She popped the colorful hard candy in her mouth, and the flavor was . . . incredible. Preeda had never tasted anything so good. And it was so tiny. Her first instinct was to bite down on the candy, but she decided not to, hoping the sensation would last longer if she let it roll around in her mouth.
Preeda didn't like hanging around her father's shop. She wanted to go to school, like her friends. Most of her days, she spent alone. Her mother worked in the store, and her father was mean. And he was old. Much older than her mother.
The hard candy grew brittle, and Preeda bit into it without thinking. Oh no! How could she have been so careless? She chewed the broken pieces of candy and swallowed the last of it. What would she do now? When she returned to the front of the store, the tall farong who gave her the candy was still inside, but if she went in, her father would yell at her.
She saw the van he came here in. Perhaps there was more in the van? No rich farong would miss another piece of candy. Preeda skipped to the van and climbed inside.
“Where did these gold bars come from?” Nimol asked, still gripping Deng’s shirt.
“I-I made them,” Deng said.
“I know you made them, fool. How did the American get them?”
“I don’t know. It was an accident. Perhaps it got mixed up in his order. This is a big store. We do much business.”
Nimol had enough of this. He let go of Deng’s shirt and walked around the end of the counter and grabbed his arm. As he dragged Deng to the back of the shop, he turned to Ponleak. “Stay here,” he barked.
In the back office, he sat Deng in a chair and backhanded him across the face. The old man’s head jerked to the side. Nimol pulled out a knife from his pocket, and with a quick flourish, opened the blade.
Deng’s eyes focused on the knife, and his mouth quivered.
"I ask you one more time," he said, pressing the blade against his throat. "How did the American acquire this gold?"
“I-I made it,” the jeweler sobbed, tears running down his cheeks. “I made extra bars and sold them.”
What a pathetic old man. “How many did he buy?” Nimol knew there were at least sixteen bars. That is how he knew Deng was lying earlier.
“He . . . he picked up sixteen bars before. I have another eight he’s supposed to pick up. I finished them yesterday.”
“Did you sell these to anyone else?”
“No . . . he was the only one. I-I was only trying to make extra money.”
The door to the office opened, and Nimol turned. A beautiful woman stood in the doorway with a shocked look on her face.
“Deng,” she said cautiously. “A tour bus has arrived. We need your help at the counter.” She paused as she looked at Nimol, then shut the door.
Nimol closed the knife and slid it back in his pocket. He jerked Deng out of the chair and shoved him toward the door.
“Go out there,” Nimol said. “We’re not finished.”
Deng wiped his eyes with a towel and walked through the door. Nimol fished out his cell phone and dialed.
“Yes,” the voice said.
“Monsieur Andrepont, Suttirat says he made an extra twenty-four gold bars. Total. The last eight were made yesterday and are ready for pickup.”
There was silence over the phone for several seconds before Maison Andrepont spoke again.
“Kill him.”
19
October 13, 2003
Sterling MacIntosh adjusted the sleeves on his coat, his diamond-studded cufflinks glittering against his heavily starched shirt. Not a tall man, he stood out prominently in the hotel lobby regardless. His silver-colored hair and seersucker suit would have made most men look almost cartoonish in the posh lobby of the Landmark Hotel, but he carried himself like he owned the place. In fact, there was a time when he did.
A swarm of attendants had raced out to his limousine to retrieve his bags. Three bodyguards stood around the limo, monitoring the progress. Sterling watched the process with the eye of an organizer, a man who gets things done. David, his executive assistant, returned from the front desk and approached with a grin. Sterling, however, gave him a slight frown, gesturing for the young man to re-button his coat and hide the Glock 22 attached to his waist.
“Sorry, sir,” David said. “Didn’t realize this was open.”
Sterling grinned. “Just remember to be careful. Just because we breezed through customs without any issues, doesn’t mean we are immune here. We are subject to Thai law just like anyone else. If you are found with weapons on your possession, it would take a while for me to contact the appropriate people to . . . ‘recover’ you.”
“Yes, Mister MacIntosh,” he said. “It won’t happen again.”
Sterling walked to the elevator, his small entourage following him. He inserted the key to the penthouse, and after the thick mahogany doors opened, he stepped inside the suite. Sterling nodded approvingly, and the bellmen moved his luggage to the bedroom. His assistant coordinated which bags went where.
Walking behind the bar, he smiled. Pre-stocked. That is good business. Sterling pulled out a glass, threw in some ice cubes, and poured himself a Macallan 55-Year-Old Whisky. He removed his coat and hung it over the back of a barstool, where one of the bellmen immediately took the coat to hang in the closet. By the time he sat on the couch, his assistant had returned to the living room while the bellman opened the curtains of the vast penthouse.
“David, take care of them, please,” Sterling said.
“Yes, Mister MacIntosh.”
The three bellmen finished the final touches of preparing the room, then gathered at the door. David tipped each handsomely. The three nodded happily and turned to thank Sterling, who simply waved.
When the bellmen left, David went into his room and returned with a thick briefcase. He opened it on the dining table and removed a laptop computer, a wireless router, and some extra cables. Within a few minutes, he had established a secure wireless system in the penthouse suite and placed the laptop next to Sterling, who had been reviewing his planner on his Blackberry.
“You’re all set up, Mister MacIntosh.”
“Thank you, David. Why don’t you fix yourself a drink and relax? We’ve had a long day.”
“Thank you, sir. Shall I have the restaurant deliver lunch?”
“No, I think I’m fine. Unless you want something. I think I’ll just take a bath and get my body clock adjusted. Do me a favor and check on the rest of the boys.”
"I understand, sir," David said. He moved to the doorway and picked up the phone, spoke briefly, then hung up, and retreated to his room. Sterling set his drink on the side table and grabbed his laptop. After typing in his password, he quickly accessed the Internet.
He spent the next five minutes scanning his stock portfolio and sifting through email he received over the last twelve hours. His jaw tightened when he did not see the email he expected to see.
A knock on the door got his attention, and David rushed back into the room, glancing at him as he moved to the door.
“Anything yet, sir?” he said.
“No.” Sterling grimaced and closed the laptop. He stood and returned to the bar to refresh his drink.
David opened the door, letting two Thai women enter the penthouse. They both nodded politely with bright smiles, their eyes dancing around the room. Both wore elegant cocktail dresses with high heels, and they carried large, matching handbags. They dressed like they could have been businesswomen.
“Sa wat dee khrap,” they said, placing their hands together. “Welcome, Mister MacIntosh,” the shorter one said.
Sterling's eyebrows rose, and he smiled. They were both beautiful. He liked being back in Bangkok; he'd forgotten how much he enjoyed this place.
“I’ll be with you in a moment, ladies,” he said. “I need to make a phone call.”
David motioned the two women toward Sterling’s room, and they scurried inside. He heard the water turn on, and he loosened his tie.
“Will there be
anything else, sir?” David said.
“No, I don’t think so. After my bath, I’ll catch a quick nap. Let’s plan on dinner at eight.”
“Very well, sir. Let me know if you need me for anything.”
“Thank you, David,” Sterling said, sure he could handle things from here.
David nodded and disappeared into his room. Sterling took another sip of his drink and moved to the other end of the bar to pick up the phone. He dialed the hotel operator, who answered on the first ring.
“Hello, Mister MacIntosh. How may I assist you?” the operator said.
“Can you connect me with Jason Conrad, please?”
Preeda liked the big van. Closing the door behind her, she peered through the passenger-side window toward the entrance to her family’s store. Upfront, she smiled at the Buddha shrine and decorations that covered the dashboard and hung from the mirror. She was on a mission, but her treasure was nowhere in sight.
Bouncing back to the first row of seats behind the driver, she searched for more candy. Laughing, she jumped up and down on the seat, then bounced over the back of the seat into the next row. Again, she hopped on the seat, laughing and singing. Preeda hoped one day she could sing as beautifully as her mother. Preeda loved her mother very much.
Climbing over to the next row, she found it, like the other two rows, empty. Eating the candy had woken her hunger, and her stomach growled. Preeda bounced less and looked harder. She scrambled around the van, checking every place she thought a piece of candy could hide, she still found no more candy. It made her sad, but she liked the vast interior of the van. Her father's car had only a front and back seat, but this had four rows. She crawled over the top from the front to the back.
Then she noticed the space underneath the seats. Preeda moved to the front and proceeded to crawl under one row and over the top of the next. This was a virtual playground! And it was clean. Much cleaner than the dirty streets and back yard where she often played.
After she made it entirely through the van, she moved back to the front. It was fun—now she needed to do it faster. The thought of candy and hunger disappeared in her excitement.
Jason and Chaow stood behind a couple of Marines waiting to be helped. The store was busy, but when the tour bus passengers entered, it was packed. Jason saw Chaow’s face grimace while the noisy group entrenched themselves in the shop, yelling back and forth at each other as if they were the only ones there.
“Captain Jason, I think I wait in van,” Chaow said.
“I understand,” Jason said. “It’s getting kind of crazy in here. I should only be a few more minutes.”
“You can be okay without me?”
Jason pulled the receipt from his pocket and showed Chaow.
“I think so. This shouldn’t be too difficult.”
Chaow nodded and squeezed his way through the crowd. Jason stuffed the receipt back into his pocket and turned back to the counter. The old woman rang up the Marines’ order, and the two jarheads turned to leave. He wedged his way to the counter, and she walked off to a different part of the store. Jason was dumbfounded. He stood at the counter, frustrated, while other customers around him were helped. Normally, he had a good temperament, but he was starting to get pissed off.
His eyes shifted to the assorted items on display under the glass counter, and he didn’t notice the woman until she spoke.
“Can I help you?”
Jason glanced up, and his eyes locked on the delicate, smooth hands resting in front of the slender, yet rounded hips. The tight skirt fit her nicely, and the fitted blouse tucked in neatly at her waist. His eyes continued to track up past the slim waistline toward her breasts. He tried not to linger there, but it was apparent she had an extra button open, exposing her cleavage. Maybe it was a sales technique. If it was, he appreciated it, though it wouldn't work on him. At least not today.
At last, he saw her face. The beautiful woman smiled at him. Her bangs hid the left side of her face, and she started to brush them back, then stopped herself.
She was not his type, but Jason found himself slightly captivated by her beauty. He caught himself before it became awkward. He fished the paper out of his pocket.
“Yes, I’m here to pick this up,” he said, handing her Ben’s receipt.
The woman looked at the wrinkled paper. Her eyes shot up to Jason, then again back to the paper, harder. Her eyes grew wide, and her mouth fell open.
20
October 13, 2003
The noise in the jewelry store grew louder and louder. The tourists made their presence known, and Jason regretted his decision to help Ben. His goodwill gesture rapidly became a pain in the ass. He dismissed the thought as quickly as it came to him. Ben was in trouble and was convinced these guys would kill him if he didn’t deliver the gold. Picking it up was the least he could do. Jason questioned his selfishness and focused on Ben’s problems, not his own.
The beautiful woman behind the counter glanced at Jason, then back to the receipt. Her hesitation and wide-eyed stare worried him
Jason peered into her deep brown eyes. “Is there a problem?”
Her hands shook, and her breathing became heavy. What the hell was going on?
“No, no, Mister Harris,” she said. “Just one moment, sir.” She mistook him for Ben. Did it matter? He had a receipt.
She disappeared into the back of the store. Glancing at his watch, Jason wondered if he’d make it back in time for his meeting with the mission commander.
Lawan entered the inventory room and locked the door behind her. She went to the safe and pulled a canvas backpack from the shelf. Reaching inside, she counted out nine gold bars, each of them was 100 grams. The gold bars were a little bigger than two inches long, one inch wide, and approximately an eighth of an inch thick. The front of the bar had raised lettering reading: 99.99% PURE GOLD 100 GRAMS. The logo for the bank sat above the raised lettering. Her hands shook as she set the bars inside the metal box. She slid the box in the backpack, secured the strap, and returned to the counter.
She shifted back and forth, searching for Deng. He would be happy that Harris came to pick up the last of his gold. Deng had been stressed over the transaction, which only made him agitated and angrier. This caused him to yell at their daughter more than usual. Deng was only trying to make a living for her and Preeda. Lawan didn’t consider the extra work and stress worth it. She felt relieved this transaction was over.
Deng stood at the front of the store in the shadow of Nimol, his right cheek red and slightly swollen. That man was the primary source of Deng's stress. She regretted the day Maison Andrepont came into the shop and made Deng a lucrative offer. Aside from making the family financially secure, it only brought grief and aggravation. Nimol, Maison's hired muscle, tormented Deng regularly. She didn't like the way he stared at her either, but Nimol would never touch her.
Lawan found the American still at the counter. She set the canvas bag in front of him, her eyes locked on his. They were kind eyes, she thought. He seemed polite, not like Deng had described.
“Open the bag but don’t remove anything. The bars are in the metal box. Count them in the box. You should have nine, just like the receipt says.”
“Why?”
“Very dangerous in this part of town to show what you are taking out of the store.”
He nodded and checked the contents of the bag. There were nine small bars of gold. He could make out the raised lettering that said 100 GRAMS. Ben had told him to look for that. It was about 3.2 ounces per bar. With the current value of gold around three-hundred seventy-four dollars per Troy ounce, nine bars equaled over ten-thousand dollars. Ben was willing to throw in the extra as a sign of good faith. Jason didn’t think the extra would help.
“It looks like it’s all here,” he said. “Thank you.”
“It was nice doing business with you, Mister Harris.”
He smiled, turned, and wedged his way through the crowd. She ignored the requests of other customers, i
nstead motioning for Deng to come her way.
Deng managed to wring himself free of Nimol’s grasp and come to his wife.
“What is it?” Deng said when he approached. Nimol followed on the other side of the counter, pushing customers from his path.
“Ben Harris came to pick up his gold.” She jutted her head toward the American.
“Ben Harris?” Deng said. “Where?”
Lawan pointed at the tall American weaving his way through the crowd. Nimol also looked at the man Lawan identified. Deng turned back at her. His eyebrows drooped, and his lower lip trembled. Perspiration gathered on his forehead and dripped down the side of his face.
“Is that the man you gave the gold to?”
The question confused her. Lawan had a bad feeling about this. "Yes." She rechecked the name and showed Deng the receipt. "He gave me this."
Deng took the receipt and glanced back at the man heading for the door, a scowl forming on his face.
“That is Ben Harris,” Nimol said. “Does he have the gold?”
“Yes,” Deng replied. “But—”
Deng stopped talking, and Lawan’s eyes fixed on the gun Nimol pulled from his waist. Lawan screamed, and Nimol fired three rounds at Deng. She continued screaming as Deng’s head exploded, blood splattering over her face and blouse.
Then all hell broke loose.
21
October 13, 2003
When Jason reached the door, the echo of gunshots roared through the store. He was very familiar with the sound. It was a gun fired in anger, and that was not good.
He paused, turning to look behind him. A tidal wave of customers rushed toward the exit. Jason bolted from the store and headed for the van. He was not sure what happened inside, but there was no way to get back inside. There was nothing he could do to a gunman without a weapon of his own. Was it a robbery? A terrorist killing Americans? Someone who discovered he had gold?
The Quiet Professional Page 10