A Killing to DIE For

by P Gaseaux

  Chapter Nineteen

  Two days in-office, mostly to get the reports sealed up and all the travel stuff. Made it home in one piece. Rang JJ Hatfield and got a florist to deliver something, just a thought; his sympathies. Felt badly he couldn’t make the service. At work Tanaka was expecting the third degree but the hierarchy was doing all they could to avoid him.

  It was on the second evening he got the call; it came in on his other ‘phone -- the one that never rang anymore. Tanaka had trudged home through brown and slushy, three-day-old snow. It was a depressing time of year for him, being alone. All the stores were busy, Santa’s everywhere, mooching for this or that, waving bells; collecting donations and struggling not to be bored.

  He got in and changed and was headed out when the ringtone buzzed. He jumped, expecting to hear the voice of his ex, wanting something…still on speaking terms but only just. Instead it was DEA Chuck Cortez.

  “PK, can you talk a while?”

  “Hey Cortez, wassup. That was quick; don’t tell me you’re back so soon-”

  “PK, hang up now and get to somewhere you can Skype. Something’s happened. We’re locked down. One hour from now, max.”

  An hour later they resumed the conversation, Tanaka was in some mall. Christmas shoppers everywhere, it was hard to concentrate. Cortez wasn’t saying a lot. Instead he scribbled something down and held it up to the screen.

  “Can you see? Read it?”

  Tanaka nodded, he scribbled it down.

  “Okay, Buddy, I’ll hang up now,” said Cortez. “We’re locked down, real-proper.”

  “How’s that?” Tanaka asked.

  “Can’t say too much more, PK. Hold that thing up to the screen; I’ll check it’s correct. Make sure it’s a public computer and go in through a search engine. That way it didn’t come from this side of the world.”

  Tanaka held what he’d written to the screen; Cortez checked it and gave him the thumbs up before logging off. Tanaka fed a few more dollar bills into the ancient thing. He typed the stuff in Cortez had dictated and peered through it -- some blogger based in the Philippine Islands. It was covered in advertising banners. He scrolled up and clicked on the most recent entry.

  A detailed account, the author was an insider, must’ve had some pretty good contacts…surely not Cortez? Nah! Spot a cop’s writing a mile off.

  That’s how Tanaka found out. Kept going; read the whole thing out. He leaned back in the chair, scrolled down and hit another link. There it was. It made him reel in horror; he lurched in disbelief. Read it once more and closed the session. Didn’t even register the cash chute spat one of his dollar notes back out. It drifted onto the floor.

  The blog entry was a long one…it covered local gossip; ranging from long-term expats passing away through to the latest poor sucker who’d been fixed up in a drive-by, courtesy of some wanna-be widow. Couldn’t be bothered waiting for the estate. The article got to the spate of shootings, then finally the last paragraph. It was a lengthy one.

  It went on to tell how a young foreigner’s body had been located, hacked to death by a person or persons unknown in a filthy short-time room behind a seedy bar in Angeles City in a street known as ‘Blow Row’. Didn’t get a name like that from the typhoons either. The authorities there were leaving no stone unturned in their hunt for the killer or killers, believed to be suspects from the local area and clearly good with knives. The mangled victim’s pockets emptied. A half empty bottle of liquor was also found at the scene with toxicology pending. The last sentence stated: ‘Rumors have been flying thick and fast on the strip that the dead man was a bent informant who’d been working with US federal agencies…’

  It had to be him: Mike Jackson…oh shit!

  The next day at his desk PK Tanaka braced himself for the inevitable, but it never came. He steeled himself at the sight of the boss circling around the office and chatting with the staff. It was her way of announcing her presence on the floor; it was really him she was after.

  “Tanaka,” the station super smiled coldly. “I appreciate the fact you made it in so quickly. We were very concerned for your welfare all things considered.” She shot a look at his desk then back at him. “Look, I think given the circumstances, shouldn’t we arrange a session with the doc. If you want we could squeeze one in on Thursday if you want to check yourself in.”

  “I’m okay, ma’am. I can have a session with the shrink if you want, but I’m recovered.”

  The Station Supervisor reached for the nearest vacant wheelie-chair and in a single movement she straddled it with the back support facing him. “Well…that’d be wonderful if you think you could, I suppose...”

  I suppose? “Ma’am?”

  “Look, Tanaka,” the super paused for a moment. “There are a couple of suits dropping in today.” She was snooping around and saw the carry bag with the things retrieved from the inspector in Manila. It was headed to evidence shortly.

  Don’t kick it under the desk. If she asks, so be it…

  He lifted the clear bag and placed it next to his keyboard, opened and thought a moment. “Picked up some Christmas gifts…”

  Not a second glance.

  “Very thoughtful of you…” She had something else on her mind. “I am curious Tanaka. I’ve had a briefing from the deputy director and there are one or two things concerning me.” She stood up. Gave him one of those strange looks she was renowned for; it was like he’d come to work with a piercing in his nose. “Tanaka…what really happened over there?”

  He looked perplexed; this had an ominous ring to it. News of Mike Jackson’s demise wasn’t yet released; Tanaka wondered what was going through the super’s mind.

  Did she know…most likely ‘yes’.

  “Ma’am, I can tell you exactly my take on what happened over there and it’s all in my situation report, the one I already sent you-”

  “Leave it for now. Matter of fact, leave everything. Take the day off, Tanaka -- that’s an order.” The Super looked around the office then at his monitor screen then at him. “I’ll be the one doing the final report. Go home. Get some rest, whatever.”

  “This has gone diplomatic, hasn’t it, ma’am?”

  “That’s precisely what we’re trying to avoid!” she hissed before striding away.

  Tanaka had composed an apprehend notification with the scan of Anna; same one Inspector Guinhava had gotten his hands upon from the immigration gates. Double checked the entry, the identikit image -- it looked right -- and sent an All-Ports Alert through to his boss who would sign for it before sending it out to CBP. In his haste he forgot the most important detail of all, her distinctive dental work. A passport photograph; they never smile. Her ‘grills’ couldn’t be seen. She looked exactly the same as all the others from over there.

  Millions of them.

  PK Tanaka placed his hands on the bag containing the boxes. Where they once felt like dynamite, now they were glowing before his eyes. White-hot. Caught the elevator to the strong room, sealed everything in an evidence bag along with some of Billy-Bob Hatfield’s personal effects and passport before signing the chain of custody log. By doing so at least his butt was covered and he could always retrieve all or part of the contents as he pleased; the custody clerks only checked the log. Some of the items would be sent back to JJ Hatfield.

  When he made it back to his desk an executive order had arrived. He read it a couple of times, it said all kinds of things but the message was clear: Case closed.

  The workout session had been punishing. Brutal, her arms and legs throbbed. For now, exhilaration, tomorrow very sore muscles. Her overseas posting had come at the expense of her local network of fitness fanatics. Pakdee stood on the balcony on the seventh floor of an old landmark known as the Marquis Appartelles, a middle range tower overlooking the old central post office in Bangkok. The Chao Phya River meandered below the complex. It was her home away from home…if
she ever really had one as she was always on the move.

  She sipped an earthen mug of O-chaa and relaxed, leaning on the railings. Physically worn out but relaxed. She had spent the afternoon with her friend and instructor, Kyaw Pyei, an expat Burmese resident of many years with whom she trained. When it came to the nastiest of street fighters, Kyaw was the best. Thai boxers may have been unequalled in the ring but for a good old brawl in a bar or an alley, a knuckle sandwich direct from the mean streets of Rangoon had it all sewn up. Master Kyaw was a fight-bookie, but he knew better than to wager with Pakdee. He was the meanest bookmaker to be in debt to; he wore several knife scars and a cavernous gunshot mark to his belly. Those who’d waved knives and guns at him were wearing a gravestone somewhere, usually an unmarked watery one out in the gulf. He was a fierce mentor and she paid him for the brutal four hour sessions. Kyaw did odd jobs for her from time to time. He’d been around…

  She ran every afternoon at Lumphini Park, three sessions per week with Kyaw Pyei, and another twice-weekly session with a Teow-Jiu swords-master who lived near the rail terminus. The Burmese style had grunt; the Chinese had grace. She strived to have both. Nearly twenty hours each week, something different from the mindless indoor gymnasiums with their electric treadmills, with their idiots glued to them.

  Added to her professional duties, meetings and consultancy this made up what was her work-week; eighty hours during quiet periods and over one hundred when things were busy.

  It was a pleasant time of year and she savored the cool breeze; it reminded her of the village. She was hoping for a quiet evening but this was not to be. On the street below a green Mercedes with a motorcycle escort had drawn to a halt and was turning into the entrance of her building on the ground floor.

  Her controller, ’The General’. They had a lot of generals, but this one was special.

  Likewise, Pakdee of Phayao was special to this general. And valuable. Born of Chinese and northern-Thai lineage she had left her home in the village following the death of her younger sister, followed by the accidental demise of both parents. She’d been taken into the care of Protestant missionaries. In her early teens, done a runner…headed to the bus station with the other castaways. It was terrifying. The pimps and crooks hovered around but the pastor’s wife had seen her and intervened; suggested she come stay at the mission. It had been sheer chance but it changed the course of her life.

  Continued and finished school, driven by a strict Lutheran upbringing after being adopted by the childless couple. One thing -- what she truly loved them for -- they never forced her to abandon her worship of the Lord Buddha. At age sixteen she declined confirmation in the church attached to the mission. She studied for hours late into the evening while her friends attended cinema and socialized.

  Nowadays, in the second week of every month the tiny mission in the north received a handsome donation from somebody who never forgot -- wells built, family planning, literacy and English taught, supplies to the local schools. Their charitable work would keep them in the province forever. ‘Anna’ was one of the success stories. The endless trail of runaways into the big, bad city never ended. Human trafficking and unwanted youth was a problem all over the place, not just in the north.

  A brilliant and dedicated student, Pakdee excelled in school before winning one of the rare scholarships into the prestigious Chulalongkorn University. Following graduation she borrowed heavily in order to further her studies in Singapore where she was dux of her year. She evolved into somebody who could think like and understand foreign ways as well as her own. By age twenty-five she was fluent in English, Dutch and Chinese-Mandarin, not to mention her national language and the northern dialects and could calculate the daily exchange rates in her head. She had one other ability, unusual in her culture. She could make crucial decisions on her own and fast.

  After Singapore and armed with an academic medal she was snapped up by an international firm of auditors who specialized in fraud-busting. Misconduct that was thriving as the ASEAN economies had lurched from strength to strength. Risky business but Pakdee loved the work along with the expat salary.

  One day she came to the attention of a powerful inner-circle group after exposing a deal gone wrong between a crooked arms supplier and a local conduit. Pakdee had been given the task of auditing a series of currency transfers between the Thai government and a group of companies in the Czech Republic and in doing so uncovered major fraud. She’d alerted the authorities and they’d pounced…hard. She’d saved her Kingdom precious foreign exchange as well as immeasurable face. The ‘Pacak Affair’ they’d named it. One of the principals ended up doing a ninety-nine year stretch. The co-accused went head-first through an asbestos roof after a swan dive off a building. Feted by judges and politicians, she’d come from nowhere. Everybody wanted a piece of her after that. The military took the whole lot of her.

  And that’s how she met the general. In her the general saw a ticket on the ground and in him she hitched a ride for an opportunity that couldn’t be missed.

  Pakdee bowed low and placed her hands together in a prayer motion. “I thank you for your presence today, My General.”

  General Soronai Kitti-Khorn nodded and checked his wristwatch, a Patek Philippe. “Glad to see you’re back safe and sound, Miss Anna.”

  He moved to the counter and picked up the bottle, exactly the same level as the last time he had come. Single malt whisky. She never touched a drop, she detested intoxicants. Hated the smell…she didn’t even take coffee or soda. Only green Chinese tea.

  “It was a close one, My General,” said Pakdee. “The syndicate nearly got to me first, you know that? My General, we need to locate the Chinaman. I could not recover the sample over there. I believe it is lost.”

  “Lost? How?” General Kitti-Khorn whacked down the shot glass, he pulled out a soft pack and lit up. Ancient and leaky kerosene lighter; it belched orange flame. A miniature fireball, ideal for repelling any stray leopards. For predators of the human variety, Kitti, as he was known, carried a regulation sidearm and was accompanied everywhere by an adjutant who stayed with the Mercedes limousine this time. The adjutant was the size of a sumo wrestler.

  Pakdee frowned. “My friend Hatfield smelt a rat. He took a sample to the FBI in Manila. I’m not sure what came of it. Maybe the FBI has it; I cannot say for sure.”

  Kitti strolled out to the balcony and looked out over his city. “Arcana made it in without a problem?”

  “Excuse me?” she said.

  “Arcana. That’s what they called the mission,” replied Kitti. “They’ve arrived?”

  “I think so, My General. They’re placed as a sleeper-cell. They’re awaiting my contact.”

  Kitti turned and leaned back on the railing, drawing the last of his smoke. “Well, I hope they’re a little more punctual than last time. Nearly lost you, didn’t we? Where were you, anyhow?”

  Pakdee grimaced and turned away.

  Nearly lost me for sure!! She gulped. Sadist…I am not amused.

  “I found some Thai people in the provinces to the north,” she replied. She bristled at his frivolity of the subject but kept calm. After all it was his training that helped her survive.

  “Do the operatives from Arcana suspect anything?”

  “Not certain,” replied Pakdee. “After they captured me they took me to some place. The leader kept asking me over and over who I really was.”

  “And the crooks from Pakchong?”

  Pakdee lowered her eyes to the floor. She thought about Will Hatfield.

  “The operatives shot two in the street. The others escaped,” said Pakdee. “They’re probably sitting pretty up there, licking their wounds.” She smiled. “I hurt one of them though.”

  General Kitti-Khorn moved inside from the landing and finished his shot glass. “We have been searching all over for the Chinaman. Any ideas?”

  “I’ll put out som
e feelers, too. I have a nasty feeling the operatives will be looking for him. After all it was he who designed the weapons systems-”

  “And what makes you think they’re a weapon?” Kitti interrupted.

  “I know these things and more, My General,” replied Pakdee with confidence.

  I’ll bet you do, my little Poppet. General Kitti smirked.

  Kitti-Khorn helped himself to another shot of the pure whisky. They moved outside and watched the streets beneath them. It was a perfect afternoon. The photochemical smog made for a picturesque sunset. Somewhere, in the distance the national anthem of the Kingdom started playing. It was six p.m. The general and Pakdee stood back from the railing, to attention until the music had finished. It was a most stirring and inspirational tune, even to a first-time listener. It played for a couple of minutes and finished but they remained, standing tall.

  “When I was a young man the entire city would stop, even the cars in the streets and we would stand, Miss Anna,” said Kitti. “Our Prime Minster, the Field Marshall, decreed it. We had great love for him. Anybody who disrespected the order would be arrested. Society today; too much in a hurry and too selfish…”

  “Yes, My General,” replied Pakdee.

  “Anna,” snapped Kitti, in an assertive tone. “I want you to pull out all stops to find the Chinaman. Give it your undivided attention. I’ll get to work on a plan to liquidate the crooks from Pakchong.”

  “Anything you say, General Kitti-Khorn,” replied Pakdee. “And the operatives from Arcana, as you call them?”

  Kitti thought a while; he pulled out another smoke and lit it with his pocket flame-thrower. “Give it a week and I’ll send somebody to surprise them. I need to meet their team leader.” He leaned over the balcony and waved at his adjutant who was standing at the fender of his limo. The big man, unusual for a Thai, waved back. “I’ll be off then, Miss Anna. Find the Chinese. Before they do…”

  He buzzed the elevator; it was a secure lockable one that opened direct into Pakdee’s apartment, accessed by a keypad. When it arrived he didn’t enter the combination right away. “Anna, there’s one other thing that bothers me…you mentioned there were FBI investigators involved. We’re not going to have any interference from this side are we?”

  “Not at all, My General,” she purred. “They’ve all been taken care of.”

  Pakdee did not elaborate. But she was wrong on this occasion. They were all destined to cross paths, very soon. They just didn’t know it yet