by Roland Perry
‘Could I have those glasses I gave you, please?’ he asked.
Jacinta frowned and handed them to him.
Cavalier put them on. He picked up movement in the wooded, sloping garden that ran from Chateau William’s lawn about forty metres to a small, wooden jetty.
‘Anything the matter?’ Jacinta asked.
‘Does your French archaeologist friend normally play hide and seek behind trees when guests are arriving?’
‘What?’
He handed her the glasses. He watched her reaction. She turned to him.
‘I swear, I don’t know …’
Cavalier slipped the Glock 17 from a side pocket in his backpack.
‘How many of them …’ Cavalier asked nervously, ‘police? Did Makanathan put you up to this?’
‘You said you trusted me!’ Jacinta said, a slash of fear mingled with anger in her expression. ‘I tell you, I had nothing to do with this.’
‘Sit over there,’ Cavalier ordered, motioning to the seat next to the pilot, who had slowed the boat to a near standstill from the shock of seeing the weapon. Cavalier searched the garden again, and then lifted his sights to see the first level of the chateau. He adjusted the vision. He could make out Makanathan at a balcony with another woman.
‘Makanathan is there,’ he said. He turned to the pilot, pointed to wooden staircase leading to a house on stilts, and in Thai said tersely, ‘Pull in there.’
‘She must have monitored my call to you this morning,’ Jacinta said. ‘She could have tapped my phone. My secure cell is not working. I used an old one to speak to you. She must have monitored it.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Cavalier said. ‘You two get off here.’
‘Victor, I swear on my father’s grave,’ she said in Thai, ‘I had nothing to do with any police trap!’
Cavalier motioned for her and the pilot to jump off the boat. When they were on the staircase, he manoeuvred the boat back along the canal. He used the glasses to scour the chateau again. Figures were darting from the garden.
In a few minutes he was out of the canal and on the river, unsure where he should attempt to make land. The boat was very slow. He eased into the river’s centre, close to four anchored pleasure boats, about a hundred metres apart, where he could see people congregated on the decks. Bunting, balloons and ribbons festooned the deck areas of the first boat, indicating some sort of celebration was in progress. A large sign hung over the side proclaimed: ‘We Stand UNITED. Ten Year at the Top of the Valley.’
As he drew closer, he could hear a band playing. He put away his gun, drove to the forty-five-metre-long boat. He could hear the band playing a dirgy version of The Godfather movie theme. He called in Thai to one of the crew members in a smart navy and white suit and bow tie, who was near the railing. The crew member looked down.
‘Sorry, I’m late,’ Cavalier called, ‘could you throw me a rope ladder?’
The man looked shocked and waved him away. One of the tourists was leaning on the railing, a glass in one hand and a cigarette in the other. He bent forward and yelled to Cavalier in an American accent: ‘Hey, Buddy! You with the group?’
‘Which group are you?’
‘United Tech.’
Cavalier nodded, pulled his wallet from his pocket and waved a piece of paper from it.
The man looked momentarily perplexed but told another crewman to throw him a rope ladder. Cavalier grabbed the ladder and pushed the little outboard boat off with its motor running. It drifted down the river towards the second tourist boat.
Cavalier climbed aboard. The American handed him a drink and guided him to about a hundred guests on the deck, who were sipping cocktails and eating pre-lunch snacks. Judging from the noise, the conviviality had been going on for some time. The American introduced himself just as two police helicopters flew over the ship and distracted them. Cavalier was about to introduce himself as Claude Garriaud, but checked himself, and said, ‘I am Laurent’.
‘Are you with the French franchise?’ the American asked after picking his French accent.
Cavalier nodded, apologised for being late and used the traffic as an excuse.
‘Jeez, Laurent!’ the American said with a laugh, ‘you gotta allow for an extra hour in Bangkok!’ He looked over-refreshed as he took a glass of red wine from a passing waiter’s tray. The ship rocked a little and began to move.
‘We’re away!’ the American said.
‘It’s a four-hour trip, isn’t it?’
‘One goddam way, Buddy! It’ll be at least eight hours before we dock back at the hotel.’ He downed his drink and looked for a waiter to take another glass.
‘Where you staying?’ the American asked, slurring his words.
‘The Shangri-La.’
‘We all are! When did you arrive?’ The American looked at his backpack and laughed. ‘Travelling light?’
‘Got in only an hour ago, from Paris. Knew I was late. Hired the boat and here I am.’
‘Like your initiative! The French director is here somewhere,’ the American said, tiptoeing to look around the crowd. ‘I’ll find him for you.’
‘Can I use the bathroom?’
‘Of course. It’s below.’ The American pointed to a staircase leading to a lower deck. ‘Throw your pack down in any of the cabins. It’s perfectly safe here.’ He winked at Cavalier. ‘If you get lucky you can take a gal down there. All the Thais on board are hookers!’
‘Thank you, Monsieur,’ Cavalier said. He excused himself and descended the stairs. He found a cabin, locked the door and removed the backpack. He looked out a porthole and could see police helicopters flying low over the line of the four tourist ships, which were all pulling up anchor and sailing off.
After Cavalier’s boat had been moving a few minutes, he noticed a police launch powering along near the riverbank. It stopped near the little outboard Cavalier had been on. He watched until they were out of sight and then lay back on a bunk bed. He was too uptight to sleep. After an hour, in which his nerves subsided, not even the sound of dancing feet and the clunky band playing old rock numbers could stop him from slumbering off.
*
Jacinta’s host Pia laid out breakfast and coffee for her and Makanathan in the beautifully groomed Chateau William gardens. Waiters hovered. One police car was parked near a garage. Two cops were outside their car, waiting for instructions from Makanathan.
‘Police choppers are searching for him on the river,’ she reported, ‘and two cars are driving back to the Shangri-La.’ She paused to stare at Jacinta. ‘Your friend will be apprehended by the evening. It would be advisable for you to disclose what you know about him.’
Jacinta’s expression remained enigmatic.
‘Had you known Monsieur Garriaud before the trip?’ Makanathan asked.
‘Monsieur Garriaud, no.’
‘Azelaporn said you slept with him.’
‘That’s not true, although he ordered me to.’
‘Why did he do that?
‘Oh, he suspected him.’
‘Of what?’
‘Better ask him.’ Jacinta shrugged.
Makanathan paused again. She ruffled her spiked hair and sighed. ‘Did you suspect Monsieur Garriaud of being an assassin?’
‘No. Azelaporn is paranoid.’
‘I hate the man. He was very rude to me, as was that horrible Cortez fellow. I can’t understand why someone with your talents would work for Azelaporn. He always made it difficult when we had to liaise over a crime.’
Jacinta showed no reaction. Makanathan sipped her coffee.
‘That Australian fellow Dempster helped you fight off the terrorists, did he not?’ she asked.
‘He assisted me, that’s true.’
‘Was he a good shot?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘But you killed the attackers.’
‘You should be thankful he was on board,’ Jacinta said, with a measure of indignation. ‘He helped stop those suicide bombers f
rom destroying the train, and everyone in it.’
‘Of course, I am grateful to you—’
‘You and your husband were the most senior Thais on the Express,’ Jacinta interrupted. ‘We all know how ISIS operates. You would have been killed first. The Filipino offshoot always decapitates the most important victims first.’
Makanathan swallowed involuntarily.
‘Do you think the American Blenkiron could have murdered Cortez?’ she asked, trying to sound unperturbed.
‘I don’t see how it could be possible.’
Makanathan pulled a face of agreement.
‘Why did you contact Monsieur Claude Garriaud after the train trip was over?’
‘I like him. I like him very much. I wanted to see him as a friend.’
‘If he is innocent, as I believe you are, why did he escape just now?’
‘I have no idea.’
‘Hmm,’ Makanathan said. Her phone rang. She stood up, mouthed ‘excuse me’ to Jacinta and wandered a few metres away in the garden. Jacinta heard one end of the conversation.
‘Where was it? … Disappeared! … You’re not saying he went into the water? … I’ll be there in half an hour.’
She rang off and signalled to the policemen at the car.
‘I may need to chat with you again,’ she said shaking hands with Jacinta. She nodded a farewell and walked up to the police car. She was soon driven off at speed and Jacinta could see her in the backseat on the phone again.
43
LAST NIGHT IN BANGKOK
Cavalier woke at dusk and ventured from the cabin cautiously. The guests were scattered about the deck at bars, on sofas and on the dance floor. The American who had helped him aboard was lying asleep on his back on a sofa, an upturned glass resting on his chest. Cavalier took some sandwiches and water back down to the cabin. After consuming them, he considered his options if, in the worst-case scenario, the police boarded the ship or waited for its guest to disembark. They would be looking for a Frenchman, and someone fitting his general description. It chilled him to consider what Jacinta may have told them. Yet he was sticking to the belief, however shaky now, that she had genuinely not known about the ambush.
He thought of shaving his scalp, yet it was too late and he didn’t wish to do a botched job himself. But he would use the ‘Bert Trumper’ Australian passport. He removed his wig and clothes, placed them in a locker and dressed in the only other outfit left, smart casual blue jeans, shirt and navy blue cap. He wondered what to do about the handgun. The rifle in the detection-free canisters would be put in a small case and checked into the plane’s storage hold. They would pass through airport detectors, but he had no such container for the Glock 17, although thirty years ago, it had been designated as undetectable because of its plastic construction. Cavalier could not risk it with modern technology. He thought about tossing it in the river, but on reflection believed it was better to hang onto it until the next morning before he left for the flight to Chiang Rai.
A half-hour before docking he moved to the crew’s quarters. Speaking in Thai, he offered a waiter a thousand baht to take his pack off the boat.
‘Leave it at the Shangri-La’s front desk with a porter,’ he said. ‘I’ll pick it up later.’ He showed him his Australian passport in the name of Bert Trumper. The waiter did not even glance at it. He nodded and was only too happy to oblige. Cavalier moved amongst scores of guests who looked tired yet happy. He found two Thai women who looked as if they’d enjoyed the trip to the full. They were both tipsy. One carried a bottle of Champagne. The other held her very tall shoes and was barefoot.
‘Where is the party after this?’ he said in Thai with a smile, and ordered them drinks.
‘Wherever you want,’ one said, eyeing him off, ‘as long as you’re paying!’
‘Oh, I can, I assure you.’
He drank and flirted with them, keeping one eye on the wharf. His heart sank. He could see two police cars, lights flashing, on the road at the top of the wide staircase that led up from the wharf. Cavalier ordered more drinks.
‘Let’s go to Sukhumvit,’ he said. ‘I know a really smart bar on Soi 11.’
He took two five-hundred-baht notes from his wallet and in the honoured tradition tucked them into the women’s bras. This brought a joyful reaction from both. The passengers began to file off the boat down a gangway to the wharf. Cavalier put his arms around the two women and they tottered down the gangway and up the steps close to half a dozen others, who were rowdy and laughing. A crew member pushed up an incline next to the steps with a trolley of bags. At the top, they were placed on another trolley.
Cavalier looked up once to see four policemen watching everyone as they reached the top of the stairs. He pulled his hat well down and clutched both girls close. They staggered in a group past the police and down the cobblestoned soi leading to the hotel. He heard footsteps behind him.
‘Sir,’ a voice said. Cavalier turned to see two police. ‘Could we see your identity papers?’
‘Yeah, mate, sure,’ he said and, after fumbling in his pocket, handed his passport over. The cops examined it, a couple of times looking at him and the document’s photo. One mumbled to the other in Thai, ‘It’s Australian, not French.’ The cop’s phone rang. He seemed to receive a command from someone. Still with the phone to his ear, he handed back the passport and hurried off with the other cop to where the remaining passengers were coming off the boat.
Cavalier wandered on down the street with the women, sighing at this narrow escape. Just as they neared the entrance to the Shangri-La, a third police car roared by. Cavalier spotted Makanathan, who was on the phone. He asked the women to wait as he entered the hotel. He found a porter, who indicated that bags and other items from the ship were in a corner. Cavalier handed him two hundred baht, winked, walked over to a pile and found his pack. The porter asked to see his passport. Noting it was Australian, he smiled and let Cavalier take the pack.
‘Is there another exit?’ Cavalier said, handing the porter a hundred baht. ‘I’d like to give my girlfriends the slip.’ The porter glanced at the two waiting women outside. They were on their phones and smoking. He led Cavalier down a hallway to a revolving door. Cavalier bustled outside, found a waiting taxi and took off. He looked back to see Makanathan flanked by four cops, hurrying past the two Thai women Cavalier had picked up and into the Shangri-La. Cavalier slid down in his seat.
‘Rao-rao, krap!’ he said to the driver, who put his foot down and slipped through the heavy traffic.
*
Cavalier got out near the Bumrungrad Hospital at the beginning of Sukhumvit, which was choked with vehicles and fumes. He thought of visiting Pon, but was nervous about making contact, just in case Makanathan had learned of their relationship. She would be taken by hospital staff to the plane in the morning and he had said he would meet her there. He walked to Soi 23. He stood outside the barber shop below the offices of the beautiful physiotherapist Waew Ing, who had worked on his Achilles on his previous visit. He could see the light was on in the barber shop at ground level and the surgery above it. Mustering courage, he stepped into the barber shop. He would be making an internal flight with his daughter to Chiang Rai in Thailand’s north the next day. But he would still have to show proof of identity and it would be better to look like the passport photo of ‘Bert Trumper’.
A corpulent woman with a walleye greeted him.
‘I want you to shave my head completely,’ he said in Thai. She was at first not sure if he were serious.
‘But you have such wonderful, thick hair,’ she said with a frown.
‘It’s what I want,’ he said.
A half-hour later, he left the barber shop, his scalp shaven, wearing brown contact lenses. He now had to find somewhere to stay for the night, and preferably not a hotel where he would be registered. He hesitated and then on a whim stepped up the creaking stairs in the hope of seeing Waew Ing. He knew it was a risk. Waew had been interrogated about him (as Cava
lier) over the assassination of Leonardo Mendez just after Cavalier had fled Bangkok in the previous year. He had not made contact with her in almost a year since their last night together.
He had no idea how she would react or if she’d even recognise him with his nude dome. As he described it in his diary, he had ‘fallen heavily in like with her’ in their brief encounters. She had hardly been a distraction then because he was on a mission, and then an escape plan. Yet he had been taken by her character and looks, and was sorry that he could not have done much about it at the time, or since. Cavalier had fantasised over her and, when faced with the chance to see her again, could not resist the temptation. Ideally, he could spend the last night in Bangkok at her apartment and go undetected if Makanathan had instigated a dragnet of Bangkok.
An elegant, bespectacled woman of about fifty met him at the door to the physiotherapist’s surgery. She ushered him in. A large framed photographic head-and-shoulder portrait of Waew hung on the wall behind a desk. It featured her striking looks of large, wide eyes set well apart, sensual mouth, perfect jawline and long neck. So much like, but even more attractive than, a young Jackie Kennedy, he mused, rekindling a feeling for the Thai.
‘Is Waew Ing here?’ Cavalier asked.
‘No, she is away. Do you want an appointment?’
‘Do you know where she is?’
‘Paris.’
‘With a boyfriend?’
The woman nodded.
‘Any idea when she’ll return?’
‘In a week.’
Cavalier thanked her, hiding his disappointment.
‘Should I say who called?’ she asked. ‘I am her mother.’
‘No, thank you,’ he said, trying not to show his surprise, and suppressing a flirtatious line such as ‘now I know where she gets her beauty, grace, and femininity from’.
