought. ‘Did you have any problems?’

  ‘Yeah. Tell you about that later,’ I replied and killed the call. I didn’t tell him about the CIA ambush because right at that moment it was history and could wait.

  I dropped the mobile back into my pocket, lit a cigarette and leaned back in my seat. ‘Smoke if you want to,’ I told the driver. He stuttered his thanks, lit up and there we sat, smoking like two old buddies. All we needed was a pint and a packet of crisps to complete the party atmosphere.

  Something was nagging me about the call I’d just made. Sir Bernard fucking Sinclair hadn’t exactly sounded thrilled that I had collected the most important prize in the world for him, whatever that was. Eventually I pushed the thought away. I had other things to do. It was time. I got out of the rear of the Jeep, tossing my cigarette butt away as I closed the door. I quickly opened the front passenger door before my little driver buddy got any ideas. It was time to get the show on the road.

  I pushed Choy’s seat as far back on its rails as it would go and tilted the backrest to give the illusion that he was just relaxing. It was a fucking squeeze, but I thanked the gods that the Yanks build big cars for big people. I managed to curl myself up, half on the bottom of the foot well and half jammed between Choy’s legs and the passenger door. In the dim light I was invisible, as long as Choy remained the centre of whatever attention was directed at the Jeep. I had the gun in my left hand aimed at my chauffeur’s groin. He knew he was dead if he screwed up.

  I figured we would have to beat a cursory video scan and the gatehouse man.

  I’d been with Choy in happier times when he’d go through the main gate. The gate men never used to leave their cubbyhole. One look at The Cabbage was enough. No one who knew Choy got in his face. That fact, coupled with the angle of the gatehouse window and the distance to the side of the car, meant that, technically, the guard wouldn’t see me. As for the cameras, I was praying that no one would be looking at them but focusing instead on the live show. To hell with what the video showed later.

  ‘When you enter the second gate, sound the horn. Three short blasts,’ I instructed the driver. ‘Drive to the bottom of the steps. You stay in the car when we stop.’

  ‘Okay,’ he replied. ‘We are coming to the first gate.’

  I glanced at my watch. 00:14. Perfect!

  The Jeep rocked heavily on its suspension as it turned off the street and approached the outer gate. Obviously the goon in the guardhouse had been given his instructions by Tuk Tuk: to expect and expedite our immediate arrival. The cameras picked up the Cherokee the moment it turned into the approach to the palace. The outer gate was open when we reached it. I was picturing us crossing the moat when the Jeep slowed momentarily but didn’t stop. The second gate opened. Choy’s beautiful mug had done the trick.

  Our tyres crunched on pebbles and my driver honked the horn three times as he brought us to a halt. My next trick was to get out of the car as fast as I could. It would be a case of opening the door and kicking myself out backwards onto the driveway. ‘Tell me when Tuk Tuk is out of the house,’ I whispered to the driver, who sat frozen in his seat. ‘Turn off the engine and the headlights and give me the keys.’

  He did as I said and sat there stone-faced, the lights from the garden and the palace reflecting white off his face.

  ‘He’s coming with the woman.’

  ‘Anyone else?’ I was counting on Tuk Tuk being alone. I didn’t really want to kill him in front of Sakura.

  ‘No one!’

  ‘Don’t move,’ I whispered as I reached behind my right shoulder for the door release. I popped it and twisted myself around Choy’s left leg, pushing my heels against the transmission hump to give me leverage. I leaned into the door and kicked off. My shoulders hit the shingle and I rolled completely over, landing on my knees beyond the Cherokee’s wide door. My gun was locked in a two-handed grip. Tuk Tuk was ten feet away coming directly towards me, Sakura on his right side holding his right forearm while one of his ebony sticks supported him on his left.

  Tuk Tuk stopped. Sakura, probably not realising what the hell was happening, stepped beyond him. I came to my feet quickly. I doubted there were any guards in the compound or snipers on the roof, but I didn’t want to take a chance. I covered the ground between Tuk Tuk and myself in three paces.

  ‘Daniel, what is …?’ Sakura gasped as I brushed past her.

  ‘Tuk Tuk will tell you,’ I said as I kicked the old man’s stick away and jammed the muzzle of my automatic under his chin. ‘Tell her you stupid, greedy old man,’ I said in Cantonese. Tuk Tuk’s double whammy of surprise caused him to sag at the knees. I caught him by his left lapel and held him up. ‘Yes,’ I said, reverting to English. ‘All along, Tuk Tuk, I had a microphone hidden. You and that stupid fuck, Choy, just couldn’t let it go could you!’

  ‘Choy!’ Sakura was standing at the open Jeep door, hand to her beautiful mouth. Tuk Tuk knew then that Choy was no more. His eyes went out of focus for a moment, then they hardened again. He was too slow. I knew all about the knife that he carried in the spring sheath in his right sleeve. As the mechanism delivered the blade into his hand, I caught his wrist and twisted. The blade made an almost musical sound as it hit the stones. ‘Daniel, what is happening? Please!’ Sakura was coming back towards us, a white angel in the light. I looked beyond her. The driver of the Cherokee sat frozen like the corpse beside him.

  ‘Tuk Tuk gave the order for Choy to kill me. I killed him first. Now I will kill Tuk Tuk,’ I replied. I turned back to the object of my rage. ‘I came here to offer you something more valuable than gold or my pitiful fucking death, but you just couldn’t let it go.’ I switched to Cantonese because it was appropriate, perhaps, for my next choice of words. ‘Like the scorpion, Tuk Tuk, you sting because you can’t not sting. It is your nature and nothing can change that but my own sting.’ I pushed the muzzle of the gun deeper into his throat.

  ‘Please don’t, Daniel!’ Sakura had come to us. She, too, was speaking Cantonese. Both of her hands were on my left forearm. ‘Please no, Daniel.’

  Tuk Tuk remained silent. He was now looking as he had when I had told him the truth behind Arune’s death. Tuk Tuk Song was an old man. Yes, a vicious old man to be sure. He didn’t beg or make any
excuses. We were far beyond that. But now his eyes had lost their steel. He was sagging against my grip. I let him sink slowly to the pebbles. I could have dropped him. Instead, I lowered him almost gently to the ground. However the muzzle of my gun stayed at his temple. I didn’t trust him an inch.

  ‘He’s dying, Daniel.’ Sakura was speaking softly. She had reverted back to English. Her eyes were huge, either from desperation or fear. ‘Prostate cancer. It has spread. He has perhaps a year, no more.’

  ‘He ordered my death,’ I replied. ‘I saved his life twice, once from his own son, and he rewards me by ordering my death. How can you have any compassion for this man?’

  ‘Because he is my husband,’ she said softly. ‘We have been married for ten years, Daniel.’ I was speechless. I had never heard a whisper, never even suspected they were married. I looked into those beautiful big eyes and could see no lies there.

  ‘Who knew?’ I asked.

  ‘No one but Choy.’ It was Tuk Tuk who spoke. ‘It was to protect Sakura. She had been my mistress for five years before my second wife, Arune’s mother, died. When we married we kept it secret.’

  ‘I love him, Daniel. I beg you not to kill him.’ Despite the use of the word, Sakura wasn’t begging—she was asking a friend for a favour.

  ‘While he lives, I can never come back here,’ I replied. ‘This old scorpion only knows one way. I gave him the opportunity for eternal redemption, or as close to it as he could ever come, and he rejected it.’

  ‘Daniel. Yes, I made yet one more mistake, but with Choy’s death it is over,’ Tuk Tuk said, his voice that of a tired, sad old man. ‘Yes, you offered and I failed. I let myself be swayed by my blood and my oldest friend. On the life of the woman I love, I promise you that you have my word it is over.’