SOMEWHAT TO SHEPHERD’S surprise, everything was arranged in Bangkok exactly the way he had asked. As soon as the aircraft door opened a dark-skinned man wearing gold-rimmed sunglasses and a white shirt with a blue tie slipped inside and scanned the first class cabin. He held a brief, whispered conversation with a stewardess in the forward galley and she turned and pointed at Shepherd. Shepherd fought back the impulse to wave.
The man led Shepherd out into the loading bridge while the flight attendants held the other passengers on the plane. He opened a small door set into one side of the bridge and pointed to a set of metal stairs attached to its exterior. A big black Mercedes was waiting on the parking apron at the bottom of the stairs. The windows were so heavily tinted it was impossible to see who was inside, but Shepherd figured he could guess.
The driver got out as Shepherd came down the stairs and opened the right rear passenger door. He was a serious looking guy, not so much big as barrel-chested and solid. He had a close-cropped military-style haircut and wore a black safari suit. Shepherd nodded at him and slid into the backseat of the car.
“It’s been a while,” Tommy said. He didn’t offer his hand.
“You don’t sound too sorry about that,” Shepherd said. He didn’t offer his hand either.
“Sometimes I am, sometimes I’m not. I like you, Jack, but let’s face it. When you lived here, you were a pain in the goddamn ass.”
The Mercedes pulled away from the plane and followed a road marked out with yellow lines painted on the tarmac, one that was used primarily for luggage carts and catering vans.
“I checked a bag,” Shepherd said. “We need to go by baggage claim.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“What do you mean, don’t worry about it? I don’t want to lose my suitcase.”
“We’ve already pulled it from the aircraft. It’s in the back.”
Shepherd nodded, impressed in spite of himself. They drove parallel with the terminal building until they passed the last loading bridge, then they made a right and after that another right and passed through a sliding chain-link gate. A half dozen soldiers stood to one side and saluted the darkened windows of the car. The soldiers were in full battle dress and had automatic weapons slung across their chests.
“What’s with the storm troopers?” Shepherd asked.
Tommy shot him a look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’ve got heavily armed troops guarding the airport. It looks like somebody is expecting trouble.”
“That’s exactly what we’re expecting. Maybe you should tell your pal that we’re ready for him.”
“I don’t do politics, Tommy. I’m just a lawyer who manages money.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard that shit from you before, Jacko. You can’t wipe the mud off that easy. Lie down with dogs, get up with fleas.”
“You got anymore clichés you want to toss out while I’m still listening?”
“Yeah, try this one. Go fuck yourself.”
“Hey,” Shepherd said, spreading his hands, “I thought you said you liked me.”
“I lied, asshole.”
***
WITHIN MINUTES THEY were out of the airport and speeding down the expressway into Bangkok. The big Mercedes was like the QE2 cutting through a fleet of dinghies, and the hood ornament held the setting sun like a gun sight. Out of the corner of his eye, Shepherd looked Tommy over. He had a soft, almost pink face, and he wore plain, black-rimmed glasses. His dark hair was neatly cut and he was conservatively dressed in a dark suit that was neither snappy nor expensive, a white shirt, and a plain tie with a muted pattern. He looked like he could have been just about anybody which, when Shepherd thought about it, was probably what made him good at what he did. Still, Tommy looked older than the last time Shepherd had seen him, and not the kind of older that comes purely from the passage of time. It was the kind that came from nerves and fear whittling you down, the kind that tugged at the skin under your eyes and etched deep lines into your forehead.
“So how’s the spy business these days?” Shepherd asked.
Tommy turned his head very slowly and looked at him without expression.
“How many times do I have to tell you, Jack, I am not a spy. I am merely the deputy spokesman for the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.”
“Got it,” Shepherd nodded. “But seriously, how’s the spy business?”
Tommy smiled in spite of himself.
“I’m keeping pretty busy,” he said after a moment. “There’s a lot going on.”
“Other than the red shirts and the yellow shirts?”
Tommy shrugged. “There’s a lot going on,” he repeated.
The Mercedes entered the outskirts of Bangkok and Shepherd stared idly out the window as it worked its way into the city. No one would ever claim Bangkok was a beautiful city, but it was twilight and Shepherd thought Bangkok looked a lot better at twilight than it did in the hard light of midday. Some people said there was so much crap in Bangkok’s air that it would be easier to walk on it than to breath it, but there was something undeniably magical in how, just after sunset, all that pollution colluded with the last rays of the sun to make the sky glow with a soft, mango-colored haze. For a few minutes at least, the light turned dreamy and otherworldly. Like a blanket of fresh snow, it camouflaged the ugliness. Twilight was as good as Bangkok got.
Shepherd heard the soft crackling sound of static from the front seat and a radio suddenly spat a blast of colloquial Thai spoken so rapidly Shepherd didn’t understand a word.
The driver glanced back at Tommy. “Rod mae kwang thanon Petchburi trong soi Asoke,” he said. “Rod ja tit maak krub.”
“Pai tang eun dai mai?” Tommy asked.
“Long pai soi Ekamai, Laew Pai Tang Sukhumvit. Arj ja dee kwa krub.”
Tommy pulled a Blackberry out of the inside pocket of his jacket and studied the screen. He punched a speed dial key and lifted it to his ear. Then he turned slightly away, murmured a few words, and listened.
“Yes,” he said after a few moments. “Yes, I think so.”
“What’s going on?” Shepherd asked.
Tommy ignored him and listened some more. Then he looked at his watch.
“Thirty minutes, maybe a little more,” Tommy said into the phone.
He returned the Blackberry to his jacket and leaned toward the driver.
“Pai apartment ti thanon Sathorn,” he said.
“Are you going to cut me in here?” Shepherd asked.
Tommy leaned back and scratched at his neck.
“We’ve changed the location for your meeting,” he said after a moment.
“Trouble in River City?”
“There’s usually trouble in River City.”
Shepherd thought back to the riot on Silom Road when he had been attacked by a teenage kid apparently keen to take his head off with an iron bar and eventually beaten to the ground by an old lady wielding a folding chair. Bangkok had been on edge for months and he knew some people were even beginning to whisper the unthinkable. That the whole place might be about to come down around their ears. Shepherd wasn’t so sure about that. Thailand had always had a near mystical way of righting itself just before it went over a cliff. But he knew things were getting worse, and that things might even get a lot worse before they got better. That is, assuming they ever did get better.
“What’s happening today?” Shepherd asked.
“Your red shirts have stolen some buses and blocked Petchaburi Road.”
“They’re not my red shirts, Tommy.”
Tommy snorted, but he didn’t say anything.
“Snort all you want, little man. I have nothing to do with the red shirts.”
“Save you breath, Jacko. You may have my boss fooled. But you’re not fooling me.”
Shepherd let that pass. He was tired of fencing with Tommy. “Why do you care about buses blocking Petchaburi Road anyway?”
“Traffic will be backed up halfway to the Cambodian border. We’ll never get across town tonight.”
“Where across town are we going?”
“Nowhere now.”
“So where across town were we going?”
“You don’t need to know that.”
“Where are we going now?”
“You’ll find out when we get there.”
“For fuck’s sake, Tommy, you’re so full of shit. You think I’m going to run around telling everybody where your shitty little safe houses are, you stupid turd?”
“There we go.” Tommy bobbed his head and grinned. “There’s the guy we all remember. What was with all the politeness and restraint anyway, Jacko? You used to be all attitude, man. I miss that.”
“Ah, fuck you,” Shepherd said, and went back to staring out the window.
“Right,” Tommy nodded, “Fuck me. I love Americans. Yeah, I really do.”