by P Gaseaux
Chapter Twenty-three
He stretched out over the balcony. A long way up, he never did like heights. She had a nice place all right, wasn’t short of a dollar. The river stretched far below and the city hummed beneath.
She’d been in the shower a while. When Anna did emerge she wore a silk gown. Gave him a very frosty look. “Your turn.” She flung a bundled-up towel at him, he caught it. “Leave your old garments outside the door. I can have brand new ones sent up by the time you’re done.”
“Never mind,” replied Tanaka.
She frowned and looked him up and down. “Stink! Wet. Throw them away.”
“What happened back there? Who was that guy?”
She only shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Shower, now. I must report in.”
“Report in…I see… Listen up, what happened there?”
“Go!” she hissed. She started fiddling with the nine-mill pistol, sliding the breech off, running a tea towel through and checking it, scrubbing the evil little weapon like a good maid would polish silverware. It was a new model, a repo. Into a wall safe.
Tanaka hated the things. He didn’t even own one and returned his service pistol every day when he clocked-off. A lot of cops disliked them; firearms were a tool for law enforcement and soldiers. Too many call-outs, one crime scene too many…
Canada had the right idea. Then again his job was to uphold the law and defend the constitution, not question it.
Tanaka peeked out of the door of the shower, sure enough a pile of ‘garments’ inside the plastic wrappers. He leaned, pulled them in then dressed and emerged but Anna had gone somewhere. He couldn’t leave, the elevator opened straight into the room. Walked out on the landing again then inside, opened the icebox. Not much bar plastic bottles of water and green tea with foreign writing. If she ever ate it was from the stalls on the curb. He wondered how long she would be gone; there was no other way out except the landing a hundred feet above the ground. His things were in a neat pile and the clothes fitted well, slightly irritating on his skin, straight out of the packets. She’d probably burnt the old ones.
The place looked like a professional decorator’s job, there was almost nothing personal, only a large kick-bag swinging from a chain above the landing. He shoved it. It was heavy. He swung and undercut into the tarnished leather and the thing barely moved. His knuckles stung. Another small room where she slept, with a Japanese style mat on the floor and a PC on a desk, Tanaka peered in but did not enter. A selection of rattan sticks of different lengths in a corner. Some dumbbells on a rack by the wall and a little shrine above the entrance, watching over.
A noise from the elevator disturbed him and the door opened -- Anna and two other men, one in uniform and a huge guy in a safari suit.
She led them into the tiny kitchen space and produced a bottle of whisky, some label Tanaka had never seen before, worth a week’s pay…in real money. And an ashtray, the apartment was immaculate; it seemed strange she would allow it.
They stood. The man in uniform was the one from yesterday, same one who arrived with the police general. Nobody moved.
“So we meet again…Special Agent Paulus Kelvin Tanaka of the Financial Crimes Unit, Washington Bureau.” said the man. “That’s something…”
Tanaka winced. His first name given at birth had gotten him into more trouble as a boy than he cared to remember. He watched Anna as she poured two shots of whisky and tapped the ashtray on the counter. She hurried into her sleeping room and closed the door.
“Yep,” replied Tanaka. He looked around for Anna and back at the big guy. Tried to read the name badge on the man’s uniform, no luck, couldn’t read it anyway. Not sure whether to shake hands or what. Neither of them looked too friendly. “You know her, I take it?”
“I am Major-General Soronai Kitti-Khorn of the Royal Thai Armed Forces.” He nodded in the direction of Anna’s room. “I own her.” He tucked a cigarette in his mouth and pointed to the landing. “Spare me moment of your time, please.”
The bodyguard in the safari suit was behind Tanaka, he had little choice to step through the sliding door. This general -- Anna’s owner -- next to him and the bodyguard behind him. It did not feel comfortable, not one tiny bit.
“A nice view from here isn’t it?” Kitti-Khorn placed his hand lightly on Tanaka’s shoulder. He squeezed, gently at first but it got harder. “My river.”
Below it snaked through the heart of the city. Boats plied up and down. Tanaka counted three bridges. More cars than he could imagine.
The bodyguard, so close, the size of a wrestler. Made Tanaka think of his days as a city hall cop -- Honolulu -- they’d bring in violent offenders who were big Polynesians. Often took two squad cars and four officers to make the arrest. But they were big cry-babies, many of them. Hawaiian giants, an auntie or mother would come in and slap them round like a naughty child after posting bond.
The bodyguard, pressing behind. This one was no cry-baby. No expression at all. Kept fiddling with a two-way. Tanaka saw the street beneath him. Butterflies in his stomach and a pressing feeling -- seven whole floors worth of butterflies.
“You have something, I am led to believe. It belongs to us and my government would like it back,” said Kitti-Khorn. He stood back and on cue his bodyguard stepped inside the apartment. He lit his smoke and sucked deeply. “But firstly a note of thanks is in order.”
Tanaka felt relief; he thought he was going over the handrail with that safari-suited-sumo wrestler breathing down his back. “How so?” he asked. He was puzzled.
Kitti-Khorn turned, and then removed his Ray Bans. His face was hard, expressionless and cruel. “If you hadn’t bothered to come here and put your nose where it does not belong, my personal assistant…” he nodded toward the sliding door, “…would have been killed.” He pointed to the north. The river, scores of little boats, it meandered through the city. “See that?”
Tanaka nodded.
“I would like to take a short journey with me, before you depart for your home. Follow the river. I would like to know you better.”
Tanaka was uneasy. ‘Short journey’. Could mean anything, he thought about Hatfield laid up in intensive care. “Look, I really should check on my friend-”
“All taken care of,” said Kitti-Khorn. “Miss Anna shall tidy up all fees and other matters with the medical facility tomorrow morning.” He nodded behind him; she’d come out of her room now and was talking with the general’s bodyguard who was intermittently conversing on the two-way.
Tanaka, Kitti-Khorn and the adjutant stepped into the elevator, she stayed behind. On the ground level they moved quickly to the street where a heavy limousine waited, military green with two small flags fluttering; the bodyguard opened the rear door and as they sat in the vehicle two large capacity motorcycles appeared and slammed to a halt. Their escort, mounted by soldiers. Large bikes in contrast to the swarms of scooters that plagued the city streets.
Tanaka tapped the window with his knuckle -- armored glass, thick and dark.
“I’ve had a couple of attempts,” remarked Kitti-Khorn as he lit another smoke. “Occupational hazard…”
Tanaka only coughed. The smoke. It stung his eyes.
The journey was quick, no more than forty minutes helped by the escort ahead. They had entered another town to the north, to the outskirts and come upon a place with row upon row of stucco walls, statues and spires, old structures everywhere and fields of brilliant green lawns. Not a blade of grass out of place.
Ancient Ayutthaya, the holiest of cities.
The motorcycle escorts dismounted. Tanaka aand Kitti-Khorn stepped out into the afternoon heat and walked through the complex of ancient ruins, the bodyguard a few paces behind. Groups of schoolchildren in Sailor-Moon outfits followed their teachers and other visitors snapped pictures. They passed a group of soldiers, barely out of their teens, who were standing about.
On seeing the general they snapped quickly to attention and saluted. Kitti-Khorn returned the courtesy.
Tanaka stopped. “Why are we here, sir?” he asked.
Kitti-Khorn drew another smoke and lit it; he inhaled deeply, despite all the signs warning visitors not to do so. “As I said before, you have something of ours.”
“Go on,” said Tanaka.
“You see this place?” said Kitti-Khorn. “My ancestors came from here, centuries ago.” He held up his arm. “This was once our ancient capital, Special Agent.”
“It’s ancient, all right.”
“This was the finest city in the east. We lived here before Christopher Columbus was even born. Traders, scholars and artisans, they all came. A civilization of culture and learning, you know. About the same time you fought your war of independence, this fabulous city was invaded from the Burmese side, and it was burnt and looted-”
“Get to the point, General.” Tanaka felt impatient; the guy talked in riddles.
“You have the black boxes. I know this.” Kitti-Khorn squinted. “Tell you what, Special Agent: you give me what I want and I’ll give you what you want.”
Tanaka thought a moment. “Can I quote you?”
“I don’t even exist, my friend. You’re the detective. You write the reports. I only tell you where to find the answers.”
“What happened yesterday?” asked Tanaka.
“Somebody in Bangkok was killed by a bomb. Happens all the time. Ever read the Bangkok Post?”
“William Robert Hatfield, US citizen, murdered in Manila last year. Who killed him?”
“Hatfield was killed by members of an arms trafficking group…”
Tanaka kept mental notes as the general spoke, every detail. How long it had been going on; what they were doing, their political affiliations…everything. Plenty for a detailed report, he could fix it when he got back. Extradition proceedings -- not likely. He thought about the things in the strong room Washington. Chain of evidence. Some things made it to trial. Other items could be returned to the next of kin and contraband destroyed post-trial and appeals. He had absolute power over the stuff.
“What’s so special about the black boxes as you so call them?” demanded PK Tanaka.
“We need to get our hands upon them first,” said Kitti-Khorn. “But we need this for our own security. Has Miss Anna told you anything?”
“Nope,” Tanaka lied. Didn’t want her in trouble, still not sure what she was capable of. Stuffed his book in his pocket. The general pretty much confirmed what she’d said though. He couldn’t work it out.
“Why didn’t you shut the arms dealers down ages ago?”
“Cannot,” replied Kitti-Khorn. “They’re protected…politicians…government, you know.”
“C’mon, General, the army still runs the place. How can a politician control you?”
Kitti-Khorn sighed. “These criminals have our elected leaders in their pockets. We can’t just march in and stage a coup d’état. Many of them are good friends of mine, albeit misguided friends.”
The afternoon sun had lowered now where it was still and the high clouds had turned a shade of crimson. They walked. Tanaka, the general and the wrestler in the safari suit behind them, forever cradling his two-way.
“Where did you get her from? Anna…what’s her story?”
The general stopped and smiled broadly. “My pet project, let’s just say we crossed paths a few years ago. I trained her; groomed her. Anna got the best and gave her all -- nearly killed her in the process.” He chuckled. “She was raised in a European family, you know. Missionaries; they rescued her as a young girl, she had no parents. They educated her, adopted her and made her work and study. But she’s one of us.”
“How does she fit into all this?”
“Hmmm…” Kitti-Khorn rolled his eyes. “Several years ago, she was a financial auditor. Her own consultancy, you know that? She single-handedly shut down a fraudulent deal between my government and another country. I approached her and made an offer. I trained her and taught her things-”
“General, that’s my expertise, too. I rail in corporate crooks all the time. But I don’t go round killing people…”
“Who ever said she kills people?”
“General Kitti-Khorn, please listen to me: so far we have William Hatfield, dead. A whole lotta guys plastered all over downtown Manila, dead. In fact I nearly got my ass shot off too.” As he spoke he was counting his fingers. “That guy blown to smithereens in front of me yesterday, dead. One of our FBI agents attached to the embassy in Manila, dead-”
“What are you talking about -- an FBI agent?!” Kitti-Khorn demanded.
“That’s right, my counterpart in the Philippines. They found him…at least what was left of him…a week ago.” Tanaka threw his hands up. “General…what, exactly is going on here?”
“For starters, it was I who put her into the syndicate. I never asked her to kill anybody. They were supplying the rebels in Sri Lanka, and then they moved on to bigger and better things. Anna’s job was to persuade them to move somewhere else. Look, I more than anybody am aware my country’s reputation suffers when crimes occur here-”
“Tell us about it, pal, you’re on practically every watch-list there is…human trafficking, copyright piracy, money laundering, and drugs…booby-trapped cell phones.” He paused, thought better of berating the general.
Kitti-Khorn frowned.
“Sir…what is the relationship between Mister William Robert Hatfield and the syndicate and how did Anna fit into it?”
“Simple. She hired him. They worked together.”
“Why did they set up in Manila? Surely better to stay here…?”
Kitti-Khorn beamed and clapped. “Bingo! They went there firstly to siphon the syndicate’s money out of Thailand and secondly to transit the black boxes to the Middle East.”
Tanaka felt his blood pressure rise. “Money…how much money?”
“Lots of it. Millions.”
Tanaka lowered his voice. “Is that why Hatfield was killed?”
Kitti-Khorn shook his head and smiled. “Not at all. Their boss was delighted and seized at the opportunity to get his fortune out. He put the contract out because the Hatfield boy had removed one of the items and reported it…to the FBI man in Manila.”
“So where is all that money, now?”
“About two-thirds of it remains in Thailand and we’re in the process of freezing it. One third was converted into hard currency deposits and transferred offshore.”
“Where offshore, General Kitti-Khorn? Where?”
“You’ll have to ask Anna. When all this is over I shall send her to your country to collect the black boxes. The circuits, in case you’ve forgotten; they’re ours. Unless you object. Ask her next time you see her.” Kitti-Khorn chuckled.
Tanaka said nothing. Border Protection had an all-ports alert on her. Then again Anna could change her name or something. But he had the scans of her; they’d been forwarded to Customs and Immigration. Wasn’t worth contradicting him, not right now. He could still ‘disappear’. So could JJ Hatfield. He thought, over and over. He peered over the ruins of ancient Ayutthaya. Serene, bathed in the light of dusk, flags fluttering gently. Some monks in a group; saffron robes. He shivered.
“This is our heart and our soul, Special Agent Tanaka.” Kitti-Khorn turned and stared at him, hard. “We live in uncertain times. And we will defend ourselves and we will do it, to the death if necessary. We have been here longer than you can ever imagine, we had our civilization when Europeans like you lived in caves. We will stay here. This is ours…always.”
Tanaka felt miffed; that really took the cake. First time in his entire life any person had ever called him a ‘European’. Spent his whole life feeling not quite accepted…now he was getting it in reverse. Maybe the man was a lunatic, certainly an ultranationalist.
&
nbsp; Simplistic and dangerous perhaps; they had guys who thought like that on the bureau’s ‘most wanted’ list. But this guy just happened to be a general, and from a country that was one of their most important allies.
Not much was said on the journey back, to the room Tanaka had near Siam Square. This time a guard in plainclothes was outside his door and another downstairs. He couldn’t get out, food was brought in and his cell phone had been jammed. He could go down to the lobby and restaurant and they served him albeit with suspicious looks.
He slept uneasily, sometimes waking to flick through the TV stations, there were some cable news channels and the rest of the broadcast was in their language. It seemed their idea of entertainment was teary soap-operas and dramas with a lot of shooting but that was it. The anchorwomen were polished and smooth…attractive and strange…just like Anna. They purred like cats with a mellow voice he could not understand.
Early the next morning a banging on his door. Two soldiers, armed, possibly MPs. And her.
“You! Packing now,” one of them said.
“Going somewhere?” Tanaka asked.
“Airport, then home.”
Tanaka peered into the hallway. Next to them was Hatfield, he was handcuffed. He looked back at the MP who barked in broken English:
“Evah-leebody out! You out from Thailand!”
“With pleasure,” replied Tanaka.
They were frog-marched straight past the reception counter, not a second glance from the two staff -- somebody had settled the bill. One of the MPs had their passports and some other papers. A military green van with a blue strobe light on the roof was waiting outside, they were pushed in. Anna squeezed in beside and unlocked JJ Hatfield. He mumbled something, didn’t sound too happy he shook his hands like he was flicking mud off. They drove for a while; it was Anna who broke the ice.
“Valentine’s Day,” she said. She sat behind the MPs, and they sat up the back. She turned and leaned on the seat, watching JJ Hatfield. He never replied.
“Chocolates?” Tanaka asked. “Admirer somewhere…a card from Jack the Ripper?”
“Not talking to you, Special Agent Tanaka.” She kept watching JJ Hatfield. “Your son and I never shared Valentine’s, you know that?”
They were paying attention now, Anna was after some reaction.
“You might wish to check out the news bulletins on the fourteenth…oh, I forgot…you’re always a day behind us. Each and every time, so far behind.”
She turned back. Tanaka and Hatfield looked at each other; they had no idea what she was on about.
On the return journey he kept a close eye on JJ Hatfield. Looked like he’d picked up a cold, he wasn’t doing so well now. Tanaka waited till he drifted off then he got his notebook computer and began tapping. Kitti-Khorn had given him some of the vital info and he could hang onto it, if ever needed.
The case was closed, anyhow. As for Anna… if she ever showed her face again on his patch he could nab her.
Nail her on The Patriot Act. Get her in a room a couple of weeks…grill her. She’d roll eventually. Needn’t lay a finger on her; just play nonstop hip-hop into a padded cell with her locked up; keep it cranked right up all night long. She’d say something.
