by P Gaseaux
Chapter Twenty-four
Major Lowenstein was edgy and so were the rest of the outfit; it had been a while now and not a peep out ‘the Cat’. She’d promised to get hold of him quickly but his sense of timekeeping may have differed from the Thai version. In Kitti-Khorn and Padkee-Chayochaichana’s case nothing could be further from the truth, they were the original clock watchers.
The jubilation from Arcana’s side at the liquidation of Chen the wizard was now sidelined by a sense of greater urgency. The rest of the syndicate had to be dealt with before they could disperse. One thing, the world felt safer, the supply of guidance boxes cut off at the neck.
Hirsch and the services kept up the mantra: ‘Be patient…be patient’. But it got on Lowenstein’s nerves, got on all their nerves. The land unit had to meet ‘the Cat’s’ controllers too. She’d made promises; all kinds. Commitments, backup and hardware on offer. One good deed deserved another.
Where was she?
A ‘tap-tap-tap’ on the metal gate to the front of the bungalow, about nine pm.
The running man jumped up, drew his gun from a baggy pocket and checked the peephole. The door was a good one, metal framed countersunk into the masonry dwelling, solid golden teak with flush bronze hinges and a three-way lock that secured it. It was sweltering inside, Lowenstein had the barred windows open and air-con off so he could listen. Neighborhoods here were always noisy; it was when the noise stopped, it meant trouble…
That door could stop a gang with tomahawks and clubs; they’d forgotten window-screens to keep mosquitoes out, though. Strange, builders here never installed mesh screens.
At the gate was somebody in black clothing and a parked up motorcycle with a crate on the back -- a pizza delivery -- looked exactly the same as a pizza-man anywhere. The running man opened the door slowly and walked to the gate covered by C41 the signaler, holding a self-loading carbine trained on the deliveryman’s upper body.
The pizza-man greeted him. Lowenstein replied; his language abilities still shaky after a decade or more. The local insisted in speaking his version of English. Still inside the yard, Lowenstein tucked the auto into his belt behind his back, one hand upon it.
“We haven’t ordered this.”
“Yes you did mistah. Four hun’red Baht, please,” replied the boy.
The running man shook his head. “There must be some mistake. We’ve eaten. Nobody has sent for pizza.” What kind of idiot would order pizza in Thailand? Four hundred Baht, in the night stalls, all you can eat for a week…He scanned the road, nothing out of the ordinary. He was careful to remain behind the gate post and keep the barrier shut. He nodded to his side.
“Maybe the place to the left?”
The delivery boy stepped back and read the indeterminable street numbering on the whitewashed supports before insisting again. “No mistah, this house for sure.” This time he held the two boxes out. “Four hun’red Baht please.”
Pay up and get him on his way. Don’t create a scene. He eased his hand off the automatic to his wallet, lower down.
“You order one Mexican Chili and one Vegetarian. You tell shop ‘no pork’, okay-mai? You Islam, nah?” Punk-kid had a look of bemusement on his face.
Took a second and the running man froze. Squeezed that Browning Hi-Power in his belt; feather-light, charged and ready. He checked the street and the boy as well as the motorcycle next to him. Carefully.
“Four hun’red Baht please.”
“Open it,” whispered the running man.
The boy muttered something and opened the lids, one then two.
“On the ground!”
The boy scowled and squatted down. Food to be eaten put on the ground -- crazy.
The running man pulled his wallet and unfolded a mauve five hundred note with his left hand, the right hand still on the auto. Passed the banknote through the gate.
“Keep the change.”
The boy broke into a grin. “Thank you velly big, mistah.” He jumped on his scooter and whizzed away. He could take the night off.
Inside the running man and C41 examined the pizzas and the boxes they came in. Smelt just great and hadn’t exploded yet. Stuck in there was a little pamphlet, tucked between the flat boxes. It advertised all manner, scripted in Roman and Thai…deals, voucher rewards and special flavors. After a second check the toll-free number on the voucher was different to the one on the flat pizza box.
“Get on the net and check the company,” said Lowenstein.
The number on the box was the correct one. He seized the iPhone and dialed the other number on the voucher and it rang with a monotonous beep before a voice answered. A Thai man speaking English: “Bangkok City, Lumphini Park, tomorrow oh-nine-thirty at the lake; come alone,” before hanging up. The running man redialed and it went straight to a whirring tone, like a fax machine. Put the cell on the table and lifted the lid…the pizzas with no pork.
“Mister Gold, sir…may I have a piece?” mumbled C41.
Major-General Soronai Kitti-Khorn dumped the cell on the table and smiled at Pakdee. Spread out all over the floor of her place on the seventh floor was an array of maps, flow-charts, lists and diagrams.
“Shook him up, somewhat,” he remarked.
Pakdee giggled. “He’ll sleep well tonight…not! Probably has a rent-boy with him. Maybe we interrupted something-”
Kitti tapped her. “Their defense force couldn’t care less. I was over there once on official business and saw pretty young things straight off a magazine cover; they were decked out in full combat gear.” He admonished her. “Don’t ridicule the guy. He’s been in all the big ones. One of the best there ever was -- that’s why they got him back.”
Kitti-Khorn fondled a map, a map of a river and a raised bridge; a multi-lane highway. “I’m sure I know the voice.” He nodded his head, in thought. “I’ll remember when I see him face to face.”
“Tomorrow,” said Pakdee.
Kitti dumped the map down and turned to her, he stared into her eyes. “Miss Anna, you’re completely sure you really have to return to Pakchong?”
“What needs to be done, so it shall be done My General,” she replied. “I do not fear.”
Pakdee lifted a page up and pointed. On it were names and descriptions of the syndicate members: the head of the organization was ‘The Tamil’, a Canadian. The other principals were also foreigners, one Nigerian and a UK national. And all the backups, the Gurkhas. They stayed by the Ulsterman’s side -- Walker -- the one she was after, more than anything.
“I want them. They’re mine…”
“Leave that to Arcana,” replied Kitti. “They’ll do the dirty work.”
“I’ll set the trap,” said Pakdee. “Greed -- it always works. I’ve done it once and I can do it again.”
“What’s special about the fourteenth?” asked Kitti.
She only looked blank. “Sunday,” replied Pakdee. “Less traffic on the bridge.”
The lake was empty, all the little pleasure boats moored in a line. The city park was an oasis; a set of lungs, a filter for the capital of ten million-plus.
The running man had come unarmed, a calculated choice but he dared not risk arrest. He checked the park and its surrounds, then his watch, nine-fifteen. He waited nervously. At nine-twenty-nine precisely he saw them approach, ‘the Cat’ and a Thai man. They halted -- she looked furious.
“Enjoy the cyanide we sprinkled in the pizzas?” she snapped. “You love it, you know that?” Pakdee was ready to rip Lowenstein’s throat out.
Kitti held up one finger at her. “Get in the boat and take the oars Miss Anna,” he said in English. They climbed and she seized the oars. They hopped in facing her and she rowed the tiny boat across the brown lake.
“I would protest at that remark! We do not find that amusing,” snarled the running man, his voice rising and gesturing angrily. His voice echoed around the tranquil lake.
> Rattled your cage. Pakdee smiled sweetly at his reaction.
“I apologize for that,” said Kitti-Khorn. He frowned at her. “But you nearly blew my associate’s head off.”
“Don’t pretend you don’t know anything.” She let fly: “The charge almost got me too, not to mention other innocent people…I had to throw away my lovely outfit and my hairdo messed up! Blood! Pieces of a man’s skull! I still have ringing in my right ear-”
For the second time Kitti raised his finger, warning her in Thai. Then English: “Could we please take a moment and start again please?”
The running man stared back at Pakdee who was glaring at him, like a Mexican standoff, all that was missing was the saloon, the horse-trough and the six-shooters. Then again she may have been armed. He turned away and searched around the shore of the lake. A minder in a dark safari suit was milling around the lake’s edge, clutching a Motorola two-way. He was big, brown and bullnecked, watching them.
“My guys,” said Kitti. He lit a smoke then offered one to the running man.
“Thank you.”
“Major-General Soronai Kitti-Khorn; pleased to finally meet.”
Kitti extended his hand, but the running man returned the wai…the prayer greeting of the Buddhists.
Fair enough. Kitti did the same.
“I carry the name ‘Gold’ but as were clearly in a business negotiation, let’s just say I represent the organization Arcana.”
Kitti leaned closer to the running man. “The name you carry, my friend, according to passenger records is Brian Patrick Flannery, born in County Cork, Ireland. Nice try, Major Ariel Ezra Lowenstein.” He leaned back, satisfied. “Your reputation precedes you but do not be alarmed. I thank you for your service to the Kingdom, now and in previous decades.”
Lowenstein frowned, yet again somebody who knew too much. It was irritating. Pakdee coughed at the smoke, tilting her head. At the center of the pond she ceased moving the oars abruptly and glared at him. Behind her on the stern was a small chain used to secure the boat from thieves at night. She turned and took it in her hand, playing with it; she kept looking at the running man as he and the general were talking.
She smiled. Boot’s on the other foot…then she stopped, had the guy sweating now. They had to discuss the takedown.
Lowenstein squinted, something on his mind. “Have we met before?”
“You tell me, have we?” replied Kitti.
Pakdee dropped the chain in the bow-space behind her, he flinched. She looked cold, expressionless. The running man’s heartbeat rose slightly. Had he and this general ever crossed paths? Maybe…he was in civvies so he couldn’t verify the rank; it was possible for ambitious types to rise through the ranks and a lot of water had gone under the bridge since the nineties. A whole ocean or a swamp.
Kitti-Khorn adored the lake and his thoughts always turned to when he was young. He would come with his parents and watch the little model yachts sail up and down. Nowadays the hobbyists raced noisy RC power boats across the lake but that was on weekends; today it was peaceful.
“One thing, if I may return to what was raised before,” said Kitti. You cannot go freelance here. “We can; you cannot.”
“You’ve lost me.”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about. Does the incident in Chinatown-Yaowarat mean anything?”
No point trying to deny any longer. “Look me in the eyes and tell me the world is not a better place,” said Lowenstein.
“If you had bothered to let us know we could have captured him.”
The running man shook his head. “We do not confirm or deny any responsibility for this.”
“So you know, right?”
“I think the whole world knows by now, my friend,” replied the running man. “Chen Hsieh-Tsu made the news bulletins around the world. One report even had a repertoire of his criminal dealings and who may have wanted him dead. They even mentioned our country’s security service…”
“We could have taken him in.” Kitti lit another cigarette. “Chen was ours; you just got to him first.”
“He was pissing on our patch and he paid the price,” growled the running man. “What did you have in mind? A consultancy to your armed forces? You know how it is; money buys you anything in this place.”
“Do not play moral high ground with me,” said Kitti. “So-called developed countries are exactly the same! You give countries like mine kickbacks dressed up as foreign aid packages, your governments and multinationals accept much larger bribes and the only difference is you issue a receipt and a tax deduction for them-”
Pakdee interrupted. “I think perhaps a good idea to discuss our plans.” She started rowing across the lake, this time in the direction of Kitti’s minder. She stared at the running man as she rowed. “You work with us now, not against us. You know that?”
Kitti dropped a large document folder between them. “Everything in there has been prepared. I need your assurance it will be shredded and burnt when you’re done.”
The running man nodded. “Agreed.”
A lot of work had gone into the proposal. Kitti produced a pocket book and a gold pen. “I’ll run you through what’s inside. It’s just a summary of what you have there.”
They discussed it in detail for the next hour and a half at one stage returning to the minder on the shore and sending for water. They had some details to iron out but generally in agreement with most stages of the takedown. It was close to lunch by the time they wound up.
Kitti faced the running man. “The one thing I cannot stress enough -- not one bystander or any innocent civilian is to be harmed.”
“Not a single one,” added Pakdee. “I’ll be on the ground and I can hook up after the vehicles are neutralized. I’ll be with the criminals from Pakchong and I shall lead them to their deaths.”
The running man shook his head. She was completely mad, he figured. Unbalanced. “Why have we not looked at getting them at their hideout? You’ve set this all out…you could be shot.”
“I do not fear,” replied Pakdee. “Are you afraid?”
“It has to be on the bridge,” said Kitti. “They have bailout plans, congressmen in their pockets. Local police would arrive and a battle would erupt. There is an armed forces base nearby Pakchong. Your people could be trapped. This way is better.”
The running man turned away and looked around the huge open area. Others were arriving and others were paddling the boats around the lake. Finally he answered. “Okay, okay. Give me twenty four hours and I’ll confirm it with you.”
“Confirm it with her.” The general shifted his head to Pakdee who was still rowing; now back to the tiny jetty. “Today has been your first and last point of contact from where I’m concerned.”
“Fine, I just need to report to my superiors, you know how it is.”
“That’s all been taken care of,” said Kitti.
“Excuse me?”
They climbed out of the boat and walked up to the shaded area. It was an immaculate garden, not a blade of grass out of place. Huge monitor lizards stared at them, like plastic toy dinosaurs. The general reached for his cigarette packet before screwing it up in his hand. Empty. He and Pakdee walked over to the minder, still waiting. A few yards away he stopped and turned.
“I was going to catch up with Abe Hirsch at year’s end year for a round of golf. You know there’s the issue of our small arms.”
“Go on…”
“Decisions; decisions…so many choices,” mused Kitti.
“You’ve lost me, General Kitti-Khorn,” said the running man.
“Really it comes down to the issue of equipment for our regular troops. Think about it, my friend…which are the two best NATO caliber rifles around today? The Colt M4 and the Galil of course,” said Kitti. “Our troops in the deep south need new arms. That’s the choice and it’s a tough one. So help us make up our minds and cho
ose wisely. Good for your cash-strapped economy; good for our homeland security.”
The penny dropped. A huge deal…assault rifles. They had been played, him and the entire unit. He knew better than to chase after them or start badgering.
“Oh, by the way,” said Kitti. “Thanks so much for digging my associate out a rather deep hole in Manila. Keep your cell switched on; we’ll be in touch soon.”
Kitti leaned and tapped Pakdee on her shoulder; she tossed her head back as they headed to the gate of Lumphini Park leaving the running man there alone to stare at his feet a while and just take it all in. A stout gray lizard the size of a small gator blocked his path back to the gate. Felt like lashing out with a swift kick at the reptile but decided against it.
“Why was I not told?” Lowenstein shouted at the screen, C41 pretending not to listen as he adjusted reception on the scrambled signals. Then the signaler moved to the other room to fine tune the direction of the little mesh disk, or at least try to. Unseasonal thunder was causing problems with the connections. The running man and the brass kept on yelling at each other. The video link was intermittent that evening, only aggravating things.
“We’re doing their job for them!”
“No, Ari, this is not the case… It has been made clear; they want the syndicate closed down as much as we do. Their armed forces cannot just go in and finish it, to do so would be catastrophic and would trigger a political crisis due to the influence the players have there.”
The running man paced around in circles in the room. “Okay then so why didn’t we know from the start? We could have by-passed the Philippines altogether. All we did was a search and rescue for them…to locate her.”
“I didn’t know at that stage, in any case you’re being paid...so what? The job was exactly as intended. None of us knew. She was bait-”
“And we got hooked,” Lowenstein blurted out. “So when did you know if you don’t mind me asking?”
Hirsch looked away as if checking on something. “It was after you had extracted the woman Jaisuwan, or whatever her name is. She had disappeared completely, possibly to guarantee her own safety. Then your people picked her up and she managed to get in contact with the general. That’s when he contacted our people. The spooks contacted me and filled me in on the whole thing.”
The running man did another circuit of the room. “They were pissed about the tag on the Chinese target, you know that.”
Hirsch chuckled. “He had to go. The prick.”
“So true.”
“I just needed to show them who is in charge,” replied Hirsch.
The running man paced around, his hand under his chin. “It gave her a good rattle. She had a big cry about this, nearly got her too. And that stubborn cop from Washington. I only just found out myself.”
“That reminded me, one last thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Kitti-Khorn and his lackeys have made one offer. If the takedown fails or if any of you are detained he has promised to intervene. He has a group of extremely powerful backers. Military brass; the cops are afraid of them.”
“How decent of him. I’ll ensure that won’t happen.”
“I count on you then. Good luck.”
“Sir, one other thing, have you ever met this Major-General Kitti-Khorn fellow? He seems to know you. I’m sure I’ve dealt with him in the old days, but not on official business.”
Hirsch looked away momentarily. “I do know him, but only as a contact with the Royal Thai Army.”
“What was your relationship with him if I may be so bold to ask?”
“He’s some kind of expert in the field of acquisitions. He advises his people on foreign purchase orders. He’s on some panel or board and answers to his chiefs-of-staff.”
“Specifically?”
“Classified Ari, I cannot enter into that. Kitti-Khorn knows his stuff though, anything from ordinance through to infantry.”
The running man said nothing further, waiting a few moments before snapping a halfhearted salute at his boss. Knew better than to pry, there was a fine line between giving ‘em a piece of his mind and downright insubordination. He’d seen it his whole life, this was just another one. Just business as usual; you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours.
