She chose the harder path. “Yes, Val. You have been helping him.”
CHAPTER
SEVENTY-
ONE
PHRA PRADAENG DISTRICT
SAMUT PRAKAN CITY
BANGKOK METROPOLIS, THAILAND
TYLER AND FINN WEAVED THROUGH TRAFFIC on Kawasaki dirt bikes. The four gold spires of Bangkok’s Mega Bridge loomed ahead. The helmet muffled Tyler’s voice. “Eddie, time check.”
“Eleven past. Four minutes to go, assuming the train is on schedule.”
“Did the train leave on schedule?”
“Yes.”
Tyler changed lanes to dodge a car, gunned his engine, and added some sharpness to his tone. “Too bad we didn’t.”
Acquiring motorbikes in Bangkok had posed no problem. They were everywhere. The team’s delay had come from locating and purchasing a drone that met Eddie’s stringent requirements. Tyler and Finn had pushed deep into the Samut Prakan port sector to get the one he wanted, and now they were fighting their way back north to catch the train.
“I told you, boss. If you want me to do this job right, you have to get me quality equipment.”
“And I told you, this is Bangkok. You can get gear fast or get gear that’s high quality. You can’t do both.”
“We should have held back one of the TACRON spider drones from Milos.”
“We didn’t know. How many times do I have to say ‘fluid plan’?” Tyler took his eyes off the road long enough to check on the drone, keeping pace fifty feet above. “You see the train yet?”
“Coming in from the west at thirty-five miles per hour. She’ll turn to follow the new line paralleling the bridge right on time. You might want to step it up.”
Tyler couldn’t believe the geek had added that last bit. “You might want to hide when Finn and I get back.”
The Siam Rail Transport Company had joined its new southern city line to the existing superstructure of the Mega Bridge, putting the tops of any piggybacking freight trucks three feet below the western bridge rail and six feet over. The bridge was the perfect launching point for the heist.
Almost.
The bikes cleared the last building and sped up the ramp of the southern span. As Finn came up on his rear quarter, Tyler made an exaggerated nod toward the forest of support cables. “Those are only ten meters apart. Are you sure you can make this jump?”
“Are you, old man?”
Tyler laughed. “So it’s like that, is it? I was pulling stunts like this when you were still in diapers”—he popped a wheelie and let the front wheel bounce on the pavement—“driving uphill, in the snow, and firing MP5s with both hands.”
Finn didn’t answer.
Tyler glanced over his shoulder at the Aussie. “Finn?”
“Sorry. I zoned out at while you were still in diapers.”
“You’re both hilarious,” Eddie said. “Here comes the train.”
Thai traffic, when following any rules whatsoever, drove on the left. Tyler surged forward between the cars and the left railing. Approaching the second span, the train sped in from the west and turned north beside the bridge. It took the lead, but that was okay. Tyler and Finn wanted to land on the freight trucks, not the diesel engine up front. There’d be no one to hear their bodies slam onto the trailers. During transport, the truck drivers rode up front with the rail company’s security guards.
“Ready, Finn?”
“Ready.”
They’d have to jump simultaneously to avoid either bike crashing into the other with a rider still on board. Tyler stood on his seat and checked to see Finn do the same. “On my count. Three, two—”
A horn blared. A car swerved to avoid another and smashed into the rail, blocking Tyler’s path. He dropped to his seat and steered away. “Finn, go!”
Tyler heard the bike crash behind, followed by angry honking. Through the comm link, he heard the Oomph! as Finn landed.
“I’m on.”
Parallel to the bridge, the thief hopped to his feet, riding the piggybacking freight truck like an urban surfer. Tyler gave him a salute.
The Aussie saluted back. “You coming?”
“Yeah, yeah. Give me a sec.” He gunned the bike past two more cars and swerved back to the railing. The last towering spire passed over him. Ahead, the diesel engine turned under the bridge to follow the northern shoreline. A ten-foot-wide pylon topped with the sculpture of a lotus blossom marked the curve. Tyler made a snap calculation.
“I’m not going to make it.”
TALIA POUNDED ON VAL’S BEDROOM DOOR. “Val, come out. Let’s talk this through.” She’d chosen the harder path, but she might have been a little too abrupt about it. The grifter had locked herself away. “Val?”
“Complete honesty isn’t always the best policy, you know. A little empathy wouldn’t hurt.”
“Fair point.” She had Val talking again. A good start. Talia rested a shoulder against the door. “I can be harsh. I get it. Eddie reminds me all the time. But I thought you’d want the truth rather than a regurgitation of the same con you’ve been running on yourself.”
Silence.
“This is not new, Val. People have been running this con for years—millennia, even. I call it the . . . the As Wrong Anyway gag.”
The door opened, forcing Talia to catch the frame to keep from falling through. Val cocked her head. “You just made that up.”
“Maybe. Doesn’t make As Wrong Anyway any less of a thing.” Val never shared much about her hobbies, but Talia knew she loved grifting lore—the cons, the clever names—made up or not. “Want to hear more?”
“You’re playing me.”
“Yes I am.”
“Fine. I’ll bite.” Val walked past her and pulled up a stool at the kitchen counter. “Lay out this alleged scam. How’s it work?”
“Easy.” They both set their earpieces on the counter, and Talia grabbed the coffeepot and two cups. “As Wrong Anyway is a value con like . . .” She racked her memory, searching through all the gags and games Tyler and Val had taught her. “. . . like the Old Violin.”
“In which the framer sets the story by decrying his hard times and lamenting the need to sell some dear dilapidated item, and the shill shows up to convince the mark the item is priceless.”
“Except As Wrong Anyway works in reverse. It down-values the merchandise, and—”
“And the framer, the shill, and the mark are all the same person.” Val accepted her cup and took a sip, eyeing Talia over the rim. “Correct?”
“Nailed it. But keep following.” Talia added some milk and sugar to her own cup and stirred it in. “In As Wrong Anyway, the grifter-slash-mark sells herself on doing something wrong by convincing herself this dastardly deed is not as wrong as some other crime.”
“Variations?”
“Endless.” Talia grinned. A moment before, she’d been desperate to get Val talking. Now the two were having fun. “The Wiley Accountant. ‘I can cheat on my taxes because it’s not as wrong as stealing, and the government takes too much money anyway.’”
“I like that one,” Val said. “I kind of live that one.”
“Lots of people do. Then there’s The Frenemy. ‘Spreading gossip about Mary is not as wrong as intentionally hurting her, and anyway, the rumor is probably true.’ Or”—Talia lowered her chin, raising her gaze to meet Val’s—“The Oliver Twist. ‘Picking pockets and graft isn’t as wrong as armed robbery or murder, and anyway these rich people have money to burn.’”
Val set her jaw. “Now you’re hitting close to home.”
“Yes, I am. And you’re feeling hurt, betrayed—not because I’m being direct, but because Rudenko’s presence pulled back the curtain on your self-con. You can get angry, or you can own the moment and stop treating yourself like a mark.”
Val left the counter and walked into the living room, facing the setting sun. She didn’t speak for a while. “Is . . . Is this how it was for Marco?”
“And Tyler. And me. Each of us set our ow
n boundaries. I thought my anger at God was not as wrong as outright rebellion in any form. And hey, didn’t I deserve to be angry anyway?”
Val remained quiet for a time. “I can see how you’d believe that.”
“But by setting my own degrees of right and wrong, I was rebelling. I conned myself into believing I was wiser than the one who created the whole universe. I hurt Jenni, Bill, and Eddie, and so many others in the process. Tyler helped me see I was drowning.”
“Drowning. Yes.” Val turned. Her cheeks were wet. “I’ve lived a lifetime of taking, Talia. I’ve hurt thousands of marks—and how many others I didn’t know about, like Rudenko’s victims. You once said I don’t care who I hurt. But I do. I’m sinking under the weight of all my crimes.”
“You don’t have to.” Talia stepped around the counter. Carefully. Slowly. “Remember Peter on the water, how Christ lifted him out of the waves. Trust. Faith. We weren’t created to go it alone in this world. I’ve been learning that since Volgograd. Tyler. Finn. You. You’ve all been there for me.” She stretched out a hand. “Christ is here for you now. All you have to do is accept his help.”
Val took her hand, and Talia pulled her into an embrace. The two of them cried together.
CHAPTER
SEVENTY-
TWO
RATCHAWIN RIVERSIDE VILLAGE
YAN NAWA DISTRICT
BANGKOK, THAILAND
TYLER JUMPED THE MEDIAN and cut between oncoming cars. He fishtailed down the bridge’s east embankment. A hard right and a spray of gravel left him speeding along the narrow dirt trail beside the tracks.
“You didn’t make it?” Eddie asked after Tyler gave him a sitrep. “But you and Finn have to find the trailers and work the locks before Darcy stops the train. Two minutes later, transport security will come running down the tracks from their passenger car. We have a tiny window to get those kids off.”
“Fluid plan,” Tyler said. “Fluid . . . plan. Finn, report.”
“Found the freight trucks. Numbers nine and ten, counting from the back. Working the first lock.”
“Keep at it.”
The tracks diverged from the riverbank, and a canyon of dilapidated apartment buildings swallowed the train. Tyler inched closer to the railroad ties and sailed through the gap. Every rock and pebble jiggled his front tire, threatening to unseat him, but he sped up. He had to get on board before some larger obstacle sprang up in his path—an obstacle like the utility post materializing two hundred meters ahead.
The bike’s engine screamed. The handlebars bounced and jerked at his arms. Tyler closed on the last car, a freight truck on a flatbed like all the rest. With thirty meters to run before the utility box, he reached for the trailer and swiped empty air.
Twenty meters. It was no use.
“Finn, I can’t get to you.”
“Yes, you can!”
He heard the shout as much from the car beside him as over the comms. The thief appeared from behind the trailer and reached out a hand. “Grab hold!”
Tyler gripped the Aussie’s forearm and jumped. The two fell side by side on the flatbed. In their wake, the bike slammed into the utility box, sending up a shower of sparks.
Tyler tossed his helmet over the side and helped Finn to his feet. “I thought I told you to work the locks.”
The thief frowned. “You’re welcome. First lock’s done. Contents were a little disappointing. I’ll get to work on the second post-haste.”
“Make it post double haste,” Eddie said. “You’re almost to the market.”
The entire plan hinged on being ready to rush the children off the train when it stopped.
According to Eddie’s research, Siam Rail Transport had plowed straight through the decades-old Central Bangkok Market to install the new southern line, knocking down tin and cinder-block booths. With the line completed, the vendors moved back in, right up to the tracks. Three times a day, the conductor blew his horn, the awnings rolled back, and the train rolled through at thirty-five miles an hour, inches from the noses of the market customers. The moment it passed, the awnings fell back into place, and business resumed.
A train stopped in the middle of that market would cause all the right kinds of confusion.
Tyler followed Finn from one rolling flatbed to the next, heading for the first truck. “What did you mean when you said the contents were disappointing?”
“I’ll show you.” They reached the trailer and Finn threw open the doors.
“Clothes?”
“Evening gowns mostly.”
Tyler caught the hem of a dress and rubbed sequined polyester between his thumb and forefinger. “Cheap evening gowns. Eddie, how confident are you in those registry numbers?”
“Confident. Please, get to the second trailer. You two are killing me.”
The padlock protecting the second trailer proved no match for Finn. He had it loose in moments and unlatched the doors to reveal a wall of cardboard boxes.
“False barrier,” Tyler said. “Got to be. Look for a smuggler’s door behind.” The two hauled down box after box, only to find another row. The horn sounded from the engine. Tyler checked the train’s progress. “Darcy, we’re approaching the market. Do your thing.”
“But of course.”
They didn’t need to permanently disable the train, only stop it for a time. Darcy had planted a small charge in the tracks to target one of the engine’s traction motors—a low-hanging part, easily replaceable with an onboard spare.
With both hands, Finn tore the next wall of boxes away. A few fell open, dumping pottery statuettes on the flatbed. What remained was a roll-up door with a keypad lock. “Found the smuggler’s door. We’re close, Darcy.”
“Copy. I see you on Eddie’s drone feed. Stand by for detonation in three . . . two . . . one . . .”
Tyler heard no explosion, not even a pop. He felt a minor jolt as Darcy’s charge took out the traction motor, then the conductor laid on the brakes, sending him lurching into the smuggler’s door next to Finn. He pushed himself back. “Can you handle that lock?”
The thief gave him a hard look. Finn unzipped his backpack and dug out a screwdriver and a stun gun.
The train continued to slow. Bewildered shoppers came into view, staring at the two men on the flatbed. A few pointed and yelled.
Finn pried the keypad’s cover loose, exposing the guts beneath, and zapped the housing with the stun gun. The hooking latch clicked back. The train came to a stop.
Eddie’s drone zipped ahead. “The security guards are out of their car and working their way back along the tracks. We can’t involve the authorities, guys. Any word of kids rescued from a train over local police nets will get back to Boyd.”
Mac appeared among the growing volume of onlookers beside the car. “How’s it goin’, lads?”
Tyler pointed up-rail. “Tight. Security is inbound. Go run interference.”
“Will do.” Mac nodded to Pell, whom Tyler had not noticed until that moment. “Let’s have some fun.”
As the Scotsman lumbered off with his chameleon sidekick, Finn rolled up the door. “Uh, boss?” He stepped back, allowing Tyler a clear view of the trailer’s contents.
Tyler peered in. He bit his lip. “Huh. I didn’t see this coming.”
CHAPTER
SEVENTY-
THREE
WESTERN TOWER
TWIN TIGERS COMPLEX
BANGKOK, THAILAND
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN, they’re the wrong kids?” After praying with Val, Talia had reclaimed her earpiece. As she slipped it in, she’d heard the last moments of the train heist.
Tyler was using his I’m a thief not a magician voice. “Well, they’re not Burmese refugees. That’s for sure. We’ve got fourteen girls in a trailer set up like a bunk room, all in their early teens, all from Siberia, and all mad as bees. I didn’t know there were so many ways to say ‘You’re ruining my life’ in Russian.”
Talia could hear the girls shouting in the bac
kground.
Val gave her a knowing look. “What’s the line, Tyler? Did Rudenko convince them they were on their way to see modeling agents?”
“The best in Hong Kong. The girls thought they’d be modeling evening gowns and catching fat contracts. Right now, they’re struggling to understand that they’re not even in Hong Kong. It’s a classic bait and switch.”
Talia would have laughed, listening to Finn shepherd a pack of angry teens speaking a language he didn’t, except she understood every tearful word. They weren’t runaways. The girls’ parents had paid Rudenko’s ropers huge cash sums to take their daughters off into the glamorous modeling life.
“We got the trailers buttoned up before we left,” Tyler said a few minutes later. “Rail security never saw us. Rudenko will know he’s been hit when he gets his delivery, but he won’t know the who or the why. Pell and Darcy are taking the girls to a hotel to wait out the op. Finn, Mac, and I are headed back on foot. We’re a few blocks away.”
“What about Compassion’s kids?” Talia asked. “What about Hla Meh and the others?”
“We have to face facts. Either their kidnapping had nothing to do with the Frenzy, or the broker involved is Boyd himself. We’ve eliminated all other options. Keep your focus on the White Lion now. Complete the mission, and let God take it where he will.”
Let God. Trust. Faith. Everything Talia had asked of Val, and everything Tyler had asked of her. But leaning and trusting were easier said than done when children’s lives were at stake. Suffer the little children to come unto me. Whoever took them would pay, one way or another.
Stuck in the room in the middle of Boyd’s maze, Talia faded back into the couch cushions. Her hand came to rest on the bump of an object in her pocket. She drew it out. Val’s coin. On Tyler’s AS2—on the day Val first flipped that coin to Talia—how sure Talia had been that she’d rush in to save those kids like the white knight in so many stories.
“My coin,” Val said. “You still have it.”
“I’m sorry. I should have given it back to you in Prague.” Talia offered her the piece. “I thought I was teaching you some kind of lesson, but I was being petty.”
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