Artie also knew that if he took down the mastermind behind the game, he would receive recognition and silence Tip’s constant nagging that he didn’t do enough to further his career. The Americans would have to trust that he was acting in everyone’s best interest and settle for partial credit. Or none.
Artie looked at Chan. A bullet to the back of the head had him slumped on the floor. He watched as his men rolled the lifeless body onto an old tarp they had spread out next to him. This wasn’t the first time someone had “gone missing” under Artie’s watch. But to his defense, it only happened to degenerates, those who didn’t deserve to live.
Once he’d had the body removed and the room cleaned, Artie sent word to a group of his most trusted and highly trained officers to meet him immediately at the Thai restaurant in the Sathorn district just off of the Rama IV highway. He knew the owner and was allowed access to a backroom the restaurant used occasionally for large parties, but Artie used the space periodically for meetings that he preferred no one but the attendees be aware of.
Artie had to act fast on information he had recently obtained. He figured he had three days at the most before Chan was noticeably missed. With the element of surprise on his side, Artie intended to take full advantage of it.
Politics aside, the other great danger would be the resistance at the targets’ location. According to Chan, Artie and his men would have to bypass at least fourteen guards who were most likely armed and had some degree of tactical training. Of course Artie had never expected to waltz in and handcuff Somchai without resistance, but he certainly hadn’t thought he would encounter that many men.
Even if he could apprehend Somchai alive, leaving Chinatown could prove to be just as problematic. The residents might be alerted and become very protective of the man who kept order. Lastly, he had no plans to inform his superiors of the assault. If wrong, the political fallout would surely cost Artie his job with the Royal Thai Police. Artie would have to prove beyond all doubt that Somchai was indeed the man behind a game designed to kill innocent Thais. That would be enough to forgive his insubordination.
<><><>
Later that night, five men, including Artie, gathered at a round table filled with platters of spicy curries, steamed fish, and wok-fried vegetables. His men wasted no time digging into the dishes. Artie allowed them time to get at least one plate of food down their throats before clearing his.
“You all know why you’re here.” Artie looked each man directly in the eyes before continuing. “As always, the mission is dangerous. You could get hurt. You could die. If you survive either of those realities, know that, this time, you also face the risk of losing your job. If you don’t like what I’ve just said, then you can leave now.”
The room remained quiet as the men eyed each other, waiting to see if someone would step back. No one did. Ever.
“Who’s the target?” asked Koi, a bald man with a prominent scar across his chin. He was one of Artie’s most trusted collaborators.
“Somchai Neelapaijit, the man in charge of Chinatown.”
The men responded to Artie’s answer by swallowing hard, shifting in their chairs or both.
Koi spoke up again. “You understand what you’re asking of all us?” He motioned around the table with his hand.
“I do, and my offer to leave still stands.”
No one moved.
“I take that to mean you’re all in.”
The men remained quiet as Artie briefed them on the Chasing Chinatown game and Somchai’s connection to it. When he concluded, they remained silent.
“Any questions?” Artie asked after a brief pause.
“One,” Koi said, breaking the silence. He met eyes with the other men before continuing. “Are we taking him alive?”
Artie grinned. “We take him any way we can.”
Chapter 47
It was after midnight. Kang and I both had realized we needed help from Artie and his department to track down Team Creeper. We had wanted to avoid, or at least minimize, involving the police, since we weren’t officially here to investigate, and we didn’t want anything to be misconstrued.
But at this point, we needed to be able to conduct surveillance on the premises or near the bar without being bothered by the mama-sans or the dancers. Our hope was that Artie could arrange this without word leaking of our presence. I was doubtful but remained positive.
We also needed other teams positioned along the soi so they might help us keep an eye out for this guy. The way we saw it, there was no other way to avoid a needle-in-a-haystack situation.
I put a call in to Artie but got his voicemail. I left a brief message explaining our situation and asking for a meeting. After I hung up, Kang and I called it a night and headed out of the bar. Before exiting, I looked to where the interested blond man had taken a seat and saw that it was empty. My guess was that he had found another toy to play with.
The walk back to the hotel was uneventful. I couldn’t wait to ditch the dress and shoes and throw on my comfy sweatpants. Kang wanted a quick snack before heading up to our room, but I didn’t have it in me to saddle up at a nearby noodle cart. I know; unbelievable, right? But I was drained.
After parting with Kang, I walked through the lobby and rounded the corner to find nobody standing near the bank of elevators, which thrilled me, of course. A straight shot up to my floor.
Of course, what was I thinking? Here came the downpour on my happy parade.
Right before the elevator door shut, a hand slipped through and bounced the doors back open. I thought Kang had changed his mind about eating. I was wrong and surprised. Standing before me was the blond gentleman from the bar.
“Oh, hello,” he said, pausing a beat before entering the lift. “You’re not following me are you?”
“I almost said the same thing.”
“What happened to your date?” He re-pressed the floor button I had already pressed.
“He’s in the room waiting for me. You’re still out of luck.”
“So it seems. So it seems.” He smiled and let his eyes settle on the digital numbers that counted the floors.
When the elevator stopped and the doors opened, he held his hand out, motioning me to exit first. “I hope you enjoy your night.”
I smiled but said nothing as I walked by him. I turned left and, from the sound of it, knew he had turned right. I was relieved that his room was in the opposite direction. After a few steps, I looked back, because the coincidence was too much for me. That’s when my phone rang. I saw that it was Po Po’s cell and answered right away.
“Hi, Mommy!”
Lucy had recently learned how to dial me from Po Po’s “favorites” list and had taken to sneaking the phone from her and calling me.
“Hi, sweetie. How are you?”
“I’m oookayyy.”
It was early Saturday morning in San Francisco, no school. My guess was that she was up for the cartoons, but I didn’t hear the TV in the background, which was a good thing. The TV rule: Thirty minutes in the morning, afternoon, and evening. Harsh? Probably. I felt her time was better spent drawing, reading, singing, playing dress-up, or whatever. So long as she wasn’t stagnant in front of the television, it made me happy.
“Does Po Po know you have her phone?”
“Noooooo. I’m hiding.” Lucy giggled.
I couldn’t help but laugh myself. I had just opened the door to my room when a sharp pain exploded in my back, and I flew forward.
Chapter 48
“Mommy?”
Lucy’s call for her mother went unanswered as she heard a scream on the other end of the line.
“Mommy,” her voice quivered, “are you okay?”
Still no response, but Lucy could clearly hear a commotion and her mother’s voice, strained and then muffled.
Lucy may have been only six, but she was old enough to realize that something was wrong. Again she called out for her mom but heard no response.
Tears welled and stre
amed down both of her cheeks as she cried out, “Mommy!” over and over, with each call louder than the last until she was screaming uncontrollably into the phone. Her breaths turned to short gasps. Unmentionable images filled her head. Her body shivered, and her teeth chattered.
Over and over, she shouted into the phone, her mouth the only body part that seemed to work. The rest of her tiny frame remained frozen in the dark closet, where she often had gone to call her mother.
Ryan heard Lucy first and shot off his bed. “Lucy!” he called out as he sprinted toward her room. There was no response, only the same wailing cry for their mother.
He turned the corner and faced an empty room. “Lucy!” he called once again before moving toward her closet and sliding the door open. Inside, he saw his sister huddled into a tiny ball, shaking uncontrollably with her eyes looking pass him. She had Po Po’s cell phone pressed tightly against her ear as she pleaded over and over for their mother to answer.
Ryan pried the cell phone from Lucy’s hand and put it up to his ear.
“Abby!” he shouted. It was worse than he had expected. He could hear loud crashing noises on the other end. A fight! “Abby!” he called out once again. “Are you okay? What’s happening?”
For the first time in his life, Ryan felt a sense of hopelessness as he listened to the sound of glass breaking and yet another curdling scream from his mother.
All the judo classes, all the boxing sessions, all the advice she had ever given him over the years had at that moment been rendered completely useless.
The loud crashing noises were soon laced with the sound of smacking that could only be caused by a balled-up fist. Tears formed in his eyes as he told himself over and over that she was tough, that what he heard was her delivering those punishing blows, that she was in control and winning the battle. It had to be. The other outcome was unthinkable for him.
And yet, that very thought had gone ahead and wormed its way into his head. Vivid imagery of her being thrown around a room like a rag doll came to life. Grunts and cries of pain only reinforced his imagination. It was enough to break Ryan’s dam of strength. And as much as he tried to prevent that from happening for Lucy’s sake, he couldn’t. Down his face ran streams of hopelessness, inciting more fear in his sister.
Ryan choked as he tried to call out once again, unable to form even the simplest of sentences. A mumbled mess was all he could muster. And it would only get worse when he heard her yell the one word he had never heard his mother ever utter:
“Help!”
Chapter 49
My attacker and I struggled over a broken glass vase, the jagged edge only inches away from plunging into my neck. He was stronger, and I wasn’t sure how much longer I could fend him off. I had myself convinced I needed a miracle.
But Kang would do.
“Drop it!” I heard him shout.
The blond man stole a look over his shoulder and gave me the small window of opportunity I needed to save my butt. He let up on his downward pressure and I was able to twist his hand around, shoving the shard upward and ripping his left cheek open. He yelled and let go of the weapon we had been fighting over. Without thought, I drove it into his neck—again and again.
He tried to defend my attack with his forearms, but the glass continued to find its mark on any part of his body. A second later, Kang yanked him off of me and pinned him to the ground, ready to continue the fight, but it became clear to us both that the fight was already over.
His heart pumped warm blood out of the wounds in his neck and arms. I got to my feet and reached for the hotel phone, hitting the button for the front desk. “I need the police and an ambulance immediately. A man is dying.”
My attacker lay on his side, barely moving. Kang used both hands to apply pressure to the largest wound on his neck. I grabbed hold of Kang’s weapon and kept it trained on the man.
Blood was smeared across his face, and more of it seemed to seep through Kang’s fingers. I hurried to the bathroom and returned with a hand towel. It would do a better job at stopping the blood flow. While it was only seconds ago that this man had wanted me dead, we both knew it was important to keep him alive.
“Why did you try to kill me?” I shouted. “Was this because of what happened at the club?”
His eyes found me. A weak smile appeared on his face. I swear; if it hadn’t been for the damage I had caused to his neck, he would have laughed.
I searched his pockets and found his wallet and passport. Both pieces of identification shared the same information: John Royker from Johannesburg, South Africa. The location matched his accent.
“You followed us here from the club. Why?” I continued my questioning.
Still, he said nothing and only smiled. He was dying. There was no denying that. But all I cared about was extracting as much information from him as possible before the inevitable took place.
“You think it’s funny to kill people?” No sooner had those words left my lips than an idea of who this man might be took over my thoughts. Could it be? But our guy has dark hair and a limp. And yet, as I flashed back over the night’s events, it was clear to me that he had targeted me; he’d had no interest in any other woman in that club.
Was he the Creeper? Did he work alone? As I stared into his eyes, his pupils were enlarged and jittery, yet he seemed to be experiencing great joy in what had just taken place. A psychopath enjoying the spotlight, even in his darkest hour.
“You’re Team Creeper!”
He gurgled a faint laugh before closing his eyes.
Kang shook the man in an effort to keep him awake. I asked the same question, wanting a definite answer to my hypothetical guess. He faded in and out of consciousness for few more seconds before taking his last breath and leaving me without a reply.
When hotel security arrived at our room seconds later, there was a motionless body on the carpeted floor, and Kang and I were covered in blood. Add that I held a weapon my hand, and I could understand how incriminating it looked—for us.
The next few minutes were extremely tense as we worked to defuse the situation and explain what had happened. Fortunately, we both had identification on us. It was the turning point in the shouting match between us and the trio of suited security guards, and it was the only reason for them to believe us.
The police and paramedics arrived shortly after. Our guy was long gone and needed a body bag. We, however, had the arduous process of having to explain what had happened again and again to every officer who arrived on the scene. While our identification kept us out of handcuffs, the language barrier continued to thwart our efforts for a speedy explanation. Each person wanted to hear it from our mouths and not from those who had already received the details. It was Thai bureaucracy at its worse.
Artie surprised us by arriving a half hour after the police had. “Abby. Kyle. What the hell happened here?” His eyes fluttered between us and the body lying next to the bed.
“How did you know we were here?” I questioned his question.
“Word about an FBI agent involved in a murder got back to one of my men, and he contacted me. I tried calling your cell, but I got no answer.”
“My phone!” I only then just remembered that I had been talking with Lucy when I was attacked. I scanned the dark brown carpeting for my phone, wondering if she had heard any of what had taken place. I hoped she hadn’t.
I found my cell near the wall. The line was dead. I tried calling Po Po but instead heard a recording that told me my phone was out of money. Great. I picked up the hotel phone and dialed home.
Chapter 50
Po Po picked up on the first ring. That told me she had been eagerly waiting for a call.
“Abby!”
“Yes, it’s me.”
“You okay. What happened? Lucy was crying.”
“I’m fine. Where’s Lucy?”
“Sleeping. She was so upset earlier. What happened?”
I came clean with my mother-in-law. She needed to know what
had happened. She would be the one having to deal with the immediate fallout back home. “Long story short, I was attacked while I was talking to Lucy. I lost my phone in the scuffle, and she must have heard the commotion,” I said, softening the night’s events. If Lucy had heard everything, well, there was no sense in rehashing it and upsetting Po Po as well.
Po Po told me Ryan had found Lucy tucked away in her closet, holding the phone to her ear and sobbing.
“Wait. Ryan found her?” This thought had never entered my mind. Now I had to worry about what he had heard.
“Abby, Ryan told me what he hear on the phone. You not have a small fight. He cry, too, you know. He said you were being hurt. He hear you call for help.”
A wave of emotions erupted in my chest and raced throughout my body. I felt my legs grow weak, and my stomach did back flips. My breaths grew short as my mind put on a slideshow of the imagery that my kids might have dreamt up.
I had officially become the worst mother on planet Earth.
I had inadvertently put my kids through an unimaginable situation, one no mother would ever want their children to experience. Who in their right mind would subject their kids to that psychological damage? Me, the selfish crime-fighter. I had made my own children believe that their mother, their protector, the one person who they could always count on to provide them with comfort and love and be their happy place had been killed.
The hotel phone was cordless, so I moved my conversation into the bathroom and locked the door. Next came the tears. I tried to hold them back. No way could I be the one who loses it. The backbone of a family doesn’t do that. I’m the rock. I’m the one the others can turn to—the solution to a problem. And yet, I had done the opposite and hurt the ones I loved the most.
Po Po told me that, when she had gotten to Lucy’s room, she’d found both children wailing uncontrollably. She said Ryan had been holding her cell phone, but the line was dead when she had checked it.
Lumpini Park (Abby Kane FBI Thriller - Chasing Chinatown Trilogy Book 2) Page 14
