The Assassin on the Bangkok Express

by Roland Perry

  The best he could do to stave off such hideous distraction was to bury himself in challenging work. This led him back up the Suu Kyi story in a sweeping interview with a long-term friend and senior judge in Hong Kong. The judge gave him an insider’s view of the changes going on there with the mainland Chinese turning the screws on the former British colony. Cavalier planned to vary his articles as much as possible to avoid anyone doing analysis on his work and writing style, which could be done by a computer app capable of comparing articles over time and picking out patterns and the possible authors.

  His pieces had been published in several countries under the byline ‘Laurent V Blanc’. They had brought him satisfaction but he was finding it tough as a freelancer, especially as the costs of obtaining these types of stories was always greater than the income from them. All his career, he had been under the umbrella of a major newspaper group. There had always been a pay cheque, even when it had dwindled to that of a three-day-week wage later in his tenure.

  He had eaten into his redundancy package with a big splash-out on a powerful new Harley motorcycle, similar to the one owned by his Thai former special police operative acquaintance Jacinta Cin Lai, of Thailand’s Special Investigative Unit, that nation’s elite police operation. Half the adult population of Chiang Mai seemed to have a bike—many owned smaller models, yet with the growing affluence in this city of nearly three million, plenty of the bigger, more expensive variety were evident, so much so that the Harley company had just opened an office in Bangkok and a distribution centre in Chiang Mai. Cavalier felt he owed himself a luxury present. To avoid being conspicuous, he had special mufflers fitted that toned down its roar, and only took the bike out late at night, or very early in the morning when there was little traffic. Otherwise he travelled by taxi, red car or tuktuk.

  Cavalier’s most recent assignment to eliminate Leonardo Mendez had led to a narrow escape from the Bangkok scene of his kill, when a police net almost closed on him. He had made it to Cambodia, then managed a boat trip down the Mekong River to Vietnam only with the aid of Jacinta Cin Lai. When he refused to be arrested by her and three Mexican thugs, including the assassin Jose Cortez, who pursued him on the river, Jacinta managed to aid his departure by bluffing the Mexicans into believing that Cavalier was leading them into an American trap, which Cortez wished to avoid at all costs. He was the most wanted man in the US with more than eighty assassinations to his credit, most of them American citizens. Cavalier had had just as dangerous escapes in the past. Now he thought it might be time to give away his special contract work. He’d rarely needed help before, and the fact that Jacinta had intervened secretly on his behalf made him reconsider such precarious work—it was all too fraught with hazards and he was not getting any younger or quicker. His nerves held on the Mendez assignment, but he had been mentally exhausted by the experience.

  Just as he becoming concerned about how he would eke out some sort of reasonable existence, he had a phone call from Gregory.

  ‘One of our cousins is very keen to meet you,’ Gregory told him. ‘They have been fascinated by Cortez’s determination to eliminate you. They had heard rumours about your work. I am not talking about your journalism. I gave them nothing. They have put two and two together and reckon you dealt with Mendez. We have neither confirmed nor denied it. And of course, we can’t. We do not know.’

  ‘Why do they want to meet me?’

  ‘A proposition, I guess. Our cousins love to hire consultants. I would imagine your knowledge of Thailand and the cartel would mean that you would be useful in advising them. Really just a guess, mind you. Will you meet them? The cousins are in Bangkok now, tracking the cartel and Cortez.’

  ‘I’m not going to Bangkok; too risky.’

  ‘They’ll come to you.’

  *

  Cavalier booked a table for two at Chiang Mai’s David’s Kitchen, which was a ten-minute motorcycle ride away from his condo hideout. Most nights he had either eaten food from the market or had frequented one of the many stalls or cafes. This stepping out after several months was a sign that he was gaining confidence in his reclusive existence.

  He would be dining with a woman from the US Drug Enforcement Agency, Melody Smith. Gregory had been most impressed with her when she had visited him to find out more about Cavalier and his whereabouts.

  ‘She is something out of the box,’ he said, ‘in a couple of senses. She is from Central Casting for female news anchors on American networks, especially Fox News: blonde hair, tall, long legs up to her throat. Extra good looks. Not quite up there with the exotic princess Jacinta, but who is?’

  ‘At least Ms Smith won’t stand out on the streets of my adopted city,’ Cavalier said cynically, with a short laugh.

  ‘Good point. Make sure you meet her somewhere upmarket where there are rich foreigners. And be ready for a big freeze. Has had a personality bypass. Not many laughs in her. All authority and business.’

  The restaurant, offering a French-style menu, was modern with a large clay pots at the front, green hanging plants inside and a fresh, modern atmosphere. The clientele was split between European holidaymakers, judging from their casual attire, and better-dressed Asians, mostly Thais. There was an awkward moment for Cavalier when the manager asked for his Christian name and that of his dining partner. He declined at first to give them. The manager explained that there would be an encased printout of the names on the table. Cavalier didn’t wish to make a fuss, so he changed his mind and agreed.

  He was seated at a discreet table and a nameplate with ‘Laurent and Melody’ was placed in front of him. Soon afterwards, Melody Smith, wearing a grey cotton suit, dark-grey hat with a red band and black high-heeled shoes, strode in. She knew him from photos; he recognised her from Gregory’s description. Melody was a power dresser in a powerful position. Cavalier noted her sinewy, gym-honed upper arms and lower legs. He guessed she had put in a lot of work to stay looking in her early thirties when she had tipped into her forties. Cavalier noticed the lack of movement around Smith’s eyes when she smiled and her mouth when she spoke, indicating that she used Botox. Yet within these observations, Cavalier agreed with Gregory: she was a most handsome woman; lean in appearance and by vigorous body language and manner, hungry for ‘success’, whatever that meant in the world of a senior operative of her well-funded American Drug Enforcement Agency (DEA).

  They indulged in small talk, with Cavalier giving nothing away as he helped her with the menu. She ‘weighed’ every course, discussing them in terms of ‘carbohydrates’, ‘sugar’, ‘protein’ and ‘calories.’ She was persuaded to take the lobster bisque without the white port to start, and the grilled duck as a main and ‘definitely no dessert’. She refused buttered mashed potato. Cavalier asked for the onion soup with ‘extra gruyere cheese’, homemade gnocchi ‘with twice the normal number of almonds’, and a sticky date pudding ‘with two serves of ice cream’.

  Smith winced at the mention of all his choices, which prompted Cavalier to say, ‘My taste buds will never forgive me if I don’t make these delicious choices. Besides, I let loose with food once a week. Otherwise I’m disciplined.’

  Smith refused any alcohol, but Cavalier ordered a bottle of his favourite Margaret River sauvignon blanc. Her demeanour sharpened. He could see she wanted to dispense with chitchat.

  Cavalier asked her why she wanted to see him.

  ‘Everything we discuss is confidential, right?’ she said, dropping her voice. ‘Mr Gregory assured me of that, right?’

  ‘Of course, it works both ways. And by the way, you never met me.’

  Smith looked perplexed.

  ‘It’s what my contacts in intelligence often say,’ Cavalier said lightly.

  ‘I am not in intelligence,’ Smith said, her green eyes flashing with indignation.

  ‘But you were, what, five years as a “researcher” in “Special Operations”?’

  Smith went red.

  ‘Come, Miss Smith, I have done my homework
on you, as you have on me. I have very good contacts in the agency.’ He sipped his wine. ‘Why did you want to see me?’

  The entrees arrived. Smith took a deep breath before saying: ‘We have a special mission in Bangkok. We want to apprehend Jose Cortez.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘We have a plan in operation.’

  ‘Then you don’t need me.’

  ‘We expect an extended project. We would be pleased to have you on board as a consultant; even part of the team.’

  ‘I am not a great team player. I like to work solo.’

  ‘We can offer you $100,000 for your input.’

  ‘I need to know your plans.’

  Smith studied his face. She kept her voice at a near whisper. ‘Cortez is the de facto head of the cartel’s operations in Thailand,’ she said, ‘although we don’t think he’ll last long in that position. We believe one of Mendez’s two nephews will take over. They want their operations out of Asia and back with the main business in Mexico and the States. They wish to keep the big drug deals going, but at a distance. They want the organisation to look legitimate through property and company acquisitions, and Wall Street.’

  ‘Nice background. The plan?’

  ‘We know Cortez’s personal interests. He plays chess at a high standard. He loves the violin, and he likes playing women like one.’

  ‘Meaning he is a womaniser.’

  ‘He has a Thai girlfriend, we believe. She is a pianist.’

  ‘We know he is besotted with Talia Cruz …’

  ‘The pop singer?’

  Smith nodded. ‘We believe he has funded her tequila business—Talia’s Tequilas. She wants to branch into movies. They chat to each other on the phone, and the net. We’ve monitored it for six months. He has promised, now he is in charge of the cartel’s South East Asian business, however temporarily, to put up a hundred million for a movie she will star in. He has written the script himself.’

  ‘He was a paid assassin working for the cartel, not one of its directors.’

  ‘After the demise of Mendez, the cartel was leaderless in Asia,’ she said, eyeing him intently for any reaction. ‘Then Cortez took over. In its desire to leave Thailand, the cartel has collected all the drug, gambling, people trafficking and prostitution proceeds in the region over a decade now. They have bought gold with it.’

  ‘On the official market?’

  ‘Some. They also have had plenty of people buying gold from the local village sellers, where, as you know, it is pure.’

  ‘Smart. Gold holds and increases value. You can’t go wrong by investing in it.’

  ‘The Mexicans bought out complete shops’ stocks in one burst of purchases. Maybe a hundred retail outlets’ worth. An American with a Thai wife in the gold-selling business told him, and he informed us. That’s how we learned about the bullion they have piled up.’

  ‘Must weigh a tonne or two.’

  ‘Or a lot more. We believe they may try transporting it to Mexico by cargo ship or plane. At the moment, Cortez is protecting the bullion. He has boasted to Talia Cruz that he can pay for the movie in gold.’

  They concentrated on their soup for a minute before Smith said: ‘Talia Cruz is coming to Bangkok to meet Cortez. We aim to isolate him from his bodyguard and arrest him.’

  ‘Is Talia in on your project?’

  ‘No. She has no idea. She will travel with a close friend, the American actor Tyrone Risk. Risk is boasting to his associates that he will arrange an interview with Cortez. They arrive in Bangkok in a week.’

  ‘How will you tackle it?’

  ‘Cortez has already asked her to join him for dinner at, quote, “Thailand’s most romantic restaurant”.’

  ‘Which one?’

  ‘He hasn’t said, yet.’

  ‘In Bangkok that would be Gaggan or Nahm,’ Cavalier mused, and added with a smile, ‘if Cortez has a sense of humour, he may choose Eat Me.’

  ‘Our sources suggest Gaggan.’

  ‘Why would Talia want to mix with such a low-life as Jose Cortez?’

  ‘It is weird. The fact that they are both Mexicans from the same region is part of the attraction. Notorious underworld figures in the States and Mexico seem to have an appeal for her.’

  ‘The allure of bad guys is common; same as wild rock singers. But Tyrone Risk seems smart. Why is he involved?’

  ‘He is on some sort of crusade to expose DEA as doing deals with the cartels,’ Smith said with a cynical roll of the eyes. ‘He thinks if he makes a documentary, with him interviewing Cortez, it will somehow expose this connection. It will be a specious doco if he achieves it, but it will give him much needed publicity. His wacky politics are turning off Hollywood film-makers. He hasn’t made a good film in five years.’

  ‘Are Cruz and he helping or hindering you?’

  ‘They are not intentionally helping, but they are creating a way for us to isolate Cortez.’

  Their main courses were served. They both made approving noises about their choices. At Cavalier’s suggestion, they swapped small portions and made further appreciative grunts. Smith was careful to sample only the tiniest of morsels from his plate, yet appeared to be relaxing a fraction.

  ‘You’ll have to clarify how you would wish me to help,’ he said, as a waiter filled his wine glass.

  ‘In this case your special services will not be required. We just believe you’d be an asset in handling this. Your input would be appreciated. You know Thailand, the language, the Mexicans …’

  ‘Is the DEA handling this alone?’

  Smith blinked and seemed reluctant to answer.

  ‘I take it the other agency is in it?’ Cavalier prompted.

  ‘There are several in the game.’

  ‘Hmm,’ Cavalier leaned forward. ‘I don’t like too many operatives. I should imagine there will be more than a hundred personnel on this.’

  ‘That’s a reason we want someone with an overview.’ Cavalier gave a hint of a smile. ‘Let me remind you of Operation Bomb-Bast,’ he said. ‘I take it you have heard of it?’

  ‘Go on,’ Smith said noncommittally.

  ‘I am speaking about something most of your key people know anyway. “Bomb-Bast” was set to eliminate a certain leader in South East Asia who was rumoured to be close to developing an H-bomb and long-range missiles that could hit the west coast of your country. I was approached. I declined becoming connected. As it turned out, someone was shot but not the target. Hollywood heard rumours and made a comedy about it. It was a farce.’

  ‘This won’t be a farce,’ Smith with a brisk shake of her head.

  Cavalier paused. ‘I know how your big agencies operate,’ he said. ‘They are very well funded and staffed. They have to spend huge budgets to justify allocations in the next financial year. Everyone wanted to be a player in removing that Asian leader. And this was an issue. Too many chiefs operating at cross purposes. You could see problems coming, and they came. The leader is still in power. His country is closer than ever to having a nuclear weapons system to attack the US.’

  ‘The DEA is a major player on the current assignment.’

  ‘You must liaise with the CIA, and as an educated guess, the NSA. Many people want the prize of Cortez’s scalp.’

  Smith sipped her herbal tea, no sugar, before saying, ‘I lost two close friends to Cortez.’

  ‘I am sorry to hear that. You want him badly. I believe the CIA lost operatives to him too.’

  ‘It’s more personal to me,’ she said with a grim look, ‘and it should be for you. Surely you are motivated? Cortez told the Thai police he has sworn to avenge Mendez’s death.’

  Cavalier ignored the inference. Perhaps she’d heard a rumour. Only one person really knew he had assassinated Mendez, and that was Jacinta Cin Lai. Even then, she had no concrete proof, only circumstantial evidence, which hinged around Cavalier avoiding police and escaping Thailand.

  ‘I’m sorry. I can’t operate with a cast of thousands and with some committ
ee’s plan. Your agencies like big productions. Cecil B DeMille, stand aside.’

  ‘Is it money? Can we offer you more?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I am authorised to pay what it takes on this project. Would $200,000 be of greater interest?’

  ‘No. Frankly, I can’t take the risk of going to Bangkok.’

  ‘I can make an educated guess why. It’s a reason I am speaking to you now.’

  Cavalier did not respond. Instead he raised his glass and said: ‘Naturally, I wish you the very best of luck.’

  12

  THE TAIL

  After the meeting with Smith, Cavalier rode his Harley towards his condo building. He kept his speed down, aware that his bike would attract police and the usual on-the-spot fine, which the cop would pocket. He had also consumed enough alcohol to be over the limit. Cavalier had been caught once without a helmet and had paid a smaller fine.

  It was after 10 p.m. and traffic was light. He could see a car in his mirrors, which had been on his tail since he left David’s Kitchen. Instead of going straight to the condo, he stopped at Escudo, a nightclub on the river with attractive views. He sat in a dark corner with an eye on the door and fiddled with his phone, which was what six other diners were doing a discreet distance from him. He ordered a malt whisky.

  After twenty minutes he left the club and rode on. The car, a new-looking Mazda, had waited for him. He rode past his condo and parked his bike near a 7-Eleven. Cavalier scurried down back lanes behind the local Nang Hoi market and waited across the Lamphun Road from his condo. The Mazda was not in sight. He moved along another hundred metres, crossed the road and made his way around the Holiday Inn to the Meng Rai Bridge. He straddled the fence, climbed onto the two-metre-high wall of white sandbags along the riverbank, and made his way two hundred and fifty metres along the wall to the Riverside Condo’s car park.