Twelve

Kae trusted no one in life. His profession tended to warp you that way. He sensed too many agendas, hidden ideas in personal quests for power. There was too much self-interest for those he traded with to come clean. Everyone kept their best deal hidden, pushed it behind a veneer smile until it was needed. Judging others on his own intent, his core values, he looked to keep things back, always to suspect others to betray. If he ever needed someone, someone to stake your life on, Vig came very close. His ally had always valiantly produced. To date Vig had never shown distrust or even the slightest shred of personal enterprise. He followed what Kae told him to the letter, but that was always apt to change. Each person had their price and Vig could be no different. There’s was a business of high risk, excitement and greed. For the here and now he was the closest ally he processed and besides, Vig was kind of cute. He needed to trust him so far, to use him. Then when this was over his ally would know a great deal. That’s when he would play with him, entertain him and then decide on a future. Depending on his innate feeling, Vig would then either live or die. The costs of a rogue associate left to tell any tales was too great, even if he were cute. There were too many heads on the snake he now meant to charm, too many tongues of venom. He was on the verge of something huge, the size and implications terrified and tantalised his very sense of being. Afterwards he would need to disappear, to go deep and far. In doing so many that knew him were destined to die; they would come looking, scythe in hand. This wasn’t just about the money. The repercussions were apt to get very political. World boundaries meant nothing. They would just keep coming. He needed to be buried very deep.

Taking a sip of coffee, he glanced up in time to welcome his guest. He had purposely selected a quieter table in the café for their meeting. He wanted a spot away from prying ears and potential bugs. The nature of the conversation to follow was to be of a highly sensitive and very incriminating nature. It should be a location in the public domain, one not out-of-place for the entrusted position of his important guest. The Café Metz close to the Patuxai Monument, Vientiane’s own Arc de Triomphe, offered this and more. It was also owned by Kae. No bugs or unwanted ears were likely to eavesdrop on sensitive conversations. The staff were both carefully selected and well trained. When Kae chose to eat with another, be it over business or pleasure, they were to seat all other customers out of earshot. The guest was not to be openly acknowledged, nor spoken of. All knew of Kae’s reputation and far-reaching wrath. They could be trusted with complete discretion.

The man before him sported a receding hairline; the remaining tips reflected their grey colouring in the light, the pale face of office looked out from a body which carried a dozen or more pounds than his short frame truly allowed. Handsome eyes sparkling with the confidence of authority shone from a body of wasted muscle and visual loops of fat around a hungry waste line. Those looking too closely might note a very small insignia on his collar, a red raven belonging to a blooded division of the domestic security services. To notice such a small emblem would be watching too closely; those with big eyes knew not to speak of what they saw in Kae’s employ. All staff were sternly instructed that he was a special guest, one they had to not only please but also forget. The guest’s excess weight bore down on his knees, prompting him to place a hand on the table whilst he eased into the waiting padded chair. Everything but the eyes suggested a man battling through mid-life, unsuccessfully giving way to doses of boredom and mediocrity. The piercing look reminded a knowing Kae that this was a man with an itchy finger on the power button, a man he feared and respected. There had been previous such encounters resulting in both men pocketing considerable profit in exchange for information and favours. This meeting promised to surpass the importance from each of those by some margin. The voice was deep and hoarse, broken down from decades of smoking and barking orders.

“I hear you have been busy my friend. I knew that I could turn to you and your certain skills. A man to be trusted I told them. A man that can be discreet. A man ambitious enough for such a great prize. You do well so far. I tell them my judgement in you was second to none. And now I hear the search has finally come to us in Laos. We knew it would come here to us. They will be getting closer. What can you tell me of this?”

“I thank you for your trust,” Kae replied. He was carefully organising the way in which he should portray events. He needed to be both clear and polite. Showing respect was not a courtesy, more a necessity. Being selected to front the job by someone so prestigious and renowned was not only an honour, a life changing opportunity. If he showed disrespect or were to fail, his own organisation could not hide or project him from far-reaching retribution. If he dared fail or chose to take the prize for his own desires he must disappear and leave everything behind. He knew exactly what would be needed for he had spent endless nights sweating through the small hours thinking of just this. Despite the consequences the arrangement was worth the gamble he played with his life, though secretly Kae’s arrogance told him that he would be far too valuable to become anyone’s pawn. Besides this, Kae could not see that failure could be a possibility. They were dealing with amateurs after all. The only weakness would come from his own betrayal. Could he play this game and win?

“I intercepted the farang they sent in Bangkok,” Kae continued. “I fear others to are watching his moves. An attempt was made to scare him, a junkie tried to get at him near the Koa San Road. He’s now made friends, who are helping him find the girl. They are enthusiastic, but unprofessional. Luck has helped them trace her to Laos. As we speak, they are on a coach, closing on her trail. I have a good man close by. When they find her he will be there.”

“Very good! I was certain that you could be trusted to bring in the result. I have long admired your methods and knew that one day you could be of valuable service. Ensure that he keeps tabs until they find the girl. I can see that she is very close. At that point he must contact you. On no account must he intervene. There is much that we have to put in place. I’ll have men ready.”

Outside a small group of demonstrators were becoming increasing vocal. Their paper had recently been closed, a small student publication promoting minority rights and free thinking. Kae had ignored the collective shouts for justice when he took the table, but sensed from the increased volume that they were approaching the Patuxai Monument. Such demonstrations were still a rarity, participants often faced brutal baton charges and jail terms if vows to silence were ignored. As the noise drew closer, his guest became slightly rattled. It was not so much agitation, more annoyance; perhaps at the protesters for being so blatant in their demonstration, or perhaps because it was now no longer safe for him to remain. There would now be many young prying eyes to witness him leaving.

The plump guest rose as the whistle went; a signal for police anti-dispersal activity. The response would be heavy. The authorities needed to clampdown on vocal opposition. There was the regime’s reputation to maintain, otherwise a whole host of other demonstrations could burst out around the capital. Kae showed little surprise as he heard the battle cry of riot police charging the thin line of protesters. The clash would soon be over, prompting his guest to hasten further. It would be wisest to vacate the cafe whilst all attention focused on the defeated students on the street. A discreet side-door was pushed open in readiness to usher him through. Before making his exit, he turned once more.

“Keep me full posted. I expect results within a day or so. Good-day!”

Without waiting for a response, the colonel edged out onto the street. It was said that he ran PC38, the infamous secret police, with a rod of fiery steel. Opponents chose to bury their dissent and ally or risk disappearing into rat infested windowless cells. Rumours quietly circulated that those who died during interrogation were the lucky ones. A life led rotting beyond official vision caused greater suffering come the end. Kae was in no doubt that this stretched beyond whispers and speculation. He had just been looking into the eyes of the man who took life affecting decisions with the chilling clinical dispatch executives might apply to a business deal. It would take either a fool or a brave mastermind to betray him. Kae felt he possessed all of qualities for a mastermind.