Number Nine

by Colin Cotterill

  “He’ll never spot us,” he said.

  “You heard that saying about underestimating your enemy?”

  “He doesn’t look all that bright.”

  “But he’s strong.”

  “How do you know?”

  “He carried a woman four times his weight.”

  “Could have dragged her.”

  “Still not easy.”

  “Anyway, I’ll let you know how it goes. We’re obliged to tell the US embassy. Major Mana wants the case closed before we do that.”

  “At least they’d send someone down who has a clue about hostage rescue,” I said.

  Anyway, calling the US embassy anonymously from a pay phone gave me something to do. I didn’t give too many details. Just the woman’s name and where she’d registered to spend the night. The rest was up to them. It wasn’t spite. I was just helping the investigation along by bringing in reinforcements.

  I was at Mair’s place that afternoon when the call came through on my cell phone. I was writing up the story with a view to selling it to the nationals. Then an English version for the wire services.

  “He got away,” said Chom.

  I can’t say it really surprised me. Even Chom was laughing.

  “Excellent,” I said. “Want to talk me through it?”

  “Major Mana had four teams on the streets by the time we released Smiley.”

  “All in uniform?”

  “Plain clothes. But they didn’t have much time to get changed so most of them turned up in standard white t-shirts and shorts. A bit of a fantasy of mine, actually. The shorts were mostly those of the station football team. The major was in one of the teams. Probably hoping for a photo op when they found the American.”

  “Was he in drag?”

  “Now, there’s an awful thought. But, no. He was in Bermuda shorts and a singlet.”

  “I wish I had a video of that.”

  “So Smiley signed out at the desk, walked out of the station and headed north. Two of the teams were covering the northern option. He walked along the beach road for about a kilometre and turned into a compound that used to belong to some foreigner who died from the excitement of living in Pak Nam. The teams thought Smiley might be squatting there. As it was a beachside residence, Mana deployed the men on either side of the house and he and his team headed for the beach in case he planned to walk along the sand.”

  “But he didn’t walk on the sand, did he?”

  “Are you going to spoil the ending for me?”

  “He had a boat.”

  “Ptshh, I knew you would.”

  “It didn’t occur to Mana that a man who dressed like a fisherman might have a boat?”

  “I’m assuming they didn’t cover that in the surveillance training. Smiley didn’t go into the house at all. Just slipped down the side alleyway.”

  “And, of course, the police didn’t have a boat of their own to give chase?”

  “Mana called the marine police and asked them to go after their fugitive but they needed paperwork before they could release a vessel.”

  “And, by that time, Smiley was long gone.”

  “They have three boats checking the islands now.”

  It was all too silly for words. I doubted anyone would believe or buy my story.

  “Now, I’m assuming that in all the time the fisherman was at the station he didn’t make a demand for ransom,” I said.

  “No,” Chom laughed. “He just smiled and acted dumb. He even signed out with a thumb print.”

  “Not so dumb,” I thought.

  I got my next phone call that evening. Chom was off shift so it was Tort who called.

  “Jimm,” he said. “Are you busy?”

  “Depends what you want.”

  “There’s another letter,” he said.

  “I’m not going to sit with your rude commanding officer and get myself insulted,” I said.

  “No need,” he said. “It isn’t Mana’s case anymore. Lang Suan have sent people over as a result of a request from the US embassy. They insisted someone of a higher rank handle things.”

  I smiled, imagining the face of Major Mana when he got the news.

  “Any Americans on the scene yet?” I asked.

  “They have two observers at the Pak Nam station.”

  Americans were good at observing. They’d observed a whole war in the region.

  “Can’t they read?”

  “The Lang Suan commander wants a translation before he passes it along to them.”

  “I’ll be there in fifteen,” I said.

  As I coaxed the Mighty X through the little streets of Pak Nam I spoke to Chom on the phone. It was his night off but I thought I might be able to tempt him into a little private detection. Given that he had a new boyfriend and had planned a romantic evening at his house, I was surprised at how readily he agreed.

  “Are you sure?” I said passing the concrete battleship that loomed over the Saturday market.

  “Jimm,” he said, “there’s a little something I need to teach you about romance.”

  I accepted all the advice I could get on that front.

  “Shoot,” I said.

  “There’s nothing turns a man on more than being invited on a dangerous police mission. Testosterone heaven.”

  Great advice for someone who didn’t even have anyone to invite.

  “I’ll make a note,” I said. “Do you still have Lady G?”

  “She’s up for it too.”

  I pulled up in front of the police station and Sergeant Phoom came running out to meet me.

  “Hello Jimm. The Lang Suan brass want you in Major Mana’s office straight away.”

  Another satisfying moment. They’d taken over the major’s office. Will the indignities never end?

  “Who delivered the second letter?” I asked as he walked me up the stairs.

  “The same fisherman,” he said. “He just waltzes up to my desk and smiles and hands me his note. Same as before. Can you believe the guy’s balls?”

  I could. In fact, I’d counted on him coming back.

  “Where is he?”

  “They put him in the cell.”

  I was surprised.

  “You have a cell now?”

  “They just put it in last week. New regulation from the police ministry. Even the stations at the end of the earth have to have one.”

  “Well, here’s hoping you have a lot of thieves and murderers to make it worthwhile.”

  “Thanks.”

  He knocked at the major’s door and I heard a gruff ‘Come in’. Which I did.

  Police major general Suvit Pamaluang, Ridgeback himself, was sitting alone at the desk. He was in his fifties, trim and reportedly incorruptible. But that wasn’t to say he didn’t have flaws.

  “Ah, Jimm,” he said. “At last.”

  I wouldn’t say we had a close relationship but he did have a soft spot for me. There were two duffel bags at his feet.

  “Going somewhere, Major General?” I asked.

  “I could afford to now,” he said. “These two are full of money.”

  “From the Americans?” I guessed.

  “Have I told you you’re too smart for a girl?”

  He had. That’s probably why I didn’t consider him a friend.

  “Then while I’m on a girlish roll, I’m also guessing it’s not real money and that it’s marked in some way.”

  “They taught you that at the crime desk in Chiang Mai?”

  “Starsky and Hutch. TV detectives. Mair had us watch tapes of all the US crime shows when we were growing up. You got the ransom note?”

  “I can read most of it,” he said, dishonestly. He thought his English was a lot better than it really was. “But best to double check, eh?”

  “My service has a price,” I said.

  “And what would that be?”

  “Exclusive on the story.”

  “I don’t see a problem with that. But I don’t want to see anything in print
until the investigation has been completed and the victim has been rescued.”

  I nodded. I wondered whether the word rescue might also apply to a dead body. He handed me the letter. I translated as I went through it.

  “Here he is with the pencil and the school paper again. I don’t know who’s reading this, if anyone. And I still don’t know what he wants me to write. I still haven’t heard him talk but he continues to treat me nicely. I had a quite spicy but very tasty meal from a plastic bag this afternoon. I have a small bucket to do my business which for someone of my size is rather a challenge given that I’m chained by the ankle. But I’ve managed somehow. The man lives here also. He sleeps on the sand. His few personal belongings are here. One or two faded photographs. I can’t help but feel sorry for his poverty. What a world this is that some people have everything and some have nothing.”

  “It sounds like Stockholm syndrome,” I said.

  Major general Suvit nodded in agreement although I could see in his eyes that he didn’t know what Stockholm syndrome was. I continued to read.

  “Wait. The man is holding up a bank note and he’s pointing to me. I think this must be the ransom moment. I’m trying to get a number out of him, but he keeps doing the ‘up to you’ gesture. I think he wants to know what I think I’m worth. Goodness. I’ve never had to make a decision like that before. What am I worth? I wonder if he chose me because of my weight. Perhaps he thinks they’d pay more by the pound.

  I’ve just been playing the numbers-in-the-sand game. I draw out a number and shrug. He shakes his head. I wonder if he knows what the numbers mean. Are numbers universal? I saw our numbers on road signs and shop doorways here in Thailand. But did he ever learn them? This seems so bizarre, writing one’s own ransom note. All right. I have to make a decision. Let’s say; five hundred thousand dollars. I show him. He smiles.”

  “Really?” I said. “That’s what he’s asking?”

  “Looks like it’s what she’s asking for more like it,” said Suvit. “Might be a smart move. It sounds like small change to the Americans. Perhaps she thinks she stands a better chance of getting free if she isn’t greedy.”

  “But kidnappers are supposed to target families,” I said.

  “The Americans tried to contact her family,” said Suvit. “She doesn’t seem to have anyone. Single. Parents dead. No siblings.”

  “That’s sad.”

  I got it into my head that it would be nice if Gerri and the smiley man did hit it off. She refused to press charges. He learned to speak. She took Thai classes and they lived happily ever after in a hut on a deserted island. I was starting to do this more often, manage the love affairs of everyone I came across, hoping that someone would come along and manage mine. But, first things first.

  “You’re paying the ransom?” I said.

  “I think we got a deal. The Americans have two million counterfeit dollars in these bags. Think how shocked they’ll be when they find out the kidnapper only wants five hundred thousand.”

  “And you’ll have the fisherman take it?”

  “We have no other choices.”

  “It worked really well last time.”

  “Last time the operation was headed by someone less than competent in such matters. This time we have a team of professionals, the bag has a tracking device and we have access to a helicopter. Bangkok wants this one handled properly. That’s why they brought me in.”

  “What if the fisherman knows the banknotes are fake?”

  “You’ve seen him Jimm. Do you think someone like that is likely to know the difference between a real banknote and a fake one? Even so, they are outstanding copies. I’d be hard pressed to spot them myself.”

  “Perhaps he only looks stupid,” I said. “Is there a reason why nobody’s tried to beat the whereabouts of the victim out of him?”

  I hadn’t seen Smiley since his return so I was only assuming they hadn’t tried yet.

  “Jimm Juree, I’m surprised at you,” he said.

  He did ‘indignant’ really well.

  “You’re talking about methods used in a previous century,” he continued. “We’re accountable to the word of the law now. We adhere to very high standards of liability. I would never allow such a thing in my province.”

  So, the Americans had put the brakes on any underhanded methods of extracting a confession. They were already having public relations trouble concerning their supposed al Qaeda torture jails on Thai soil so they had to show the international press that their monitoring of the investigation into the kidnapping of Gerri Jansen was thorough and fair.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I should have known better.” (Than to mention it). “I assume you won’t be handing over the money at night.”

  “Really, Jimm. Are you sure there isn’t a man inside those clothes.”

  “I’d know if he was in here.”

  He laughed at my expense.

  “And of course he’d be quite correct,” said Suvit. “We’ll keep the fisherman overnight and release him once our surveillance operation is in place tomorrow morning. If it turns out he’s really just a courier we’ll observe the handover, follow the perpetrator and rearrest the fisherman. But my police instinct tells me that the fisherman is in this alone. It’s not a crime with a great deal of planning. He had no language, no prepared ransom note. I don’t see a mastermind at the end of the tunnel. So, run off now and get a good night’s sleep. I appreciate your help but there’s nothing you can do now. I feel when you wake up tomorrow this will all be over and done with.”

  I sat at the feet of the white Buddha wishing I’d put on some mosquito spray before I left home. The tube in my bag was empty. I fished out my phone and called Chom.

  “Any luck?” I asked.

  “He was so high on adrenalin we could barely make it back to my house,” he said.

  “I mean, with the search,” I said.

  “The after-search was much more newsworthy.”

  “So you didn’t see the boat?”

  “No.”

  “Damn.”

  “Lady G covered a lot of coastline. She’s a hardworking speedboat which is why I love her so. I assumed he wouldn’t chance mooring his vessel in a port where he wasn’t known. So he’d put it to anchor in shallow water off the beach rather like he did when he slipped away the first time. We covered all the beaches and river mouths within what could be considered walking distance from the police station. Didn’t see it. So I extended the search to five kilometres in each direction. Still no luck.

  “Damn. Damn.”

  “All I can assume is that he didn’t arrive by boat and therefore doesn’t plan to leave by boat.”

  “Unless he has an accomplice who swings by and picks him up,” I suggested.

  “In which case, we’d only be able to monitor the water after he’s been released.”

  “Which I’m sure Major General Suvit will have covered tomorrow.”

  “So, we’re no more knowledgeable than we were before this brilliant plan was conceived,” said Chom.

  “Not really. We know what he’s not going to do,” I said. “Now all I have to do is work out what he is going to. You know, I can’t help thinking this fellow is a lot smarter than we’re giving him credit for.”

  “May I go now?”

  “Yes, sorry. Date night. Hope I haven’t ruined it for you.”

  “Are you serious? I wish I’d thought of this two-man search for drug traffickers along the coast scam earlier. It brings out the animal in a man.”

  “You told him you were after drug traffickers?”

  “Heavily-armed ones.”

  I didn’t sleep a lot that night. I kept attempting to think like Smiley. What exactly was he hoping to achieve? If he was smarter than he looked, wouldn’t he have suspected that they’d try to fool him with fake currency? And then there were the letters. Why would he get the tourist to write them? She’d only arrived in Thailand three days ago so she wasn’t in on it with him. And he couldn’t
have known she’d be walking on the beach alone that evening. So was he just waiting for any tourist to happen by? Not a lot of tourism going on in this neck of the woods. But then there was her weight. Smiley looked strong enough. He’d have built up his arms pulling in nets. But how far would he have to drag a large woman to a boat and get her aboard? The water was shallow this time of year. Did he float her out to his vessel? Why were there so many questions in this case, none of them answerable? The sun was up before I could sneak a few minutes of sleep.

  I’d moved from questions to theories. They’d give Smiley a bag of money that morning and send him on his way. He’d walk, knowing there were a dozen, maybe two dozen men on his tail. He might hear the buzz of the helicopter high above. He’d be certain they wouldn’t let him get on a boat. So, if I were him, which direction would I walk? I paced out a few routes in my mind. None of them was likely to shake off a determined surveillance team. I got creative and imagined him ducking down into a storm drain and swimming out to sea. But it was the dry season and there wasn’t that much water around. I imagined him being picked up by a drone. I thought of a thousand ways he might get away but the only one I hadn’t imagined was the one he actually took.

  I’d gone down to the police station on my bicycle that morning. I had my camera just in case anything exciting happened. But the only exciting thing that happened was me being wrestled to the ground by two men dressed as joggers and dragged into a bush. It wasn’t one of my fantasies even though the joggers were both my type. One of them said something into a small microphone and listened to the reply.

  “Khun Jimm,” he said. “You’re to stay here. If you move, you’ll be shot by snipers. Nod if you understand what I’ve just said.”

  I nodded and the joggers went back to their marks and I looked around for a gun sight. I really hadn’t thought they’d notice me. I assumed it was Major General Suvit at the command post, watching through binoculars, who’d passed on my name. I knew I was in serious trouble. But, at least, I was in the theatre, so to speak. I had a box seat behind a bush with a view of the police station and the temple opposite. And, although I didn’t hear anyone shout, ‘action’, people came to life all around me. The joggers jogged, a homeless man with a half empty bottle staggered, a road sweeper swept and an old lady on a bicycle got her skirt stuck in the chain and fell over. I’m not sure that was in her mission statement. And, from the gate of the police station walked Smiley. He stretched, happy to be out of his cell. He had a duffel bag thrown over his shoulder. He looked up at the sky and smiled. A man without a care in the world.