“Anybody got anything else?” Jason said. “Alright, I’ll see you guys this evening for dinner.” His crew headed upstairs. He picked up his stool and carried it back to the bar. Jason set the chair next to the portly gentleman he spoke to earlier.
“Looking for a little excitement while you’re here?” the man with the salt-and-pepper beard chimed in.
“No, sir,” Jason said politely. “I’ve had enough excitement to last a lifetime.” That was simply a figure of speech. It was not true, or he would have quit Special Operations and chased down his ex-girlfriend.
The man smiled and reached out his hand. “Hello, I’m Doctor Mark Sugarmann.”
The two shook hands. “Jason Conrad. Nice to meet you.” He studied the man now, dressed in pale pants and a white short-sleeved shirt with a white short-brimmed hat on top of his head. He reminded him of the park owner in Jurassic Park.
“Well, Mister Conrad,” Doctor Sugarmann said with a hint of sarcasm, “I’ll see you around, I’m sure.”
Jason started to leave and wondered what he meant by that.
“Mister Conrad,” Sugarmann added, “I overheard you would be going to Suttirat’s. Be cautious there. That’s a dangerous part of town.”
Jason nodded and turned away. He talked to Chaow earlier. That part of the city was dangerous, but he would be safe as long as they stayed together. A farong by himself might not fare too well but traveling with a man who knew the city offered him some security.
He walked upstairs and found Chaow sitting in the lobby, waiting for him. The rest of his crew had disappeared.
“Captain Jason,” Chaow said with a big grin, “we go now?”
“Yes. Let’s get going.” The two men headed toward the van.
“I have special visit before Suttirat’s,” Chaow said.
“Special visit?”
“Beautiful temple. You like.”
“Will it take long?” It was 1115, and Jason had a meeting at 1700 with McClendon. He wasn’t in the mood for sightseeing, but he didn’t want to disappoint his friend. Chaow had always been good to him and taken care to show him unique places while in Thailand.
“Not long. Fifteen minutes from here. You like.”
As soon as they left the air-conditioned lobby, it felt like the gates of hell had opened. They walked off the hotel property, where Jason gagged, covering his mouth with his shirt collar. The moment they stepped on the sidewalk, a stench resembling a three-day-old curry and raw sewage rose to meet them. That always bothered him about Bangkok. The change in surroundings reflected its sights, sounds, and smells.
Jason dodged two teenagers whizzing by on a moped. No helmet, no shoes, their loose clothing fluttering in the wind, as they zigzagged through traffic.
They reached Chaow's van and climbed in. The Thai driver cranked the engine and pulled away from the curb. A variety of Buddhist statues and decorations covered the dashboard. It was a colorful display, but one Jason felt was too personal to ask about.
Chaow maneuvered through the crowded streets of Bangkok. Jason always thought New York was the worst place on earth to drive a car until he landed in Bangkok. While this city seemed ten times worse, somehow it all worked out. Picture New York City at 5:00 p.m., then squeeze in two more lanes of cars and a mish-mash of teenagers on mopeds, bicycle taxis, businessmen on motorcycles, and tourists in Tuk-Tuks. Uniformed police officers stood in some intersections, directing traffic flow, but the honking horns and yelling drivers were constant.
When they pulled near the temple complex, Jason’s eyes widened. Wat Pho, the Temple of the Reclining Buddha. He remembered, when he was TDY at Udorn last year, he mentioned to Chaow he wanted to see this. His old friend had a good memory.
A small group of Buddhist monks with shaved heads and clad in orange robes walked to and from the Temple. He never considered coming here on his own, intimidated by the religious nature of the place. Since his first trip to Thailand, he became interested in Buddhism. While he considered himself a Christian, other religions fascinated him.
Wat Pho had the most extensive collection of Buddhas in Thailand. For a brief time, thoughts of Ben's mess vanished, and he entered the temple grounds with Chaow. They moved quickly through the complex until they reached a temple in the back.
Suddenly, Jason stopped in his tracks. He couldn’t believe his eyes. Before him lay the legendary Reclining Buddha. Covered in gold leaf, the Buddha was 150 feet long and almost fifty feet high.
He turned to Chaow. “This is amazing.”
Chaow smiled. “I knew you like.”
The two walked around the statue and the temple for a few more minutes, Chaow explaining the history of the temple. Jason glimpsed his G-Shock watch. “I think we need to go.”
Chaow acknowledged his request, and they headed back to the van. Once outside, Jason observed an elderly monk sitting alone with his bowl in front of him. Everyone passed the old man, never seeming to notice him.
“It’s almost noon.”
Chaow smiled again. “Captain Jason, you remember.”
The monks rose very early in the morning to start their day, but they didn’t eat anything after twelve o’clock. Jason had no food to offer, but he had money. He stopped and placed forty dollars in the old man’s empty bowl. The old man glared at the two bills in the bowl and looked up at Jason, grinning. The monk mumbled something in Thai Jason couldn’t understand, but Jason put his hands together and bowed to the monk, who nodded back.
Chaow beamed. “You good man, Captain Jason.”
“What did he say?”
"He say, may you be blessed and safe in your times of trouble."
17
October 13, 2003
Helena de Vries brushed the blond bangs out of her eyes as she poured another glass of Chardonnay. The ceiling fan above the marble-topped bar helped cool the room, but the Cambodian heat overwhelmed the outdoor patio. Sipping her wine, she unbuttoned two more buttons on her blouse and strolled into the spacious living room. Maison was negotiating with a drug dealer. As much as she thought her lover was a jerk, this guy was worse—a fact compounded by his stupidity.
The ceiling fans in the oversized room were all on high, making the area much more comfortable. She paused and glanced in their direction when the crook yelled at Maison. That is something one simply does not do. She learned the hard way, often evaluating herself—how she changed over the years, how she had fallen.
Helena came to Bangkok from California, with her master’s in International Finance from Berkley. She worked at the local branch of Tyler Rudman Global Investments when a co-worker introduced her to Maison Andrepont. He swept her off her feet, literally, and carried her back to his hotel suite. They lived quite the torrid romance, reminiscent more of Kim Basinger’s Nine and A Half Weeks than Fifty Shades of Grey.
He tried several times to convince her to quit her job with the bank and come live with him, but she refused. Her feelings for him were strong, but she worked too hard to give up everything she accomplished, even for a handsome millionaire. Their relationship consisted of elegant dinners, exotic vacations, illicit drugs, and high-energy sex.
Almost a year after their affair began, her supervisor told her she had a mandatory drug test, an unusual event, because no one ever mentioned such a thing in her company before. It terrified her because she knew her activities with Maison would cause her to fail the test. Two weeks later, they fired her for numerous narcotics in her system. It surprised her they took so long. The bank fined her, something she thought unusual, and claimed she must pay or go to jail. This emptied her account. She lost her apartment in Bangkok and found herself on the streets. With no one to turn to and nowhere to go, she went to see Maison.
That was two years ago, and she had lived in his mansion ever since. Helena knew her role: lover and confidant, but her ambition and brains had elevated her to a minority partner status. She proved too smart to serve only as his sex toy, and it pissed her off when he thought of her
that way. Six months after moving in, she grew tired of wearing nothing but lingerie and heels and told him her desires. Helena needed more; she wanted to learn how to help his operation.
Maison was reluctant at first. She thought her intelligence scared him, but she began to realize he wanted her for sex and only sex. But over time, she wore him down with an irresistible blend of feminine charm and reasoned intellect. He was considered rich in both Thailand and Cambodia, but she would make him rich around the world. Her background knowledge helped him understand the IMF, so those bastards would never burn him again. And that convinced him. She appealed to his basic greed and gave him no other option but to use her help. Sex he could get anywhere. But a woman with her sexuality, who could make his organization more money, was a powerful asset. Gradually, she became more involved, and his assets did, in fact, grow.
She should have recognized her situation early on. Maison claimed the rough sex turned him on more than he expected. He was into dominance, and he wanted her submissive. She struggled with that in the beginning, but soon, she realized what he did to her. Maison molded her into something she was not, and she did not like it. But she was trapped. She came to him because she had nowhere to go, and now could not leave him because she had no place to hide. For now.
“Helena, my dear,” Maison said. “Come in and sit. Our friend has some wonderful news for us.”
The drug dealer came to him two months earlier with promises of enormous profit. Maison loaned him a large sum of money but now had nothing to show for his investment. This man must learn the cost of doing business, which was fine with her. If Maison was beating him, it might keep him from abusing her.
“Monsieur Andrepont,” the drug dealer said, “I need more time. I’ll deliver your money to you, I swear.” The significant change in demeanor from the man, who yelled at Maison only moments earlier, told her the tide changed.
“I gave you plenty of time to give me my money. Three months ago, I invested in you because you laid out a plan that could not lose. I believed in you. My return on your investment was to be at least two hundred percent, correct?”
“Yes, Monsieur Andrepont.”
Sarathoon silently moved a few feet behind the drug dealer.
“Yet, I received nothing. At all. Not even the principal of the loan given to you.”
“I know, Monsieur Andrepont." The man's lip quivered. His partner, a sweaty, trembling shrimp, had yet to say a word.
Sarathoon reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a garrote, a small length of piano wire secured to wood handles on each end. In a flourish, he looped the garrote around the drug dealer’s neck and proceeded to squeeze the life out of him. Desperately, the man struggled to insert his fingers under the wire, but Sarathoon overpowered him.
The shrimp turned pale, helpless as he watched his partner’s life squeezed out of him. Sarathoon continued to apply pressure to the garrote until it cut into his neck and sliced his carotid artery. Blood spurted from his neck onto his partner and the snow-white couch.
“Damn it, Maison,” Helena blurted. “I loved that couch.”
He gave her a look that told her to keep her mouth shut. “I’ll buy you a new one.”
Sarathoon released the garrote, dragging the drug dealer’s body against the back of the couch, letting him slump toward his partner, who pushed him away in horror. The smaller man edged to the end of his seat and looked at Maison, whose calm demeanor indicated this was routine.
He started to speak, but Maison held up his hand.
“Do you understand what has happened here?” Maison said.
The small man nodded fearfully.
“I want my money. My investment plus my interest. Add another two hundred percent.”
The man attempted to say something again, but Maison wagged a finger at him.
“You have one week.”
“H-how am I—”
“I don’t care how you acquire the money. Earn it, steal it, kill for it. You had an opportunity, and your partner blew it. He tried to steal my money. You’ve seen the consequences. One week. Now, leave.”
The man leaped from the couch and headed for the door. Several of Maison’s servants, who had stood by, escorted him out of the mansion while four others rushed in to pick up the body. They moved the body out of the house and came back in to clean the floor.
“Come, Helena,” Maison said. “Let’s go outside.”
She rose with her glass of wine and approached him. Maison placed his hand at the small of her back and guided her to the patio by the pool. Sarathoon followed a few feet behind.
No sooner had they reached the patio, Maison’s cell phone rang. Helena positioned herself on the half-moon couch loaded with pillows. His disposition changed when he saw the number. She sipped her wine as Maison answered the phone.
"Hello?" Helena listened carefully but couldn't tell who called. Maison, aware of her eavesdropping, walked toward the pool so she would not hear. It didn't matter. She'd find out soon enough.
He hung up and turned to Sarathoon.
“Contact Nimol and Ponleak. Tell them to go to Suttirat’s and ask about the gold. I want to know how the American acquired it.”
18
October 13, 2003
From the outside, the store, at first glance, appeared rather insignificant, perhaps, even somewhat neglected. The paint on the royal-blue walls and the light-blue trim around the windows, both chipped in several places, revealed numerous color changes over the years. The large storefront window had "Suttirat's Jewelry" painted on the glass. The professional signage had white lettering outlined in gold—the only thing the owners invested in to promote the store.
Inside, however, the crowded shop resembled a bustling hive of activity. The long glass display case made a ‘U' along the side and back walls, with just enough space for the employees behind the counter. Behind them, the more expensive items remained stored in locked drawers. A variety of silver plates and figurines lined the shelves on the sapphire-blue interior. On the other side of the counters, customers jockeyed for position to gain the attention of a salesperson. Three-quarters of them appeared to be military personnel, some in uniform, some not. The rest, Asian tourists.
Nimol moved to an open section of the display case on the far left of the store. On more than one occasion, he had attempted to talk to the elderly saleswoman working closest to him. After five minutes of nothing, Nimol slammed his hand on the countertop.
“Woman!” he shrieked. “Get over here now.”
The elderly woman, showing a necklace to her customers, jumped, and several people close by turned to see what caused the commotion. She placed the necklace back underneath the glass, locked the door, and slid toward him.
“How may I help you, sir?” Her wrinkled eyes showed hesitation.
Nimol’s brow furrowed. “I want Deng Suttirat.”
She eyed him with trepidation. "What is this regarding?"
Nimol handed her one of Maison’s business cards.
“Give him this. He’ll know what it means.”
She nodded and waddled to the back of the shop. In less than a minute, Deng Suttirat stood in the doorway, looking in Nimol’s direction. The jeweler acknowledged him and held up a finger, indicating he would be there soon. Deng ducked into the back, returned within sixty seconds, and came straight to him.
“W-What brings you here?”
Nimol reached across the display case, grabbed Deng by the collar, and dragged him toward the upper end of the “U.” He didn’t care about the other customers; they barreled through them as the two men moved along the counter.
Nimol produced a 16-ounce gold bar from his pocket.
“Recognize this?” He held the shiny gold bar in front of Deng.
“Y-Yes. It’s part of the delivery.”
“Correct,” Nimol said. “Part of the delivery that is still in a warehouse. So, the question is, how did it fall into the hands of an American military man who used it to p
ay his debts?”
The van pulled into the lot at Suttirat’s, its engine making loud noises. Jason and Chaow climbed out and walked to the front door. A small bus with almost twenty passengers parked on the other side of the parking lot.
“You just beat the rush, Captain Jason.”
"It seems so. Hopefully, this won't take long. I have a bad feeling about this part of town."
“Me, too.”
A small girl ran up to him and stood in front of him. Jason and Chaow stopped, turned to each other, and then back to the little girl. She must be about four or five, Jason figured, the cute girl’s raven-colored hair was pulled back from her face and held in place by a ribbon. Her precious smile revealed two missing front teeth. Jason smiled back, then moved to the right to go around her, but the little girl stepped in his way once again, her face determined.
“Ha, ha. Look like you make friend, Captain Jason.”
“It looks that way, doesn’t it, Chaow?” He knelt in front of the little girl. “Hello. What’s your name?” The little girl smiled, twisting back and forth with her hands behind her back.
“I guess I’ve lost my touch with women,” he said, glancing back at Chaow. He turned back to her. His left elbow rested on his knee and rubbed his chin as he studied her with a cavalier face. Women want attention, so he gave her all his. He made a face, his mouth open, his eyes bulging. No reaction.
“Hey, little girl, in the spirit of international relations, we need to reach a détente,” he said. Reaching into his pocket, Jason pulled out a Jolly Rancher and handed it to the little girl. Her eyes grew wide, and her smile grew wider. She started to take it, then stopped and looked at Chaow. He said something in Thai, and the little girl grabbed the candy and ran off.
Jason dusted the dirt from the knees of his khaki pants and headed for the door.
Preeda sat on the side of the store, quickly unwrapping the candy the tall man gave her. She liked him. He was nice. He wasn’t loud and bossy like many of the farongs who came in the store. He had short hair; she figured he was a soldier. All soldiers have short hair.
The Quiet Professional Page 9