“Yeah, I see you move around a lot,” Seabury said. “But I couldn’t care less.”
Tint’s eyebrows arched and his body stiffened. The room went very quiet. Fissures like knife slits cut deep into the skin at the corners of his mouth. There were dark circles under his eyes. Tint was forty-eight but to Seabury, he looked much older. “I see you haven’t changed one bit,” said Tint, shrugging off the remark, sitting up ram-rod straight in the chair. “Which reminds me, I’m still holding a grudge.”
“You know what you can do with that grudge. I’ll give you a couple of guesses.”
“Still the same. Abrupt. Belligerent. You’d never make a good soldier.”
“I’m not here to enlist. So what’s on your mind, Tint?”
“I’ll forget I heard you using my surname. I will also add rude, impudent and
disrespectful to your list of character flaws.”
“Thanks for the pseudo— analysis but you haven’t answered my question.”
“I ask the questions,” Tint said, snapping at Seabury. “You answer. Or hasn’t that sunk in yet? If it hasn’t, you’re a bigger fool than I thought.”
Seabury managed to control his emotions and said, “If you’re talking about losing face—that trite, overused form of insecurity—I’m tuning you out. I don’t want to hear about it.”
Arrow Nose stirred at the door. Tint raised a hand to restrain him. The guard relaxed and Tint went back to Seabury. He lit a cigarette and sneered through a wall of pale smoke. He was dressed in classic military green with clusters of metals pinned to his chest. The hideous display gave off the appearance of a string of tiny neon lights pressed against the dark green fabric.
“What’s the purpose of your visit to Laos,” Tint said as Seabury sat on the end of the bed, facing him.
“Why? What’s it to you?”
“I ask the questions,” he barked. “You answer. For your information I hold the rank of Colonel in the Laotian military police. That distinction allows me to ask questions to anyone entering the country.”
Seabury snapped a two-finger salute. “Impressive.”
“The same old sarcasm.”
“It’s not likely to change anytime soon.”
Tint exhaled smoke through his nostrils. Cocked his head to the side, squeezed his eyes half shut and leered through the smoke at Seabury, as if studying him.
Seabury said, “What happened at Black Swallow? They lower the boom and can your ass? Maybe those television interviews that I agonized sitting through had some merit after all.”
“Enough of that. Why are you here?”
“Ecotourism. River rafting. Maybe a trip to Pha Hom Hot Springs. Want to join me? I’d like to get you alone for five minutes in one of the pools. I’d enjoy seeing your head bobble up and down before finally going under.”
“How long are you staying here?”
“My tourist visa’s good for thirty days.”
“I’ll need to see a copy of your itinerary.”
“Why? I already told you what I’m doing here. Why would you need an itinerary? A little redundant, wouldn’t you say?”
Tint’s face flushed. Seabury thought he was trying hard to hold back a wave of outrage, and doing a fairly good job of it, as far as Seabury could see. Seabury didn’t want to push his luck. He knew Tint had a breaking point if pushed too far.
Tint held out his hand. “Passport…please. The one you wouldn’t leave at the front desk.”
Seabury handed it over. Tint glanced at it and set it down on the desk beside the notebook. Seabury froze. A pain churned in his stomach. If he sees what’s in the notebook…
“You will leave the passport in my possession for the time you are staying in the country. You may pick it up at district police headquarters in Chanthabouri when you leave.”
“No way,” Seabury said, shaking his head. “I’ll call Howard Hatcher, the U.S. Ambassador. I’m sure he’ll have something to say about the way you confiscated my passport. I’ll also call Ken Kwan at Golden Dragon Tours, my contact in Xaisomboon. Maybe he can get you off my back.”
Tint tossed the passport back but not before Seabury stopped him from snatching up the notebook.
“What do we have here?” Tint said, turning back to Seabury, holding the book up and starting to read. He was half way down the first page when Seabury saw him stop.
“Naris Kit Chai…lazy. Tony Sun. Beat landlord out of a month’s rent. What do we have here?” Tint asked.
Seabury didn’t answer. Victoria Hong’s name was scribbled at the bottom of the page. He was hoping Tint wouldn’t read that far down or see the notation scribbled beside it.
Abducted in Laos. Travel there January 15, 2013. Rendezvous: Plain of Jars, Site3, January 17th, 3:00 p.m.
Tint’s eyes dropped lower, down the front page, near the bottom, near Victoria Hong’s name.
Seabury darted across and snatched the book out of Tint’s hands.
“Private, ecological stuff,” he said. “Of little interest to you.”
“Hiding something?” Tint asked, staring up at Seabury, a weasel smile cracking his mouth open.
Seabury flicked through the pages and then fanned the notebook at Tint.
“Facts, figures, ecological diagrams. Eco-systems and land preservation, it’s become my hobby,” Seabury said. He shrugged, trying to look innocent. “There’s nothing here unless, of course, you’re an ecology buff.”
Tint got out of the chair. He turned back and pointed a finger at Seabury.
“The itinerary,” he said. “Have it in my office tomorrow morning at nine o’clock.”
Seabury said nothing.
Arrow Nose opened the door and Tint motioned him out into the hall. He stopped for a minute and Seabury was left staring at his small, scrawny back.
Tint whipped around and glared at Seabury. A wicked light enter his eyes and flickered out, leaving Seabury frozen in his tracks.
“I have a long memory,” he said in a harsh, bitter voice. He disappeared back into the hall just as Seabury’s cell phone began to ring. It was Tory Kwan on the other end.
“Hi, Mister Seabury, I’m down at the pool. Can you meet me there in ten minutes?”
“Okay,” he said and rang off.
A few minutes later, Seabury left the room and walked down to the pool. The last person he expected to see on this mission was Colonel Maran Tint but Tint was out there now, a dark, ominous cloud pushing in at him form a turbulent sea. Very soon a violent storm would break out and he had to be prepared for it when it happened.
Chapter Twelve
The poolside terrace teemed with activity. Kids and energetic young adults splashed around inside the oblong swimming pool. Huge waves crashed up over the sides, spilling out across a sandstone border to the edge of a line of chaises, where Happy Hour drinkers lounged. The men drank bottled beer. The women sipped exotic drinks covered by tiny umbrellas. There were orange and pineapple wedges clipped to the rim of the glasses and Maraschino cherries floating in the sea of liquid.
Seabury sat with a bottle of Lao dark beer and curled up the toes of his deck shoes to avoid a sudden surge of water. He had walked up and down, back and forth around the pool but Tory Kwan was nowhere in sight. He had no idea where she was, or what she looked like, or where she could be hiding. So he’d stopped traipsing and sat down at a poolside table, figuring that the next move was hers. Ten minutes flew by then another five.
Hmm. Looks like my tour-guide could be a no-show, he thought.
Easy listening music piped over a loud speaker next to a thatched-roof bar with artificial palm fronds hanging from the roof. Slender young Lao hostesses hurried back and forth rushing drinks to customers, many of whom were over-weight tourists with big bellies and fat wallets. Their wallets had to fat, Seabury thought, judging from the price of the drinks. Oh, well, good old Robert Hong was paying his expenses. Or so he believed.
Seabury recognized Falling Leaves and Frank Sinatra’s My Way
drifting his way when the apparition appeared from the depths of the swimming pool. She rose out of the water in a red, string bikini and gracefully climbed up the ladder at the edge of the pool. She toweled her hair, jutted her breasts, continued to put on a show to the delight of a crowd of bald geriatrics dressed in multi-colored beachwear, who ogled her and couldn’t seem to get enough.
The swan-like creature’s emergence from her shimmering green domain brought smiles to their faces, and scowls and wrinkles to the faces of their round, frumpy, insecure wives, who carefully avoided looking at the swan. Two tables down from Seabury sat an old, blonde, Nordic-looking hen. She drove a sharp elbow into her husband’s ribs as he continued to stare at the lithe figure. Disgruntled, rebellious, the old codger, doing his best to control a spiteful nature, twisted his shoulders and pulled back away from her.
The girl was small and trim with wide shoulders and a thin waist…and a perfectly delightful bottom. A great body, Seabury noticed, improved by her perfectly delightful tan. Shoulder length black hair framed a smooth round face with dark brown flashing eyes. They were now riveted on him. Seabury guessed her age at twenty-five but as she came closer, he increased the number by five or six years. She pulled up a chair and sat down at his table.
“Hi. I’m Tory Kwan.”
“You are?” he said. “Should I be worried?”
“Should you?”
“I asked first.”
“Mister Hong said you were like that…funny at times…but a bit strange. He said after a while it might get on my nerves.”
“Oh, he did now?” Seabury said, smiling. “I won’t deny it.”
Quickly, a protective light of concern entered her eyes as she moved in close to him. “I was worried,” she said. “Is everything alright?”
“Why do you ask?”
“A while ago, I used the elevator to go up to your room, you know, to introduce myself. That’s when I saw the two MP’s. They got off on second floor, walked down to your room and started pounding on the door. Something about them reminded me of why I carry pepper spray around in my purse.”
“What for? To spray the eyes of horny old men?”
“You’re funny, you know that,” she said.
“I’m glad I amuse you,” he said, drinking his beer.
She looked at him, then her eyes narrowed and her face grew serious. “Is this a bad time?”
“No, no, it’s okay.”
“Are you in any kind of trouble?”
“Could be, I don’t know.” He held up a finger. He shook it back and forth, and saw her expression change. “We can’t talk here,” he said. “Too many eyes watching and I don’t know how much of the place is bugged. I swept my room clean before I left so I think it’s safe. Go pack a bag and check out of your room. Meet me back in my room in a half hour. We’re not staying here tonight.”
She left immediately without commenting.
* * * *
A half hour later Tory tapped on the door to his room. Seabury opened it and let her in. She had changed into jeans and a blue halter, and wore a pair of dark canvas shoes. Her hair was washed and blow dried, and he could smell the scent of a perfumed soap coming off her body as she sat on the end of the bed next to him.
“I want to go someplace loud,” he said. “A disco, maybe. I want to stay there for a while and get lost in the crowd. Then I want to leave. I want to rent the motorcycle your father set up for me with Golden Dragon Tours. Can we do that?”
“Sure. No problem. The bike’s at Lam Leuk Reservoir. We can pick it up late tonight or early morning.”
A confused, half-suspicious look crossed her face as she looked at Seabury. “Look. I don’t know what this is all about,” she said. “Robert didn’t tell me the details of why you’re here. He offered me a job as a tour guide. The money’s good. So I accepted. Beyond that, I’m totally in the dark.”
Seabury stared out past her into the middle of the room. Over the years he’d developed a knack for judging people. Her eyes were kind and her face looked as sincere and trusting as some of the teachers he’d grown up with; the really good ones who cared about kids. She had that look.
A while later he’d told her everything. About Victoria Hong and Maran Tint, about the ransom money he’d stashed in a locker inside the bus terminal downtown. He told her about the motorcycle trip they’d have to make and why it was critical for them to reach the Plain of Jars, site 3, by three o’clock the day after tomorrow. He told her everything and when he was done talking, she stared down at her hands and went quiet. A calm, measured, restrained look entered her eyes, as if she took in what she’d been told and was working things back and forth in her mind, measuring good against bad, advantage against disadvantage. When it was done she looked up at him like she’d reached a decision.
“Okay,” she said. “I’m in.”
“What about the disco?”
“I know a place.”
“Someplace loud, with a big crowd, that’s what I want. We need to get lost for a while—avoid someone tailing us.”
A minute later, they were out the door on their way to Vienglatry’s May, the hottest disco in Vientiane.
Chapter Thirteen
They drove for a while among the city’s bright lights and neon glitter. Then the taxi turned left onto Lane Xang Avenue, a busy street in the downtown section. A few blocks up the taxi slowed down and stopped in front of a square cinderblock building painted a stark white color. A red and blue neon light blinked on and off above the front door. Tory and Seabury got out, and Seabury paid the driver. The deafening blast of drums and steel guitars screamed out the front door. People crowded on the sidewalk trying to get in.
“It’s Vienglatry May. The hottest disco in town,” said Tory as they shouldered their way inside.
From what Seabury saw, the place was a dance floor surround on three sides by sofas and tables. In the smoky light drifting across the room, a Lao band pumped out high octane rock music—nothing he recognized. He supposed it was a generation thing.
“Isn’t this great?” said Tory, alive, excited and energized.
They found a table at the end of the dance floor. Nearby, couples twisted and turned into impossible angles. The sound was horrific.
“You okay with this?” she asked, shouting above the noise.
“Sure,” he said and ordered a couple drafts of Lao beer.
“Well, you look much better,” she said. The drinks arrived and they started drinking. “For a moment there you had me worried.”
“About what?”
“Commander Tint… the one you were telling me about. I remember now. It was on the news a few years ago, in all the papers. How you ran for your life and survived. I can’t believe it. No wonder you hate him.”
“I don’t hate him,” Seabury said.
She gave him a puzzled look.
“I try not to think about it,” he said. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to carry a grudge. Why carry all those negative tapes around inside your head, dragging you down, making you bitter. It’s not worth it.”
Seabury finished his beer and they ordered another round. The waitress came through the murky darkness with a faint, overworked smile. She set the drinks down and disappeared.
Through a layer of white smoke, Seabury noticed a slender, dark-haired girl watching him. He froze a moment under her flirtatious gaze. She smiled again and Seabury smiled back at her, relaxed now, the tension gone from his body.
The tips of her hair were tinted brown and she wore a low-cut pink halter, a short denim skirt, and calf-skin boots. She sat on a sofa nearby with her friends. The way she stared gave Seabury the impression he was definitely on her radar.
Picking up on the signals, Tory said, “If you want, I can call a taxi. Go to the hotel and check back in. It’s okay. I don’t mind. I have eyes. I can see.”
He turned around and looked at her. “Excuse me?”
“That little thing over there staring at you, she’s phu
xao bolikan, a service woman. I see sex gushing from her pores like running water. You might’ve been a bit more discreet too, smiling at her like that.” She paused, shrugged. “But I guess I should be used to it by now,” she said, staring to the side, looking depressed as she drank her beer. “Rejection’s an ugly word,” she muttered. “But we all go through it, don’t we?”
Maybe it was her low tolerance for alcohol, or his company, or the news about Colonel Tint she’d heard earlier. He couldn’t figure it out, but something was definitely bothering her. She swung her eyes back on him.
She said, “I guess you should know about Bill.”
Seabury said nothing.
“His name’s Bill Wheatley. He’s Deputy Ambassador at the U.S. Embassy here in Vientiane. We were engaged to be married once until he lied to me.” She paused, added. “Oh, I don’t know why I’m telling you this.” Then went right on talking. “He said he was divorced, but he was married all along…the bastard. One day, out of the blue, his wife calls from Washington D.C. She wants to reconcile and, as it turns out, so does he. He had two kids, who I also didn’t know about. So, in the end, what could I do if he really wanted back with her?” She took another drink of beer. “So that’s how it ended.
“You called it off?”
She nodded. “I called it off. Really, what difference did it make? He was already married, and he lied to me.” She took a breath and let the air out slowly. “But that’s past history now. Things change…people change. I guess we accept our fate and move on. Isn’t that how it’s done?”
He kept quiet. He waited a while then changed his mind and said, “I owe you an apology.” He motioned and ‘thanks but no thanks’ to the service girl in the pink halter across the room.
“Apology accepted.” She tipped her glass, drained it and stood up. “Want to dance?” she said.
Before he could refuse, she pulled him onto the floor and into a slow dance. Her head rested on his shoulder. He felt her small, firm breasts pressed up against his chest. Mister Erector began to rise. He thought she noticed too, sending him a coy smile before she pulled away. Couples—mostly tourists—flocked onto the floor. Their eyes were dull and dreamy, with the musky smell of promised sex hanging in the hot, humid air, clinging to their bodies like plastic foil. The locals, who tended to be modest in public, kept their dance partners at a safe distance.
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