Plausible Deniability: The explosive Lex Harper novella

by Stephen Leather

  Channarong inclined his head. ‘In return, you will need to increase the already substantial fees for your various activities by a further forty per cent.’ He studied Harper’s expression as he waited for a response. ‘What can I say Mr Harper? It’s the way of the modern world and I’m sure those with whom you do business will understand. After all, it seems that everything is subject to inflation these days.’

  ‘And I shall pass that additional forty per cent on to you, of course. I thank you for your generous offer, Colonel, and I shall give it every consideration. Of course, there would be nothing to stop me from agreeing to your terms and then leaving the country and never coming back, would there?’

  Channarong smiled. ‘Nothing at all, except that you clearly enjoy living in the Land Of Smiles and under my protection you will enjoy even greater freedom, security and opportunities too, that would not be open to you elsewhere. And even if you do flee Thailand, you would be wise not to underestimate our reach; we have friends in many other places around the world.’

  He allowed the silence to grow for a few seconds before speaking again, and when he did so, his tone was less threatening. ‘However, I am not merely offering you protection, Mr Harper. I can be of service to you in many other ways too, which may be useful to you in your, ah- unusual line of work, shall we say. My men can deliver you to other places along the coast - of this country and others if necessary - so that you are not continually transiting through Bangkok airport. I can also assist with any passports, visas, and travel documents that you might need.’

  ‘As you say, that may well be very useful to me, but let me think about it first,’ Harper said, playing for time.

  ‘Of course, but you would be wise not to think about it too long.’

  ‘I’ll give you my answer within the week. How shall I contact you?’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry, Mr Harper, we’ll contact you.’

  CHAPTER 7

  Three days later, back in Pattaya and still considering his options after the disconcerting encounter with Colonel Channarong, Harper was surprised to receive a hand-delivered invitation from the Saudi HOC asking him to return to the Embassy for a meeting about a project that the accompanying note described only as ‘something mutually advantageous’.

  Figuring that he had nothing to lose by hearing what the Saudis had to say, Harper drove to Bangkok that afternoon. He parked his truck close to the Saudi embassy and realised almost immediately that two men were following him. They were Thais, not Saudis, stockily built, and though they were in civilian clothes, they had the demeanour of military men. However, they were not particularly good at their job, since Harper had spotted them at once. He concluded they were Channarong’s goons, detailed to keep an eye on him, and decided to give them the slip.

  He strolled slowly around one of the main tourist areas, encouraging them to think he was unaware of the tail and merely taking in the sights on an afternoon stroll. Eventually he paused at the kerbside, ostentatiously checking his phone while pedestrians around him crossed the busy road and the followers hung back behind him, trying to look inconspicuous.

  Just as the lights went to green and the traffic began to move, Harper suddenly sprinted across the road and ducked down an alley while the cacophony of car horns behind him showed that the followers were running foul of the traffic as they tried to chase him. He ran to the end of the alley, went right, right and right again and was in time to see the back view of one of his pursuers at the end of the first alley. Deciding to give them enough time to give up the search and leave the area, he ducked through an entranceway beneath a battery of air conditioning units fixed to the outside wall and found himself in what, according to the sign over the door, was the Bangkok Medical Museum.

  Harper paid the five baht entrance fee to an ancient man with a wispy, Ho Chi Minh beard and walked through to the far end of the museum. He saw at once the reason for the multitude of air conditioning units, for the place was a cross between a morgue and a nineteenth century freak show or cabinet of curiosities. Suspended from the ceiling and lined up in tight-packed rows were Perspex boxes and specimen jars containing all manner of skeletons, mummified bodies and foetuses preserved in formalin. There were a number of desiccated corpses, their leathery faces contorted in their death agonies, with carefully hand-lettered signs next to each one proclaiming them to be the bodies of men executed by capital punishment after committing various hideous crimes. There were still-born Siamese twins, a foetus with a grossly swollen head, another that was covered in black hair as dense as a wolf’s pelt, and one with skin that was an angry red colour and diamond-patterned like crocodile hide. If there had ever been any medical value in these exhibits, that was long in the past and they were now merely bait to lure in jaded Thais and curious tourists.

  Harper gave himself another ten minutes then walked back towards the entrance. He stood in the shadow of the entranceway while he scanned the street in both directions, then stepped outside and headed back the way he had come, still alert for any indication that he was being watched or followed.

  He made his unhurried way to the Saudi Embassy, where a different guard was on duty from the time he had last visited, but the mention of an appointment with the HOC was enough to see him ushered through the marble-floored lobby and into the receiving room where the HOC was already waiting for him.

  ‘I’m glad you accepted my invitation, Lex,’ he said. ‘As I told you at our last meeting, knowledge is power. Since we last met, I have learned a great deal about you, some bad things, but mostly good. Interestingly I discovered that we are not the only ones who have been looking into you, for one of our sources told us that someone in the Thai military has also been taking a close interest in your activities and comings and goings.’

  He waited for a reaction, but Harper kept his expression neutral and said nothing.

  ‘Anyway, in gratitude for the service you have rendered to the Kingdom by rescuing the young princes, my leaders in Saudi Arabia have asked me to convey an invitation for you to visit our country as our honoured guest. As well as allowing us to offer you our finest hospitality, it will also provide an opportunity for you to meet some of our operational people in the same specialist line of work as yourself. If you are willing and,’ he permitted himself a small smile, ‘your current employer raises no objections, we have a proposition that I think you may find interesting. It would prove very lucrative for you, making use of your unusual skills and talents, and should also ultimately provide an opportunity to remove a source of nuisance to us both.’ He paused. ‘Although the young princes are safe, the man who had them held captive is continuing to blackmail their fathers. He claims, and I have no reason to doubt it, that he has film of the boys injecting themselves with the heroin his men enslaved them with, but, using his access to Thai intelligence sources and covert filming, he has also obtained compromising images of them drinking alcohol and having sex with prostitutes.’ His expression showed his distaste. ‘Obviously it’s not at all the sort of thing that the Mutaween - our religious police - nor the Committee for the Promotion of Virtue and the Prevention of Vice would approve of, and it’s also definitely not something the Kingdom would wish to see publicised.’

  He again paused, waiting for Harper to comment, but Harper still preferred to keep his counsel, wanting to see all the cards the HOC held before showing his own hand.

  ‘You may wonder why I’m telling you all this,’ the HOC said, ‘but our interests and yours might well coincide on this, because I have a feeling you’ve already made the acquaintance of the man I’m talking about. You know Colonel Channarong of the Thai Airborne Forces, do you not?’ He smiled. ‘I see from your expression that you do. So his elimination would solve a problem for both of us but we shall have to tread very carefully, Lex, because in the course of our enquiries about him, we also discovered that Colonel Channarong is a US “Person of Interest”, or in other words, a man identified as being of potential future use to the United States
. As you may know, there are many such Persons of Interest in a multitude of countries around the world, all run by handlers from the CIA and all paid a US dollar retainer to ensure their support for US policies, if ever or whenever it should be needed. We have a close alliance with the US, of course, but they are equally close allies of the Thais, so any visible attempt to target Channarong might well lead to American intervention or retaliation, which we - and you - would find uncomfortable, hence our interest in an “off-the-books” operative such as yourself.’ He spread his hands. ‘So there you have it, Lex. I’ve given you a lot to think about, I know, but whether or not you ultimately decide to take part in our endeavours, it will be the Kingdom’s pleasure to be your host at our most luxurious Red Sea resort. We have an aircraft standing by to take you there.’

  Harper inclined his head in acknowledgment. ‘It’s a very tempting offer and I’m grateful to you for it, but the small problem I have with Colonel Channarong means it may not be wise for me to be seen to be attempting to leave Thailand at the moment.’ He chose his words carefully, not wanting to cause offence.

  The HOC broke into a broad smile. ‘Then we must make sure that you are not seen to be doing so, yes?’ He glanced at his watch, a gold Patek Philippe that must have set him back around $100,000 US. ‘I’ll arrange travel under diplomatic cover for you. If you return here at - shall we say six this evening? - all the arrangements and the necessary paperwork will be in place. You will not have time to return to your base in Pattaya before then, of course, but please rest assured that a personal shopper will be at your disposal when you arrive in my country and any clothes or other items you may need - even a new watch,’ he said, ‘for I noticed you admiring mine, will be provided with the compliments of the kingdom.’

  Harper smiled to himself, he was starting to like the way the Saudis conducted business. The combination of a few days scuba diving in the Red Sea, a potentially lucrative op for the Saudis and, even better, the prospect of removing the threat to his Thai lifestyle that Channarong posed, was more than enough to overcome any reluctance he might have felt about decamping to Saudi Arabia. He duly presented himself at the embassy at six that evening, carrying only his usual bug-out bag, and was at once whisked away to the airport in a chauffeur-driven, top of the range Mercedes 500 with tinted windows and diplomatic plates.

  When he reached the airport, the driver pulled up at a discreet gate in the perimeter fence, used by favoured diplomats and those with sufficient wealth or celebrity to by-pass the tedious formalities of airport departures. The security guard cast a cursory eye over the driver’s papers and the darkened interior of the Merc, then saluted and signalled for the gate to be opened. Harper was driven to a compound on the far side of the airfield where a Royal Saudi Air Force Gulfstream jet was waiting. Harper jumped out, climbed the aircraft steps and settled himself in an opulent leather seat, the size of a substantial armchair.

  The pilot was British and looked to be former military. He greeted Harper and then went back to the cockpit, leaving Harper in the care of the flight attendant, an Irish blonde holding a bottle of chilled Dom Perignon already poised over a crystal glass. ‘Why not?’ Harper said with a grin, ‘it would be a pity to waste it.’

  He was the only passenger as the jet was cleared for take-off and roared down the runway en-route to the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia. Colonel Channarong’s deadline for Harper to respond to his proposal would expire while he was away, but pushing away the thought that it might be a long time before he felt safe to return to Thailand and his home in Pattaya, he settled back in his seat.

  The plane began to descend after just two hours in the air, and Harper knew that it was a nine hour flight to Riyadh. Problems?’ he said to the attendant.

  ‘No, just another three passengers to collect from Singapore and then we’re non-stop to Saudi.’

  When the jet had landed at Changi and taxied across to the secure compound where private jets discreetly loaded and unloaded their passengers, Harper saw another Mercedes 500 with tinted windows waiting. Three women, clearly Saudi but in full hair and make up, dripping diamonds and dressed from head to toe in Western haute couture, emerged from the limo and walked up the steps, while their chauffeur carried their numerous bags. They greeted Harper with smiles, then settled themselves at the back of the jet where, the attendant poured them champagne which was quickly quaffed.

  He dozed for much of the flight, only coming alert when the pilot’s voice came up on the intercom, announcing that they would be entering Saudi airspace in fifteen minutes. The Saudi women at once put down their champagne glasses and one by one, disappeared into the loo. When each one re-emerged, the haute couture and make up were no longer visible, concealed beneath the shapeless black cloak, hood and mesh face-mask of a burqa.

  When they had landed at King Khalid airport in Riyadh, protocol required that the women should wait deferentially until the male passenger had left the aircraft, before disembarking themselves. Harper walked down the aircraft steps where he was greeted by a Saudi driver in military uniform. While the Saudi women made their way into the terminal, Harper was ushered into a Landrover in desert camouflage but was driven only a few hundred yards across the airfield to a waiting Puma helicopter, its rotors already turning.

  Harper jumped aboard and was flown to a Saudi airbase on the Red Sea coast, where a driver in the traditional flowing white Saudi thawb robes and keffiyah head-dress then whisked him away in an air-conditioned limousine to a man-made, luxury oasis on a private beach a few miles away. There were lodges and villas surrounding the main building of a complex that housed a seven-star hotel, with a series of restaurants, an Olympic-size swimming pool and the most lavishly equipped spa Harper had ever seen. The whole of the complex was covered by air-conditioned eco-domes that maintained the temperature at a mild low seventies Fahrenheit, compared to the furnace-like heat outside, where it could reach one hundred and twenty. The sound of flowing water was everywhere, with rills and fountains fed by an unseen desalination plant that irrigated the lush grass carpeting the whole area, and the gardens where date palms and other exotic fruit grew.

  Guests could use jet-skis, snorkel or dive on the coral reef just off-shore, or enjoy a host of other facilities, and though Harper was aware of a few other people, the area was so large and the lay-out of the complex so carefully planned, that it was rare to encounter more than two or three others.

  He took full advantage of the facilities to complete his recovery from the nightmare of heroin addiction and withdrawal, and rebuild his strength and fitness to its previous levels. After a few days of working out in the on-site gym, swimming, scuba diving, eating the finest food and spending long nights in untroubled sleep, he was feeling fitter than he had for several months. He was just wondering how long the Saudis would leave him to enjoy himself before they began looking for a quid pro quo, when a young servant knocked on his door and escorted him to the Maglis, the central meeting room for the complex. As he entered, he saw a young man, dressed in traditional Bedu clothing, who looked vaguely familiar, though he couldn’t place him at first. The young man smiled at his expression. ‘You do not recognise me Lex? I am not surprised, I looked rather different the last time we met.’

  ‘Faisal!’ Harper said. ‘You’re right, I didn’t recognise you, though in my own defence, what with the layers of dirt and the effects of the heroin, you weren’t looking your best, back then. I’m glad to see you’ve recovered so well.’

  ‘I have come to thank you for saving my life from that hell-hole in Bangkok. Thanks to you, and the blessings of Allah, I am now clean of those filthy drugs and responding well to treatment. However my brother has not been so fortunate. He is still a slave to heroin and continues to resist what the specialists tell him and try to do for him. So only I am able to be here to thank you in person and I assure you that whatever the future brings for you and me, I and my family will always be with you, in person or in spirit. Now, do you have everything you need he
re?’

  ‘Everything and more, thank you, I’ve been treated like a prince - and you know what that feels like, don’t you?’ Harper said with a grin.

  ‘Very well my friend,’ Faisal said. ‘Go well and if you ever have need of my help in anything, it is yours.’

  When Harper entered the gym for his daily work-out the following morning, he was surprised to see a beautiful young Saudi woman already going through her paces on the apparatus. Even more surprisingly, he noticed a pistol in a military-issue shoulder-holster on the bench behind her, partly concealed by a towel. He studied the woman with renewed interest. Her eyes were so dark they looked almost black in the subdued lighting of the gym, her jet-black hair was tied back in a most un-Saudi-like ponytail and she was wearing a tight-fitting track-suit that showed every contour of her body. As he set up the equipment for his own routine, he noticed that she was working through a tough programme but using light weights and low resistance to avoid building muscle while keeping the body supple and strong.

  Lex began his own work-out, steadily building up the weights and the repetitions, but all the while he kept a surreptitious eye on his companion. As he did so, he became aware of a small, dark-skinned and very muscular man wearing a karate style track-suit who had slipped into the gym behind him and was now sitting quietly in a corner, almost motionless except for the occasional straightening of the black silken belt tied around his waist.

  They continued working out, both very aware of the other, but studiously avoiding any overt contact.

  Harper sat near the woman on a bench, as they sipped water and slowly cooled down. The woman kept glancing towards him and finally said ‘May I introduce myself? I am Laiya bint Salman.’

  ‘And I’m Lex,’ Harper said, ‘Lex Harper.’ He nodded towards the man sitting in the corner. ‘He doesn’t say much, does he? Not that it’s any of my business, but what’s his story, exactly?