Death in the Kingdom (15 page)

Tan and Billy were cleaning the buddha while Suwat hosed off the dive gear. ‘You guys keep my kit. I won't be needing it again,' I said. They all chorused their thanks. It was a bonus score for them. I'd just given away a couple of hundred thousand baht's worth of the very latest dive gear. Suwat went aft at a run to collect my wetsuit. The boys would either hock it off or rent it to big European clients as a sideline to their regular operation.

Tri was coming up astern of us. The smoke from the burning runabout and the cruiser had dissipated. I guessed he had hung around long enough to ensure there were no survivors. I'd decided from day one that he was a ruthlessly cold fish. I'd decided right. The missing boat and its crew might never be found. The sharks, the tide, the very remoteness of the area would all conspire for that result. If both the hull of the runabout and the cruiser went down, there was little chance their fate would ever be known. Of course, the damned satellite that I just knew was up there above us might have captured it all. I wondered if the Yanks would send a crew to retrieve whatever was left. I had the sudden thought that maybe Tri was the one Tuk Tuk might have entrusted to take me out. I shifted my bag to my left hand and waited.

Tri's boat was alongside. I could see the damage the grenade had caused. It was mainly superficial flash burns and some shrapnel damage. One of the goons had his left arm in a sling. The big Brownings were back under canvas. If the gunboat captain had ever looked smug, it was now. He waved for me to come to the side of the
Odorama.
I did so, slowly, watchful. A crewman reached across the gap between us and handed me a small object. It was a leather wallet. The trawler moved on ahead of us in a grumble of diesel power. I felt a surge of relief. Tri wasn't out to hit me. I now felt that that particular honour would go to Choy, my original pick. It always amazed me the twists and turns that paranoia could cause in one's thought patterns at times.

I watched as Tri set a course to the south, his job done. I guessed that he would off-load his weaponry somewhere down the coast before heading back into Ranong, if indeed he returned there at all. I sat down on the edge of the deck well and examined the wallet. It was sodden as, of course, was expected. I opened it. The New York driver's licence showed a face and a name: Carl Leathem, forty-two years old. There was a Queens address. I didn't recognise the face. I found a photo ID with a State Department seal, but no specific outfit identified. CIA definitely. That was the way they did it. Nice generic IDs with a numerical code that rang the right bells when processed. Just like the one I carried. There was no money in the wallet. I guessed Tri's cut-throats had liberated any cash. I used the bottom of my T-shirt to wipe my prints off the wallet's contents before reinserting them. Then I did an erasing trick on the wallet before I tossed it over the side. I wasn't going to be delivering it to the US Embassy in Bangkok.

I went into the mess with my bag and the mysterious box in tow. I had a Singha and followed it with another good belt of Mekong. I didn't know if I was supposed to feel elated or dejected. I'd recovered the fucking box, but maybe a dozen people had died because of it. I had another drink and then another but I didn't want to get drunk in case any of Choy's playmates had a go at me.

It was only a few minutes after midday and I was bone tired and my damned thumb throbbed. Why was a simple little jag causing me so much pain? Whatever, I was going to get some rest. It was going to take us the rest of the day to get back to Ranong at full clatter, and then I had Choy to deal with. Joy!

I lay on my bunk with the holdall behind my head, gun beside me and went to sleep.

14

I awoke about half an hour from the dock feeling like shit. I washed my face and got ready for Choy and whatever the future held. I pulled on my lightweight leather jacket. I was still chilled, whether from the cold of the dive or because black spiders of paranoia had slipped out of my subconscious to bite me. It happened that way sometimes. I put my few clothes into my bag to cover the black box.

The bag had a steel mesh between layers of leather, all attached to the steel-cored handle and shoulder strap. It had been given to me by Sir Bernard specifically to carry the mysterious box. There was no way this piece of luggage was going to fall apart under the weight of its special cargo.

I had one plan in mind for when we landed. I put the trick Marlboro pack in one jacket pocket, and a full genuine packet in the other. Then I climbed up to the
Odorama's
bridge.

‘What happened today?' Niran asked, his thin face shiny with fear.

‘You saw nothing. Nothing happened. You took this crazy Englishman to dive but the weather turned bad. When it cleared he asked you to bring him back here. That is all. You didn't see Tri, you saw nothing, Niran,' I said softly.

‘Nothing,' he repeated, nodding his head. ‘I see nothing.' I resisted the impulse to smile. ‘I see nothing' had been the catch phrase from
Hogan's Heroes
, a television show of my youth. Memories of the show and its characters could still produce a smile, even when life was as low-down dirty and dangerous as it was right at that moment. I went down below to spread the word amongst the rest of the guys. They had all seen nothing. In the mess I got a medicinal beer and stepped out on deck. The light was fading, but a quarter of a mile away I could see Choy and another man standing beside a big black Cherokee parked on the nearest dock. I went up to the bridge, borrowed Niran's glasses and focused on the reception committee on the dock.

Choy usually drove himself. I wondered if he had brought along a driver for another reason. The other guy looked more like a driver than a goon. He was typically slight, maybe in his early thirties, dressed in the standard uniform of jeans, a pair of trainers and a short nylon jacket over a T-shirt. Choy was in his own uniform of a dark silk suit and a black shirt open at the neck to show a gold rope big enough to moor the
Queen Mary.
The ensemble was completed with a pair of black crocodile-skin slip-ons and a pair of platinum-framed snake eyes. The mirrored lenses of the sunglasses completely hid his eyes. He was a very intimidating, very damaged gorilla in expensive clothes. That's my man, Choy Lee, I mused. I gave Niran back his glasses and went down to the mess and the remains of my beer. We were only a matter of fifty feet out by now.

The Cherokee had been parked right there on the dock ready to receive the cargo. The buddha was in the deck well. It had been covered in canvas and was just an anonymous shape now. There was a sling attached to the bundle ready to swing it up onto the dock. It would take some manpower to get it into the back of Choy's Jeep. I hoped he had heavy-duty springs fitted. I was sure he did. Gorilla, yes; idiot, no.

The moment
Odorama's
tyre buffers hit the wharf I stepped ashore. Choy nodded to me. I couldn't see his eyes through the black lenses of his glasses, but I knew his gaze was focused on the canvas package sitting on the prawn boat. The back of the Cherokee was already open. I moved to the Jeep and put my holdall onto the rear passenger seat. As I did that, I removed the fake pack of Marlboros from my jacket pocket and slid it under the seat in front. I then moved away from the open door and went to lean on the side of the vehicle. I wanted to watch the floor show as the buddha was off-loaded. This was now Choy's game. Or so I would have him think.

Once Tuk Tuk's ticket to paradise was safely on the dock, Choy waved for bodies to help lift the buddha into the back of the wagon. It took six of them to do it, including Choy himself. The Jeep settled heavily on its springs which was my cue to go and bid farewell to Niran and his crew. Would Choy do what I anticipated he would? Harbours were noisy places when you wanted to make a special phone call.

‘Gotcha,' I whispered as The Cabbage climbed into the passenger seat of the Cherokee and pulled the door shut against the din of the port. He glued his mobile phone to his ear as I shook Niran's hand and turned away, adjusting the stems of my glasses as I did so.

‘We have it,' Choy was saying in Cantonese. His head turned my way as I hid behind a smoke screen and shook hands with the divers.

‘So, you will be here by midnight?' Tuk Tuk asked.

‘Yes. By midnight or shortly afterwards.' Choy paused. ‘What about Daniel? He has his box. It would be easy to get rid of him in the jungle. Then you can take the box and trade it with the British or the Americans. Tri called me. He said it was the Americans who attacked them out on the water.'

‘Kill Daniel,' Tuk Tuk replied. ‘It pains me, but kill him quickly, Choy.'

My blood ran colder than ice when I heard those words. Without a qualm, Tuk Tuk had consigned me to a shallow grave in the fucking jungle. I kept my face expressionless as I walked back up to the Jeep. Choy closed his mobile phone and dropped it into his jacket pocket. He started to open his door but hesitated as I went to the rear door.

‘We go,' he mumbled as I opened the door and got in behind him. No doubt he had planned to manoeuvre me into the front seat and get in behind me. I had checked him in this most deadly game of chess we were about to play.

‘Yeah, let's go,' I replied as I settled into the seat behind him. The driver climbed in and cranked the big engine into life. The Jeep felt as heavy as my fucking heart as it moved off. I leaned back against the seat and made a play of closing my eyes. The tint of my Ray Bans hid the fact that my eyes were still half-open. No way was I not going to watch The Cabbage. I doubted he would attempt to kill me in the car, at least not on the move anyway. He was obsessively vehicle proud, so he probably wouldn't want the mess. At some point he would suggest we stop. A call of nature, maybe, on some isolated piece of road in the park as we cut across the peninsula. Then it would happen.

We were heading up the coast on Highway 4. I knew we'd cross over the hill at Kapoh to Chumphon and then run on up to Phetchaburi, again on 4, repeating the run I had done days before. Midnight, huh? It was close to a 250-mile drive to Phetchaburi and it was now 17:00. Choy had plenty of time to do what he wanted to. If I let him! I had already slipped the Walther out of its holster. The automatic was cocked and locked, safety off as it rested under my right thigh. My hand rested casually on the seat beside it.

We passed through Kra Buri without incident, and then started up into the national park. This was where I guessed it would happen. Five minutes up into the jungle I was proven right. There was quite a bit of traffic about, so I guessed it wouldn't take place on the side of the main road. As I saw the secondary road come up ahead on our left, Choy confirmed it would be then and there. ‘I have to piss,' he said, indicating for the driver to pull us off the tarmac onto the dirt side road. The man did as he was told. Whether or not he knew what was to come I couldn't tell. He drove us fifty yards along the dirt road and pulled up where the trees started to crowd in. There was no traffic on this rutted track—no doubt a big factor in Choy's calculations. As we slowed I slipped my fingers around the Walther's butt, my finger sliding along the trigger guard.

It was very surreal the way it was happening. I'd never figured Choy for stupid, not ever. Okay, he didn't know I'd been eavesdropping on his conversation with Tuk Tuk, but he must have known that I wasn't a bloody moron and that I didn't trust him. Maybe it was his extreme arrogance. Maybe his hatred for me just overrode his logic. Whatever, it was all over in seconds.

The Jeep rocked on its springs as we stopped. Choy started to open his door with his left hand and as he began to get out, he turned towards me, his right hand rising above the seat back. He clutched the massive Desert Eagle and was still aligning the gun when I started shooting. The butt of my own gun was now resting on my right thigh. He never even saw it before he died. I put five shots through the back of the seat into Choy's chest and left side. That was the thing about those fancy post-production custom seats he'd had installed in the Cherokee. With all that breathable mesh and shit there wasn't a lot between the front and the back. Certainly not enough to stop a nine-millimetre slug, let alone five of them, going through the same big ragged hole.

Choy looked surprised in the second or two it took for him to realise he was dead. His hand cannon fell to the ground outside the car, while he slumped back against the front of the doorframe and the dashboard, his legs outside the wagon. He didn't make a sound. I turned my attention to the driver, raising the Walther to massage his left ear. The guy was frozen in his seat, head turned towards Choy, his eyes bulging. No doubt his ears were also ringing, just as mine were.

‘You don't have to die,' I said softly. ‘If you have a gun or a knife, open your window and throw them out. He fumbled and produced a small automatic. He opened the window and dropped it out. A switchblade followed a few seconds later. ‘Pass me the keys,' I instructed. He did. ‘Fasten your seat belt,' I ordered and he scrambled to obey. ‘If I hear you release it I will kill you,' I added, probably quite unnecessarily. I got out of the Jeep. The guy had seen first hand how easy it was to die in my little world.

I searched for a pulse in Choy's neck. There was none. The Cabbage had gone to meet his ancestors. However, even in death I had plans for him. The easiest option would have been to simply shoot him in the back of the head, but I needed that big ugly head of his more or less in one piece. I completed opening Choy's door for him, then I turned his body, lifting his legs back into the passenger compartment. I strapped his body back into his seat, picked up his gun and tossed it away into the jungle. I didn't want the fucking thing. I went around the Jeep and did the same with the driver's hardware. Then I had a piss.

As I stood there with my dick in my hand, I felt let down. Not just by Tuk Tuk—I'd sort of expected that—but I'd been forced to kill Choy too damned quickly, too damned easily. I would have liked for him to have seen his death coming. He had brought it on himself with his total obsession to kill me, and I would have liked a few minutes with him to point out the error of his ways. Instead it had all been over in a second and a half. I finished urinating and zipped up.