The Quiet Professional
Page 12
Jason did not give the angry driver a second thought. He checked the two men staggering slowly in his direction. In the chaotic mass of people, one of the men raised a pistol and fired two shots. The crowd dispersed quickly.
Several more shots rang out, and the man who had yelled at them fell. Jason glanced through the thinning crowd; the two men still approached him; guns pointed in his direction. He grabbed the canvas backpack with the gold from the floorboard of the front seat. Lifting the little girl, he carried her into the crowd along the sidewalk, moving quickly and hoping a nearby alley would hide him from more gunfire.
24
October 13, 2003
It had been over an hour since Nimol killed Deng and took Preeda. Lawan couldn’t think of anything else. Where could they have taken her little girl? She begged the police to search for her, but she knew it was in vain. These men offered no help to find Preeda. They were the traffic cops, the ones who dealt with tourists and small businesses.
A physician who lived down the street came by after seeing the commotion at her shop. Lawan thanked the police for letting him through. He gave her some pills. She forgot the name, but they made her relax. Her focus remained on Preeda, but the pills calmed her nerves. The doctor said she was in shock. Lawan was not in shock, she was angry and scared. Her daughter was missing, and no one seemed interested in finding her.
The doctor stayed until the coroner loaded Deng’s body into the ambulance. The police took pictures and confiscated the videotapes from the jewelry store’s surveillance system. They had started to leave when a dark, unmarked car pulled up. Two official-looking Thai men in their mid-thirties stepped out.
The men showed the police their identification. One of them handed a policeman a thick envelope. The policeman, in turn, gave the tapes to him. The second man talked to another officer, who pointed at Lawan. Perhaps, she thought, these detectives are here to help find her daughter. The two men approached her, the one holding the tapes standing slightly behind the other.
“Lawan Suttirat?” the one with long hair said. He appeared to be in charge.
“Yes,” she replied; her voice surprisingly calm. The doctor’s pills had clearly taken effect. She was relaxed yet lucid. Focus would have been difficult if it was on anything other than her daughter. Her sole purpose in life centered on Preeda, and she wasn’t ready to lose her yet.
“I’m Detective Yat, and this is Detective Sang. We are investigating the shooting. Would you be willing to come to the station to look at some pictures?”
“Yes,” she said, her eyes not focused on the men. Whatever it took to find Preeda.
“Will you get your daughter and come with us?”
She paused. Her eyes drooped, and the corners of her mouth sagged.
“You’re not here to find her?”
“No, we’re here to investigate the shooting. Do you mean she’s not here?”
“She—she’s missing. Ever since the shooting . . . I haven’t been able to find her. Can you help me?” Her voice had lost that soothing edge. Why focus on a murder when they needed to find her daughter?
Detective Yat leaned forward and whispered in longhair’s ear. Longhair nodded as he spoke, his face expressionless. Lawan couldn’t hear what they said but felt they would help. For the first time since Nimol shot Deng, she felt some sense of relief.
“Come with us,” Detective Yat said. “We’ll find your daughter from the station.” He stepped toward her and guided her out the front door of the jewelry store to their car. The other detective—she couldn’t remember his name—climbed behind the wheel as Detective Yat helped her into the back seat. He shut the door behind her and climbed in the front seat.
Lawan’s calm returned. Their action relaxed her. I’ll have Preeda back soon, she thought and leaned her head against the window. She noticed the thickness of the glass between the front and back seat, the other windows, the windshield. Bulletproof? What kind of car needed bulletproof glass? They were detectives—this was not unusual, was it? Certainly, honest detectives needed added protection in the worst part of Bangkok. While gazing through the glass, Lawan noticed the car made a right turn away from the police station. She knocked on the window between the front and back seats.
They ignored her. Again, she knocked. Nothing. Lawan pounded on the glass with an open palm.
“Hey!” she screamed. “You’re going the wrong way!”
Detective Yat grinned at her; her mind struggled to work quicker, fighting the haze created by the doctor’s pills.
If the police called the detectives and filled them in on what took place, wouldn’t they know her daughter was missing?
Damn!
She reached for the door handle, only to find it gone. On both sides. She was trapped. Lawan lunged forward, frantically pounding on the glass. Her delicate fists beat against the bulletproof surface as she screamed and sobbed heavily. Detective Yat turned and laughed.
Jason and Preeda came out of an alley after moving non-stop for more than an hour, alternately hiding in a crowd or ducking behind something to keep them out of sight. After every move, he looked for a back alley or dark street to gain further separation between him and the enemy. Who the enemy exactly was, he did not know, but the more they kept moving, the better off they’d be.
The little girl clung to him anxiously. His adrenaline faded, and he realized how heavy she was, not to mention the canvas bag of gold. He considered dumping the gold more than once. It didn’t belong to him, and he didn’t ask for any of this shit. Whoever found it, could keep it. He figured it would do them more good than him. But then, that wouldn’t help Ben at all.
And he owed Ben from their ROTC days. Jason, then underage, got drunk and ran his car into a ditch near their apartment. He stumbled home, and when the police arrived to question Jason, Ben told them he had wrecked the car. A DUI would have cost Jason his pilot training slot.
If the guys chasing him stole Ben's gold, the casino owner would have Ben killed. He could easily do it in Bangkok, particularly while they were in the hotel. There was no security in that place. Not the type of protection necessary to stop a premeditated murder. No, he needed to hang onto the gold and deliver it to Ben.
His first objective was to return this little girl to her parents. Jason moved along the crowded sidewalk until they reached a narrow street, one too narrow for a car. They ducked into the street, and after walking about a hundred feet, Jason stopped and set the canvas bag loaded with gold on the ground. Jason shifted his body to put down the girl, and she squeezed him harder.
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he said softly. “You’re gonna be okay.”
The little girl, however, didn’t let go. Jason twisted his waist and gently patted her on the back.
“It’s gonna be alright.” She stared in his eyes and eased her grip, eventually leaning back and smiling at him. Her tongue poked through the gap where her two front teeth should be.
Jason knelt and slid her off his hip. Still, she refused to let go and took hold of his hand. He didn't pull away. No reason to scare the little girl—she'd been through enough already. But he could not communicate with her. With anyone for that matter. His friend, his interpreter, his escort, lay dead in his van. Jason had no idea where he was or how he was going to return to the hotel.
Of course, he had credit cards and a small amount of cash, both in dollars and baht. Perhaps the international language of money and profit would help them find their way home. But first, he needed to figure out this girl’s name.
Kneeling in front of her, he summoned his best Tarzan imitation. He jabbed his thumb at himself. “Jay-son.” Her eyebrows rose.
He repeated the gesture. “Jay-son. Jaay-sooon.”
She smiled.
Pulling his shoulders back, he stuck his thumb in his chest and kept it there. “Jason,” he said confidently.
She smiled and pointed at him. “Ja-son,” she said, her eyes searching his face for approval.
H
e smiled, nodded, and said, “Jason.” His thumb poking his chest. Then his index finger pointed at her. Her face went blank.
His thumb aimed at himself again, he said, “Jason.” Then he motioned toward her.
“Preeda,” she said, drawing her name out slowly like a shy child.
Jason pointed at her. “Preeda.” She nodded happily. “Jason. Preeda. Well, that’s progress.” Something had finally gone his way. Lord Greystoke would be proud.
The hard part was over—at least he knew whom he was dealing with. Now, he needed to find someone who could speak English. He needed to get out of here. He emptied his pockets to take an inventory of his possessions. Two hundred twenty dollars, American, in two one-hundred-dollar bills and a twenty. Also, 450 baht, in various bills. The baht, at around forty-to-one versus the US dollar, wouldn’t go far. The US dollars would, but he needed smaller denominations.
Stuffing the money back in his pocket, he gave Preeda another Jolly Rancher. He only had three left. She gladly unwrapped it and popped it in her mouth. Jason watched her smile as she sucked on the sweet cherry-flavored candy and realized they would both need real sustenance soon. Water was first, then food. Jason surveyed his surroundings. They were far from what he would recognize, the commercial section of Bangkok. This did not appear to be the friendliest part of town. Gone were the masses of people of different nationalities, numerous shops, fancy advertisements, and shop signs. It was a drab and desolate location. The few people he saw on the streets eyeballed him suspiciously. He reached down and rubbed the top of Preeda’s head. The small gesture to comfort her was met with a stern look from the five-year-old. Culture differences. The two continued down the dark street, unsure where it went and hoping it didn’t lead back to the men chasing them.
It didn't. At the intersection, he checked his six. The two men who shot at them earlier were behind them, at the far end of the street where they entered. Jason grabbed Preeda's hand and pulled her toward the right. Together, they raced down the narrow street, desperately searching for an escape route.
Preeda stumbled, scraping her knee. Jason picked her up without breaking his stride but twisting to scoop her up, put a terrible strain on his body, and he winced as the back muscles on his right side constricted. He looked ahead, unable to turn and check behind them. Ten feet in front of him, the street had an alley on each side. He had to make a fast choice if he wanted to disappear.
Jason took a left into the alley and paused at the end. The pair had yet to reach the perpendicular street. He set Preeda back on her feet, and they scurried deep into the alley, following the meandering path that turned right and back left again.
Out of breath, Jason turned the corner and stopped.
Damn.
The two glanced at each other, then behind them, and back to the solid wall in front of them. They had maneuvered into a dead end.
25
October 13, 2003
Lieutenant Colonel McClendon hung up the phone and dialed the hotel operator. His abruptness startled the calm woman on the other end.
"Get me Jason Conrad's room," he said. Kindness and pleasantries were an afterthought. He had work to do. Fast. JUSMAGTHAI had just phoned him with news of a shooting in the north part of town, a little over an hour ago at a place called Suttirat's. He wasn't familiar with the store; most of the 353rd personnel did business with Venus. But he needed to contact all his people. Although he had tried several times, Jason Conrad, the last name on his crew list, could not be found.
The phone to Jason's room rang continuously. They were supposed to have a meeting in twenty minutes, but he wanted all personnel accounted for before that. He slammed down the phone and stood. Who the hell knew the guys on Conrad's crew? The first shirt didn't know any of those guys—he was from the 1st SOS. When he realized his options, it pissed him off.
McClendon picked up the phone and dialed. Someone answered on the third ring.
“Hello,” the voice said.
“Captain Harris, this is Lieutenant Colonel McClendon.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m trying to find Jason Conrad, have you seen him?”
There was a pause. McClendon was no fool—he knew what that meant. He wondered what kind of bullshit story Ben was creating.
"No, sir. I mean, yes, sir. I mean, I saw him yesterday at the pool. We spoke briefly, as I'm not supposed to have any contact with him. I mean, that's what he told me. That was the extent of our conversation."
Not the answer he expected. Hmmm.
“Do you know anyone on his crew?”
“Most of them, yes, sir.”
“Okay, find the first one you can and send them to my suite ASAP,” he said. “Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir. When do they need to be there by?”
“Yesterday, dammit. What the hell do you think ASAP means?”
“I’m on it, sir,” Ben said.
McClendon hung up and moved over to the whiteboard, propped up on his dining-room table. He had a list of all the personnel deployed under his command. Everyone had been accounted for except for Jason Conrad. The attack concerned McClendon. If Jason Conrad's disappearance were a terrorist attack on US military personnel, this would be the second one in a week in Bangkok. The group commander back at Kadena questioned his move to the Landmark Hotel following the Ben Harris attack. He thought the hotel move might be an overreaction. What the hell does he know? He’s not here. If this was a second attack, McClendon might very well have been right. This mission might be compromised.
Jason searched for a way out. Going back the way they came meant getting caught. He left Preeda standing by the wall as he checked each of the three doors around the alley. They were all locked. He glanced around at the walls making up the alley. One side consisted of a series of two-story homes, but on the other side stood an eight-foot wall. Unfortunately, the wall contained the discount home-security system that many families in Thailand use—broken glass bottles cemented along the top. Scaling the wall would be painful and bloody.
Unless . . .
Jason moved farther along the alley, his eyes searching. He found a large piece of cardboard. No, that wouldn’t do. Then he smiled. He thought he’d seen this when they entered the alley. Grabbing a worn, discarded rug, he doubled it over and walked to the dumpster by Preeda.
Jason set the semi-rolled rug against the wall and climbed on the dumpster, which put him about four feet off the ground. After balancing himself, he grabbed the rug and carefully heaved it up and across the top of the wall. A quick glance at Preeda showed she watched patiently, fully aware of what he was doing. At least, he hoped so.
Taking a deep breath, Jason placed both hands on the rug that covered the top of the wall and with a big lunge, pushed himself on top of the wall. He leaned forward, letting his chest rest on the carpet. Shifting his weight, he swung his right leg over the wall and straddled the concrete structure.
“Preeda,” he said in a loud whisper. “Grab the bag,” he said, pointing at the canvas backpack. Preeda pointed to the bag to make sure she understood. The bag banged against her knees as she walked, but she hurried. It was only a few pounds, but that was a lot for a little girl, and she struggled to carry it. She climbed high enough to loop one of the straps on Jason’s foot. Jason pulled the bag from his foot, and he slung it up and over the wall in front of him, but the bag caught on a shard of glass. Worried that the bag would tear, Jason stopped pulling. He snapped the bag a few times and with a firm tug, pulled the bag off the wall. The bag fell to the ground, and he looked at Preeda.
"Come up," he whispered. He motioned with his hands for her to climb up. While she walked to the dumpster, Jason studied the area on the other side. It appeared to be someone's home. Nothing unusual. A small garden on the other side of the yard. Some tools left out. He wondered if the occupants were at home. It was almost two in the afternoon. On the positive side, there appeared to be nothing on the ground below him where they would drop down.
Jason held his left foot steady, and she used it like a stirrup. She clenched his pants leg and pulled herself higher until Jason grabbed her hands. He lifted her up and over the wall in one smooth movement. Preeda giggled when he swung her over. While he was glad she no longer cried, the giggling was a distinct noise that would give away their position.
She balanced on his right foot and glanced up at him. When she climbed down, he nodded to her, hoping she would understand everything was okay. She slid down, and as soon as her feet touched the ground, Jason leaned forward, swung his left leg over, and slid down the wall. Twisting his body, he dropped and tried to land in a sort of modified PLF, or parachute-landing fall, but he ended up falling back on his butt and rolling up on his back.
Preeda giggled again but placed her hands over her mouth. Jason shot her a stern, but playful look then popped up and pulled the rug. It stuck on top of the wall. He pulled again. Nothing. No doubt, some of the broken glass had lodged in the carpet. The voices continued, only louder.
Grabbing the bottom of the rug, Jason worked the rug up and down, attempting to “snap” it off the top. After four good snaps, the rug popped free. Jason threw the rug on the ground as a lone voice came down the alleyway. He crawled to the wall and propped himself on one knee.
Sensing Preeda nearby, he motioned for her without looking, holding out his hand, his eyes focused on the top of the wall.
Preeda held his hand but stood a foot from him.
“Jay-son,” she said and pointed.
Jason turned to see a dog baring its teeth in a low and terrifying growl.