Jason hated himself for leaving, but he had his priorities. He reached the van and glanced back at the store. People poured out of the front door, several falling, trampled by the stampeding crowd.
“Captain Jason,” Chaow said. “What—”
“Go,” Jason barked. “Go! Go! We’ve got to get out of here!”
Chaow cranked the motor of the van and backed out of the parking spot, nearly striking two customers fleeing the store for their lives. People on the street now joined the fray, racing away from the store in full retreat. Chaow cut the wheel hard to the left, almost sideswiping a mother and her two children. Jason stared back at the woman to make sure she was safe, her arms instinctively wrapped around the boy and girl to protect them.
Less than twenty meters behind them, a man exited Suttirat’s with a gun. The gunman pointed his gun at the van as Chaow threw it in gear. They lunged forward when the first bullet punctured the side door of the van. Chaow stepped on the gas; several more bullets hit the back of the van, shattering the rear window.
“Chaow, get us the hell out of here!”
Nimol fired five shots at the van speeding out of the parking lot, but the vehicle kept going. His head swiveled as he searched for Ponleak. A moment later, Ponleak pulled the car around from the other side of the tour bus, a gun grasped in one of his hands on the steering wheel. Nimol climbed in the passenger side of the car. “Ben Harris is in that van. He’s got the last of the gold.”
Ponleak slammed the accelerator, and the car lurched onto the road, barely missing a small Thai man pedaling a bicycle cart with a young couple in the back.
“Are you sure?” Ponleak said.
“Yes, I saw him. Suttirat’s wife said he picked up the gold.”
“And Suttirat?”
“Dead. As he should be for double-crossing Andrepont. Once we pick up the rest of the gold, we kill Ben Harris, too.”
Zigzagging through the traffic, Ponleak slowly closed the gap on the van, now about thirty meters away. Nimol rolled his window down and stuck his pistol out. He squeezed off two shots before the slide on his pistol locked back, indicating his magazine was empty. He brought the pistol back inside, ejected the magazine, and deftly inserted another. Releasing the slide forward, he searched for his target, only to find the van immersed in the traffic.
“The streets are too crowded. Stay close.”
“Don’t worry,” Ponleak said. “We’ll get him.”
Nimol glanced at his partner and smiled. It had better be soon, gunshots didn't happen every day in Bangkok. It wouldn't be long before the police would be on their tail.
Ponleak slowly gained on the van, knocking a bicycle taxi out of his way, and using his car to threaten pedestrians who tried to cross in front of him. Nimol rubbed his chin and occasionally checked back on his men in the other car. His concern was losing the van in the throng of vehicles that inhabited downtown Bangkok, but if those cars moved, perhaps they could corner Ben Harris and kill him that way. It wouldn’t be easy in this traffic, but it was their best chance for a quick execution.
Just then, his phone rang, and he sighed when he recognized the number.
“Yes, Monsieur Andrepont.”
“What is your status?”
“Suttirat is dead. Ben Harris got away with the gold. We’re following him now.”
“Damn it! How could you be so foolish? Don’t let that man escape with that gold. We can’t let that on the streets.”
“We have him in sight, Monsieur Andrepont. We will apprehend him soon.”
“You’d better. Do you have more men with you?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Tell two of your men to return to the jewelry store and retrieve Suttirat’s wife and daughter.”
Nimol pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it as if that was crazy talk. Ponleak gawked at him, and Nimol returned the phone to his ear.
“Nimol, did you hear me? Bring Suttirat’s wife and daughter to the mansion.”
“I heard you, Monsieur Andrepont. I don’t understand—”
“It’s not your job to understand, Nimol. Just bring them back here.”
“Yes, sir.”
Maison hung up the phone from the other end, and Nimol shook his head.
“What is it?” Ponleak said.
“He wants the wife and daughter brought to Cambodia.”
“Really? Why?”
“I don’t know. Just catch this farong so we can kill him. I’m going to do it personally.”
Nimol then made a phone call to his men in the car farthest away from Ben Harris and told them to return to the jewelry store. Their instructions: once the police left the area, grab the wife and daughter and take them to Monsieur Andrepont.
Jason’s survivalist instincts kicked in, and he found himself keenly aware of his situation. “Step on it!” he said, but Chaow looked confused. Jason realized, in his excitement, he spoke to him like an American and didn’t make sense to Chaow.
“He’s following us,” Jason said. “We need to get away.”
"I understand, Captain Jason," Chaow said. He pressed the accelerator to the floor, and the van surged forward. Traffic gradually built up, and Jason wasn't sure how that would affect their escape. Evasive maneuvers were easier in the sky than the crowded streets of Bangkok. Fortunately, the pursuit was not any better.
“Do we want to get in all this traffic?”
“Not know,” Chaow said. “It will slow him down but slow us down, too. He might climb out of car and walk over and shoot us.”
“Maybe we can find another way.”
The two men’s eyes searched the street in front of them for a route off the main road. Jason periodically turned and looked behind them at their pursuers. He spotted what he thought was a second car—same make and model, with two men in the same style suit in the front seats.
"At least two cars are trailing us."
Chaow shook his head. “You make much fun, Captain Jason,” he said, but there was no smile to back his words
“Me? What did I do? This isn’t my fault.”
“Oh, yeah? They have a hundred customers in the store, and the bad man want to shoot at you.”
Jason bit his lower lip. Chaow was right. One of the last things the good-looking gal said at the counter was this was a bad part of Bangkok and not to let anybody know what he had in the bag. Somebody must have found out.
They rode without talking for a few minutes when the silence in the van was broken by a loud wailing.
22
October 13, 2003
Jason and Chaow looked at each other as if the other were responsible for the unusual sound. Both turned their heads toward the rear of the van, but Chaow quickly turned his head back to the road, swerved to miss a teenager on a moped a second before he hit him. Jason continued scanning the back, and the wailing came again when Chaow swerved once again, only sharper.
Moments later and without warning, a small girl popped into view two rows back.
“Holy shit,” Jason said.
"What is it, Captain Jason?" Chaow said glancing in the mirror, his face contorted from anger to concern. He began speaking to the girl in Thai.
“Chaow, did you bring a little girl to work today?” Jason asked.
The little girl would occasionally say something, but Chaow would cut her off each time, bringing more tears from her.
“No, Captain Jason. She not with me.” Chaow looked in the rearview mirror at the little girl who had tears streaming down both cheeks. Jason recognized the little girl he had given candy outside the shop. She had snuck into the van looking for more.
The little girl wiped the tears from her cheeks and returned her grip to the seat in front of her.
Chaow spoke to her in Thai.
She said nothing. Her stares were deliberate. She stared at Chaow when he asked a question, then she would look back at Jason.
Finally, she started talking. Jason suspected she couldn’t escape Chaow�
�s questions.
Chaow glanced into the mirror and spoke again. She pointed backward.
The little girl pouted but nodded slowly when her eyes met his. Chaow spoke again. Harsher this time. Her pouty face brought more tears and then a full-fledged cry. They argued back and forth.
Chaow’s eyebrows rose, and a slight grin formed on his face. “She’s a good girl. Her parents own jewelry store,” he said.
Lawan had screamed so much her throat was raw. Tears poured down her face as she studied her surroundings, her dead husband cradled in her arms. The customers left at once, unaware they fled along with the gunman. Why did this happen? Why had Nimol shot Deng? In a store full of eyewitnesses, no less. None of it made sense.
She had tried to save Deng once the shock wore off, but she realized he was beyond help. The right side of his head had a hole in it just above the eye that was much larger coming out the back. That and the two holes in his chest created pools of blood on the floor. She had knelt by him, searching for a way to help, tears streaming from her eyes. Deng laid motionless; his eyes looked lifelessly toward the ceiling. Lawan had put her fingers on his neck, feeling for some sign of a pulse. Nothing.
She had leaned over and moved her ear toward his mouth, attempting to hear him breathe. Nothing, as far as she could tell. She grabbed Deng by the shoulders and shook him gently. Her blood-covered hands stained the only clean portion of his shirt.
“Deng! Deng! Wake up!”
Deng’s lifeless body lay still on the floor. Lawan had pulled him up to hold him and sobbed heavily, gasping for air as she did so. She wasn’t sure why. Perhaps it was fear. Fear of uncertainty. Her arrangement with Deng may not have been ideal, but it worked. He was almost her parents’ age and had taken her to be his wife after she gave birth. She was never in love—she needed security for her and Preeda.
Preeda.
Oh, no. Lawan laid Deng’s body down, stood, and raced through the back door, leaving the store open for anyone to come and help themselves. She didn’t give that a second thought. All she could focus on was Preeda when she entered the narrow hallway that led to their home.
“Preeda! Preeda!”
There was no answer. Lawan moved from room to room in the small house, calling for her daughter, each call more desperate than the last. She searched every room twice and saw no sign of her daughter. Her moves were calculating, like a mother tiger looking for her cubs.
She rushed out the back door. “Preeda!” she called. In the brightness of the midmorning sun, she noticed, for the first time, the blood soaking through her blouse and skirt. More tears raced down her face, and she rubbed her hands on her skirt. Her mind reeled with the possibilities of where her daughter might be.
Running outside, she stopped in the front parking lot. Her eyes darted back and forth, searching for Preeda. She never wandered this far from the store. Never. This is why Lawan wanted her in school. This way, she would be at the monastery instead of wandering around the streets.
Her lower lip trembled; thoughts of a sexually depraved tourist finding his target of opportunity flooded her mind. She could not erase the image from her mind.
Until it hit her.
Lawan collapsed to her knees in the gravel-filled lot, her chin falling to her chest before she tilted her head upward and screamed.
Nimol must have taken her daughter.
“Can’t we take her back to the jewelry store?” Jason said.
“You want me to turn around?” Chaow said.
“No, but we can’t keep her in the van. It’s too dangerous.”
“I stop and let you and her out. They kill you and steal you gold. I stop and get out with her, you get lost. They catch you, kill you, and steal you gold. You not have much choice, Captain Jason. She stay with us for now.”
Jason nodded. Chaow was right. As much time as he'd spent in Thailand, he did not have enough experience to overcome any social barriers. He was an American. He would be lost here without Chaow. He wished he had a gun but was well-aware of the consequences of using a gun in Thailand. If you were caught.
Whoever was chasing him must know what he was doing. A gunfight in Thailand was rare. That's when they called the "real" cops. Those guys weren't like the local cops. Gunshots in Bangkok brought out the SWAT-type guys. Not many of them running around, but they meant business.
The little girl still had streams rolling down her cheeks. She would answer Chaow’s questions in Thai, looking at him in the mirror, then turn back to Jason. Jason would give her a big smile each time, but it didn’t seem to help. The child was frightened.
Jason reached into his pocket and fished out another Jolly Rancher, offering the little girl the candy. For the first time, a smile formed on her face. She leaped over the back of the seats in front of her, landing on the row behind Chaow and Jason.
“See,” Jason said. “You need to learn how to talk to women.”
Chaow shook his head. “Women trouble. She want diamonds next.”
“Ask her what her name is,” Jason said.
Chaow did.
Her eyes fluttered, then she screamed.
Chaow swerved the van to the left when one of the cars pursuing them had pulled close and opened fire. The car dodged to the left, and the guy on the passenger's side ducked back inside. Moments later, he hung out the window with an Uzi. Jason's first thought was this was about more than stealing gold. He just didn't have time to figure out the situation. They needed to escape from these guys, return this little girl back to her parents, and deliver the gold to Ben. In that order.
The car moved closer, and the man hanging out the window fired. It sounded like an Uzi, too, and Jason’s eyes grew wide. The left side of the van exploded in shards of glass. Blood splattered across the inside of the van’s windshield. Chaow slumped forward against the steering wheel, no longer in control of the van.
23
October 13, 2003
Chaow’s body fell forward and to the left, careening the van toward the car assaulting them. The two vehicles impacted fenders, and the car chasing them spun violently to the left, slamming into an oncoming vehicle. Jason grabbed the steering wheel, jerking the van back to the right. They narrowly missed another car as Jason struggled to steer with Chaow’s body resting against the wheel.
They coasted for another fifty yards or so before striking the rear of a car slowing in front of them. It wasn’t a violent collision, just abrupt. Jason lunged forward against his seatbelt, but the impact in the seat behind him jolted him.
The little girl was not buckled in.
The van came to a stop, grinding into the car. Jason unbuckled, reached over, and put the van in park. He searched behind them for signs of the men chasing them. He gave Chaow one last look, but he was dead. Two gaping holes in the side of his face meant he never had a chance.
Jason jumped out of the van and opened the back door. The little girl lay motionless on the floor. Her chest heaved up and down—she was breathing. He reached out his hand and touched her head. The little girl stirred, and her eyes fluttered. She appeared to be okay, the impact of the collision dulled by the front seats of the van. She scooted close to him and gradually stood, tears rolling down her face.
Suddenly, she leaped toward him, wrapping her arms around his neck. Jason held on to her and scanned behind him. The shooter's wrecked car rested some fifty yards behind them. The two men emerged from the vehicle, staggering at first, and after taking a moment to assess their conditions, they spotted the van.
Both carried guns in their hands.
Lawan wandered back into the shop through the front door. Empty. Everyone left, and none of their employees returned. Were they aware Deng was shot? Did they think she was shot, too? Did they know Preeda was missing? The more she thought about it, the angrier she became. Preeda must feel abandoned. Again. Only this time, the one person she thought would always be there—her mother—was not. Preeda was missing.
No, not missing. Kidnapped.
The police officers looked at her strangely as she said nothing. This was obviously an area they were unaccustomed to working. Eventually, another officer walked over and handed her a bottle of water he pulled from the store's refrigerator. Another had approached with a damp cloth and carefully wiped the blood from her face. They continued to ask questions. She was numb. She had no answers. She only had one question--
“Where is Preeda?”
Jason held onto the little girl as the two gunmen staggered toward him. The street filled with people after the two cars crashed, but those same people rapidly moved out of the way when the men brandished firearms.
He didn’t know who those guys were, or why they were after him, but he knew he couldn’t stay here. He didn’t have time to mourn his friend. That would have to come later. Pulling the girl to him, he lifted her up. The driver of the car Chaow hit yelled furiously at Jason in Thai. He had no idea what the man said, but with the two men getting dangerously close, he was not going to ask him to repeat it.
Jason set the little girl on the asphalt, but she didn’t want to let go. She gripped his shirt sleeve, and he opened the passenger door. The driver yelling at him moved around to Chaow’s side, but his angry shouts turned to screams of terror when he opened the door and saw the blood-covered seats and the disfigured corpse.
The Quiet Professional Page 11