Her jaw slowly unclenches. “What did you do?”
“Dumb stuff. It doesn’t matter now. Doing this is how I make up for it.” No answer. She just keeps staring at the sky. “You know, you can still do a deal that won’t keep you up at night.”
She finally looks at me. “What are you talking about?”
“The pottery. Nam Ton wares. Have your friends buy them direct from Pensri’s people. You won’t get paid as much, but it’ll be something, and you won’t turn into Lady Macbeth. The village’ll get a ton more money. You’ll be a hero again.”
“What about you?”
“We’re a package deal. I got Nam Ton untangled from the heroin. Now it can become a real asset to them.”
She sniffs, shakes her head. “I’m supposed to save you from them? I don’t know if I can. I’d have to be a ‘hero,’ as you put it, and I can’t do that until I set up the deal for the ceramics. I’ll have to go back to Arunothai to do that.”
“Why?”
“So I can make a call. Our phones don’t work out here, remember?”
“Your iPhone may not. I’ll bet that blue Huawei of yours does.”
Her eyes practically explode. “You went through my bag? How dare you! How could you—”
I snap, “The same way you went through the drawers and cabinets in my house and tried to break into my office. Twice. You got no room to complain.”
She sputters and grimaces and storms back-and-forth on a short line until she finally gets it out of her system, or until she figures out that what I proposed isn’t completely insane. I’m kinda surprised she hasn’t thought of it before now. She finally stops to glare at me more. “Okay, let’s assume I can even make that deal. Tell me why I should rescue you after what you did.”
It’s a rational question, but it worries me that she has to ask it. “Because I’m cute and you like to play with me?” That gets me a dark look. “Because I got you here?” The dark look doesn’t go away. “Because I just saved your soul?”
She snaps, “Did you?”
“I’m not sure. We’ll see whether you leave me here to them. If you do… well, I’ll guess I didn’t.”
A lot of silence follows. A little gray pig snuffles at my feet. Pigs eat dead bodies, a wonderful thing to think of right now. It’d take a lot of these guys to get rid of me.
Savannah stands in the corner of the yard with her back to me and sighs a lot. She turns to give me a less-dark look than before. “I have to talk to Pensri. Wait here.”
As she walks away, I say, “Like I’m going anywhere?”
It gets dark. The windows in the nearby houses become orange eyes. I can smell frying chicken and simmering spices, but nobody brings me any. Why waste food on a dead man?
My whole body aches from sitting on the ground and not being able to move. I haven’t had any water since the new guard took over a couple hours ago, and I can’t vouch for how clean that was. Maybe they’ll shoot me before I get dysentery. The pigs eventually give up on me and the chickens settle in for the night.
Somewhere along the way, I drift off. I’m too tired to dream.
Somebody kicks me awake. The guard looms over me like a dark tree.
Pensri’s voice says something in what sounds like Thai. The guard unties me. When I don’t move immediately, he kicks me again.
I snarl, “Just fucking get away from me. This’ gonna take a while.” Making my body work again is hard and painful and I can’t get on my feet without the guard hauling me upright.
Savannah steps in front of me. “Come on. We’re leaving now. You can thank me later.”
Chapter 55
2 DAYS LEFT
I say, “I thought you said it’s dangerous to drive at night.”
“It is.” Savannah’s eyes are on gimbals and her head’s on a swivel trying to keep track of the things coming out of the dark at us. The light from the dash picks out the veins bulging in her hands.
Savannah’s driving us south on Highway 45 as fast as the night lets us. It’s just past midnight and pouring. We honk our way through the flatbeds and minibuses jostling along the road, playing chicken in the dark.
I say, “What did Pensri say to you back there?”
“When?”
“At the river, when we were leaving.” They spoke so quietly I could barely hear them, and then all I heard was Thai. The body language looked like there was a cold front between them.
Savannah concentrates on skirting a pothole the size of a volcano’s caldera. “Well, for one thing, she asked me to never bring a guest again.”
If she’s fishing for an apology, she won’t get one. “Anything else?”
“She thanked me for making the deal with my friend in Shanghai for the ceramics. She and Htun are already working out a way to hide the extra money from the Wa. Those are the only parts that concern you.”
There’s still a cool front between me and Savannah, too. Her long navy-blue dress is buttoned from top to bottom, and she’s been in speak-only-when-spoken-to mode since we left.
She glances at me, looks away. “How do I trust you now? After yesterday?”
“How do I trust you?” After the first day we met. “You set me up, made it look like the heroin deal was mine, not yours. Before that, you were running me around up here when you knew all the time where we were headed. Were you stalling us, too? Burning time until Kyon could get to the village? It’s just too coincidental that we arrived the evening before he was supposed to visit.” A thought blinks into my head. “Did you call him that last night in Arunothai?”
“I talked to Pensri. She set up the meeting.”
“Great. You lied to me—to everybody—about not knowing where Nam Ton comes from. Over Memorial Day weekend? When we were searching the maps? You told me to forget Myanmar. On purpose, I bet.”
A long pause. “Uh-huh.”
I try to say something but only manage a growl. And she’s questioning me?
She stabs my thigh with an index finger. “You lied about who you are, about your work, about your house. What was that big meeting you put on the day Jim arrived? Was that even real? How did you get the mayor to just drop by that morning?” Her jaw sags. “He wasn’t the mayor, was he? He was some kind of actor. I’ve never felt so conned in my life.”
I need to get her off that track. “You know how you said you got me into bed because you wanted to find out more about me? That’s not quite true, is it? You were ready to go at the Tonga Room, way before you ever saw my house. When did you decide I was rich enough to sleep with? That first day at Achara? The lunch with Jim and Lorena?”
Savannah clenches her jaw and locks her eyes straight ahead. The bones and veins pop on the backs of her hands.
We plow through the silence for what must be three or four miles, playing dodge’em with every truck driver and oxcart in eastern Myanmar. About a third of the northbound trucks aren’t using their headlights; one almost takes off our side mirror. Once we get to a relatively clear stretch of road, I notice a strange sound coming from the driver’s seat.
It’s Savannah. She’s giggling.
“What’s so funny?”
She claps a hand over her mouth, which doesn’t stop the giggles but helps muffle them. A bark of laughter escapes. “Oh, god. We were doing the same thing to each other.”
I snicker despite myself. “Takes one to know one, doesn’t it?”
“Uh-huh.” Now she laughs out loud. “This is crazy! This’ never…”
I really don’t want to laugh, but she’s right—the situation’s nuts. We’ve both been lying our asses off to each other. We’re absolutely perfectly matched. “Who’s ahead?”
Savannah tries to stifle a guffaw and ends up making a noise like rubbing a balloon. “I think we’re tied.” She palms tears away from her eyes. “Pulling over. I gotta… I gotta…”
We shoehorn ourselves onto what passes for the shoulder and dissolve into a collective fit of la
ughter. Passing trucks splash water on the Hilux and rock us like little earthquakes. After everything we’ve been through over the past few days, all the tension, all the maneuvering, it feels amazing to let it out until our guts hurt. The drivers going by must think we’re dying from nerve gas.
We finally get to that point where the belly-laughs turn into sniggers. Savannah rubs away her tears, then gives me a really dopey smile. “Hiii.”
“Hi yourself.”
Giggle. She holds out her right hand. “I’m Savannah. I used to be an heiress, but now I’m broke. I do all kinds of crazy things for money. And I’m really fun in bed.”
I almost trip into another fit, but pull it out in time. I shake her hand. “Hi, Savannah. I’m Rick.” Honesty goes only so far. “I don’t have much money, but I’ve got good clothes. I lie really well.”
“Hi, Rick. I’ll bet you’re fun in bed, too.”
“You think?”
“Uh-huh.” She pecks my lips. “Let’s get out of this country.”
Chapter 56
EIGHT DAYS LATER
I slip out of the king-size bed, grab my phone off the long, black headboard, and pad to the sliding glass door looking out on our private balcony. It’s almost seven. Savannah’s just a long lump under the bright white duvet. I can see through a screen of trees to the Ping River, dappled by raindrops. The muted morning light filtered by the clouds turns the outside into a pastel.
We checked into the X2 Chiang Mai Riverside Resort the day after we left Myanmar—we overnighted in Arunothai to rest and clean up—and we’ve been here ever since. There’s a pool and gym on the roof, a Michelin-star chef in the hotel restaurant, and a spa. I hope Talbot and Medina don’t mind paying for all this.
After all, they told me to keep track of Savannah.
I sent my report to them (via Allyson) when we arrived in Arunothai and I could use my laptop again. I told them about Kyon and that the Nam Ton wares aren’t going to be a problem anymore in the U.S. Talbot replied (also via Allyson) by the next morning: he had what he needed “and more,” whatever that means. He also told me to stick with Savannah “for a few days” and keep checking my mail. I’ve been doing that ever since.
When it hasn’t been raining, Savannah’s taken me to see the sights—the temples, the Night Bazaar, a couple expeditions out of town. We’ve stayed close to the hotel during the downpours. Our shower’s the size of a studio apartment; the bed is very supportive; and when we’re both vertical, we’ve eaten enough at Oxygen, the hotel restaurant, to regain the weight I lost in Myanmar. Guarding Savannah is hard work.
I check my email. One message from Olivia, with a link to the “News” page on the website for the U.S. Attorney’s Office for the Northern District of California. About what I expected. I switch to Artnet News; a new post about the continuing “Nam Ton scandal” saga elaborates on the USA’s news flash. This crosslinks to the Association for Research into Crimes against Art blog, which has a pretty accurate recap of the story so far as well as some unflattering comments from Burmese officials insisting they’re shocked, shocked, that such a thing could happen on their watch.
I sigh. Today’s the day.
A warm, soft body presses against my back. Warm, soft arms circle my waist. “Whatcha looking at?” Savannah, sleepy voice.
How do I do this? “The river.”
“On your phone?”
“And my phone.”
“Hmm.” I feel her shift to peek past me. “Pretty.” She snuggles tighter.
I run my palm over her smooth, bare hip while I try to work out how to bring up the morning’s Topic A. It’s hard to think when her hands go exploring, like they are now.
She murmurs, “Come back to bed.”
“I’m not sleepy.”
“Who said ‘sleep’?”
That makes it hard to think, too. “Not yet.”
Sigh. “Okay. Still wanna go to MAIIAM today?” It’s a museum on the other side of the old city that features contemporary Thai artists.
This is the best lead-in I’ll get. “No. Change of plans. The airport.”
Savannah slides around until she faces me. Her mouth turns down. “The airport?”
“Yeah.” Deep breath. “It’s time to go home.”
“But… why? We’re having such a good time.” Her voice is awake now, even if her eyes are still a bit squinty.
I have to concentrate extra hard to not get lost in that warm, soft body now pressed against my front. “Yeah, we are. I need to go home. There’s things I need to do.” I don’t sound very convincing even to myself.
“What about me?”
Here it comes… “You can’t go.”
She peers up at me for a twenty count. “Why not?”
“Grab your phone and look at Artnet News.”
I could’ve let her use my phone, but I need some space so I can restart my big brain. And frankly, I can’t pass up what might be my last opportunity to watch her walk away from me naked.
She unplugs her iPhone and sweeps it off the nightstand built into the headboard. “What am I looking for?”
“You’ll know it when you see it.”
The light from her screen turns her face and shoulders the color of skim milk. “Let me guess—‘New Indictments in Nam Ton Scandal’?”
“That’s the one.”
Her index finger slowly drags the post up the screen, then stops. She blinks, swallows. I know exactly what she’s reading.
In a further widening of the scandal that has already snared almost a dozen art world figures, the U.S. Attorney for the Northern District of California announced today that a federal grand jury has returned an indictment against Savannah Kendicott, a San Francisco art advisor. The indictment, which has not yet been publicly released, specifies multiple counts of smuggling, trafficking in protected antiquities, customs fraud, money laundering, and tax evasion…
“What?” Her voice is a strangled shriek. She swivels enormous, shocked eyes at me. “What is this?”
“Keep reading.”
Savannah’s finger shakes as she pulls up the text. “Omigod. Omigod.” After a moment, her knees go out from under her and her butt slams onto the edge of the bed. It takes all my willpower to not lunge forward to try to catch her if she falls.
She’s past hyperventilating and turning crimson when she skewers me with her eyes. “How much did you tell them?”
“Some. I told the feds that you negotiated a deal for the Nam Ton wares to go to China. That should make them—”
“You did what? You bastard!” She hurls her phone at me. I catch it after it smacks into my breastbone, which hurts like hell. “Paint a target on me, will you? They’ll think I control the wares!” She bolts off the bed and rushes me. “Do they know where the village is?”
I check to see that she doesn’t have anything sharp in her hands. “Yeah. That was part of the deal.”
“You son of a bitch! Nobody’s supposed to know that!” She takes a swipe at me that I manage—just barely—to duck. “I told Pensri she’s safe!” Another swing connects with the forearm I’m trying to shield myself with. “You betrayed me and her! Why? To save yourself?”
I skirt around her and back toward the bathroom. “It was the deal. I tell the feds what I see and hear over here. It’s your fault you’re up to your eyeballs in this mess, not mine. Besides.” I hold up her phone screen to face her. “You read all this? Not all of it came from me. Jim and Lorena did a lot of talking. Your ‘friends’ sold you out.”
She scoops the TV remote off the headboard and flings it. It hits the wall beside me and explodes batteries and plastic bits. “I expect that from them. They’re weak. But you? I expected better from you!” The wooden Kleenex box whistles over my head and clatters off the verdigris-stained wall behind the bed. “I thought you’d understand. I thought you’d protect me. Not… not… this!”
“Oh, that’s cute coming from you.” Her a
nger’s catching. I feel my face warming as I stutter-step her way, sending her skittering back a couple paces. “You set me up. You were gonna feed me to the Wa. And you expect me to cover for you? You’re—”
“Damn you!” The only thing she can reach is a throw pillow, so she throws it. I slap it away. “You bastard!” She hurls herself at me, starts pounding my chest and arms. “You destroyed my life!” Her voice cracks. “I can’t go home!”
I catch both her arms before she draws blood and hold on tight. She tries to shake herself free but her strength runs out along with her breath. Tears and little broken sounds eke out of her. I try to pull her against me—both to hold her and to keep track of her—but she shoves me away and crumples face-down on the bed, sobbing into the comforter. She flings off my hand when I try to touch her shoulder.
I lean back against the wall and watch her bawl. I have to fight my instincts so I can just stand there and not try to comfort her. I hate that I’ve hurt her like this, but I remember what she was prepared to do to me and it dulls the pain.
Savannah eventually sits up, grabs another king pillow and crushes it in a hug. I find the Kleenex box, plop it next to her, then step back before she can take a swipe at me. But she’s too far gone for that. She piles up a small mound of tissues as she mops up the tears and snot pouring down her scarlet face. She finally chokes out, “Are you… supposed… to take me home?”
“Yeah.”
Her body sags like someone just cut all her strings. She holds up her arms, wrists together, like I’m going to slap cuffs on her.
I perch on the end of the bed, ready to bolt if she decides to beat me to death with the phone receiver. “I was supposed to keep you from looking at the news so you’d come along with me and walk into their handcuffs at SFO. They even know what flight we’re going to be on.”
“How?”
Me. “Long story. But you screwed up the plan. I guess you woke up in the middle of the night and couldn’t get back to sleep. You looked at the news on your phone, saw the story, packed in a hurry and left. I woke up in an empty bed.”
Chasing Clay (The DeWitt Agency Files Book 3) Page 35
