MIDNIGHT MEETING
Cavalier woke at 2 a.m. after three hours sleep and felt the Express was now living up to its name as it sped into Thailand’s jungle-riven south with its interspersed rice fields and dragon rocks flowing all the way from the Himalayas, which burst up through the vegetation. He looked out the window and watched the moonlit landscape of tangled undergrowth broken by ramshackle villages or cleared field, a false green by day but black and grey at night. He concentrated on staying awake, taking a few moments to collect his thoughts. Several things conspired to lull him into further sleep: the hypnotic clip of the wheels; the reassuringly steady train movement plunging on into the dead of night; the just discernible clang of the couplings at his end of carriage 29; the unthreatening, slight back-and-forth slide of the woodwork in his cabin. It felt like a sleep-inducing womb.
The moonlight fell away as the train burst through a long cutting. The room’s colour scheme seemed to change to a dark purple. It was ethereal and strange, and it brought Cavalier to his full senses just as the Express emerged back into the endless jungle.
He shook his head, breathed deeply and moved into the presidential suite, making sure to lock the partition door, especially after being told that security guards had searched his cabin. He dressed as Edward Blenkiron, edged his wheelchair into the corridor and wheeled left towards the end of the train. He could see security guards at the other end of carriage 29. Three Mexicans, all slumped in sleeping poses, guarded the corridor leading to carriages 30, 31 and 32, the observation lounge bar and the observation carriage.
Cavalier, his special glasses on and hat jammed down on his scalp, drove his chair with its faint but distinct whirring sound, which was more pronounced in the quiet of the night. The one guard fully awake barely acknowledged him.
Cavalier was surprised to see Topapan and Marc Makanathan in the observation car. They were both smoking and enjoying the cooler night air. Next to them, but not engaging with them, were the Dempsters, the Australian graziers. Cavalier rolled past them, closer to the end of the train, and ignored the other four. He sat at forty-five degrees to them.
After five minutes, Azelaporn appeared with Cortez. Cavalier froze, but had the presence of mind to ignore them. He placed his extrasensory earpieces in his ears. When they had passed, he edged his chair around so that he almost had his back to the new arrivals, who perched in the open alcove at the very end of the train.
Cavalier adjusted the sound and heard the conversation from about eight paces.
‘Can that old man hear or see?’ Cortez said.
‘Do not worry,’ Azelaporn replied with a wave of the hand, and annoyed that he had to speak English, ‘he is deaf, nearly.’
‘He seems to be listening to music okay.’
‘With the volume up very high,’ Azelaporn chuckled. His expression changed as he added, ‘Don’t worry about the Muslims. They are no longer on the train.’
‘What were they doing?’
Azelaporn shrugged. ‘No one knows.’
‘And that Frenchman you mentioned?’
‘He had books in his cabin, that’s all. But we’re watching him. I have a guard right outside his door all day and night he is inside. My deputy says he is harmless. I ordered her to sleep with him.’
‘Did she?’
‘Not sure. She was not happy about my directive.’
Cortez wiped his weeping good eye and fiddled with his eyepatch. He grinned and exposed uneven, nicotine-stained teeth.
‘How very fortunate for him, if he did,’ he observed as he lit up a cigarette, much to Azelaporn’s irritation. ‘Have you looked closely at all the Americans on board?’ Cortez asked.
Azelaporn nodded vigorously. ‘There are ten; five couples all over seventy and retired.’
‘And that old prick in the chair?’
‘Yes.’
There was a disturbance at the entrance to the car. Pon, dressed in a pink nightgown, was trying to enter. Cortez tossed his cigarette over the side and bustled to her.
‘Take her back to the room and give her a shot,’ Cortez ordered his men. ‘Lock her in and stay with her until she is asleep. Make sure she is in the top bunk.’
Cavalier twitched in his chair but did not turn his head. It was all he could do to restrain himself again as Cortez gave Pon a sharp slap across the face and hissed at her, ‘Behave yourself, you drunken slut!’
Two guards dragged her screaming back to the cabin.
Cavalier kept staring out into space as Cortez returned to Azelaporn, bumping the wheelchair as he did so.
‘That damned woman!’ Cortez said.
‘She looks terrible! I can’t believe it is the same person whom I heard play in your Chiang Mai bunker last year.’
‘It’s sad,’ Cortez said. ‘She was so beautiful. It’s the drugs …’
‘You should dump her. She will be trouble.’
Cortez nodded ruefully and ran his hand through his hair. ‘I’d like to get rid of her, permanently,’ he said.
‘Not on the train,’ Azelaporn said with a jerk of his head as Makanathan and her husband were leaving the carriage, ‘not with that bitch on board.’
‘I have read about her,’ Cortez said, glancing at the doctors as they left.
‘She is bad for police! I had much trouble with her. Sticks her nose in every investigation.’
‘I shall attend to my girlfriend when we reach Singapore. She has passed her use-by date. Her piano performances are woeful.’
‘You will …?’ Azelaporn began and made a sweeping motion across his neck.
‘I have no choice. She knows too much.’ He paused a few seconds and added, ‘It will not be a problem. She is thought to be dead anyway.’
‘You do not worry about her father, the journalist? We believed he assassinated Mendez.’
‘He thinks his daughter was guillotined by Mendez. That’s why he killed him.’
‘You will avenge his death?’
‘Huh! If we could find him. The coward has disappeared. I have my spies in Australia. They can’t find him.’
Even though Cavalier could hardly tolerate what he was hearing, he had to stay and learn as much as he could. He saw Marco Rodriguez enter the carriage. He strode past Cavalier and joined Azelaporn and Cortez at the rear of the train.
Rodriguez shook hands with them.
‘This is a good time to meet,’ he said, ‘middle of the afternoon in New York. I am wide awake.’
Cortez lit another cigarette. Rodriguez joined him with a cigar.
‘The Chinese bought more gold today,’ Cortez said. ‘Our bullion went up $10 million.’
‘Our bullion?’ Rodriguez said, staring hard. ‘It is not yours. Implant that into your skull, please. I don’t know what Leonardo said or promised. But you are a salaried employee. I hope you comprehend that.’
Cortez’s head movement was ambivalent.
‘He who has the gold rules, eh?’ he remarked.
‘Yes, and it belongs to the cartel.’ Rodriguez turned to Azelaporn. ‘You are sure about security?’
‘No problem,’ Azelaporn said. ‘The bullion will be met at Singapore by the bank and its security. They will take it straight to their vaults.’
‘Good,’ Rodriguez said, ‘I’m going back to bed.’
‘We have arranged a frigate in Singapore,’ Cortez said.
‘You arranged a frigate, not me. The gold goes into a Singapore bank. We are not going to risk pirates on the high seas trying to seize it.’
Cortez eye flared to his dead stare for a fraction of a second, although he refrained from arguing with his new boss.
‘Let’s meet here tomorrow an hour earlier,’ Rodriguez said, ‘say 2 a.m. All right?’
The others nodded and watched Rodriguez stride off, his heavies close behind him. Cavalier waited. He had his back to Cortez and Azelaporn and wanted to hear their reaction.
‘I hate that shit!’ Cortez mumbled. ‘When Leonardo was in charge, we did all the hard work to build up the cartel. Now he wants to make it all legitimate. Property, stupid businesses with small profit margins, football teams, TV stations. It is not our core business!’
Cavalier rolled his chair slowly out of the car. He lingered at the door to Cortez’s cabin. He watched the guards who sat between carriages 29 and 30. They were less lethargic with their bosses so close, yet there was still a carelessness in their attitude. Cavalier rolled on past the suite he was occupying as Blenkiron. One guard sat facing the door to Garriaud’s cabin. He was asleep. Cavalier eased his chair forward to observe him for a few seconds. Then he backed up to the presidential suite just out of the guard’s line of sight, and entered it.
Cavalier showered and worked on his plan. He looked at his phone. There were ten missed calls and messages from Melody Smith.
Sorry to have not replied,
he texted her,
but we are out of range and the train rules don’t allow mobile use. Please send your team to Singapore by tomorrow afternoon. Stand by with trucks and arms, just in case. Am ready to use your special kit soon. Must do before Singapore. Wish me luck.
Smith sent back a quick response.
What train?
Bangkok Express. Pulls in about 8 a.m. on 27 April. Bullion on board. Must intercept before it goes straight to bank vaults.’
Which bank?
Don’t know.
How many armed cartel?
A dozen.
Including Cortez?
No. Add two heavies with Marco Rodriguez, and his wife. She is quite hefty in a certain way.
Marco Rodriguez—Mendez’s nephew?
The same.
What is he doing?
Protecting his investment.
There was a pause of thirty seconds before Smith’s next text:
Why didn’t you let us know about the Express?
I told you; I like solo operations.
But we could have helped you!
Just push your squad to Singapore train station on time, please.