The assassin lay dead. Declan Power lay paralyzed, the sole witness of Pantrem’s heroic deed. Pantrem and Power shared a panicked stare. “Who the fuck are you Bangkok Man?”
Oum huddled in the corner her minding racing in confused horror. She had just been presented with a tray of finely prepared food. The tray was shining silver. Martin Gay had been thrown what appeared to be flesh and bone. He greedily hoarded his bounty into a corner of the cave which apparently had been made into a makeshift home. Through the eerie darkness she could feel Ben Post’s eyes boring into her very soul.
Marty had proudly shown her his attempts at dislodging the door. This provided her with an odd sense of hope. “Declan will come for sure now!” he exclaimed in a desperate tone. She wanted to say that he was coming anyway but did not want to engage Martin Gay in even the shortest of conversations. But Declan would come. Declan was her rock, the only person she could count on in this world. Hunger began to overtake her. Despite the revolting scene she was forced to inhabit the cave with, she needed to eat. She needed her strength. Further she retreated into her dank corner, turning her back on the twisted cellmate whom also had found his hunger, Oum disgustedly picked up the intricately engraved spoon and fork set before her. She took a moment to read the ancient Lan Na script which had been expertly chiseled into the cutlery. ‘A dinner fit for a king,’ she mused.
The news from police headquarters hit hard. The tip of the king’s spear was dead. But how? This was a man trained to do one thing: kill. This man was an assassin of the highest order. He had in fact completed his mission. The Chief of the Chiang Mai City Police lie dead along with his second in command.
“What happened exactly?”
“Your man was brought into Best Bar to be questioned. I handcuffed him myself but let the cuffs loose. After that I don’t know. The tax officer from Bangkok, along with the reporter from the Chiang Mai Chronicle, bolted from the bar. We went in to the office and Pao, Job, and your man all lay dead.”
“The dagger?”
“No.”
The phone was carefully set on the table. Peering at the luminescent sun as it disappeared over the mountain top it was clear that all had not gone to plan. Here, at the center of the Lan Na Renaissance, a valuable asset had just been lost. And it didn’t make sense. Yes, Power was meant to live. But how did the tax auditor escape. And what was he doing in a police investigation anyway? A high voltage of energy flowed through the majestic and newly powerful body wrapped in the old robes of royalty. Now was time to exercise a monarch’s power. The mobile was retrieved, a number entered, a debt to be repaid.
“Stephen, your man, our assassin, is dead. I need to find out about a tax auditor from Bangkok. The man’s name is Phitak Pantrem. He’s been snooping around recently and it seems he may be more than he appears. Do not leave one stone unturned and report to me tomorrow.”
The man on the other side of the phone, Stephen Kelm, registered a smile. He knew Pantrem well even if they had never had the pleasure of a proper introduction. They were cut from the same cloth. He had shed that cloth however. He had been paid handsomely to turn his coat. And the cause was just. It was time for the North to rise again. All the training and expertise he had gained in the intelligence field were at his King’s disposal. The cause of the Lan Na Rebellion would not be let down.
“Yes, Lord,” was his simple reply. He had a leg up, the element of surprise on his side. Pantrem was a man to be respected and all due care would need to be planned for his ambush. But, when all was said and done, Pantrem was still but just a man.
The rainy season had been heavy, a fact which could be seen as the deep currents of the Ping River rushed by. The onset of the cool season, early December, had brought a brisk chill to the early evening air. Few people chose to sit on the open air deck of the Riverside Restaurant rather opting for the cozier atmosphere inside.
Pantrem was busy on his phone, recounting the events to his superior in Bangkok. Declan didn’t bother to eavesdrop as the Thai was being spoken too fast. In any case, he was more familiar with the northern Thai dialect. It didn’t matter. Pantrem would need to come clean.
A couple of Beer Laos were placed on their table along with a plate of Kaw Moo Yang the delicious and spicy northern Thai appetizer of pig’s neck. They were hungry and dug in without pleasantries. Two more pints of beer were ordered and the empty plate cleared. It was time to lay all cards on the table.
Declan began to speak but was halted by Pantrem’s raised hand.
“I work for a group. Some think of it as a commission, while others feel our responsibility is to act as a shadow government. Whatever the fact, we run our business from Bangkok. I cannot tell you anything more than that.”
Declan knew when to probe and when to move forward. “I’m not concerned with that. Right now I’m more interested in how you can help me get my lady.”
“And I’m interested in how you can help me bring a megalomaniac with imperial aspirations to his knees.”
“Then it seems we have a mutual self-interest. And your group, I assume you weren’t talking to your wife, what do they want?”
“The people for whom I work are not interested in politics as such. They’re not even exclusively Thai. But they are very interested in Thailand functioning as it is as a sovereign state.”
“So, you take Thanat Jaisaen’s talk of a revitalized Lan Na kingdom seriously.”
“Not the talk so much,” Pantrem emphasized, “But rather the actions.”
“Such as,” Declan probed.
“You know the mobs that have been gathering in Bangkok obviously. Their intent is to drive the current prime minister, Yingluk, from office. They have a deep hatred for her brother Thaksin Shiniwat and indeed the whole Shinawatara Clan.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
“What you don’t know is how the protests are being funded.”
Interested, Declan leaned his elbows on the table. “By whom?”
“We’ve, ‘I’ you might say, and yes my stock in trade is accounting, traced a great deal of funding to Chiang Mai.”
Declan let out a whistle. “So, you figure that Thanat Jaisaen is supporting the insurrection as a pretext to split from Thailand and form a new government, a new kingdom.”
“They’ve been clever in setting up a series of accounts, backed by dummy companies, which cannot be traced to Jaisaen. But yes, we believe he is behind the plot. I mean, really, he admits as much in the many speeches he is so fond of giving nowadays.”
Declan changed course. “But what happened this afternoon. You’re a spook. A very deadly spook I might add.”
“Any complaints?”
“Not a one. But I do have a question: Were you sent to Chiang Mai to take out Thanat Jaisaen?”
Pantrem laughed. “Good lord no! I said bring him to his knees, or at least bring him to his senses. We’d much rather have him on our side. But first I needed to dredge up as much as I possibly could on the man.”
“You want to work with a homicidal maniac?” Declan asked with disbelief.
“Well, the events of the past two days have put matters into a different light.”
“Which brings us to the present and what to do about it I suppose,” Declan murmured into his empty mug. The realization that Oum was either dead or staring straight into the abyss began to weigh heavy.
Sensing his thoughts, Pantrem stated: “Your girl is alive.”
“You sound so sure. I wish I shared your confidence.”
“If she was meant to be dead, a whore saloon owner, she’d have been splayed all over that pool table. This butcher uses death as a message.”
If crude, the reasoning was sound and buoyed his spirits ever so slightly. Declan looked at his watch. His meeting with Martin Gay’s mystery lady set for seven. It was a meeting that might well lead him to the butcher. He wouldn’t be late. There was no other choice but to trust Pantrem and, if today was any indication, he’d need a bodyguard.
“We need to clean up Bangkok Man! I’ve got a date and you’re my chaperone.”
As they rose from the table, Declan’s phone lit up. He peered down onto the screen. It read: Unidentified Caller. This was not unusual and, given the circumstances, it was a call he’d take.
“Hello.”
“Mr. Power, I haven’t much time so I’ll need you to listen closely.”
Declan held the phone tight. His heart was pounding at a furious rate but he knew the importance of keeping his cool. “Who am I speaking with?”
“Tomorrow you’ll cover the events at Mengrai University,” the voice replied. It was a man. The accent was non-distinct but appeared to be a native English speaker. “Simply do your job and cover this glorious event. Then, after our leader has given his speech, you’ll be allowed an audience with him to finish your interview. It is simple, one two, and then everything will become clear.”
“Ok,” Declan replied calmly. “I can do that. But I’m more interested in my lady. If she is returned to me unharmed you’ll get your story.”
“But of course. She’ll be delivered to you safe and sound tomorrow.”
“I need better than that friend. I’ll need assurances, direct contact, that Oum is safe and unharmed. Otherwise I’m your worst enemy.”
Declan could detect a slight snicker on the other end of the line. Even Phitak looked at him oddly. “Now is not the time to get aggressive Mr. Power. Your job is with the pen and mine, well, I’m not so different from your guardian angel Mr. Pantrem. Still, my message has been sent. Wait just one moment and I’ll connect you to your girlfriend.”
The line went dead. Power looked pensively at his phone. Phitak looked around. He was on alert for an ambush. “Come on, let’s move,” he said grabbing Declan by the arm.
But Declan stood his ground. “No. I’m waiting to hear from Oum.”
Bangkok Man squeezed just a bit tighter. “Walk and chew gum at the same time mate. She’s alive. That’s the way I want to stay and a sitting target is a dead target.”
¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬After a certain period of time, a person will adapt to the most onerous of conditions. The abhorrent smells become less so and the body adjusts to attain a modicum of comfort. Oum even found she was willing to engage in conversation with Martin Gay, the most wretched of her many ills.
“My wife and my daughter?” Martin Gay’s pleading tone almost brought Oum to pity him.
“They are in my village, safe, far from here. Declan took care of that.”
“Good good,” Martin said rubbing the unkempt growth that was morphing into a beard. A weight visibly seemed to be lifted from his shoulders. “Declan is very clever.”
Oum nodded in agreement. “He’ll come,” she replied revealing little emotion.
Footsteps could be heard approaching. Faintly at first but the crisp gait, military like, came ever closer stopping at their cell. A man, a foreigner, entered. Dressed in a stylish navy blue sports coat perfectly fitted over a gray turtle neck shirt, the man appeared out for a night on the town. He was a gentleman. His hair neatly trimmed and combed rendering his graying features a sense of sophistication. His night would not be spent in a tavern such as her beloved Best Bar.
“Good evening,” the man said allowing a slight smile to appear on his chiseled face.
Oum glanced sideways at Martin Gay. The gate remained open and no guards had accompanied the gentleman. He seemed to read her thoughts. “Oh, I’m much sturdier than that gate Miss. In any case, I wish you no harm. On the contrary, I’d like connect you with Declan Power. So if you’d please smile for the camera I’ll be able to be on my way.”
This was good news. Whatever murderous drama she had been dragged into, it appeared her life, and Declan’s, had some value. There was hope, if only a glimmer. She stood up, smiled, and flashed the man the finger.
Declan waited while Pantrem surveyed the early evening traffic which was beginning to gather on Charoenrat Road and its river promenade. An eclectic group of local residents mingled with mostly European tourists enjoying a leisurely walk along the Ping River. Declan thought of the times he and Oum would pass the early evening hours away sitting on the banks of the river drinking cheap wine and downing heaps of Pad Thai. A lump took hold of his throat. The thought that those memories would exist only in the past tense started to take hold of his body. He fought to breath.
Phitak motioned for him to exit the restaurant. Declan didn’t want his weakness to betray him. He stood planted to the ground. His phone pulsated. A video message had arrived. He fumbled to open the image. There she was. Defiant. Proud. Alive. It was like an electric voltage careened through his body. He didn’t bother to suppress his relief.
“That’s my girl,” he shouted placing his phone in Phitak’s hand. Declan’s throat tightened and he quickly wiped away a tear.
Pantrem looked down and laughed. “You’re right. She’s a keeper.”
They decided to walk. It was only a mile or so and a short walk across the Nawarat Bridge. They strode silently each married to his thoughts. Oum was alive. That was all that mattered. It was enough for now to know they were still in the game Declan considered. Pantrem observed the multitude of couples breezily enjoying their lives. It was a pleasure he had not been able to enjoy. He lived in the shadows. The shadows, his mentor once observed, was a place reserved for single occupancy.
“I believe in God,” he offered flatly. Martin waited for a response. None was forthcoming. “I know you think me the Devil, but I got by the only way I knew.”
Oum got up, paced around her little nook, and spat. “You got by with a basket of lies.”
“Yes.”
She looked at him strangely. There was something serene about him. Despite his horrid condition, Martin Gay seemed at peace. This made her shudder more, for only a completely crazy person could find solace in this place. Then again, perhaps he truly had found God, whatever that fact meant. She walked to the gated door. It stood as he had claimed. The rusted iron gate hung only loosely attached to its frame. She gave it a shake. Flakes of rock tumbled down landing by her feet. The sun had set. She could feel it. A thought pounced on her brain, a sense of adrenaline overtaking her. “Tonight! It must be tonight. We’ll bring this gate down.”
“No.”
How could he be so calm? “What do you mean, ‘no,’ we can do this,” she exalted her voice reaching a frantic level.
“Declan will set us free. We must wait.”
“But how do you…”
Martin Gay held up his hand. “God has spoken to me.”
Oum buried her head in her hands. She could not fell the barrier alone. “You truly have gone mad you lying bastard.”
More footsteps could be heard. This time the clattering was oafish. There appeared to be several people clamoring down the stone hallway. A sob could be heard mingling with the hoofish racket. Finally, arriving at the entrance, a guard opened the door. A lady and young girl were thrust roughly into the cell falling to the hard dank floor. The guard violently kicked the lady in the stomach transforming her sobs into shrieks of pain. A lady, young and glamorous, emerged from behind the burly guard and began to video the beating.
Oum bolted up in horror. “Rose,” she screamed in anguished surprised.
Upon recognition of her name Rose’s eyes lit up. Yet she remained silent. The camera was held steady in her hand as she recorded the assault. The look on her face did not try to conceal her pleasure. Oum could not believe what she saw. She sprung at the guard who continued his barrage of kicks on his defenseless victim. Her nails raked across his face. The guard turned his venomous attention to his attacker. “No,” Rose shouted icily. She shoved the camera into her purse and abruptly left the cell. The guard reluctantly followed suit. Oum knelt down to comfort the lady who remained motionless her body racked in pain.
The little girl broke into tears. “Mommy, mommy,” she cried. Oum brought her close. It was a girl she knew, the mother as well. The mystery of th
e Lan Na Ripper grew even deeper. Why were some allowed to live and others allowed to wallow in filth?
The trick of any good confidence man is to look rich. The wealthier looking the better. Nobody expects the fat cat to fleece you. Not illegally in any case. Wealth can be exhibited in a number of ways. Cars, clothes, boats, homes are each idiomatic symbols, trophies if you will, announcing the fact that I’m fat. But nothing advertises wealth more than broads. High society crystal champagne glass clinking dames speak big money. Martin Gay was a skilled con man.
Declan was used to being in the presence of eye popping jaw dropping beauty. It was his job. But there was something about this particular chick that sat across from him that made even his knees buckle. Looking like she just stepped out of a World War II noir film, this Thai Lauren Bacall lookalike wore her beauty with ease. It wasn’t the beauty that tossed him though. It was the fear. She did not bother to hide the dread which was bubbling forth. Beauty mixed with vulnerability. Declan Power was sitting across from a dangerous cocktail.
Her eyes nervously darted about. Declan took note of the room. There was only one way out. Well two if one included the river. He did. This was a high end nightclub set beside the Four Seasons Hotel. The place was just filling up. He allowed himself a slight smile. This joint may not be on his beat, but it wasn’t so much different. Older men, young women, the only difference was the bill. He’d wait for her to talk. It was her meeting. She held her tongue. Pensively folding and unfolding her napkin she seemed on the verge of taking a plunge herself. He decided to break the ice. “What’s your name?”
The Chiang Mai Chronicle: A Declan Power Mystery Page 13