by Terry Morgan
CHAPTER 13
I think I drank half a bottle of beer in the hotel before phoning Anna again but her phone seemed to be switched off. Thinking that perhaps I was now getting the silent tirade, I headed back to the Convention Centre and then found I was far too early for the drinks reception, courtesy of Biox International. So I sat in a corner waiting and playing with my phone until the start time.
For a while I mingled and listened to others, sipping at orange juice but saying nothing about myself. You know what it's like at these dos. If you're quiet and keep yourself to yourself you can quickly spot those who are comfortable and those who feel out of place. It's always a good opportunity to spot an out of place female, make her feel less out of place and see how things develop but I wasn't even in the mood for that. So I generally hung around, nodding, smiling and sipping my juice. At nine, as people started to wander away, John Wardley tapped me on the shoulder. "Time to go have some fun," he said.
So, nothing ventured, nothing gained as my dad used to say, I took a deep breath and re-confirmed my willingness to act as their bar crawl guide. As I waited for Walt and John to close down the Biox trade stand for the night, I wandered off through the hall still clutching my orange juice.
The Livingstone Pharmaceuticals trade stand was in a corner where two of their salesmen were, like John and Walt, also packing up for the night. I watched them until they went away and then walked over to their stand. The Livingstone in-house company "news sheet" was lying on a coffee table and I picked it up for no other reason than passing interest.
The front page showed a picture of a small group of what I took to be Livingstone staff giving a cheque to someone for some good community cause - the caring, compassionate and charitable side of Livingstone. I flipped it open to the second page and to an article inside and read:
"Livingstone Pharmaceuticals have recently appointed Shah Medicals to market the new Histocytex range in parts of East Africa. This has followed two years of successful co-operation with in marketing Clarion Hand Creams, Clarion Skin Care and Mentha decongestants range.
“Shah Medicals is fast becoming a well known name in international pharmaceutical sales and distribution under its banner of Shah Corporation. Already well established in the Middle East, the company has several branches in South East Asia and plans to increase its marketing activity in East and West Africa. The tie in with Livingstone will enable Shah Corporation to grow its African operation from its base in Nairobi where it now has its own research facility and regional base for all types of medical product licensing and trials."
The article closed with a wish for success to Shah Medicals and showed a photograph of the Shah Corporation chief executive, a smiling Mr Mohamed Kader seen shaking hands with someone from Livingstone Pharmaceuticals..
I'm usually good at remembering face and I was sure I had seen the man before, or at least a photograph of him. The similarity to that old tyrant, Saddam Hussein, had struck me before although this man was dressed in a good business suit, not an army uniform, and there were other, obvious, differences. But the smile and the heavy black moustache were strikingly similar.
On the other hand, the man looked similar to thousands of middle aged men from the Jordan or Iraq area. Yes, I could pin-point the man to that specific area. It's another of my many talents acquired from too much travelling and too much time spent watching others. I pocketed the company's newspaper and wandered on past the emptying trade stands to find John and Walt for a evening in the Bangkok bars.
It was past midnight when we got back to Walt's hotel. That's not late for Bangkok but Walt had been showing signs of exhaustion before the evening had even started. After three hours of noisy bars he was all in. John though, was still going. But it was in one particular bar that Walt had spotted someone he knew and, above the loud music, had shouted something into my ear:
"Say, Mike. See those guys over there," he had nodded towards the other end of the bar where two Europeans or Americans were engaged with two attentive young ladies. "On the trade stand near ours - Livingstone Pharmaceuticals - you know the company?"
I shook my head but was, nevertheless, interested in what might come next. Walt looked as if he had more to say. He took a breath and shouted into my ear again.
"Those two guys. I think the older one must be the owner, Greg O'Brian. I've only ever seen a photo of him. By reputation he's a rogue and normally keeps a very low profile. I've no idea of his background but I believe he just stepped in and bought Livingstone when it was up for sale. Must have seen an opportunity. But Livingstone is a strange American company. It's an old business that started off doing consumer type products. Rumours have it they are moving into more high tech stuff. I suppose that's why they're here. Perhaps I'll have a sniff around sometime. Headquarters in New York I think but someone told me yesterday they're doing something in East Africa - Kenya, I think he said. I think the other guy is their international sales manager. But if that's O'Brian then it's interesting. He rarely shows his face in public."
Walt had then stopped and tried sitting back on a stool that was far too small for his size and weight. "Hell. I'm getting too old for this," he had shouted. "Can't hear yourself think." He paused, nodding towards his colleague John Wardley who was clearly enjoying the night. "But I suppose you don't come in here for serious discussions."
"Why don't we leave John here, Walt," I said."He's a big boy and should know all about the risks he might be taking. How about a drink somewhere more quiet?"
"Sure thing, Mike," Walt replied, before draining his glass and edging off the stool. Then he tapped John on the shoulder. "We're off. The English doctor says you are to be a good boy. OK?"
I was pleased to leave. Anna was not there but she was spoiling my night if you get my drift. I hailed a taxi. With Walt slumped into the well-worn rear seats and with the taxi's air conditioning appearing to slowly revive him, we both stayed silent and looked out of the window. You'll know what was on my mind. But, suddenly, just as it seemed Walt may have fallen asleep, he mumbled something. I turned to look at him.
"Funny you should know Guy Williams and David Solomon," Walt said, still looking out of the window on his side. "No-one has mentioned either of them for quite a while."
Then, as I was wondering what to say Walt went on, "You're not really a doctor are you?” Walt continued looking out of the window.
I was just a little taken aback but tried not to show it. I paused and replied in a way I've used before when trying to step around awkward questions. I've used it with women in the past but I won't ever try it on Anna. "What makes you say that?"
The weakness of the words was a real give away. Inwardly, I cringed.
I am a man with a few years of experience in dealing with people of so many different nationalities and in circumstances that almost always required tact, diplomacy and, sometimes, to be a good liar. Surely, I thought, I could have done better than that. I resigned himself to the obvious next questions but, frankly, was not too bothered. Walt and I had only met that morning but I already felt comfortable with him and decided it may not be such a bad thing to come clean.
As I've said I hate bullshit. Believe it or not I prefer total honesty. If bullshit can be avoided, then I'll avoid it. If it is shown to be total bullshit then I'll come clean and admit it. This was a clear cut case of the latter.
Walt's reply came after only a slight pause. He was still looking out of the window but obviously far from asleep.
"Several things really," he muttered. "For one thing Guy Williams was openly gay." Walt stopped to wait for the point to sink in. "You shared a girl friend, Doctor Stevens?" Then: "Gut feeling. You don't quite have the right image for your job. Most of us in this game, the lab ones anyway, are a boring lot, you know. We don't move around that much. You've been around."
Walt now turned to look directly at me. "You're not a doctor. Am I right?"
The guilty deceiver had been found out, so quickly. I wanted to smile but, f
or a moment, tried to retain the facial expression of an innocent one who was not being believed. But I couldn't hold the expression for long. I looked over at Walt and said: "Yes, you're right."
"Then what the fuck are you up to?"
I looked away from Walt and it was my turn to look at the passing scenery, not that there was much. We were in a late night traffic jam. I then looked back at Walt to find Walt's face very, very close. He was looking straight up at me, his chin resting on his chest and his eyes pointing up - a sweaty and greasy brow with horizontal wrinkles of accusation and inquisition.
"Frankly, Walt," I said, "I am trying to help a friend who has lost something. I can't tell you too much. It's an industrial secret - that sort of thing. But my friend and I think there might somehow be a connection between those two missing characters and what they have lost." I stopped and handed the initiative back to Walt. It was his turn.
"So what's your real name?"
"Just call me Mike, for now. OK? Sorry but I can't divulge more than that about myself. But, listen Walt. I'm trying to be honest here. I could do with some help."
I stopped right there and looked out of the taxi window again. I was doing a bit of my regular self-analysing, asking questions of myself, checking my direction and strategy. What sort of help was I after? And here I was, sat there in the back of a Bangkok taxi about to pour my honest soul out to a competitor of my client. I asked myself if I had gone raving mad and the answer I got back from myself was no. What else should I do at this stage? I still had a good feeling about Walt. If Walt was OK then Biox was OK. Did that make sense? No. But I needed help, some leads, some ideas, some pointers to which way I should go. So I said, "Are you awake enough to share a last beer or something with me, Walt?"
And to prove my judgement was spot on, Walt said, "Suddenly, I feel wide awake again."
