by Andrew Grant
‘Yes, Daniel, business is good. And you?’
‘I’m busy, but the business is not of my making.’
‘You still working for those arseholes?’
‘The same, Sami. The very same.’
‘That is a pity, Daniel. Join me and let me make you rich. I’d hoped that was why you’d come. It’s time you did, and as the Yanks say, “get a life, boy”.’ Sami’s southern drawl sounded genuine. I had to chuckle. We climbed several short flights of stairs and emerged onto a wide mezzanine that looked like the lounge bar of a luxury hotel. The only thing that jibed with that impression was a bank of television monitors showing street and canal scenes. There were conventional video cameras at work as well as infrared scanners. Very sophisticated! A young and very attractive Thai woman sat at a control panel watching the monitors. One of Sami’s unspoken edicts was that all the women he chose to surround himself with, be it at work or for pleasure, had to be attractive, if not stunningly beautiful. I admired that in a man.
‘We saw you coming. Or at least we saw the boat. Only those who know us come that way,’ Sami said, nodding at the bank of monitors as he pulled his communications earpiece out of his left ear and dropped it into his shirt pocket. He put the Uzi on a side table and moved to the elaborate bar. ‘Ice?’
‘Please,’ I responded, lowering my holdall and camera case to the polished wooden floor. Sami had a thing for wood. He loved it, not in a tree-hugger way. He liked it cut, polished, waxed and pampered. While not a Buddhist in any pure sense of the word, he had always espoused the living qualities of wood.
‘It lives on after it is cut,’ he’d explained to me one night as we’d huddled beneath our ponchos somewhere over the Burmese border, waiting for a meet with some revolutionary faction or other. ‘Wood never dies, not even when you burn it. You burn it and you just release its energy and soul to the sky. And then it returns to the earth and grows again.’
At the time, the theory had seemed intriguing, and it had kept my mind off the fucking miserable night we were spending, at least for a second or two. But I’d never forgotten it. Deep thinker was our Sami. I finished admiring the woodwork as he drifted back with the drinks. ‘How is Tuk Tuk?’
‘Dying,’ I replied.
‘And Choy?’
‘Dead!’
‘You?’
‘Yes. It was one or the other and I preferred it wasn’t me.’ I gave Sami a hard grin as I accepted the cut-glass tumbler of amber liquid he handed me. For himself he had chosen mineral water with ice. It was his usual tipple. My friend Sami was not a drinker.
‘Sit and tell me about it,’ he said, indicating a nest of thick leather couches.
We sat and I told him everything because if there was one person in that land or any other that I could trust with my life it was Sami Somsak. I had saved his life half a dozen times in the past and he mine an equal number of times. Ours was a brotherhood based on genuine trust. A trust that was uncontaminated by politics, money, lust, envy or anything else. It just was.
It was midnight when we called the party quits. Thanks to Sami’s input I had a plan for the next stage of ‘operation black box’. Sami had his operator patch me through to Don Don at his embassy apartment. After apologising to him for the lateness of the hour, I asked him to do something for me. He didn’t question it. I gave him the number Sami had written down for me and hung up. I then debated whether or not to call Bernard but rejected the notion almost as soon as it arrived. As I’d decided earlier in the day, ‘tomorrow is time enough’. Above the mezzanine were the living quarters, or should I say the luxury apartments that Sami called home—one of his many homes at least.
When I was ensconced in a suite that would have done justice to any of the great Bangkok hotels, my host asked me if I wanted company. I refused the offer. I had a feeling that that night I would be dreaming of an angel’s kiss.
19
The next morning as I lay in my wide, soft bed, I called Bernard. He was not amused, as always, and as before I cut him off at the pass and went on the attack. It was the best defence. I told him about the CIA team hunting for me down south.
‘So how did they know about the submarine and the fucking black box? How did they track me, Bernard?’ I wanted to know.
‘I don’t know, Daniel. We don’t have a leak this end, I promise you that,’ he was saying in his most reassuring tone. ‘We have kept it close, very close.’
‘Whitehall is like a damned sieve when it comes to security, Bernard. You know that. Someone, somewhere tipped the bloody Yanks off and now I’m playing fox to a bunch of trigger-happy hounds. What is in the fucking box?’
‘I can’t tell you that because I don’t know,’ he replied primly.
‘I’m tempted to open it, Bernard,’ I responded, playing devil’s advocate just for the hell of it. The reaction I got caused me to pull the mobile phone away from my ear.
‘Don’t, Daniel! For God’s sake, don’t open it. If you do you’re signing your own death warrant. Believe me on this. Please believe me.’ Bernard’s words tumbled over themselves.
‘I’m joking,’ I yelled into the phone. ‘Just winding you up.’
Bernard went quiet for what seemed like an eternity. When he started talking again his voice was as cold as I’d ever heard it. ‘Don’t fool around. This is too damned big. Stay where you are until nightfall, then make your way to the embassy.’
‘Why wait?’ I replied. ‘I’ve got a plan.’
‘For God’s sake, you’re obviously in a safe house. Stay there until dark. We can arrange a pick-up and escort.’ He sounded close to panic. I paused a moment. I didn’t want the old sod to blow a fuse.
‘Okay, Bernard,’ I said in what I figured was a voice of resignation. ‘I’ll stay here until nightfall but then I’ll get to the embassy my way. No escorts.’
‘Thank you, Daniel,’ came the reply. The sheer relief in his voice was obvious. ‘Just stay there until dark and then do it your way,’ he said. I smiled. Frank Sinatra Swann at Her Majesty’s service.
‘I’ll call you from the embassy,’ I said and closed the mobile. I had no intention of waiting for nightfall. I was getting to the embassy that morning but no way was I going to tell Bernard. The old prick was going through menopause or something. Stop! Go! Go! Stop! Did he want the fucking box safe in the embassy or not? I went into the luxurious bathroom to shower. My thumb was throbbing again. The cut was inflamed and red but there was no pus and the bleeding had long stopped. I anointed the gash with bug killer and stuck a fresh plaster on. If it didn’t let up I’d get a shot of antibiotics when I hit the embassy.
Back in the bedroom I dressed. So why wasn’t I going to wait until dark? Why didn’t I organise an escort of military types from Don Don? Of course, they couldn’t carry loaded weapons outside the embassy grounds. Why didn’t we hire an armoured car to deliver me to the damned embassy? Simple reason was that calling the embassy and arranging for an escort just wasn’t the safest way of doing things. In fact, it was probably the most unsafe because it came with a whole bunch of problems. The circus would get too big, too confusing and too prone to detection and failure, simply because it would attract too much of the wrong attention. If the professionals were watching the embassy and waiting for me to turn up, they would read what was going down and act accordingly. Therefore I had to do the unexpected, and sometimes doing the obvious was the most unexpected thing of all. So we were going to do it just the way Sami and I had planned.
Sami and I met on the mezzanine for a breakfast of coffee and croissants. Stage one of our plan was locked in place and it was dead simple, as all good plans should be. I was going to ride into the embassy on a motorbike. Of course, I wasn’t going to necessarily look like me.
We had just finished our meal when a pair of young women appeared on the stairs below us, responding to a signal I hadn’t picked up on. One of them carried a metal make-up case, the other a small suitcase. It was time to transform the Swann into
an ugly duckling or similar. Mr Black Ponytail wasn’t coming back this trip. I knew that Thailand abounded with motorcycle taxis, both licensed and unlicensed, so it seemed like the best idea. Orange-vested official taxi riders did big business with mainly Thai clients, and with traffic snarls around Bangkok a fact of life, bikes were a great way to get around.
Okay, at over six feet tall and being pale-faced at that I was going to stand out—or was I? Instead of the typical 125cc bike, I was going to be riding a 750 Suzuki with a low slung seat to reduce my height. It was all a matter of scale. Small Thai, small bike. Big guy, big bike. Unless we sat side by side, the differential wouldn’t be obvious at a glance. But there was more. Jeans and T-shirt were okay, but my tan got worked on, as did my moustache. With a helmet on and my dark Ray Bans, plus an orange vest and a passenger on the back, I was going to look the part—at least at a glance.
I was going to head along Ploenchit into Wireless and cruise for the embassy vehicle entrance. Don Don would have the gate open the moment I made the turn into Wireless. Easy, providing the coast was clear. So was it? That was what the midnight call to Don Don had been about. I glanced at my watch. It was 09:00. Time for him to check in and he was on time. Sami’s switchboard girl spoke into her headset and a moment later the light on the phone that was sitting on the table in front of me flashed.
Don Don got straight to the point, and he sounded puzzled. ‘We’ve had vehicles cruising Wireless Road overnight, a couple of black SUVs and at least three sedans. There have been a dozen pedestrians we identified as having been in the area since late afternoon yesterday. I ran tapes from earlier in the day and they moved in about 18:00.’ The embassy security chief paused. I figured he was fast-forwarding whatever was on his monitor.
‘They mixed and matched as singles and in pairs, but definitely the same faces,’ he continued. ‘Hell, we have footage of one of them speaking into his sleeve, then getting into one of the SUVs. That was at 08:40 this morning. By 08.45 they were all gone.’
‘All of them?’ I asked.
‘Street’s virtually empty,’ Don Don replied. ‘Hardly any pedestrians, not a lot of traffic and no spooks we can see. It’s bloody quiet.’
‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘Any change, call me on my mobile. I’ll be there within the hour. Just make sure they open the damn gates.’
‘Bet on it,’ Don Don replied and we hung up.
‘What caused them to pull out?’ Sami muttered. ‘There has to be a reason.’
‘We’ll figure it out later,’ I replied. ‘Let’s do it.’
‘I’ve got someone doing a little recon,’ said Sami, holding up his hand as another call came in. He spoke to the caller for only a matter of seconds.
‘I think we’re good to go now,’ Sami said. ‘I’ll explain along the way. Can you still remember how to ride a big bike?’ He smiled.
Before selling off parts of its compound, the British Embassy used to front onto Ploenchit, virtually under the line of the sky train. The station entrance nearest to the embassy touched down only a matter of yards from the intersection.
We had to figure that anyone left behind would be stationed there to intercept me coming by train. The reason for the last call was that one of Sami’s people had just come off the sky train and taken the logical route to the embassy. She saw no one suspicious at the station, crossed at the intersection and walked up Wireless Road past the embassy entrances. Still she saw no one of concern. Then she crossed and came back down the Swiss Embassy side. Nothing! The reason for our recon wasn’t that we didn’t trust Don Don’s evaluation, but rather that Sami didn’t know him. He did, however, know his people and I knew Sami.
My passenger was Mary, one of the girls who had made me up. She was dressed in a smart dark business suit with a crisp white blouse. The skirt was very short and showed a mile of beautiful leg that ended in elegantly high-heeled strappy shoes. She looked stunning. ‘Perfect to draw attention away from the driver,’ said Sami as he helped Mary into the Thai-girl-with-skirt-riding-side-saddle pose and arranged her legs to maximum advantage. My beautiful passenger giggled. The leather holdall was wedged firmly between my lower back and Mary’s hip and held on with a bungy cord. ‘Go well,’ Sami said as he signalled for the roller door to be raised. ‘I’ll tell your man to expect you in about fifteen minutes.’
‘I’ll call you when we get there!’
‘I’ll hear if you don’t,’ came the reply. ‘Call tomorrow night. I’m heading out of town. No mobile where I’m going,’ Sami added, slapping my helmet. ‘Go!’
Riding side-saddle or not, Mary was the perfect pillion passenger. I was a more than competent motorcycle rider but having an expert passenger was a real plus. When I’d been based in Bangkok I’d owned a big Kawasaki and that had been my standard means of getting about. I was enjoying the ride but apprehensive as to what we’d find on Wireless Road, despite the all clear. It was all looking too damn easy!
From Sami’s place in Banglamphu I headed across to Bamrung Muang Road which becomes Rama I and then Ploenchit as it crosses the city. It was virtually a straight run of maybe five miles. Despite heavy traffic we were passing the Siam Centre ten minutes after leaving Sami’s. The big bike mightn’t have been the most nimble machine around, but it rode well. I didn’t even come close to dropping it or Mary.
My heart did a bit of a flip as I made the turn at the lights into Wireless Road.
This is it! I thought. But there wasn’t any ‘it’! The designated gate was open as promised. Two armed marines were standing just inside, as was Don Don. I rode into the compound and the gates closed. It was something of an anticlimax. Don Don, ever the gentleman, helped Mary down under the hungry eyes of the squaddies. I lifted the bike onto its stand and got off.
In the top of the holdall we’d put a pair of tracksuit trousers. I opened the bag and gave them to Mary. She pulled them on under her skirt in seconds and the leg show was over. I passed her my helmet. She smiled and kissed me on the cheek before putting on the hard hat and straddling the big Suzuki.
‘Good rider, Dan,’ she said as the rather startled marines realised what was happening and opened the gate. Mary fired the bike, rolled it off its stand and roared back out onto Wireless Road. I laughed at Don Don’s expression.
‘Sami’s people are versatile,’ I said. ‘Now,’ I hefted the leather bag and shouldered it, ‘let’s get me and this somewhere safe!’
The room Don Don had set aside for me was the back office immediately behind his. It wasn’t a normal office but rather a completely sealed space about thirty feet by twenty with a high ceiling. It had been designed as a safe room before such things were commonplace. ‘Sealed unit,’ Don Don said needlessly as he led me inside. The door was a heavy mother with a submarine-type lip around it and thick rubber gaskets. ‘Separate air, scrubbers, the works. Installed way back.’ I didn’t acknowledge that I knew about the room from my previous life. The furnishings inside were spartan to the extreme. The joint obviously didn’t get a lot of use. There was a small desk on one side, a folding cot and a couple of chairs around a card table that sat in the centre of the room. There was a toilet in a screened alcove, a sagging couch and a couple of bookcases stacked with ancient volumes of Reader’s Digest.
The kitchen alcove set a few feet along the wall from the toilet recess showed a little promise. That was until I noted that the door on the small refrigerator was held open by a strategically placed roll of newspaper. ‘Damn, no cold beer,’ I thought. There was also a sink with a mirror above it, plus a couple of cupboards and, perhaps a little incongruously, there was a fire-hose reel on the wall beside the door. Whoever had set this place up had thought of everything except comfort. Basically my new home for the moment was the equivalent of an air-raid shelter. I guessed that, apart from when Don Don brought his Miss Friday back for a good old-fashioned bonking, this forgotten, musty bloody hole was sealed up tight to grow dust mites and mould.
‘Papers, food and a few beers comi
ng,’ my host said. ‘By the way, the fridge doesn’t work,’ he added as he headed out the door. ‘Back in a jiffy.’ I hadn’t heard that expression in years. I deposited the holdall on the floor beside the table and stripped off the orange taxi vest, removing the Walther from the shoulder holster under my T-shirt. I put it on the table as I fished out my mobile phone. There was no signal, which wasn’t surprising given I was so deep inside the building.
I returned to the outer office and Don Don directed me to a scrambled land line. He intercepted Janice returning to the office with supplies and took them into the safe room while I made the call.
Bernard sounded almost stunned to hear from me. Whether he was joyed, overjoyed or ecstatic I had no idea. Thing was, I had done my job as I had understood it, apart from sitting on that damned box until the experts got there. ‘They’ll be several hours away,’ Bernard told me when he’d gained some sort of composure. The conversation was short and there wasn’t a single congratulatory word. I went back into my cave, shutting the door behind me. I felt a childish hurt. Teacher hadn’t praised me for being a clever bugger.
There was a newspaper, a six-pack of cold Singha and food, such as it was. The embassy sandwiches and sausage rolls tasted as if they had been made a month before in the UK and sent out surface mail. I settled myself at the table. It tilted alarmingly, one leg measurably shorter than the others. I went and got a couple of copies of Reader’s Digest from the nearest bookcase to balance things up. I proceeded to drink three beers and eat everything in sight. Regulations aside, I lit a cigarette while I scanned the paper. The safe room wasn’t fitted with a smoke alarm although there were sprinklers set in the high ceiling.
A huge full-colour photograph of the Ruby Buddha dominated the front page of the Thai Post. The article on page two told of a mysterious European who had appeared with the buddha, and how he had vanished immediately afterwards. ‘Spooky,’ I muttered to myself. The way the reporter had phrased things, it sounded as if the mysterious me had been some sort of supernatural entity. Whatever, the monks at Pha To had their buddha back. Maybe that would put me in line for some luck of the good kind. Although my thumb still throbbed, the swelling and redness had gone down. It appeared I would live so I took that as a sign of good things to come. I leaned back in my chair and sat staring at the image of the buddha. My thoughts turned to Tuk Tuk and how close he had come to sainthood and immortality. Where would things have ended up if I hadn’t saved his life all those years before?