A Killing to DIE For

by P Gaseaux

  Chapter Thirty-two

  A full two weeks rolled by and even under guard at the medical center Anna had opinions divided throughout. The FBI regarded her as something that would soon go away; until then she was considered a danger to society. The county figured different. The sheriff’s office was pushing to get her a citation: ‘…courageous conduct under circumstances of extreme peril…’

  Lieutenant Roy Hernandez was just down the corridor; he’d need a lot more treatment and rehab. He had a steady stream of visitors and well-wishers, all of whom wanted to meet her. Others baked up and brought in a constant supply of things like pumpkin pies, roast turkey. The hospital had to put a halt to that -- nowhere to keep it. She got a taste for the local turkey.

  Then there was JJ Hatfield. He was lauded by all and sundry and against all his wishes was getting instant, albeit fleeting fame. News crews and journalists kept rolling up to his place uninvited, he was grilled by investigators. There were cops all over the valley for a whole week.

  But he was a sick man. The illness he suffered was getting worse; he was going downhill, even faster thanks to all he’d been through. The day came when she was to be sent back. He made it, only just but he’d wanted to see her off at the airport. It was against regulations but the managers didn’t have the heart to refuse. They didn’t have the stomach for another visit from that senator either; he’d been taking an all too close interest in things recently. Especially since the story broke.

  She was visibly shocked when she saw the old guy. He looked awful. Tanaka and Hatfield turned up and collected her after dismissing the officer who was outside her room. She stopped by and said goodbye to Roy Hernandez before leaving the medical center.

  As Tanaka opened the door to the car she nudged him.

  “Bring the letters?”

  Tanaka nodded and handed her two envelopes. Now she had them…two for him; one that belonged to her. He pushed Anna into the back seat. Destination: JFK International. But they had a short detour.

  The snow had all gone now and tiny shoots were sprouting on the trees as the sun rose to a crystal clear day. She kneeled before the simple gravestone and prayed as they watched on behind. Closure…now Pakdee was ready to return, armed with a travel document that would allow free passage through to her home. Officially she was being deported. In the government sedan waited Tanaka and second car leased by Immigration was parked up behind. She rose to her feet and walked to Hatfield, pausing. She turned and took one last look at the grave in a place she could never return to.

  “Thanks,” she whispered as she brushed by Hatfield. “One last goodbye, I won’t be back, you know that?”

  “Jaisuwan,” mumbled Hatfield, out of the blue. “No idea what it means. Did I say it right? It’s a pretty name…has a nice ring to it.”

  They were a few feet from the car. She stopped and turned, puzzled by this. Pakdee, ever in control, who never overlooked a single thing stopped and gazed up at the vapor trails from scores of high flying airliners then at the old guy. She’d never told him her real name; surely…he’d even said it right!

  “It means ‘my heart in heaven’; you know that, Mister Hatfield? As you should know, that part of me will remain with your son.” She gave him a quick and simple hug.

  He didn’t know what to feel. Maybe she and Billy-Bob had eloped; maybe they had something going. She’d arrived at the other of the earth to finish off what had been started, as promised she had come; she saved Hatfield and rescued the cops. As promised, she’d hunted down and destroyed the syndicate. She’d got justice, her way. He couldn’t say anything right now. They had a few hours’ drive ahead.

  Her hair and her back to him, reminded him…a flashback: ‘Nam! They couldn’t be beaten. This one was no different at all. She was indomitable. Nobody ever colonized Anna’s place. Nobody could, no foreign colonial power…not one though they all wanted to. The jewel nobody got to have or hold. History was on their side.

  Tanaka cuffed Pakdee and she flicked around poker-faced. I could break these quicker ‘n’ you’d crack a can of beer, my friend.

  She was put in the rear of the vehicle and Tanaka closed the door. Hatfield remained there facing the direction of his son’s newly placed grave marker. He jumped in the front next to Tanaka. She’d locked the rear doors by punching the button with her elbow; she wanted to ride in the back alone.

  They sat in a coffee shop on the upper level; Tanaka un-cuffed her at least when she got out of the car. The immigration officer agreed to wait outside the terminal, so it was just the three of them. Her flight was several hours away and it was Tanaka who suggested they pass the time in the observation area. It was a chaotic airport at the best of times but this was rush hour although they all felt drained. Nobody said much in the car but now they were exchanging stories. The officer from immigration had signed some things, given the slips to Tanaka then left, leaving just the three of them. Reminiscing about the good old days.

  “Our city has changed, JJ Hatfield,” said Pakdee. “One day please do come back. I can show you around. You would never recognize it now.”

  “Go on ‘n’ tell us about it,” said Hatfield. “Damn place used to the Wild West when I was there…curfews, military coups, tanks everywhere. Scarier than Saigon! They had an opium den behind our hotel. Cashier kept an old Thompson gun in his office. Girls kept bottles of phosphoric acid and straight razors in their purses-”

  “Those days of old are gone now,” she said. “We have worked hard to modernize our country. Nowadays you would think you’re in Japan; maybe better…”

  She was serious and stared at Tanaka for a moment, who avoided her gaze. She produced her purse which she snapped open and took something out a photograph mounted on a hard backing, she turned it over and scrawled something on the other side before tapping it with the pen and turning it upright and sliding it across the glass top.

  “I want you to have this…”

  Hatfield held the portrait and choked, he shook his head.

  “We were on a beach in Palawan last year. I think it was a Saturday evening. We spent the day catching fish. We had this portrait taken…”

  He shook his head. It was a picture of his son with her and the palm trees behind them. Tanned like an actor, the way Hatfield remembered, they were cuddled up together, Billy-Bob looked his best and Anna like a teenager making some sign with her fingers.

  Hatfield dropped the Polaroid back on the coffee table and choked. It was difficult to get the words out: “I can’t,” he said.

  Pakdee slowly moved her hand across and turned the photo over. “Oh, I think you can,” her finger on a line of numbers and letters she’d written in pen on the back. She leaned and whispered into his ear. She handed him two envelopes. Same ones she had mailed, same ones PK Tanaka had seized and given back. Billy Bob’s accounts. They were worth a fortune. More than anybody would even think about.

  “You have two statements here and we get to keep the last which belongs to my people.” She leaned back and smiled at him, this time spoke aloud. “I hope that’s okay by you. Get with the clever policeman here and figure it out.” She tossed her head at Tanaka. “If you can there are some funds and this is the password…”

  It was the understatement of the year; the accounts held more numbers with zeros after them than Hatfield could even count. He only read in total disbelief. The FBI man was feigning ignorance, he read them again. Held the Polaroid, now he felt like he’d earned it.

  “Take this and go get yourself treated. You can afford the very best in the world, now. Promise me you’ll come back and visit someday, when you’re fully recovered,” said Pakdee. She turned to the flight schedule. “I must go now,” she added with a touch of sadness.

  They stood. Pakdee nodded one last time at Hatfield as they passed through the sliding doors. She and Tanaka proceeded through security, along a passage to the boardi
ng lounge. It had glass screens the size of a barn and a great view to the aircraft lumbering in and out and parked up at the aerobridges.

  They made it through to the waiting area. In there were two Thai men in identical blue suits. They used that strange prayer-greeting; Tanaka watched with curiosity. He was getting used to it now. They spoke then sat at the other end of the hall.

  “My escorts,” she said. “My general sent them to make sure I arrive safely.”

  “And you’ll get a big welcome when you return?” Tanaka smirked, like he knew. Pakdee said nothing. Tanaka was going through his attaché case, pulled out a clear plastic bag. Took it out and held it up. “Just a little token of thanks…for pulling me and the sheriff outta the cave the other night,” he said.

  Her expression was priceless. “Are you sure…are they the ones?”

  Reminded him of Christmas morning under the tree. Three boxes inside the bag, the black boxes. Same ones; the very same ones that started the whole thing off.

  “They’re the very ones all right, got ‘em off a friend of mine. Guess you could call him one of the good guys, all things considered.” When she reached out to take them and Tanaka lowered his hand. “One condition….you show me how this thing works. Deal?”

  “Why not,” she said.

  In her carry-on was a laptop given to her by the general, a shockproof model in a dull green drop-case. They were on a mezzanine floor with huge float-glass panels the height of a building and outside was a view of the airport and in the distance the lights. Pakdee took the boxes from the bag and opened the first. In it was a digital camera, the cell phone and coil of plastic wires which she connected. Last a disc that came with the camera that when inserted in the laptop whirred and clunked before a list of files appeared on the screen. She began to click on files and they appeared, all in Chinese language.

  “This one gives all the specifications,” she said, pointing to an array of graphs and charts. “Ranges, propellants and materials; even wind and weather.” She clicked further down and a page of company logos with websites appeared. “This file gives all the suppliers.” She gasped and touched the screen. “Companies from all over…aerospace suppliers from the EU, chemicals from India and Ukraine.” She pointed again. “There are electrical suppliers from China and Taiwan. Shipping companies and airlines to choose from, freight forwarders who play the game and don’t ask too many questions. Airports where the officials have their price to look the other way…”

  Tanaka whistled. “We need a copy of this-”

  “Relax,” she replied. “I can arrange for any of these files to be sent, but through the right channels; from our agencies to yours. You have enough explaining to do.”

  “So where’s this magical system?”

  “I’m getting to that,” she replied. She clicked on the final file, the largest one and her laptop resumed the whirring and grinding. The screen went black a moment then an image appeared with some diagrams and blueprints, again in Chinese script that she read intently. More characters appeared on the screen. Pakdee translated out loud, holding up the plastic camera.

  “It says the front lens in the toy camera is made of high-impact sapphire crystal,” she continued. She placed the camera on a hand rail facing toward the runway outside the window and squatted down, the laptop upon her knees. She then looked out and indicated in the distance an airliner approaching from the north with its landing lights on. Dusk by now but still a good view as far as the eye could see.

  “You’re sure we can do this here?”

  Tanaka nodded: “Okay.”

  “Then watch this…”

  She hit ‘enter’ on the keyboard and the camera sprang to life, the lens emerged from the body and moved as if it had a life of its own. The cell phone lit up and buzzed intermittently. The screen produced a detailed night-vision image in a gray-green monochrome. She scrolled in, magnifying the outline of the airplane as it turned and lumbered in through the late afternoon, maybe two miles out. A bright green rectangle appeared superimposed over the image of the aircraft and when she hit ‘enter’ once more the camera again buzzed and clicked. Pakdee placed the laptop on the ground and stood back; they watched, glued to the image as the pulsing green cursor stayed on the approaching aircraft until it disappeared out of view and off the screen.

  She glanced upward to the security cameras. “Some people can take this, fix it inside a two-dollar missile and shoot that ‘plane down,” she whispered. “This very computer in the mobile phone combines a movement seeking program and automatic guidance with line-of-sight technology, we think. It has been used to target Hind-D helicopters in Chechnya as well as that incident last year near the Gaza Strip. But you must understand, this technology can also be used for good. I am told my government can copy and use this. We can protect ourselves; we are a righteous family in a tough neighborhood…”

  PK Tanaka remembered that day at Ayutthaya, walking around the monuments. The history lecture the general had given him, he had a point. So did she, truth be told…

  “All of this was designed from video-gaming software,” said Pakdee. “It connects to compressed air servos -- exactly the same as used in expensive model aircraft.” She clutched Tanaka’s arm. “You remember that day in Bangkok? That man who got killed by the explosive device?”

  “How could I forget?”

  “He invented these things.” She repacked the goods in the boxes and snapped the laptop shut. It looked exactly like cheap electronics from the tax free, just like he said. “But he’s gone now. We’re still standing.”

  “Bon Voyage Anna,” Tanaka said, extending his hand. But she didn’t shake on it…she bowed this time and made the prayer sign to him. He felt so awkward. Then she said something to him, just a whisper, but in her language.

  “Excuse me-”

  “I say you are honorable. Humble and good beginnings. And you have this.”

  Nice to know, lady, he thought. “Maybe sometime in future; you never know.”

  Her face brightened. “I know,” she said. “I see you again, maybe soon; for sure!”

  Tanaka shuddered in horror. He had no intentions of seeing Anna again. Seemed almost like she was casting some old Chinese curse upon him: ’…interesting times…’ or the like.

  “I thank you…we thank you. We owe you. And we will not forget.” She nodded at him. “I said to you once that I have an army behind me, people you wouldn’t wish to meet. But you came to my country and you found me and my general came to you…he never does that. You have helped us.”

  “I’ll keep it in mind.” Tanaka motioned to the ramp. Right now he could never know the future. “On your way then.”

  With that she walked to the door of the airliner flanked by the two minders and was gone. Tanaka was supposed to stay and watch it take off but he didn’t bother, Anna had a home to go to, so did he; so did the old guy.

  Tanaka made his way back to the public area and found JJ Hatfield. “Let’s get outta here,” he said.

  “Get her flight?”

  “Too right, she did. Gave her the stuff she was after in the end.”

  “What stuff?” asked Hatfield.

  “Something used inside missiles…warheads; guidance systems…the things your son took to the attaché in Manila.” Tanaka shrugged. “He did the right thing, you know. He was a brave young man. Anna was put in there to shut them down. She only found out what they were meant for after Billy-Bob was taken and killed.”

  “So why’d you give it to her?”

  Tanaka scratched his head. “Right thing to do…her country is under threat now from all sides. Anna saved our asses, agreed? One good turn deserves another.” He tapped Hatfield on the shoulder. “What’s on the back of the picture she gave you, anyway -- her cell number?”

  They walked, out the doors to Tanaka’s vehicle. Hatfield raised his eyebrows and waited a long time before a
nswering. “Tell you what, PK. You drive me back to my place right away and we’ll both find out. There’s a load of numbers in those pages and I don’t think the dead terrorists have much use for it anymore. You help me figure it out we’ll go halves.”

  “Get off the grass, you goat -- I’m a cop,” shaking his head. “So then…what was in the letters?” he asked. Tanaka knew though, he’d agonized over what to do with the accounts.

  “You’ll see,” said JJ Hatfield. He was thinking about all the other things his service pension didn’t or wouldn’t cover. He thought about whom his real friends were when the chips were down, when it had all turned bad. All the things he’d ever dreamed about. Blood money. All in Billy-Bob’s name and the syndicate’s money had been washed whiter than white; she’d made sure of that. Even after taxes got their cut he was worth millions now, any way he looked at it. He was alone in the world. But now the world was his.

  Money may not buy you happiness, thought Hatfield. But at least you can choose your own form of misery…

  “Hate the city,” he grumbled as the agent drove.

  “Sometimes,” said Tanaka, lowering the window of the cruiser as they headed south. He caught sight of the twinkling light passing over, watched it till it went into the cloud.

  “Maybe you’ll have a laugh at this but I’ve been thinkin’ a bit lately,” said Hatfield. Maybe I should get to church more often. Went every single Sunday when my late wife was around-”

  “Nobody’s laughing at you.”

  “You ever go to church, PK?”

  “Nope.”

  The Trents on either side roared like a buzz saw then throttled back after takeoff. A big 777; first stop Paris then arrival in the first City of Angels. Pakdee had a window seat on the flight and she stared out over the lights, then the ‘plane went inland a few minutes before they banked and curved around toward the Atlantic. She watched the city lights below until it all disappeared behind cloud and she thought about their world below the wings. Somewhere down there, she hoped, the ghosts and flashbacks that had haunted her for so many years now lay entombed somewhere in the endless woods. The nightmares laid buried with the evil ones; the last of the syndicate. Under thousands of tons of shale, right beneath the shack where the Hatfield clan lived…it was justice.

  Anna the rock star, on her way home, they’d be all over her. She thought about the first time -- the Pacak Affair -- that was little league compared to this. Tonight she’d finally pulled the jackpot lever. In the overhead locker above her, those things everyone wanted; it was all wrapped up in a plastic bag. She’d won. But she still wanted to ask the general -- ask him to his face -- why did they want these things so much; so urgently. What had happened to make the army so jumpy? She hoped he would tell her after all this.

  If you fight, sometimes you lose. When you don’t fight, you always lose.

  Epilogue

  The hottest time of the year, and the rain was building on the horizon. Flags snapped back and forwards in the afternoon breeze, the sun was falling in the late afternoon light and the temples of gold and white shimmered in the heat. Everyone at the parade ground was sweating. Not Pakdee, she never sweated, she only perspired.

  She stood to attention and saluted the dignitaries seated before her; she stepped forward and received her officer’s epaulettes on a velvet cushion, no less. It was official now. She wore a uniform, but not of a soldier, the others in the ‘class’ wouldn’t hear of it so they’d arranged a commission in the police. She would head up a new strike force somewhere in the city.

  It was when she stood back and saluted once more it hit her. The applause and then they all cheered, they knew what she’d done. Afterward the top ranks stood around, they all wanted to meet her and be seen with her. They were all there, the commander, General Kitti-Khorn and his circle and some dignitaries. When the ceremony concluded and the brass left it was only the general and some others -- senior officers -- they milled around.

  “Give you a lift back, Police-Major?” said Kitti-Khorn. He smiled. “Congratulations are in order.”

  She didn’t answer immediately. They all thought she was a celebrity but the police commission was a consolation prize, in her opinion. Still, it could have been much worse.

  “I need to get out of this thing.” Pakdee tugged at the brown skirt that stretched past her knees. “My General, one thing I insist upon -- its’ plainclothes or I quit.”

  “Agreed,” said Kitti. “You will have the best of both worlds, Major.” He beckoned to his classic English sports car parked to the front of the barracks. “Come. My driver’s off.”

  They drove for a while. The old convertible was a wonderful way to experience the city -- her city -- and the charms it had. Early evening, the streets gridlocked.

  “If you bear with me I would like to detour…my office. I have something to show you.”

  “Yes sir,” she replied. The general was deep in thought, for once no cigarette fumes.

  “After all this I often ask myself-”

  “I’ll show you exactly why,” replied the general, like he’d read her mind.

  The car turned and entered the ministry compound, where Kitti worked. Pakdee had never been there at night. She followed the general through to an office; he entered leaving the door ajar. He unlocked a cabinet and took a folder.

  “Just in case you were wondering what all the fuss has been about,” said the general, “…have a good look at these.” Kitti placed a series of land sat images on his desk and spread them out. She leafed through them.

  “Construction of a dam?” Pakdee was puzzled; her knowledge did not extend to earthmoving and civil works.

  “It’s like this, if you would cast your mind back to your first dealings with the syndicate.”

  “Sir, I am aware.”

  “And you are aware the syndicate turned its attention to other things after Sri Lanka. They joined up with other elements and started developing sophisticated things, avionics and the likes of these items.” Kitti touched the precious box of circuits on the desk.

  “Something you said we needed, sir. I know.”

  “What you don’t know is this: A while ago we received a rude awakening. At that time I came into possession of these, taken by military satellites during a break in cloud cover.” The general tapped the still shots. “These are bunkers, being built by the North Koreans, located directly across the border from Mae Hong Son. Have you ever heard of the Taepodong ICBM? The Silkworm Missile, perhaps?”

  “Where is this place?” Pakdee’s heartbeat rose.

  “About five hundred clicks from where we’re standing,” said Kitti. “Pointed at us right here. Forty minute’s flight by ‘plane, a missile could make the distance in ten…”

  She tensed up, rigid. Warheads!!

  “Maybe this technology can stop such a threat.” Kitti tapped the documents. “With our own, we can design the finest defense shield there is.”

  She leafed through the plates: clear images detailing blocks of sea containers, digging equipment, prime movers; hundreds of technicians and even more indentured laborers. Tentacles of first class paved roads snaked away from the diggings in the hills, in a country that could barely afford dirt tracks nor feed its people. In a country that had been at their throats for a thousand years.

  North Korea, Iran and now our next-door neighbors…Something obscene, she pushed the prints away in disgust then composed herself. “Do you think the circuits may be the answer, My General?”

  He smiled. “Not now, it is only the beginning.” He checked the time. “Tomorrow I have called a meeting with the brass and I shall demonstrate this equipment. I need you to be there to run the application -- agreed?” He patted his back pocket. “I am going to request a budgetary injection. I am hoping to set up a new R & D section.”

  Pakdee nodded. “Always my privilege sir, you know that?”

  “I sha
ll pick you up at oh-seven-hundred, downstairs at your place…as head of purchasing and acquisitions I have to keep myself busy, you know.” He smiled. “I don’t just spend my whole life playing golf.”

  “General Kitti-Khorn!” She blurted. “I was hoping to ask you something…my future…where does that leave you and me, My General?”

  “Only a ‘phone call away. Believe me, Anna, I’ll still be in touch…don’t you worry. I need you, as much as you need me. Now you’re official. You exist now; if you choose to accept that is.”

  “Of course, My General…you know that.”

  “Oh, I nearly forgot. One other thing, I would like to present you with a small token of our gratitude…”

  Kitti unlocked a strong-cabinet and handed out a metal case, anodized. She accepted and opened it, gasping out loud when she saw what was inside. There was a foam liner and she recognized the chunky object immediately, a genuine Beretta 93R, never fired, a perfect match to that lovely outfit, squeezing barely under her silk jacket. Nobody else had one.

  She’d played a deadly game in her own backyard and finished her own private war in the frozen woods on the other side of the world. Born in the rice fields and once an orphan tonight she possessed power beyond her wildest dreams. But what a year it had been.

  They were probably the two men of her life; everybody like her had two of them. General Kitti-Khorn, the one that others feared, it had been patriots like Kitti who made the land what it was today. And Hatfield junior, ‘Billy Bob’ to his old man. A young guy cut down way too young. She had avenged him. She had done her duty. A vicious killing and the perpetrators paid for it.

  Nowhere to run. Anywhere. Anytime. Anyone. Didn’t matter who…

  The general served out a pair of Prague-crystal decanters with Cognac and handed it to her. “Best of luck, Officer,” he said.

  As they toasted he was struggling not to laugh, the rogue. She was wincing in discomfort and doing her best to disguise it. The aroma scorched her nostrils and she gagged as she raised the crystal to her lips. Pakdee of Phayao never took alcohol; she only consumed green tea. But on this day she would surely make an exception.

  The mood was sullen in the entire floor of the building; everybody knew what was going on: PK Tanaka was in deep shit. Yet again. The bosses had him in there; he was in it up to his neck. Tanaka just had his hands behind his back. The super standing and leaning over her desk and the deputy facing him from the other side. No point in arguing. At least they weren’t going to fire him, after all everything had turned out for the best…sort of.

  A knock on the office door and one of the special agents poked his head in. “Afternoon, Deputy Director. Ma’am…” The agent looked nervously at Tanaka. “Sorry to interrupt but there’s somebody to see you-”

  “Tell ‘em come back later or make an appointment…we’re busy damn it,” snapped the supervisor.” The deputy director nodded.

  “I don’t think that’s such a good idea, ma’am,” replied the agent. “It’s that senator, from the estimates committee who’s been snooping around.” The agent swung the door open. Behind stood the senator himself, a distinguished six-foot-plus politician in an Italian suit with a visitor’s tag pinned to his tie. He had a walking cane and tiny enameled flag on his lapel.

  “Hope I’m not interrupting anything, Deputy Director,” said the senator in a jovial voice, not like he cared. He entered the office. Everybody straightened up. Outside all the agents were standing, staring over the partitions. Not every day they got a visitor like this.

  “Special Agent Tanaka, you’re dismissed for today,” grumbled the super. “We’ll continue this discussion at a later date-”

  “Whoa, wait up!” boomed the senator. “So you’re PK Tanaka. Privilege to finally meet, son.” He thrust his hand at Tanaka. “Wanted to thank you in person.”

  Tanaka cringed. Nobody called him ‘son’ since he could remember. “Privilege all mine, Senator,” he replied.

  Senator Henry pulled an envelope that he handed to the deputy director. “Just a little letter of commendation from my office on the way you handled this thing. Who would’ve known this ended where it did…but I can tell you: anyone thinking of stripping assets from any part of the bureau whatsoever, it’ll be over my dead body.”

  The deputy director opened and read it, an official accolades to the entire section. He passed it over to the supervisor who had been standing mutely.

  “Why thank you, Senator. That’s a wonderful honor, from all of us here,” she said, self-consciously with a trace of guilt.

  Senator Nathaniel Henry III smiled broadly. “It’s I who should be thankful today.” He turned to Tanaka. “And especially you, Special Agent. Tell you what…if it’s okay I’d like to take you to lunch, and sometime soon.”

  “I’m free right now, Senator,” said Tanaka. “My superiors…” He cleared his throat. “The boss has just been discussing my future-”

  The deputy director cut in: “We’ve just been giving Agent Tanaka the good news…that promotion. After all there’s that unfilled supervisory position in the Human Trafficking task force. We were just in the process of congratulating him.”

  Tanaka looked back at the deputy and then the station super, she was shocked.

  “Well I’d better clear my desk when I get back after lunch. Take it that’s all confirmed then?”

  “Most certainly is, Tanaka,” replied the deputy. “I’ll have the letter of appointment by fifteen hundred today.” He forced a smile. He shook. “Congratulations.”

  “Thank you Deputy Director,” said Tanaka. He shot a nod at the super. “And thanking you likewise…Jennifer.” He grinned. “A memorable experience working together.”

  Tanaka and the senator closed the door of the office behind them; they were walking toward the exit. Senator Henry had his hand on Tanaka’s shoulder like some old friend he’d known for years.

  The supervisor finally regained her voice and her circulation; she’d turned a shade of crimson. “Did you hear what he just called me?!” she pleaded.

  After a moment the deputy director mumbled something, before replying. “PK’s the same rank as you now, Jen. Sure hope he gives us a good rap over lunch. Be sure and get that letter of appointment organized, won’t you now.”

  The deputy director left the office, shutting the door behind him, leaving the station super standing and staring into space. She’d have to find somebody else she didn’t like from now on.

  When Tanaka and Senator Henry made it outside the senator stopped and leaned close. “You know, Special Agent, old Gunny called up a day ago, passed on his thanks. We still stay in touch. You know what he told me?”

  “You’re talking about JJ Hatfield, Senator? How’s he doing?”

  “He’s fine. Transplant’s settling in…anyhow…know what he told me?”

  “What’d he say?”

  The senator chuckled. “He said you’re the most persistent character he’s ever encountered and he says got a lot of balls, son.”

  “Glad somebody thinks so, Senator.”

  Tanaka brushed the remark off. A promotion to ‘Supervisory’ would double his workload but not his paycheck. He was starving and dreaming of a porterhouse steak at the senator’s favorite bistro and today the senator would be picking up the tab.

  Out of the clinic about five weeks now. Started the procedure once the bank accounts were cleared and the legal stuff finished, it had been the greatest fear of his life going into hospital for as long as he had. Still had to take it easy though.

  From the ridges it looked perfect, hot and still. Hatfield dropped back a gear in his old jalopy -- resisted the urge to get a Range Rover -- and pulled up at the neighbor’s place, behind a sedan that had been parked there. The MacDonald widow; her old shack…her late husband had been Hatfield’s best friend. Wondered how the driver managed to get it through the mud. Hot tonight.
But the place was alive, like a jungle. Crickets buzzed and critters everywhere. Made him a bit jumpy, reminded him a little too much of ‘Nam, but not to worry, September would come and go, Halloween, Thanksgiving and then the first snow. He reached over and took the wild trout from the ice box, two of them. Big ones. Nowadays he did a lot more fishing; lately he was tired of hunting. Still kept that historic Garand locked on his wall, though…the authorities finally gave it back to him after the investigation concluded.

  ‘Justified self-defense’, they said.

  He swung the gate just as the guy from town approached; he held it open and as their eyes met a simple nod of courtesy. He knew the suit and the man sure knew him but they only nodded. That was the deal. Just thought he’d mosey on by. Never let on.

  “Why howdy, Missus.” Hatfield tipped his cap then took it off as he mounted the landing and greeted the owner. “Brought a couple’ve these, sure can’t eat ‘em all myself.” He held up the trout but the widow didn’t say anything. “Everythin’ okay?”

  Took her a moment and the woman coughed it out: “You wouldn’t believe this…”

  Hatfield turned his eyes back at the sedan; it was reversing out, headed to town. “Problems with the bankers again, Missus?” He pretended to be concerned.

  She shook her head. “No siree. That’s an attorney who was just here,” she whispered. “Called me up this morning, he got wind of Everett’s accident…” She was trembling, nearly in tears, she could barely speak. “He’s taking the case. After all this time!”

  Hatfield didn’t answer right away, he knew all right. She started babbling away and he held up his hand. “You know Missus, I’ll go wash up, I’ll be straight back and you can tell us all about it.”

  “Looks like somebody up there’s smilin’ down on us at long last, Mister Hatfield,” she called out after him from the landing.

  “Back real quick.” He jumped in the truck and cruised on up to his place, just up the trail. He chuckled as he drove. She had no idea at all.

  All those millions don’t really go that far, you know.

  The preacher and his wife lived a simple life but they sure knew how to handle money. Got together with him and invested the lion’s share of it after Hatfield totally rebuilt the church, ground up. The operation knocked it out of him but now the new liver was taking, he swallowed pills constantly but he felt like he was young again. Doctors in the clinic would’ve had kittens if they knew he was running round the countryside so soon.

  Busy nowadays. He and the padre and a bunch of volunteers set up a soup kitchen, a mobile one that sent around hot coffee and assistance to all the homeless veterans and other disadvantaged in the state. And a scholarship scheme for gifted kids from poor homes in his area. The neighbors no longer had to hunt and trap meals; they were headed off to college.

  The greatest act of philanthropy was to hire that rich lawyer, he’d found the best in the land, some hotshot attorney with a franchise downtown. Put the guy on a monthly retainer and a fifty-fifty winner or out of court settlement, whichever looked better. It’d take years but those assholes would pay for Everett MacDonald’s death, every last cent. And if that big foreign-owned corporation had any ideas about bringing shovels up this neck of the woods and cutting the tops off his hills they’d better think twice…he’d jam ‘em in the courts by day and shoot their tires out by night.

  It was still eighty and humid by the time he arrived back at the widow’s place, a real Indian summer. The moon was high and the valley lit up, just like that awful night back in March. The aroma from the shack wafted out the door and made him hungry.

  Hatfield opened the door of his truck, the dash-light came on and he touched the picture of his son on that beach in paradise with Anna; wondered what she was up to these days. Nearly a year ago to the day, kept it taped to the glove compartment. Need to get the photograph laminated or something; had the precious passwords all over the back and soon it would start to fade. Couldn’t let that happen.

  ###

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  Email: mailto:p.gaseaux@gmail.com or mailto:p.gaseaux@hotmail.co.uk

  Next time: The immortal Pakdee (Anna) teams up with Supervisory-Special Agent PK Tanaka, on official business. ‘Five Dead Dolls’ is human trafficking and mass-murder at its worst, snaking its way from the far-flung villages of poorest Asia to the dark side of Dixie. A federal trial will have the eyes of the world watching, and a deadly conflict between European kidnappers and US and Thai law enforcement agencies unfolds. From the Mekong River to the French Quarter, it’ll leave the good guys reeling and the bad guys wishing they’d picked regular jobs. Coming 2014.

  Acknowledgements

  from the author:

  To Ret (‘Timi’), you gave me an ideal logical character base for Police-Major J. Pakdee-Chayochaichana, aka: ‘Anna’. “You know that?”

  To Mrs. Rae Beckmann, if you’re out there…that English mistress who said I had it in me: Writing…that is.

  To ‘Garry’ (you know who you are) for a goldmine of useful info on the ways and whims of the Eastern Seaboard and other things. And for getting me in the door(s) of places on Walking Street I cannot afford.

  To ‘Nadia-Tattoos’ who inspired the character ‘Nattaya Coyote’…last heard of on board a yacht anchored somewhere along the Belize coast. The man she reputedly hacked to death was her husband, though, not some Federal employee. Her family in Roi-Et is doing fine and her current boyfriend knows nothing…

  To ‘Barney’ (Jimmy) and family of West Virginia…you showed me genuine hospitality and helped us make it through a tough couple of Appalachian winters. We got the job done thanks to you and your crew!

  To the ASEAN community, the best place on the face of this earth. You always give me something to look forward to and return to.

  To all the frontline officers who keep our borders safe. Over the years I’ve worked with more ‘PK Tanaka(s)’ than I could possibly count. Persistence pays; pity about the lousy salary. We’re not charity-workers, guys!

  Finally, to all those jaded expats of every color, creed and religion, floating around out there who gave me no trouble whatsoever in drawing up the likes of dastardly villains in the ‘syndicate’.