Kronsky appeared and marched into the hut Steven, Gunn and Rupert had shared for the night.
76
Good Morning
“Up and at it,” Kronsky growled.
Wearing just a white tee-shirt and boxer shorts,
Steven came out of what had until then been an exhausted slumber.
The combination of Kronsky’s voice and Steven
moving, woke Gunn from her own exhausted slumber.
She instantly slipped into her khaki-coloured combat
trousers.
Kronksy removed the knife from the sheath attached to his belt.
“Give your fag friend a nudge. Tell him I’ll cut
something else from his body if he upsets me this early
in the morning.” Kronksy stared at Rupert asleep on the
floor, nudging him awake with a kick from the side of
his boot.
Rupert came to with a start, as pain transmitted
through his mutilated hand and his now bruised ribs. Turning to Gunn, Kronksy angled his knife towards the zip fly of her pants.
“And if handsome man hasn’t got my little present,
I’ll fuck you the hard way. Knife first to open your
pussy up so I can get inside. Dirk then dick.” Kronsky’s sadistic sneer confirmed the enjoyment
he would experience in penetrating the young Eurasian
girl with both of his weapons.
77
Double, Double Cross
The warlord leered at Gunn from the verandah of the main hut. “ Tilak, darling, why not stay with me,” the slanteyed old man said. “You and Jittrah make good friends, I think. Take turns fuck me.”
Unpleasant as the thought of remaining with the primitive, uneducated, brutal warlord was, Gunn replied in a manner that did not make him lose face. If she upset him, he might keep her there whether she liked it or not.
“Not suit traditional life now. City where I belong. I part farang, not be happy in jungle. You big boss here, ladies no problem for number one man in this neck of woods.”
With his face intact, the warlord accepted Gunn’s explanation.
“Jittrah stay number one wife then,” he said to his young girl friend.
Despite not speaking English, the young girl had ascertained via the body language of those around, that she had just come close to being deposed as the warlord’s main attraction. Looking up at her man, Jittrah saw neither his ignorance, age, leather skin or deteriorating body. Only what Thai girls would call his ‘good heart’
- someone who took care of them. In societies where social security was an unknown concept, that was something to thank Lord Buddha for.
For Jittrah and many girls in South East Asia and the Orient, to have a rich and powerful man at her side whatever his age, occupation or appearance, was something to be grateful for. Whether she was number one wife now or number two sometime in the future, when her looks started to fade, was far better than being attached to an empty headed, pimply faced, povertystricken, under-educated, jobless, callow, poorly-spoken, undeodorised, unfaithful, irresponsible youth who would probably desert her whenever his youthful pheromones fancied. Such was the accepted fate of many young women in the West.
East and West; two different worlds. What politically correct social scientist was qualified, or arrogant enough, to say which was the more acceptable alternative? With Western feral youth running wild, ruining the lives of many in the process, an older man with even moderate means was a safer and kinder alternative. ‘The truth has many windows’, as they say in the Orient.
“Take handsome man, poompooee katoi (fat ladyman) and hasip hasip pooying (fifty fifty female) to drug commissary. Give fifty kilos and no more, or come off your cut,” the warlord told Kronsky.
Kronsky did not seem too happy with the warlord’s less than complimentary remarks.
“Give farang your jeep or have to walk back to Chiang Mai. A present with love from a very bad man. Your guest so take your jeep,” the warlord directed, continuing to humiliate Kronsky in a public place.
But the warlord had not finished bringing Kronsky down a peg or three. “Send two men, help ugly Slav count to fifty.”
Kronsky scowled. “You don’t trust me? I get warlord consortium top dollar from farang buyers, now you think I steal extra kilo for side deal? You full of shit.”
The bodyguards gripped their automatics, ready to defend their leader.
“Kronsky still useful to us so not kill now. But future, we have to see,” the warlord growled, before speaking in Wa (a hill tribe dialect) to his young henchmen, so Gunn and the three farangs present would not understand. One guard immediately attached himself to the burly Slavic American criminal as the other drove a second jeep ahead of the first.
The warlord had humiliated Kronsky in front of local people and the farangs, and Kronsky was less than happy. He became even more annoyed as a guard drove his distinctively liveried jeep to the warlord’s hut.
“That’s my fucking jeep. I paid big money to decorate it with my own personal designs. Give handsome man someone else’s vehicle,” Kronsky shouted.
With a hand gun, another of the war lord’s guards gestured to Kronsky he should get inside the jeep with standard livery. Kronsky did as he was ordered and got into the driver’s seat.
“Give handsome man this fucking jeep. My one’s special,” Kronsky said again, staring at the warlord in a menacing fashion.
“I call the shots around here, not you. You do what I say,” was the warlord’s angry reply. Gesturing to Steven and Gunn, the warlord intimated they should take the jeep he has just confiscated from Kronsky. Steven, Gunn and Rupert did as they were ordered and got inside.
“Do you speak the warlord’s dialect?” Steven quietly asked.
Gunn nodded.
“The warlord clearly underestimates your intelligence.”
Steven paused for a moment “Come to think of it, so did I.”
Gunn did not reply.
“Well, what did he say?” Steven asked as the Thai/ farang communications barrier subtly intervened.
“Tell bodyguards kill ugly fucking Slav if give any more trouble. Also, say should watch you like a hawk. Warlord not trust anyone. He think’s I’m just a Thai whore though.”
Steven said no more, realising that despite the intermittent communications barrier, Gunn was a good man to have around. Her language skills and sense of cool improved the inequitable odds currently governing their mission. She had also proved she could fight. But the warlord was right, Gunn was a whore. She had confirmed that during their summer sexual liaison. Not that he was complaining.
With Kronsky and two guards in the first jeep and Steven, Gunn and Rupert in the second, the convoy of two vehicles left the warlord’s encampment.
78
Bang, You’re Dead
Out of view of the warlord’s encampment, surrounded by jungle on the way to the drug commissary, Kronsky brought his vehicle to a halt.
“I need a piss,” he said. One of the guards the warlord had sent, joined him..
About to unzip his pants to take a leak, Kronsky stopped. As the bodyguard next to him started to urinate, Kronsky calmly took out a different kind of weapon
- his US service pistol - and aimed it at the young guard’s head.
Momentarily mesmerised, the guard’s life flashed before him in the split second before Kronsky pulled the trigger and the young guy’s brains exploded from his skull.
Turning quickly, Kronsky aimed his gun at Steven. Just as Steven thought his last few moments on Earth had arrived, Kronsky moved his gun hand a fraction and calmly shot the remaining hill tribe guard..
The second young guard’s brain exploded from his head and splattered across Rupert, who was sitting white faced in the back seat of the second jeep.
Close to incomprehension as the infection caused by Kronsky’s crude amputation of his finger the previous day travelled through his body, Ru
pert was unaware that his ashen complexion, now spattered with bloody globules of goo, made him look like a bit-part player in a Count Dracula movie.
Acting as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred, Kronsky hoisted the first guard over his shoulder and dumped him in the bush. Returning, the second hill tribesman was similarly disposed of.
“Snakes get free meal,” Kronsky said as he took charge of his own distinctively liveried jeep and started the engine. “You can drive the jeep behind,” he shouted to Steven.
79
The Moment of Truth
Surrounded by thick forest, the drug commissary was almost impossible to spot from the air. Although thin on the ground in the army and police, there still had to be some honest men in the Airborne Security Services. The location of the drug commissary had taken that rare occurrence into account. Making intermittent reconnaissance flights funded by United States aid, the Airborne Security Services would be wasting fuel trying to spot the warlord’s drug stash.
Three heavily armed hill tribesmen sat outside the elongated building, guarding the wealth of deadly merchandise inside.
Stopping the jeeps at the edge of a clearing some fifty yards from their destination, Kronsky, Steven and Gunn walked across the open space between the vehicles and the long wooden hut.
Still halfway out of his mind, Montgomery-Fairfax remained on the back seat of the jeep the warlord had confiscated from Kronsky.
Speaking in a low but determined voice, Kronsky confirmed it was shit or bust time. “No more games. I’ll go into the hut for your fifty kilos and kill the guard who comes to help. While I pretend to get the horse, you kill the guards outside. If you’ve got the guts,” he appended.
Kronsky’s order to Steven was followed by a less threatening one to Gunn. “You whore, flash your tiny tits and distract them.”
Gunn saw the point and started to unbutton her shirt. This would enable the hill tribesmen to see her points, thereby distracting their attention.
“Then handsome man, you can blow the commissary to Kingdom Come. But you’d better have my three hundred mil.”
“You’ll get what’s coming to you,” Steven replied.
Kronsky stopped in his tracks, understanding the possibility of a double meaning.
Realising he’d gone too far, Steven made an attempt to placate the brutal Slav. “I mean you’ll get your money. You don’t think I’d fuck with a man of your reputation, do you?”
Kronsky’s tone was menacing. “If you aint playing it straight, I’ll take it out on your lady while you watch tied to a tree. Then I’ll think of something interesting for you,” he said, contemplating the upside of the downside - for him.
“Let’s get on with the job,” Steven commanded as they approached the drug commissary.
80
Oriental Bimbo
“Fifty kilos for the farang, then perhaps something special for his whore.” Kronsky spoke in Thai, not realising Steven understood most of what he had said.
The guards laughed.
Pretending to be hot, Gunn played the part of an Oriental bimbo, revealing a glimpse of teen-sized nipples beneath her unbuttoned shirt.
Glued to Gunn’s light brown cleavage, the guards forgot their duty to the warlord.
“OK, one of you help me bring out fifty ‘k’ of uncut horse. The other two keep an eye on the strangers.” Kronsky grabbed the youngest guard by the shoulder. “You’ll do. Take your eyes off her tits and come with me.”
As Kronsky and the youngest guard disappeared into the drug commissary, Steven casually stepped behind one of the remaining Rambo clones and placed his arm around the man’s neck. With the blood supply to his brain reduced as Steven pressed an artery, the hill tribesman slumped to the wooden floor of the verandah.
Hearing the noise, the other guard removed his concentration from Gunn’s partially revealed cleavage and turned. He pointed his automatic at Steven’s head. From behind the guard, Gunn placed one hand across his mouth and repeated Steven’s chokehold manoeuvre with the other. The guard slumped to the floor beside his comatose companion.
“You just saved my life,” Steven said.
Gunn looked concerned. “I may have saved your life, but I think I have taken his,” Gunn looked down at the guard she had just disabled. “I think I pressed too hard”.
The guard Gunn had immobilized failed to move. “Oh Buddha, he’s not breathing,” Gunn softly exclaimed, as she leant over for a closer look.
Steven stooped down beside Gunn and checked the man’s pulse. “You know your stuff but not your own strength apparently. It wasn’t your fault,” Steven counselled, keeping his voice low. “At least his death was a quick and painless one. He wanted to fuck you, but I’m afraid you fucked him. Permanently.”
Gunn knelt to say a Buddhist prayer for the guard she had accidentally killed. Steven tied up the comatose guard he had dropped and stuffed a handkerchief in his mouth. “That cost me 20 baht in Pattaya,” he said, more to himself than the unconscious guard.
A single shot rang out from inside the drug commissary. With a perverse grin on his face, Kronsky reemerged.
“I enjoy my work,” the big Slav advised, before peering down at the two prostrate guards. “Looks like you know what you’re up to after all, Englishman,” he said.
Gunn cleverly allowed Steven to take the credit.
“Payday now,” Kronsky said, a smile of anticipation on his rough-hewn countenance.
“But first I blow up the drug commissary,” Steven said, firmly.
Kronsky feigned surprise. “You mean you don’t trust me?”
Steven did not reply.
“I had intended to double cross you assholes, keep the three hundred million and hand you over to my hill tribe compadres. But not only heroin get up my nose but big boss too. Warlord make me lose face in front of local people. Now time for payback.”
Suddenly, Kronsky grabbed Gunn in a neck lock. “I’ll keep to our deal but she keeps me company while you work. That should make certain you don’t pull any tricks.”
Steven stared at Kronsky, forcing him to explain further.
“I’ll keep to our deal, but she keeps me company while you work. But no guns. Use C4, gelignite, grenades or whatever else you brought with you to do the job. If you try any funny business with those babies, the whore’ll get totalled the same time as me.”
Kronsky sneered. “And I think you’ve got the hots for her more than you’ll admit.”
Steven stared at Kronsky, uncertain of his true intentions.
The big Slav immediately outlined them. “If you aint got the bread when you’ve finished...........”
Kronsky stopped mid sentence, as he contemplated what his next move would be if Steven was not on the level.
Gunn understood and intervened. “I know you have the money Steven, so there’s nothing to worry about because he won’t kill me all the time you’re hiding his bank draft.”
“You’ll get the money,” Steven said, determinedly. “But don’t hurt the girl.”
Instinctively sensing the strength of Steven’s suppressed anger, the XYY man decided against finding out whether Steven was bluffing or not. Pulling Gunn behind him, Kronsky walked to where the jeeps were parked. Steven followed.
“Sleeping beauty,” Kronsky said as he looked down at Rupert slumped down in the back of one of them.
Sprinting back to the drug commissary, Steven dragged the dead guard to the stationary vehicle. He quickly repeated the exercise with the still breathing one, tying the young guy’s hands with his own head bandanna..
“Keeping fit?” Kronsky shouted. “I’m going to enjoy fucking her if you aint got the money.”
Gathering a backpack full of grenades from the rear seat of the ornately liveried jeep the warlord had borrowed from Kronsky, Steven returned to the long wooden building.
81
Supermarket
Stooping to enter the Asian-sized doorway, Steven stopped and gazed in amazemen
t as his eyes grew accustomed to the gloom.
Like a Western supermarket, endless shelves were stacked with double-wrapped polythene covered parcels of a flour-like powder. Uncut heroin, the merchandise was worth more than the cash in a City of London bank. Close by, rows and rows of different colour packs
- yellow and various shades of brown - were lined up in neat piles. Cheaper grades for the Asiatic market, it would be hidden in farm produce and transported to nearby nations for sale in karaoki bars, clubs and discotheques. Ready for processing in a ramshackle laboratory at the far end of the wooden building, raw opium rolled into small brown balls, spilled from open sacks.
To one side of drums of chemicals, cardboard boxes full of recently processed yaba stood ready for distribution. Known locally as ‘Crazy Drug’, the amphetaminebased substance was usually smoked. Used for decades by manual workers to help them stay awake, it had become increasingly popular in pill form amongst those seeking to party the night away. Destroying this particular consignment would ensure fewer traffic accidents from the many Thai truck drivers that used it, and less violence amongst Bangkok’s affluent young set in the capital’s many night spots.
Picking up a bag of white powder, Steven judged its weight at five kilos. At a quick estimate there were about thirty tons of pure heroin in the long wooden building. The street value would clear the national debt of a third world country. If Steven could blow the place to smithereens, the consortium of Western governments would have got a major bargain for their three hundred million dollars - the bank draft he had been charged to deliver to Kronsky.
In contrast, Steven’s two million was insignificant. That was supposing he could get out alive and claim the ninety percent still outstanding, from which he had to pay his own expenses. The British government had never had a reputation for ethics and honesty.
Sleepless in Bangkok Page 23