Colonel Somchai, sitting at his desk in the police station near Rama V, felt he was not in control of the situation.
Things had been so clever for a while, he reminded himself. He’d trusted the old man that every thing was arranged. He believed they had an agreement but suddenly there was no communication any more. The girl seemed to have vanished and the old falang didn’t answer the phone number he’d given the Colonel.
Somchai sat at his big teak table and desultorily pushed files around. His assistant, a detective, came in and asked if the Colonel needed anything and then left in search of a packet of Dunhills. They were hard to find on the streets near the police station so the constable had to take a motorbike for ten minutes to a cigar shop which stocked the brand for the tourists.
Eventually, Somchai knew, he would win. His was a patriotic mission, to clean up the dregs of society that festered in his country. It was a thankless, endless task but whenever he met with The Monk the vision became clear again and helped him to stay focused.
He didn’t care about promotion, although there was no reason why he could not move up to Police General in the next few years. He knew the right people and drank with them at the Police Club. He’d frequently delivered the right successes that made his bosses look good and showed the public that work was being done. But most important of all, when there was corruption he had turned a blind eye and that had been appreciated.
Somchai understood that you had to choose your battles. There were priorities. You couldn’t attack everyone around you at the same time. If there was the stench of corruption under his nose he’d often ignored it because there were bigger and more important challenges.
So to his superiors in the Force Somchai was known as a sensible man who knew when to keep his mouth shut and his eyes averted. That was true, but it didn’t mean he didn’t care, nor that he wasn’t committed to change and the betterment of his society.
That was the beauty of using the secret assassin, the Reliable Man. He was like a stealth missile that Somchai could launch at any target which pleased him. Anonymous, powerful, a fire from heaven that no criminals expected until they were consumed by the incandescent wrath.
If there was a murderer who had paid the judge to let him free, Somchai could send all the information to his killer and within a few weeks the work would be done: an accident, often tawdry and commonplace. Perhaps a suicide or occasionally a spectacular execution that could be attributed to a rival gang.
Somchai enjoyed the power but knew he couldn’t bask in its glory. He had an extraordinarily effective tool, yet it had to be used with caution. Somchai had to be distanced from any act. He had to remain clear-headed and keep his higher objectives in mind.
He wondered if the killer had received his new instructions. The Hong Kong Chinese woman was the one behind everything. She was the mastermind. That had finally become more obvious.
They all had to be killed. They had no right to come to his country and cause confusion and consternation. They were gangsters and had to be exterminated. And, what was more, they were Chinese and Somchai felt that many Chinese had done much damage to his country. The man who had been prime minister was living in Dubai now and he and his family were Chinese, with Thai passports, but that did not change a man’s heart even over generations.
But at that moment, as he sat in his office, all quiet, Somchai didn’t feel in control. He’d sent out his missiles and had no idea if they were on target or lost in the stratosphere. He hadn’t heard from the girl or the old man so could not be sure that they were delivering their end of the bargain. He had no idea how the secret assassin worked and could only wait for the distant thunder of destruction to reach him.
The Police Colonel hated it and shifted around on his hard chair until the big gun he liked to carry was no longer digging into the side of his stomach.
He’d hated letting the fat Englishman, Scrimple go. It had felt wrong and too many people then had the chance to laugh at him. They had no idea that this was part of a complicated series of chess moves. His colleagues just saw Somchai being embarrassed. He could hardly explain to them what he was planning? He would have to suffer their jibes and jokes for some time.
Who would believe him? It was annoying to sacrifice your image and the respect from others in order to obtain a strategic victory. But it was unavoidable. And now he worried that it had been the wrong thing to do.
Somchai had known all along that Scrimple was innocent, but how to prove this unless the real killers were arrested and admitted their crimes?
The detective came back and handed Somchai his new packet of cigarettes. Together they lit up and watched the smoke curl around their heads.
“Is everything okay, Colonel?” the detective said, sensitive to his boss’ moods. They had worked long together and this case was a confusing one.
“We are not making progress,” Somchai said.
“Pi-Somchai, things don’t always move fast in a case. We have to wait for the waves to move at their own speed. We can’t always force it. Only the moon can move the waves.”
“I don’t like it.” Somchai smacked the top of his desk with the flat of his hand. When he pulled the hand away there was a dead mosquito stuck to his palm.
“Did you do any more observation on the other foreigner, the property agent?”
“Yes, boss. He hasn’t had any further messages from the guy Scrimple.”
Somchai lit another Dunhill after grinding out the old one in a brass ashtray. “Where are these people? I want to know what is happening.”
The detective nodded sympathetically.
* * * *
The plan had been agreed. Jedburgh would go and get some weapons to make sure that they could dominate the situation once they went over to the house for the exchange.
Scrimple wanted to come along and Jedburgh said he could and now they were driving down the backstreets of Chonburi in search of a house. Jedburgh’s car was an older BMW 321 and he drove fast but with care.
“Who are these people?” Scrimple asked.
“Gun dealers. Rung and Rang,” Jedburgh said. “Whatever happens, you’d better forget anything you’re about to see or hear—if you know what’s good for you.” Jedburgh was looking cautiously at the row of clapboard houses, trying to identify the one he wanted. He said the words quietly but the menace was clear. Scrimple nodded to himself. He didn’t want to get into any more trouble than he already had. For all of Jedburgh’s friendliness there was a lethal edge that Scrimple had experienced once before. He had no intention of being at the receiving end of that.
“This one,” Jedburgh said and pulled the car into the drive behind a Ford pickup truck.
They knocked on the door but it was open so they stepped into the house. They walked through a kitchen which had not been cleaned for a long time and which stank of fried garlic and spices. From the living room came the noise of a computer game.
Sitting on a threadbare sofa were two dark-skinned Thai men playing each other on a Sony PlayStation. On a large plasma screen soldiers were running about shooting each other. Neither of the Thai men paid any attention to the two Westerners who’d walked in until the segment was over and all the soldiers were dead. One of the Thai men grinned, waved at Jedburgh and put the game on pause.
“This is Rung,” Jedburgh said to Scrimple who nodded. Rang put down his console and walked over to a fridge and pulled out four bottles of Singha beer. He handed them over.
“Khun Bill,” he said and lopped off the beer tops with an opener that had appeared in his hand. “You come for some supplies?”
Jedburgh said something in Thai that Scrimple didn’t understand and the two dark-skinned men in vests and shirts laughed.
“Your friend a good guy?” Rung said pointing his beer bottle at Scrimple.
“Yes, we can trust him,” Jedburgh said.
Rang squinted at Scrimple. “I know you. You falang who killed all the people. Police not catch you yet?” he grinned.
Scrimple shook his head warily.
“Don’t worry.” Jedburgh slapped him on the back. “They won’t tell the police. No love lost.”
Rung and Rang beckoned them to follow and they went out of the back of the house into a garage. Behind a broken-down engine block there was a heavily padlocked door and behind this they found themselves in a store room which was half-filled with packing crates.
Rang pulled one over and levered it open with a crowbar. He rummaged around inside and took out packages of dried noodles. Scrimple looked at the growing pile with astonishment until finally something more interesting came out. Rang produced what appeared to be a gun wrapped in brown waxed paper. Under the critical eye of Jedburgh, the Thai man stripped the waxed paper off and revealed a brand new Heckler & Koch MP5 with a folding stock. He handed it over to Jedburgh who hefted it in his hand and gave an appreciative smile then placed it down on the top of another packing case.
The Thai brothers produced five more identical assault weapons and then boxes of ammunition.
“You know how to use one of these?” Jedburgh asked.
“No, I’ve never handled one of these. Revolvers, shotguns and the Armalite is all I was trained on. The ASU boys at the airport used these, didn’t they?” Scrimple said.
“Standard anti-terrorist weapon with most Police Forces in the world.”
“I know that,” Scrimple said with a hint of irritation. Jedburgh gave him a smile.
“Do you want to carry one?”
“If William and Chisin are at the other side of the sights then the answer is yes.”
Jedburgh nodded and held up his hand with one finger raised, asking Rung for one extra Heckler & Koch. The Thai nodded and pulled one out of the next crate to be opened. He tossed it at Scrimple who hefted the weight in his hands and already imagined the damage it would do.
“Are we buying them?” he asked.
“Renting them,” Jedburgh explained. “Twenty thousand Baht per gun for a day. We can fire them and return them but if we damage one we need to buy it, so be careful. Rung will be coming with us to keep an eye on the merchandise and he likes the idea of shooting people.”
“He does?”
“That’s what he tells me. It’s better than a video game. The real thing.”
“You think we need to go in shooting?”
“Plan for the worst. Or the best, whichever way you look at it. We need to keep a few witnesses alive to testify that you’re innocent of any crimes and were set up.”
Scrimple shrugged. “Maybe we should just kill them all and let the police sort them out.”
“We’ll play it by ear,” Jedburgh said and gave a wink. From inside a rucksack he’d slung over his shoulder he produced a stack of used Baht notes and began counting out batches that were half an inch thick and tied with a rubber band. When he finished counting he tossed the piles to Rung who grinned and left the room to hide the money somewhere.
Ten minutes later they were driving off with the weaponry on the floor of the backseat covered by a blanket. Rung had his feet on the guns and was blowing cigarette smoke out of the open window.
“It would be nice to kill William,” Scrimple said pensively.
“Have you ever killed anyone before?” Jedburgh asked, throwing a quick sideways glance at him.
Scrimple thought for a moment, remembering. “Yes, there was a man I shot once and…” he hesitated. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Fair enough.” Jedburgh grinned. “Don’t ask, don’t tell.”
“You’ve killed people. Haven’t you?” Scrimple said.
“You don’t want to know.” Jedburgh said, glancing sideways at Scrimple’s face as he accelerated past a slow-moving Toyota. “The answer is yes and if we have to, we’ll do it again tonight. You and me. Go in hard. No messing about. These people are scum, so there’s no point in thinking or worrying about it, if we have to open fire.”
“I understand,” Scrimple said, nodding.
* * * *
Madam Tang took the phone call on her mobile. She talked quietly in Cantonese while William watched her.
He was feeling much more relaxed since he’d screwed the girl and after that the phone call from the old man had come in. Now things were falling in place. The old bastard could have the girl back and they would get the documents and could complete the development project.
To be honest, he realized he was bored of the whole thing. He was tired of Thailand and the people here and it would be good to go back to Hong Kong and have some real wonton soup in his favorite restaurant in Sham Shui Po. It would be a few more weeks but once they had the documents then the deal could move forward and he could let Chisin keep an eye on it.
He should kill the old man, of course, for all the trouble he’d caused. He should beat him half to death and then put a bullet in the back of his head. William played with the image of that for a few minutes, dreamily looking out of the window at the gathering night.
Madam Tang came off the phone. “That was Lo To. He said they are having a problem with the lease on Number 57 and he wants me to come back to Hong Kong and talk with the lawyers.” She snapped the little mobile shut. “Fool,” she said. “I told him that place would be a problem. It has bad fung shui. It looks like a perfect location but we should have never taken it over.”
William shrugged. “Sometimes you can’t always see the problems before. Look at what we have been doing here in Thailand.”
She tossed the mobile phone onto the rosewood table where it clattered noisily. “If you do your job properly this place will make us a lot of money. The Thais are greedy and they are corrupt. When the time comes you deal with our friend Kornsak. There will be another one like him, and another one and another one.”
“I guess so,” he replied and took out his buck knife, tossing it up and down in his hand to keep himself busy.
Madam Tang eyed him shrewdly. “I don’t want you to kill my husband. You understand that?”
He stared back at her, feeling irritation at the instruction.
“You want to kill him don’t you?” she asked.
He shrugged. “If you instruct me to kill him, that is fine. He caused us so much trouble and he made me lose my temper. Of course I am happy to kill him.” He shrugged again. “But if you don’t want me to, then I will follow your instructions.”
She shook her head in frustration. “I know how you feel. Certainly he betrayed us but he is still my stupid, gwai-lo husband. It should not mean anything but we were young together. That means something to an old woman.”
“I guess so,” William said and closed his hand over the knife, then slipped it back into his jacket pocket.
“You and Chisin can do what you want with the girl as soon as we have the documents and you’ve made sure Mr. Bottle is not playing any more tricks. But you don’t kill him and you don’t beat him.” Madam Tang stood in front of him and stared down hard at his face. “You understand?”
“Yes, Madam,” said William the way they had taught him at the Police Training School nearly three decades before. A small smile played around his lips.
“Rape her if you want, punish her, slit her throat. There is something about that girl. I can’t stand her. Her eyes are always laughing at me,” the old woman said and shook her head in annoyance.
“I’ve already raped her to get the information about Mr. Bottle.”
“Good, that little Thai hooker. I am sure she was laughing at me behind my back before. There was something between the two of them. That makes me look shameful.”
She turned to leave the room. “Well, you know what to do. I will get ready to go back to Hong Kong and take a flight tomorrow morning. I think I will spend the night in Bangkok.” She checked her watch and found there was still plenty of time left in the day.
“And, William…” she said.
“Yes, boss?”
“Make sure you clean it all up and don’t leave any mess. I am tired of this whole project and it has to end soon. There are other more interesting things we need to do.”
William nodded and said, “You can trust me. Haven’t you trusted me all of these years?”
“I’ve trusted you and you have been a loyal supporter. When I am tired of this business you are the one that will take over.”
He smiled. She knew those were the words he wanted to hear. Although he had saved a lot of money and he owned a lot of properties and businesses that other people managed for him, the only thing that he still aspired to, was to be the boss of the Triad. When the time was right.
This woman was the key to all that and he knew he had to bide his time. Meanwhile there was work to be done.
* * * *
Colonel Somchai had decided that he was not going to sit and wait. It was too hard and although normally a patient man, now his patience had run out like the packet of Dunhill cigarettes that his detective had bought for him.
He had driven down to Chonburi in his own car and now sat outside the opulent mansion that belonged to the man called Kornsak.
It was already beginning to get dark but there was no need to turn on the inside light of the car for him to check his service revolver. It was a large .45 caliber tool that had served him well for many years. He spun the chamber and listened to the sound of it running smoothly on the oiled bearings. He felt with his fingers that all the chambers were loaded. Only six rounds but he had twelve more in speed loaders in his jacket pocket. Somchai did not expect gunplay but corrupt politicians often kept bodyguards and they might not care if a man was a respected senior policeman. Especially not if they were drunk or high on ya-baa or were not listening carefully enough to their boss’ instructions.
For all of its modern sophistication and its ancient culture of gentleness, Thailand remained a place where the value of life was cheap. For money, any person would kill these days. For a new pick-up truck they would kill, for the price of a night with three girls they would kill.
It was sad, Somchai knew, but it was part of the culture that hid behind the smile of the flight attendants who promised an experience as smooth as silk.
He snapped the cylinder back into place and ensured it sat tight. The trigger pull was neither heavy nor light. He tested it regularly during practice on the range every month and if he felt it needed adjusting he would have the armorer at the police station fix it so that it was just perfect. He knew how much pressure it took to move the hammer back, release it and fire a round in the short moment that you had when a gun was needed.
Somchai slipped the revolver back into his belt holster and stepped out of the car, slamming the door with a satisfying chunk.
As he approached the heavy wrought iron gate, dogs started barking and a security guard in uniform came over to see what the commotion was. Two Rottweilers nosed excitedly at the gate. The guard pulled them back and demanded to know what Somchai’s business was.
The Colonel held up his identification wallet and told the man he was there to see the owner of the house. There would have been no denying that he was not in, because Kornsak’s black Mercedes had just pulled up ten minutes earlier.
The security guard made a call to the house and two minutes later opened up the gates, first ensuring the vicious dogs were leashed to the big brass ring on the side of the wall.
“Walk up to the front door, sir,” the guard said.
Colonel Somchai walked with the calm dignity of his rank, taking his time to admire the size of the house and the beauty of the garden. When he got to the front door, a maid was already holding it open.
“The master is in the main room,” she said, pointing.
Somchai advanced across a marble floor and a hallway crammed with expensive furniture that served no purpose except to show that the owner had money.
Kornsak was sitting on an Italian leather sofa in shorts and a loose shirt, his feet up on a table and smoking a cigarette as he flicked through the channels of a flat-screen television dominating the entire wall of the large room.
“Who are you? I don’t know you,” Kornsak said, waving Somchai to one of the matching armchairs. “I know all the policemen in our district.”
“I’m from Bangkok, District 8.”
Kornsak killed the sound and put the remote control down. There was a pillow which lay near his hand and Somchai assumed there might be a gun under the pillow. If you had security guards on the gate and angry dogs patrolling, you would be careful when letting a stranger into your house.
“Why are you here in Chonburi? This isn’t your area of responsibility.”
“District 8 is the headquarters of the National Crime Team,” Somchai said taking out a fresh packet of Marlboro Lights he’d purchased earlier. He shook it by way of asking if Kornsak minded him smoking.
“I don’t know the National Crime Team,” said Kornsak. “What’s that got to do with me, what do you do?”
“We collate information across other Districts and work on special projects.”
“Special projects,” Kornsak said as if the expression was a new surgical procedure.
“Yes, it means we get to travel out of the capital sometimes.”
“You didn’t have to come very far here,” Kornsak said.
“I’ve been in Pattaya a lot lately. There is a special project which I’ve been keeping my eye on. And your name keeps on coming up as part of this special project.”
Kornsak shrugged as if he didn’t care but was mildly curious.
“What can I help you with, Colonel? Is there something we can do for the police association? Are you building new tennis courts or need a new sauna?”
Somchai shook his head, a non-committal expression on his face. He had fingered open the packet of cigarettes and took time to light one. He hated this brand but the Seven Eleven didn’t have much choice.
“I don’t think it is so simple, Khun Kornsak.”
“When the police come, nothing is ever simple,” Kornsak laughed and shifted on his sofa, laying his hand on top of the small pillow.
“Tell me why you have come to my house. It’s not normal for a policeman to come alone and in the evening so far from your office.”
“No, it’s not normal. You are right,” Colonel Somchai said and smiled coldly. “I know you are doing some business with people from Hong Kong. And I know they are paying you money.”
Kornsak eyed him coolly. “And why is that any of your business? Do you want to cut yourself into the deal?”
Somchai shook his head. “I want you to stop dealing with them. They are Chinese gangsters and they should not be allowed to buy or own land in Thailand.”
“They have money. I have the power to make decisions on the land. I don’t see what the problem is, Colonel Somchai. Why is this any of your business? Aren’t there other more important criminals for you to find?”
“I am investigating these Chinese gangsters. If it wasn’t for people like you taking their money, they would not be able to operate.”
“Who says I have taken their money?” Kornsak mocked him.
“You will take their money. How else can you buy a house like this, pay for your mistresses. Send your children to expensive schools.”
“I know. You want to send your children to expensive schools as well. Don’t you? How about I give you ten percent? That’s a normal fee for a policeman.” Kornsak smiled unctuously as he made the offer.
“Ten percent of how much?”
“You would like to know that wouldn’t you? I’ll pay you when you come next time. Come in a month. Everything should be done then.”
Somchai shook his head and for a moment his fingers strayed to the place on his belt where the gun was holstered. He resisted the temptation.
“You are the type of scum that has made this country go backwards. You don’t care from whom you take money. You sell your services like a prostitute to anyone. Like the girls in the bars for the foreigners.”
“A rich prostitute,” Kornsak said. “Wouldn’t you like a house like this? So we agree it is ten percent. Or maybe I’ll go up to twelve percent.”
Colonel Somchai stood up. “I told you not to go ahead with this deal. Don’t do business with the Chinese. If you go ahead, I will bring you down.”
Kornsak laughed out loud. “You don’t have the power. Do you know who my friends are? Do you have any idea how well connected I am? When you leave here I will make one phone call and you will be sent to walk the streets of Chiang Rai in uniform.”
Somchai turned on his way out of the door and smiled. He pointed his finger at Kornsak’s face and made as if he was pulling the trigger of a gun.