The Chiang Mai Chronicle: A Declan Power Mystery

by T. Hunt Locke

  Bee instantly slapped him across the face. “It is not a joke Declan Power. And with a snap of the King’s fingers you would be dead as we speak.”

  Declan sat back down. The slap stung, but his smile remained. “And where is this king? Certainly it is not Thanat Jaisaen. I figured that out at our interview. Lan Na runs through his veins, but he is not the sort to hoard illusions of grandeur.”

  “No, he does not have the supreme ambition of his father. Now there was a man. He had the strength to envision the rebirth of Lan Na. I will fulfill that dream.”

  “You?” Declan said his smile growing wider. “You’re one hell of a sexy broad but you’ll have a tough time convincing anybody you are a dude.”

  Kelm walked over to Power and belted him on the side of the head. “On your knees slave,” he growled. “You may not live for long but until that time you are in service to your Lord and you’ll act as such.”

  Declan could feel the blood creeping down the side of his cheek as he was shoved down onto the floor.

  Bee walked over to him. “On your knees Declan Power. No, I have a better idea. Stephen, bring him to my bedchamber. Declan Power will indeed serve his Lord.”

  The beatings had been carried out with purpose. Both Oum and Jade Morgan had each received twenty lashes from the bamboo rod. ‘Never look your lord directly in the eye’ the staff supervisor shouted as the bamboo cut through the air. ‘Always prostrate yourself before your Lord or your master’ accompanied the crash of the rod against skin. Screams of agony filled the room as instructions were doled out. None were worse than the cries of a little girl her world being ripped asunder.

  Oum tried, as best she could, to not give voice to her pain. She closed her eyes tight and focused on Declan. He was real. Their love was reality. The nightmare whirling around her was, like a dream, a temporary existence.

  The sadistic beast that had doled out the pain and instructions finally left. Oum summoned up all her strength to comfort Jade and her daughter. The mother was a pitiful mess. “I am not a slave,” she whimpered hysterically.

  “Yes, we are,” Oum answered her firmly. “But for how long is the only question. My Declan will find us,” she stated firmly. “And surely Peter will have many people on the lookout,” she added trying to boost morale.

  “If they are even still alive,” Jade countered morosely.

  “Then stop your whining!” Oum spat back fiercely. “We can figure out a way to escape.”

  But Jade Morgan retreated into the corner to huddle with her daughter. She pointed a finger at Oum. “You! You and your type, Declan Power too! I blame you two for leading us into this hell.”

  Oum pivoted angrily away and squinted through the narrow slats. It was her only avenue to the outside world. She peered hard, a small sliver of light, a tiny ray of hope.

  Phitak Pantrem took one last drag from his cigarette and tossed it into the nearby flower bed. He had fled the small cottage. Captain America had begun his interrogation of Rose and the howls of pain were simply too much to bear. He had insisted that she had told him everything she knew. His interrogation was none too pleasant either. But his superior had smiled and said: “Sometimes you have to dig deeper than even you can stand.”

  The pain in Rose had somehow reached an unexpected place. This sadistic old man was an expert at sexual torture. She managed to smile at him. He smiled back. “Young lady, you are enjoying this are you not?”

  Words were past Rose now. She could only answer with grunts. He drove the nozzle of the greased rifle just a bit deeper into her. The feeling of intense orgasmic pain waved through her body as her inner moisture caressed the steel.

  Captain America had already obtained the information he needed. Rose had given up the location of the soon to be unveiled Lan Na court. She had told him the number of guards they could expect to meet. And she had revealed the secret cave system that was being used as a prison. Now the torture was simply for his pleasure and, apparently, for hers.

  But it was time to move. He looked at his watch. “Come Rose dear. I’ll give you thirty minutes to gather yourself. There is a shower through that door and a fresh set of clothes. You’ll lead us into the mountain hideaway and then you’ll be free to go.”

  Her eyes arched in surprise. She caught hold of her breath and mumbled, “I free?”

  “Free as a bird. And as a free lady, if you are willing, we can even meet back here tonight to continue our business.”

  Rose struggled to answer him with a smile. “I’m not cheap.”

  Captain America gave a slight nod of his head. “And I’m not poor. You’ll need to start a new life, new clothes, fresh identification, and all the rest. We’ll work together nicely. Off we go then.”

  Declan stubbed out another cigarette and tossed it into the air. He watched it as it floated through the sky drifting towards the swimming pool that lay ten stories below.

  “Uhmm, such a pity Declan. I’d very much like to take you as my lover.” Bee began to giggle. “The King’s consort as it were.”

  The sex had been good. Bee was vigorous and demanding. He consoled himself that it was only sex. Oum was the one lady to whom he could make love. There was a difference. Oum is still alive and Bangkok Man on the prowl. His life was hanging by a thread. But Declan was still a newspaper man so he hung tight.

  “You talk about becoming the King of Lan Na. How do you pull that off? Are we talking about being a king in the Hatshepsut Egyptian Pharaoh sense?”

  “No. But at first that did run through my mind. But in today’s day of ‘selfie’ photos and social media that couldn’t very well work.”

  Declan leaned against the balcony railing and smiled. “You are undergoing a sex change aren’t you?”

  “Very clever Mr. Reporter,” Bee said bringing her forefinger to her temple. “I am only four months into my treatment so there are no apparent changes yet.”

  “Absolutely not, you’re still all broad,” Declan exclaimed slapping his hands together.

  “I’m glad you enjoyed your royal banquet then.”

  “Immensely. But even if you pull that off, how do you, well, how do you set up court?”

  “You are indeed clever Declan. Still working on the story are we? I am really growing fond of you and it will truly be my loss when you have been sacrificed.”

  “A dying man’s request then,” Declan offered with a wink.

  “In a real sense, the Lan Na Court has already been erected. I have refurbished a royal mansion deep in the Doi Pui mountain range. A staff of servants, Oum included, has been organized.”

  “But the question of legitimacy, that goes far beyond the Hollywood set you’re describing to me.”

  “Naturally. My uncle has been given a speech, prepared by my people, which he’ll give today. Thailand, as you know, has been ripped asunder by the constant political turmoil of the past decade and beyond.”

  “And he’ll declare the Lan Na Kingdom reborn?”

  “Yes. The people in the north and northeast are tired of playing second class citizens to the Bangkok elite. Economically there is no reason to stay within a nation which absorbed us over a century ago. Even culturally we are different.”

  Declan knew the argument. He even supported it and was sick of seeing a broad coalition democratically elected get ousted by an infuriated elite in Bangkok. But the ‘how’ never added up.

  “I sympathize with the argument. But the bloodshed on Loi Kroh, why? How does that factor in to what you want to do. To me it seems purely pathological.”

  Bee hung on Declan’s words. She contemplated her words carefully. “Perhaps ‘pathological’ is not far from the mark. I do believe leaders, strong people of power, must make difficult decisions. The Lan Na Ripper did give me a rise. But there was a defined goal.”

  “What?”

  “My uncle has long been railing against the filth that litters Loi Kroh. He considers it a disease spread from Bangkok. But by shining a light on its decadence, a ma
ss murderer sent into a diabolical frenzy by the illicit morass, allows our new government a high profile opportunity to be the deliverers of a more pure state.”

  “You’ll need to deliver a Lan Na Ripper.”

  “Any guesses Declan?”

  Declan thought for a moment. He turned around to the rumbling of the clouds which were casting an ominous shade of gray over the morning. It then hit him. Brilliant! “Well then, Martin Gay will be heard from again after all.”

  “Bravo! Oh you are clever. Such a pity.”

  “And for me? What is my role in this bizarre tale?

  Bee beamed. “You are the star Declan Power. It will be you who attempts to assassinate my uncle.”

  “I’m not successful I gather.”

  “No. But you’ll put him in a wheelchair, at death’s door.”

  “Is there any getaway written into the script?” Declan asked realizing gallows humor was all he had left.

  “Sorry, again I must say ‘no.’ You will be shot down trying to escape.”

  The thought of escape now came clearly into focus. There were two ways out. One was to barge out of the room through Stephen Kelm and his gun. The second was to leap over the rail and down the ten stories into the pool. He turned to look below. It was even money he’d hit concrete so both options equaled death.

  The King of Lan Na seemed to read his mind. “No way out Declan.”

  Captain America emerged from the cottage. He looked invigorated, ten years younger.

  “It’s time to move Pantrem.”

  Phitak merely nodded. The plan had been redrawn.

  “You are sure Power is at the lady Bee’s apartment.”

  He did not tell his boss about the warning he had given Declan. “Yes, as far as I know. The plan was for him to accompany Bee to today’s festival at the university.”

  This was met with a blank stare. It was a look which seemed to peer right into his brain. “Very well then,” the aging assassin replied. “Stephen Kelm may be there as well. Perhaps you’ll be able to take out three birds with one stone.”

  “And you sir?”

  “I have just spoken with General Pranthip in Bangkok. The country is now under martial law. We have a trained commando unit in place. I’ll supervise the operations and ensure all involved are silenced. You best do the same.”

  With that he turned away and with Rose strode to the awaiting armored vehicle.

  The spit of gunfire awoke Peter Morgan. He had slipped into a nap after having finished seeing his SOS slip out in the morning edition. He ran to the window. Below, a man, a man too old to be giving directions to the young commandos who surrounded him, barked orders. A uniformed soldier, one of Bartholomew Hartin’s men, lay dead on the pavement. He saw another running as fast he could out of harm’s way. No luck. He was cut down before he could make his exit.

  Morgan quickly slumped to the floor and crawled under the nearby desk. He had been relegated to Declan’s office, the door locked to restrict his movement.

  Bart Hartin also heard the shots. He looked down upon the scene below and met the concrete eyes of Captain America. The cold gray stare reminded him of his father causing his knees to buckle. The sharply attired guards stood sentry outside the office. They turned awaiting his orders. But none were to come. He hurried to the only solace he knew. Opening Peter Morgan’s bottom draw he retrieved a bottle of whiskey. This was a time for courage and he went to the only place he could find it. Two shots did the trick. Much like his father before him in World War II, he would lead men into battle. “Come on boys,” he urged as Captain America and his men scaled the stairs. The brightly uniformed guards looked at him dumbfounded, laid down their weapons, and stepped aside. He saw them point inside the office.

  The cold gray set of eyes then appeared. They silently locked onto him much in the manner of his father before he would berate his inadequate son. A weapon loosely hung in Captain America’s bony left palm. Left-handed Bart thought; the sign of the devil. Then it was over. The pistol raised, cocked, and fired.

  Captain America surveyed the offices. The editor was dead. He came to a locked office. The sign read Declan Power. A soldier went to smash the window. “No need son. Declan Power is dead. As dead as that man you see in that office.”

  Bangkok Man took a deep breath. A fat bribe to the lobby’s concierge had gained him access to Bee Jaisaen’s private elevator. His task was clear. Eliminate Bee, Declan, and Stephen Kelm if he had had the temerity to stick around. A sickening feeling overtook him as the elevator rose. He had killed before. Phitak well knew he would kill again. But never had his gun been aimed at a friend. Strangely, that is how he held Declan Power. The elevator came to a stop. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. His leather gloves snapped into place. ‘Time to go to work,’ he breathed as he stepped into the Devil’s lair.

  Life could happen in a moment or it could happen over the course of a lifetime. Those words always meant something to Declan. They rang true. The same could be applied to death he now knew.

  Stephen Kelm looked at his watch. “Now your highness, now we must make our move.”

  He had never been the spontaneous type, always looking for the best angle to slide through the cracks, but the noose was tight. Declan turned and galloped for the penthouse balcony. He was never much of a track man but he vaulted sturdily from the veranda’s coffee table and just clearing the railing as he sailed into the morning sky. He felt the whisk of a bullet as it grazed his shoulder. It was the last sensation he felt as daytime faded to black.

  Bee Jaisaen made for the balcony.

  “No!” Stephen Kelm bellowed. “He’s dead.”

  “And you’re right behind him Kelm,” Pantrem hissed as he pulled his trigger.

  Bee stood paralyzed. “Phitak! Oh my Buddha, you’ve come just in time. This madman threw Declan out the window and he was about to kidnap me.”

  Bangkok Man was about to reply. He looked at the empty balcony. A wave of emotion began to overtake him. He reeled in his feelings. This was no time for sentiment, this was time for business. He raised his gun and fired one round directly into the beauty with royal ambitions forehead.

  He walked to the balcony and peered over. To his surprise, he saw a big clumsy oaf of a man struggling to get out of the pool. The shock of red hair left little doubt as to who it was as he waved to the startled onlookers and limped away.

  Phitak was tempted to yell to get Declan’s attention. But he needed to disappear. There would be no more killing. No more blood to be cleansed from his soul. He knelt down by Kelm’s body and placed the automatic pistol into his hand. He then took Kelm’s weapon and placed it safely in the top draw of Bee’s dresser.

  He then hustled for the elevator. No looking back, no meeting with Captain America, it was time to disappear.

  They all congregated around Declan’s hospital bed. Oum clasped his hand promising to never let go. Peter Morgan refilled their glasses with whiskey.

  “Screw the doctors Power. You deserve a stiff shot or three,” he said his voice filled with elation and a dash of relief. “And Oum, I talked with my wife. She said you were a source of inspiration for her and my daughter.”

  Oum tried to hide her surprise. “We made it through together,” she fibbed. “I guess we knew Declan and you would find a way.”

  “Enough of the past,” Declan squawked. “We’ve got a story to run with boss! This will really put us on the map.”

  Morgan shook his head sadly. “No Power. We’ve been muffled. Thailand is now under military rule and the press is being suppressed.”

  Declan thought for a moment. “Aha! I’m sure they wouldn’t mind if the Lan Na Ripper was exposed to be a northern elite hottie. If only I hadn’t left my mobile phone up in Bee’s condo.”

  “You must be talking about this Power,” said a voice from out in the hall.

  They all looked to the entrance. Phitak Pantrem walked into the hospital room and gave Declan his phone. “Quite some photos if
I do say so myself.”

  A relieved look came over Declan’s face. He introduced his friend to Oum and Morgan. “Without this guy I’m a goner.”

  “Hell, I thought you were a goner when you did the header from the balcony.”

  “Nah, nothing to it, just a big belly flop.”

  Morgan whistled. “The Lan Na Ripper Undressed! How’s that for a headline,” Peter Morgan exclaimed looking down at Declan’s phone. “You may well be right Power. I can sell this scandal to the generals.”

  Declan clapped his hands. “Aha, back in business boss. And you Phitak?”

  Pantrem raised an eyebrow. “No, I’m out of business, out of the shadows though and straight into the light.”

  Declan shook his head and gave him a good natured shot in the ribs. “Don’t worry Bangkok Man; it’s just as dirty out here. You’ll fit right in.”