Her friend had told her to wait until he got back to her with instructions. He had promised to be in touch by two o’clock the next day. She looked uneasily at the time; it was just after three. Back home in Sweden it was nine in the morning.
For the hundredth time she took her mobile out of her bag and checked it. Still no missed calls. But then, timekeeping had never been his strong point.
The proprietor of the Internet café offered her another cup of coffee. He recognized her now, and looked sorry when she declined.
“Can I help?” he asked.
She tried to smile and shook her head.
“No, but thanks anyway.”
Her eyes went back to the computer screen. She instinctively wished that her problems were the kind that could be solved by the intervention of a Thai café owner. She had carried on ringing her parents, but to no avail. The only thing that had changed since yesterday was that her mother’s mobile was now cut off, too. Her email was still not working and Thai Airways still maintained they had never heard of her booking.
“Don’t worry,” her contact said. “I’ll get this mess sorted out for you. If you can just hang on till tomorrow, you’ll see, it’ll all be okay.”
She wondered if she should ring him again, ask why he had not rung back.
Her stomach was rumbling and her head felt heavy. She ought to eat and drink something, top up her energy levels. She decided on the spot to go back to the hotel and try to find something to eat on the way.
The heat hit her as she came out onto the pavement. She went along Sukhumvit, the great artery through Bangkok city, relieved to know that her hotel was only two blocks away. Her handbag was rubbing her shoulder and she upped her pace. She slipped into a side street to get out of the sun. Her head turned from side to side as her eyes looked out for the first suitable place to eat.
Her mind on food, she was not concentrating and did not see him until it was too late. Suddenly he was there on the pavement with his knife drawn and his lips compressed. The cacophony of cars and people was less than thirty meters away, but in the side street it was just the two of them.
I’m not going to get out of this, she thought, and did not initially feel any fear.
The fear only came when he started to speak.
“Your bag,” he spat, threatening her with the knife. “Your bag.”
Standing there, she felt like crying. Not so much because she was being robbed for the first time in her life, but because she would now face even greater problems. Everything was in her bag. Her purse, her Visa card, her mobile. That had been her decision for the whole trip; she had judged it more risky to leave anything of value in the hotel than to carry it with her. The only exception was the computer, which she could not face lugging round with her. But that had been emptied of all information.
Her breath came in gasps. The bag reluctantly dislodged itself from her shoulder and slid down to her elbow.
“Quick, quick,” the man with the knife exhorted, gesturing to her with his free hand to let go of the bag.
When she did not immediately do so, he launched himself forward and forced her to take two rapid steps back to avoid a stab wound to her arm. She tripped on an uneven bit of tarmac and fell over. The bag slipped to the ground and in a second the man was standing over her, grabbing it.
But he did not go. He unzipped the bag and started going through the contents.
“USB,” he demanded.
She stared at him uncomprehendingly.
“USB,” he shouted. “Where is it?”
She swallowed several times, shaking her head frantically.
“I haven’t got one,” she answered in English, trying to shuffle backward along the pavement, still on her back.
The man leaned forward and yanked her to her feet. She struggled to get free, twisting like a snake. Then the knife lunged at her again, very close this time. He pressed it to her face and she gave an involuntary jerk as she felt the cool metal against her skin.
Stressing every syllable, he said again:
“Where is it?”
In silent panic she weighed up the alternatives. There were none, she realized as she saw the man’s expression. It was angry and aggressive, but very controlled. He knew all too well what he was looking for.
She fumbled for the memory stick on the chain round her neck. He was still gripping her, far too hard. When he saw what she was doing, he wrenched at the chain and it broke. The memory stick fell onto the tarmac and he dived after it.
There would be no better chance of escape than this.
She ran faster than she had ever run before, her sandals slapping on the tarmac. If she could just get out onto Sukhumvit, she’d be safe.
“Stop!’ shouted the man from behind her. “Stop!”
But naturally she did not stop, convinced as she was that it would be the most dangerous thing she could possibly do. This man had been employed by someone, and his assignment was not just to rob her. She had realized almost at once what was strange about his behavior. Muggers do not usually go through a handbag hunting for a USB stick. And how could he have known? How did he even know there was a USB stick to look for?
She ran all the way back to the hotel, taking a route that meant she could keep to the bigger streets all the way. She did not know exactly when he had given up the chase, but he stopped shouting after she put on a spurt along Sukhumvit. She did not turn round until she was in the hotel lobby, almost fainting and drenched in sweat. He was not there.
She sank to the lobby floor in despair.
A security guard and one of the receptionists came dashing over. Was she all right? Could they help her?
She wished with all her heart she could have laid the whole story in their open arms. She was tired now, incapable of summoning up the inner resources to see her project through. Coming on this trip alone suddenly seemed like a really stupid idea. What had she been thinking? Hadn’t she understood the risks, sensed imminent danger?
“I’ve been robbed.”
The hotel staff were dismayed. Robbed? In broad daylight in Bangkok? A white woman? They looked shocked, said they had never heard of such a thing before. The female receptionist went to get some water and the guard to ring the police.
As she drank, the receptionist inquired kindly whether she needed anything else.
“No,” she replied, trying to smile. “I’d just like my key so I can go up to my room and wash.”
The receptionist disappeared off to the desk and the guard paced impatiently up and down the lobby.
“The police will be here within half an hour,” he assured her.
She tried to look grateful, well aware that the police could hardly help her in any significant way.
The receptionist returned. She looked worried.
“Pardon me, but what room number did you say it was?”
“214,” she said wearily.
She gulped some more water, picked herself up and went over to the desk.
“I’m sorry, miss,” said the receptionist. “In 214, we have a man who booked in the day before yesterday. Are you sure you have the right number?”
Suddenly she could not breathe. She stared at the hotel logo, which was all over the reception area to remind guests where they were.
Manhattan Hotel. The hotel where she had been staying for the past five nights.
Panic rose inside her. The hotel staff were now observing her with watchful eyes. She tried to keep her voice steady as she spoke:
“Sorry,” she said with an effort. “I must have got mixed up. You’re right, I don’t remember my room number.”
“Miss, we want to help you, but your name is not on our computer. Not for any room.”
She swallowed hard.
“Okay, then perhaps you’ve registered me as having checked out, by mistake.”
The receptionist gave an unhappy sigh.
“According to the computer, you have not been staying here at all.”
A few seconds passed. She blinked to hold back the tears.
She looked the receptionist entreatingly in the eye.
“But you must recognize me. I’ve been going in and out of this hotel for several days now.”
The receptionist exchanged glances with the guard, looked as though she wanted to ask something. Then she shook her head.
“Sorry, miss,” she said, appearing genuinely sorry. “I have never seen you before. And no one else here has, either. Would you like me to help you ring for a taxi?”