THIRTY SOUNDS LIKE A PERFECT NUMBER. I TRUST YOU ON THE QUALITY; YOU ALWAYS SELECT THE HEALTHIEST STOCK. I’LL WIRE YOU THE AGREED-UPON PRICE. HALF NOW, HALF IN CASH ON DELIVERY. I TRUST VICTOR WILL BE THERE AS USUAL?
Puzzled, Nikki was about to click the previous e-mail and find out what “stock” meant when she heard shouting from the direction of the stairs. She quit the e-mail program and ran to the door, preparing to make a dash into one of the bedrooms or the bathroom. Peering out, she saw that Sarkassian was already halfway up the stairs. Behind him stomped two heavyset men and the orderly from the clinic. The orderly looked as if he were marching into the den of a lion. They were all clearly heading for the office, and with no options left, Nikki hopped into the closet.
“Shut the door,” Sarkassian ordered, dropping into the desk chair and slamming shut the computer that Nikki had left on.
Peering through the slats in the closet, she could see the orderly standing nervously in front of the desk. One of the goons leaned against the door, the other lounged nonchalantly in the second seat.
“Where is Victor?” asked Sarkassian, straightening the basket of desk equipment to a precise ninety-degree angle.
“I don’t know,” said the orderly.
“Amein,” Sarkassian said, “he went to talk to you. He suspected you knew something about Lawan. Afterward, he was supposed to call me with your answers. He hasn’t called me.”
“He came to see me,” admitted Amein, “but I told him I couldn’t help him. I was let go. They fired me. I don’t know anything.”
“Uh-huh.” Sarkassian didn’t appear to be listening. “Amein, I understand that being Thai, you might have some sense of affiliation with Lawan.” Amein began to shake his head and opened his mouth to speak, but Sarkassian raised his hand, forestalling any comment. “I understand that, but I just don’t care. You were paid money to give us information and to do it quietly. Instead, we got some damn political activist hounding our every move. Now I have to go out of my way to shut her up. That’s expensive.”
“I didn’t tell her,” protested Amein. Nikki could see a bead of sweat trickling down the side of his face. “I swear.”
“Then you manage to expose Victor to the wife of the U.S. ambassador and a certain element that I would prefer not to get involved with. Now I’ve got to deal with that. And that’s expensive, too. You are costing me money, Amein. I don’t like things that cost me money.”
“I didn’t know that Mrs. Daniels was going to be there that day. How was I supposed to know?” Amein’s eyes darted back and forth between the guard in the chair and Sarkassian, looking for some sympathy. Neither gave any.
“Let us return to my real problem: Victor went to see you, and he did not come back.”
“He got a call,” Amein said. “He asked me about Lawan, but I don’t know anything, and then he got a call. He left.”
“Uh-huh. And who was this phone call from?”
“I don’t know. How can I know?”
There was the barest flicker of a glance from Sarkassian to the man in the chair. The man in the chair lashed out suddenly with his foot, kicking Amein in the leg, buckling the knee.
Amein screamed and fell to the floor, clutching his knee.
“I have other informants, Amein,” said Sarkassian, remaining at his desk. “You were seen.” The man in the chair got up and rolled his neck around, making the vertebrae pop.
“Seen? Seen where?” Amein wriggled on his back, away from the man.
“You were seen talking to Lawan. What did you tell her?”
“I didn’t tell her anything!” Amein gasped.
“But you did talk to her,” Sarkassian said.
“No! No. Why would I do that?”
“There could be several reasons,” said Sarkassian, cocking his head to one side. “Personally, I think that it’s because she paid you a large amount of money.”
“No. No, she didn’t.” Amein shook his head, but even from the closet Nikki heard the slight hiccup in his voice. He was lying.
There was the flicker of a glance again and the big man lashed out with his foot again, crunching it down onto Amein’s ribs. Amein lay gasping and making burbling noises. Inside the closet, Nikki put her hand over her mouth, stopping the shout that threatened to burst forth. She wanted to jump out of the closet and stop them.
“There’s just no honor among thieves anymore,” said the stomper, shaking his head. “We paid you first.” There was another kick, and Amein began to cry.
“Thieves have no honor,” Sarkassian said. “It’s an oxymoron.” He paused as if considering the broader truths of the world, and then shook his head, refocusing on Amein. “I expect as much, really, and in other circumstances I might be able to use this duplicity to my advantage. But in this case, you have information I need. I don’t have time to play cat-and-mouse. I need to know where Victor is.”
“I don’t know!” said Amein, and his statement was followed up by another kick. “I don’t know!” he screamed. And this time Stomper hit Amein in the face.
“Shhh,” Stomper said. “We don’t want to disturb the party guests.”
In the closet, Nikki began to cry, tears running down her face. She covered her mouth with her hand, holding back any sound.
“Sorry, Mr. Sarkassian,” Stomper said, holding up Amein’s unconscious and bleeding head. “I hit him too hard.”
“I think you bounced him off the floor,” said the man by the door. “It’s a hard floor.”
Sarkassian uttered a profound sigh. “Get rid of him,” he said.
“Get rid of him, get rid of him?” Stomper asked, making a finger gun by his temple and pulling the trigger. Sarkassian rolled his eyes.
“Get rid of him. Go down the back stairs. Dump the body in the river. And find Victor. I’m going to the warehouse.” Sarkassian stalked from the room.
“I just like to be clear,” Stomper said with a shrug.
“I know,” the man by the door said. “But you know the boss, he gets short-tempered when he’s worried.”
“And when he’s happy. And when he’s sad,” Stomper said, hefting Amein over his shoulder and following Sarkassian from the room. “And when he’s had a bad meal. And when . . .”
THAILAND XII
Before
Nikki let out her breath in a ragged gasp and wiped the tears from her face. She had never felt so powerless in her life. How could she have just sat there and let them do that to Amein? Along with her guilt, there was the adrenalized rush of relief that it hadn’t been her. She opened the closet door and stood up. Her legs felt shaky, but with a determined sniff she went after Amein.
Once in the hallway, she headed for the last door. The others had opened onto rooms. It was the only door she hadn’t tried; it had to be the back stairs. She pulled open the door to stairs, felt for the wall. It was dark as pitch, and she wasn’t at all sure where the floor was. Stairs presented themselves, and she hurried down them, her footfalls making a rhythmic thump that sounded too loud in her ears. A dusty beam of cold light streaming through a window above the door showed her she had reached the end of the stairs. She had one hand on the door handle and one hand on her 1911 when she heard the sound of an engine turning over and the creak of a gate being opened.
Nikki yanked open the door and looked around. It was a wide cobblestone area linked to a multicar garage. Expensive cars glimmered in the moonlight. But the car with Amein was already pulling through the gate and out to the street. She had to go after him. And she had to get Val away from Sarkassian. Torn, she hesitated, and as she hesitated, there was a surge of light and noise from the main house. She whirled in time to see the door to the stairs click shut. She grabbed the handle and pulled, but it had automatically locked.
She sprinted into the garage—the only cover available. For a moment she considered hiding in one of the cars and then decided that, with her luck, that would probably be just the car Sarkassian picked. Instead, she took shelter beh
ind a workbench and tool chest. She had barely hidden herself when the lights flicked on.
“I don’t know why we have to go right now,” said Val, and Nikki’s heart sped up. “I was having a good time.” Thinking of Val alone with Sarkassian made her sweat. Sarkassian was a cold-blooded killer. There was no telling what he would do next.
“Business first” was Sarkassian’s blunt reply.
“Isn’t this a Leopard Roadster?” Val asked. Nikki could just see her around the corner of the toolbox, running her fingers along the edge of the convertible in front of Nikki.
“Yes,” Sarkassian said casually, but Nikki heard a slight tinge of pride.
“Are you sure it’s not a knockoff, like everything else in Asia?” asked Val teasingly.
“They only made twenty-five of them. They’re all numbered. It is very rare and very expensive.”
“Yes,” Val said, lounging against the Leopard with an unspoken sexiness that Nikki envied. “But it’s Polish.”
“Funny,” Sarkassian said, leaning in as if he were going to kiss her. Instead, he opened the car door under her bracing hand. The result was a slightly ungraceful change in Val’s position. Val gave him a warning look that would have frozen Nikki, but Sarkassian just smiled, his eyes crinkling in unvoiced laughter.
“Get in,” he said, opening the door wide for her. His smile made it more of an invitation than a command.
As Sarkassian rounded the front of the car, Nikki realized two things. The first—Val was much better at being undercover than she was. The second—Val was leaving with a man who had just ordered the death of Amein. There was no choice now. Amein was beyond her reach, but Val was right here. She had to choose rescuing her partner over rescuing Amein. Thinking quickly, she yanked out an earring, snapped the post down—as per Rachel’s instructions—and heard the activating beep. The tracker was on. As the convertible rumbled into life, Nikki tossed the earring in an underhand arc that dropped it into the backseat of the roadster.
Sarkassian pulled out into the courtyard and then up to the gate that opened automatically. Hurrying, Nikki ran out after them, trying to keep to the shrubbery and shadows, but still make it to the gate before it closed. Breathing hard, she dove through the gate and sprinted for the tree line at the edge of the property. She heard a shout from the guard at the gate, but she was already dropping down into the neighbor’s yard. By the time he looked over the fence into the neighbor’s yard, she was already gone.
Panting, she continued running, trying to reach a busy intersection where she could hail a cab. She needed transportation. She could not leave Val alone out there with Sarkassian. She finally found a main street, but taxis whizzed by without stopping.
Reaching into her bag, she pulled out her shirt and what appeared to be a small blush compact and pressed down on the raised butterfly icon, just as Rachel had shown her. The mirror portion faded and became an LCD display, showing a grid pattern and a central blinking dot. The blush well flipped over and became a small panel of buttons. She punched a few of the function keys and hoped she wasn’t inadvertently starting World War III. GPS coordinates appeared, and the map began to fill in. All she needed now was a cab.
She pulled her shirt on and walked to the corner, raising her hand and waving wildly at a taxi as it drove past. It didn’t even slow down. She spent what felt like an eternity walking and waving before a tuk-tuk finally slowed down and pulled up to the curb. By that time, the blinking green dot had stopped moving on her screen.
“Hi,” Nikki said, leaning in, and then stopped when she recognized the tuk-tuk driver. Was he following her? Bangkok was a big city. She could not just keep bumping into him by accident. Similar thoughts appeared to be going through the tuk-tuk driver’s mind because they spent a long moment staring into each other’s eyes, like gunfighters waiting for the final tick of a clock.
Nikki gave in first. “I need to go here,” she said, holding up the compact.
“GPS,” he said, taking the compact from her and examining the screen carefully.
“Yes,” Nikki agreed. “Go there.” And she pointed emphatically at the dot.
He looked doubtful. “No driving,” he said. Nikki nodded. “No boy?” She shook her head, assuming he meant Z’ev, and the driver shrugged. “OK.” He handed the compact back and revved the engine. Nikki climbed into the backseat and prayed that he knew where he was going. She didn’t have time to waste on a wild goose chase.
She spent the drive crafting a careful text message to Jane. In the end, FOUND VAL. POSSIBLE TROUBLE. CONTACT AGAIN SOON was what went out, but it didn’t seem to have the immediacy that she wanted to convey. On the other hand, she was hoping it didn’t make her sound like the freaked-out wreck she was, either.
The driver pulled up at the end of a very dark street and looked around nervously. The river was in front of them and warehouses loomed around them. He pointed down the pier, where a warehouse showed a few lights in the windows. Nikki reached into her bag and pulled out binoculars. Through them, she recognized the Leopard Roadster sitting behind a chain-link fence patrolled by armed guards.
She tried not to sweat in her all-black clothes. It was the Carrie Mae–approved breaking-and-entering outfit, but she sensed that it hadn’t occurred to Rachel to test the high-tech fabrics in the sweltering heat of a Bangkok night. She peered through the binoculars and tried to ignore the bead of sweat rolling down the inside of her upper arm.
She scanned the roofline and then the waterline. With a sigh, she realized that the most convenient access point really would be from the waterside. It was a depressing thought. It meant that she was going to have to get wet.
“OK,” she said, handing some cash to the driver. “Thanks.”
The driver made a questioning noise and pointed at the warehouse.
“Yeah, I’m going in there,” Nikki said. “My friend is in trouble. I have to go get her.”
He cocked his head to one side, frowning. Clearly he thought she was crazy. She wished she could explain the whole thing to him. She thought about asking him to wait, but all of that was silly. Even without the language barrier and the fact that she wasn’t supposed to reveal Carrie Mae to anyone, it was her fight. She couldn’t expect anyone else to take an interest.
“Thanks,” she said again, and walked away.
As she walked, she extracted various bits of gear from her bag and put them on. Hood and mask, gloves and booties, knife strapped to her belt. She knew she looked like a ninja frogman, but she felt like a cream puff.
The plunge into the Chao Phraya River wasn’t as bad as she was expecting. The water was warm, but the occasional bump into the unidentified floating object caused her to bite her tongue in an attempt to suppress girlie squeals of disgust. She tried to tell herself that Michelle Yeoh wouldn’t freak out over icky things in water, but it didn’t help much. Her webbed Kevlar gloves made scaling the pilings easier, but she felt a barnacle cut through the leg of her pants all the same. The blood mingled with the water, running off her in ticklish trickles.
From the pilings it was a scramble over the edge of the dock and a game of hide-and-seek as she worked her way closer to the building without being spotted by the guards and then up a stack of cargo containers to peer through the high windows.
She pressed herself against the wall of the warehouse and tried to breathe quietly. Below her a security guard walked with the dull, thudding pace of someone who expected a boring night. Nikki felt a thrill of exhilaration as she realized that he was totally unaware of her. She waited until he had passed, and then wiggled her way closer to the window.
The inside was dimly lit, but she could clearly see that the warehouse had been divided into two stories. The lower was full of large containers and boxes, and the upper had been extended loft style only partway across the length of the warehouse. Nikki noticed with a sense of dread the ominous sign of a row of cargo containers being lined up on the floor. The doors were open, and workers appeared to be bolti
ng metal frame bunk beds into each container. The stairs upward had been blocked off with a gate locked with a keypad. Anyone wanting to go upstairs would have to know the correct code. Her interest piqued, she climbed higher, working to get a better view of the second floor. Finally she had climbed high enough to stare through a grimy window into the upper story.
Row upon row of narrow cots filled the space, and on each cot rested a woman. Some not even women—girls barely old enough to claim puberty sat on those cots as well. Nikki felt her stomach drop. She looked back down to the main floor and counted up the beds and containers. Her head swiveled back to the loft. There were far more women than beds for those containers. They were planning on packing them in like sardines—probably only the strongest would survive. With the sudden clarity of a cartoon light bulb going off over her head, she realized what Sarkassian and Victor wanted with the patient records at Lawan’s clinic.
These women were the healthiest stock. They had been vetted by a doctor, after all. Sarkassian had taken the patient records and then taken the women. And now he was going to sell them like human cattle. They would become slaves and prostitutes.
In horror, Nikki saw that Lindawati was in the nearest corner of the warehouse. The little girl sat with her arms wrapped around her knees, rocking back and forth. A chain led from her ankle to a pipe next to the cot. Nikki sat back down below the window and put her head between her knees, her mind racing. She felt like throwing up. She tried to examine her options and think clearly. She hadn’t brought nearly enough weaponry to get all the girls out by herself. She needed the police. Possibly the National Guard. She didn’t care who. She just wanted it to stop. She needed Val.
Climbing down the boxes, she slithered into the shadows, heading for the front of the building. She’d seen a small prefab shed in there. Men had been wandering in and coming out with clipboards and paperwork. And Sarkassian’s car was there. Surely, that’s where she would find Val. She would know what to do. She would save them.
Bulletproof Mascara: A Novel Page 28
