by Angus McLean
The driver relented and pocketed the cash, gunning the machine out into traffic. Travis took the time to catch his breath and try Susie again. Still nothing. He flicked a quick text to her with the code they had agreed.
A1. We’ve been compromised.
He put the phone away and ran a quick physical on himself. A grazed knee and a damaged shirt was all he had to show for the escapade.
He slapped the driver on the shoulder and told him to pull over half a block short. The driver protested until a handful of greenbacks appeared in his hand. Travis left him behind and legged it to the hotel, knowing time was of the essence. He didn’t have time for niceties. Speed, Aggression, Surprise – the other meaning of the SAS.
The other guests in the lift looked at him sideways on the way up. The porter with them looked at him suspiciously.
Jabbing the key card into the door slot, he burst into the suite and found himself face to face with the boss of the watchers. Susie stood by the window, her cell in her hand and a bemused look on her face. She looked cool and touristy in tan shorts and a sleeveless blue top. Another heavy stood near her.
Even as he reached for the man in front of him, Travis noticed nobody had a weapon drawn. Susie’s warning was loud.
‘Jack, no!’
He pulled back against every instinct in his body. The older man had stepped back warily. A half smile came onto his face and he put his hands up placatingly.
‘It is okay, we are on your side.’
Travis glanced at Susie, who was nodding vigorously.
‘This is Major Dang of the Special Branch, Royal Thai Police. They’re on our side.’
‘You sure?’ Travis was still eyeing the two visitors carefully. ‘Can they explain why they just tried to rumble me?’
Susie’s brow wrinkled and she looked questioningly at the older man. He smiled and spoke in accented but flawless English.
‘This is true. Please, I apologise for the incident. Perhaps we did not know who we were dealing with, and I must say I have some new men who are...perhaps overly keen?’ He smiled again and held his hand to his heart. ‘We meant you no harm, please believe me.’
Travis had to admit it was a convincing story.
Chapter Ten
It took some time and coffee before they were all on the same page and Travis relaxed to a degree.
It transpired that Dang was the contact Susie had been in touch with, although they had never met before. He and his men had been scoping the area of the hotel when Travis burned them. The communication had broken down on the team and the results spoke for themselves – one of the officers had a dislocated jaw and the other was very sore. Dang had not been happy with Travis for his reaction, but even less pleased with his own men. He gave the distinct impression that disciplinary action would follow. Knowing what he knew about the Thais, Travis felt for the guys involved.
Susie had missed his calls when she was in the shower, and when she picked up his message she had called Dang straight away for back up.
‘And there he was,’ Susie concluded, ’already on his way up to see me.’
‘Lucky,’ Travis observed. He was the only one still standing, not quite ready to fully relax yet. He’d wanted to frisk both men but was held back with a warning look from Susie.
‘I can only apologise again,’ Major Dang said with a shrug. He was no longer smiling. ‘But I have apologised enough. We must move on.’
Travis gave a non-committal shrug and smiled, holding the glittering black eyes of the other man.
‘I tried to identify us to you, but obviously all us Asians sound the same, huh?’
‘It’s all good mate,’ Travis told him, ‘water under the bridge. I’m pleased we’ve cleared the air.’
‘I shall pass that on to my friend with the broken jaw,’ interrupted Dang’s colleague with a sneer. ‘I’m sure he’ll be pleased you’re happy.’
Dang snapped something at him in Thai then smiled at the two Kiwis. ‘Sergeant Mookjai is understandably upset about what happened. He means no offense.’
Seeing the way the lean NCO was looking at him, Travis wasn’t so convinced. The man had the lumpy knuckles and scar tissue round the eyes of a street brawler.
Major Dang clapped his hands on his knees and stood. ‘We must carry on, I am afraid. It has been very nice to meet you, and most...enlightening?’ He smiled and gave a short bow. ‘We will be in touch, as they say.’
Susie showed them out and shut the door behind them. She pointed to her ear and then to the door.
‘Well I don’t know about you, but I’m gagging for a drink,’ Travis said. ‘And I need to clean up a bit after all that palaver.’
He went to the bathroom and stripped off his shirt, having a quick wash and freshen up while Susie made idle chat with him. Returning to the lounge he dug a clean shirt out of his bag and ran a hand through his hair. He saw Susie staring at him and realised she had seen the scars on his torso – a memento from Afghanistan.
‘Another time, another place,’ he said briefly before covering it up. ‘Let’s go.’
The bar they’d been sent to was a twenty minute tuk-tuk ride from the hotel, beside the Chao Phraya river. They played the tourists and took their time with some counter-surveillance measures, finally arriving only fifteen minutes before the scheduled contact. They were shown to a table on the balcony where they could see the boats go by on the river and people-watch to their hearts’ content. The waitress who brought them their drinks – an ice cold Chang beer for Travis and an orange coloured Thai iced tea for Susie – had a flawless complexion and a beautiful smile.
Susie saw Travis’ lingering look and laughed. ‘Like China dolls, aren’t they.’
He grinned self-consciously. ‘And probably not even half my age.’
They snacked on prawn crackers while they drank, and were halfway through their drinks when Travis spotted a short slim European man stand from his table inside and move towards the balcony. He was in his thirties and had the sort of face you would forget in seconds. He carried a copy of today’s Bangkok Post, folded in half and held in his left hand.
Travis cleared his throat subtly and Susie switched on, nudging her own copy of the Post with her elbow so that it protruded out from the table. The man ignored them as he walked past to the rail of the balcony, pausing there to look out at the river and take a photo on his phone.
As the man turned to go Travis and Susie stood and gathered their things. He had to squeeze past side on with a nod and smile.
‘Sorry,’ Susie said, turning out of his way and slipping the Post from his hand as he went past. He scooped up her copy and carried on, and the brush pass was completed in less than a second.
Travis drained his glass and put it down, slipped on his sunnies and said ‘Let’s go get some dinner.’
Susie smiled and looped her arm through his, the Post tucked into her handbag. They left the bar and walked a block before Susie opened the newspaper and dug inside. A bag check ticket was there as agreed, a small padlock key taped to it.
They walked to the hotel named on the ticket, a mid-range tourist outfit where it was possible to leave your bags for a day after checking out. The high turnover of guests minimised the risk of a staff member being suspicious of a guest they didn’t recognise.
Susie took the ticket inside while Travis kept watch outside. They didn’t appear to have been followed. She was back in a minute with a plain blue daypack, the zip padlocked closed.
Travis took it from her and could feel some weight as he shouldered it.
‘Let’s go,’ he said.
They found a dim sum restaurant only a couple of blocks from their hotel and took a table near the door. They ordered pork spare ribs and spring rolls to start, and while they waited Travis ducked to the toilet with the daypack. Locked in a cubicle, he opened the bag to find a large black sarong wrapped around three smaller drawstring canvas bags.
The first two bags were identical. Each contained a Si
g Sauer P250 Compact chambered for .357 SIG. Each was fully loaded with a round in the chamber and holstered in a black leather Mitch Rosen holster, and was accompanied by a spare 13 round magazine and a full box of 50 rounds. The third bag contained documents – a wad of what appeared to be about five grand American and fifty thousand Thai baht, plus clean New Zealand passports for each of them. Anthony Turner and Melissa Cullen.
Travis placed one of the Sigs at the top of the bag, ready to grab, and returned to the table. Susie had cleaned up the remainder of the entrees and smiled as he sat. A large jug of iced tea sat in the centre of the table.
‘I ordered for you,’ she said, ‘I hope a chicken cashew stir fry is okay.’
‘Conservative,’ he grinned, ‘but safe.’
The meal was typical Thai-clean, packed with flavour and sizzling hot. They devoured it and debated over desserts before deciding against it. It felt good to be away from the hotel and, choosing their words carefully, they agreed that Major Dang and his sidekick had probably planted listening devices in their room – or if not at the time, certainly by now. They lingered over their last drinks before hitting the pavement again.
They hadn’t gone far before they realised they were being followed.
Paul Watkins had worked at the Ministry for Foreign Affairs for five years in Wellington before getting a position with a family friend’s business in Bangkok, exporting Thai artefacts, art and knick knacks to New Zealand, Aussie and the UK.
He had only been there a couple of months when he was approached by his former boss at the Ministry. He was offered the chance to be involved in the intelligence game as a courier, doing pick-ups and drop offs with agents on the ground. The embassy staff, including the resident SIS officer, were well known to the local authorities and it wasn’t always safe for them to clear dead letter drops or meet with agents.
Paul loved the subterfuge of it all and it was satisfying knowing that he was actually contributing to keeping his own country safer from terrorists. Tonight’s brush pass had been straight forward and all over within an hour from start to finish. After making the drop to the two agents in the bar he’d made his way back to the office and let himself in.
Everyone was gone for the day and it didn’t take long to switch off the alarm, place his marker and lock up again. He knew that another agent, probably an embassy staffer, would drive past the office within the next half hour. They would see that the small cactus in the terracotta pot on his office windowsill had been moved from the left side to the right side, meaning that the brush pass had been completed safely.
He smiled to himself as he walked away from the office, still feeling the thrill of the adrenaline rush in his veins. The export company was what paid the bills but the spy stuff was what he lived for.
He blended into the background as he walked towards his nearby apartment, just another non-descript white face in casual clothes with a man-bag over his shoulder. He was nearly at the apartment, planning what he was going to have for dinner, when he felt a sudden prickling at the back of his neck. The feeling that he was being watched was too strong to ignore. He turned quickly but saw nothing untoward. He carried on the way he was going but couldn’t shake the feeling. He dug his cell phone out and punched in his PIN, debating whether to call or not. Maybe he was just being paranoid. His handler wouldn’t appreciate the security breach of being called for a non-emergency.
He reached the main street and checked the traffic. Busy as always, tuk-tuks and bikes weaving around the cars and buses. His apartment was opposite in a large block that reached for the sky. Within a minute he would be safely inside. If he still felt wary he’d make the call then. He tucked the phone away again and stepped to the edge of the road, waiting.
A bus loaded with tourists from the airport was approaching in the inside lane and he waited. The noise of traffic and the buzz of chatter and movement was loud all around him.
Just as the bus got a couple of car lengths away, Paul felt the prickle at the base of his neck again, stronger than before. He suddenly knew he was in imminent danger.
As he started to turn his head he felt hands on his elbows, hard and strong, pinning his arms to his sides. He looked into the flat cold eyes of a Thai man who pressed right up against him.
Paul was propelled forward, his feet leaving the ground as he was bodily lifted and tossed into the path of the oncoming bus. The bus driver had no chance to stop and the front grill smashed into Paul’s torso, carrying him several metres before the bus slowed enough and the body slid to the roadway in a crumpled heap. He was dead before he hit the ground.
People screamed and horns honked and the Thai man melted into the crowd.
Chapter Eleven
‘Dang’s crew?’ Susie wondered aloud as they trotted across a side road and headed towards the main road. They had spotted a tuk-tuk driver kerb-crawling opposite them and seeming to track them as they left the restaurant and made their way up the footpath. He wasn’t touting for business and seemed to have no reason to be there.
‘Maybe,’ Travis muttered, ‘he’s pretty obvious and Dang’s guys don’t seem too sharp.’
‘Better keep our eyes open, he won’t be alone.’
They reached the main thoroughfare and turned right, keeping with the crowds of pedestrians – although, Travis noted, the crowds had thinned out between the bustle of the day shoppers and the buzz of the night time partiers. They felt exposed without a throng around them.
‘Plan?’ Susie asked tersely, keeping pace with him and trying to maintain a relaxed air.
‘Stay alive,’ he replied, and she shot him a scowl.
‘Really? That’s your plan? Stay alive?’ she said incredulously.
He shrugged. ‘Well it’s not a bad plan. Simple, but effective.’
‘Jesus Christ,’ Susie groaned, shaking her head. ‘I should’ve followed my sister and been a teacher. Lots of holidays, weekends off and fuck all chance of getting my tits shot off in some hell hole.’
Travis gave her surprised. ‘Wow,’ he said, ‘descriptive.’
She opened her mouth to retort and he put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. ‘There’s another one up ahead,’ he said softly, ‘tuk-tuk, brown shirt with a red scarf. Third one near him on the footpath, smoking by the bar, talking on the phone.’
Susie clocked them both. ‘How d’you know?’
‘It’s my job. Besides, both have sidearms under their shirts.’
‘So, my question still stands; plan?’
‘I presume you’re okay with a pistol?’
She nodded. ‘Of course.’
‘Good. I don’t see these guys being Dang’s crew, which means they know who we are and aren’t on our side. Stick with me, and when I run you run. We’re going into the alley just ahead and once we do we’re going to leg it as fast as we can. It’ll either make them show their hand or we’ll lose them.’ He looked at her closely, inhaling her scent as he did so. ‘All good?’
‘Yep.’ She nodded and gave him a dazzling smile, slipping her arm around his waist and squeezing. ‘Probably need to lay off those dinners, big guy – you’re packing on the pounds.’
‘Thanks. Remember, stay close.’ They were just about on the alleyway now and the men up ahead were barely forty metres away. Travis paused outside a shop to look at a rack of flowery shirts, just at the mouth of the alley. ‘Nice and easy,’ he said, ‘I’ll be right behind you. Go now.’
Susie sidled past him and into the alley. As soon as she left the footpath she sprinted. Travis gave her a couple of seconds and followed, swinging the daypack off his shoulder as he began to run. He dug out the first Sig and jammed it into his waistband, slipping the pack onto his back as he tried to catch up to Susie. She wasn’t wasting any time and was several metres ahead, hair dragging in her slipstream.
He heard running feet behind them and threw a glance back – the smoker he’d spotted was after them, the smoke and phone gone now and replaced by a pistol. A t
uk-tuk was entering the alley behind him. Travis focussed on getting distance, seeing Susie just about at the end of the alley now.
A van screeched to a halt across the alley in front of her and the side door slid open, revealing two Thai men. One had an SMG of some sort, the other a sawn off shotgun.
Susie skidded to a halt and started to turn, but was barely three metres from them. Both guns swung towards her. At this range they would tear her apart.
Still running full tilt, Travis swung the Sig up and thumbed the safety off. The first shot was deafeningly loud and blew out the driver’s window. The shotgunner yelped with surprise and involuntarily fired his weapon, blasting a chunk out of the alley wall beside Susie.
Travis heard her shriek and fired again, a double tap this time that took the shotgunner in the chest and knocked him backwards into the van where he hung half in and half out, the sawn off still in his hands. The driver panicked and tried to escape, but bunny-hopped and stalled the van. He looked up in terror as he cranked the ignition.
The sub-gunner seemed to be more switched on and took a crouch, bringing his gun up.
‘Down!’ Travis bellowed, diving to the dirty floor of the alley as the SMG opened up. A long burst of rounds shredded the air above him. He saw Susie hit the deck to the side and start crawling towards him. He rolled awkwardly with the daypack on and got the Sig around, coming online when another burst of rounds pinged off the ground only inches away.
He heard a shout behind him as the two men at that end came dangerously close to a blue-on-blue with the sub-gunner. Taking advantage of the momentary confusion, Travis unleashed a second double tap towards the sub-gunner and saw the man’s torso judder with the impacts of the heavy .357 SIG rounds. He fell sideways, dropping his weapon. The van roared to life and leaped forward out of sight, the wounded shotgunner slipping to the ground. The rear wheels of the van bounced over his legs as his driver escaped.
‘Go!’ Travis shouted, pushing up and racing towards the footpath ahead.
