The Quiet Professional

by Michael Byars Lewis

  26

  October 13, 2003

  It was a large dog. A mutt. No specific breed he could tell, but he had short hair and not an ounce of fat. The dog was hungry, which meant it was not in a good mood. Jason would have to do something fast. The shooters searched for them on the other side of the wall. If the dog barked, they’d know exactly where to find them.

  The dog continued to growl—a low, guttural growl. Jason gripped the canvas bag by the straps. If the dog lunged or got close enough, he would slam him over the head.

  Okay—crappy plan. But what else did he have? The dog edged toward them.

  "Hey, boy," Jason said in a soft whisper. "Stay," he said, holding up his hand. "Stay."

  He inched closer. The dog hunched, ready to spring at him. Jason found a small stick near his feet and picked it up.

  “Fetch,” He tossed the stick to the side of the yard. The dog’s eyes followed the stick for a moment, then turned back to him. Dogs can sense fear. He didn’t think he showed fear, but then again, the dog had him backed up against a wall.

  He heard the two attackers in the street. They were— maybe—thirty feet away. Not close enough to hear him whisper, but they could detect a growling dog. The growls grew louder now, the beast baring its teeth as it edged within six feet.

  Suddenly, Preeda jumped up from behind Jason and said something in Thai. The dog stopped and looked at her. Its jowls covered its teeth and stopped growling. She spoke again, and the dog tilted its head to the side, listening. Preeda tip-toed forward and put out her hand.

  “Preeda, no,” he whispered. The little girl ignored him, talking gently to the animal. The dog’s body relaxed, moving its nose to sniff her hand. The dog’s tail began to wag while Preeda touched his nose, still talking. He had no idea what she said, but it worked.

  She started to pet the dog; whose disposition had totally changed. The dog’s tail wagged rapidly now, his tongue licking Preeda’s face. She giggled and hugged the dog around the neck. Jason chuckled. Who knew? The dog understood Thai.

  Saved by a little girl.

  Preeda pointed toward the gate on the side of the house and said something to Jason. She played with the dog, keeping him occupied. Dogs detected by scent, and Jason didn’t smell like a local. Preeda realized that and distracted the dog so Jason could get away. She was brave. And smart.

  Jason crept toward the side of the house; the dog remained in his cross-check. He reached the gate and flipped the latch upward. On the other side of the gate, a dirt path that led to the empty street. He glanced toward the back yard.

  “Preeda.” She turned and began walking toward him, petting the dog the whole way. Jason slipped out the gate. Preeda gave the dog one last hug and followed him through the gate.

  She smiled her toothless smile. Jason smiled back and rubbed her head. She didn’t look at him funny this time. He held her hand and led her to the street. Navigating by his internal compass, he moved away from where he thought the attackers gathered. He didn’t know this section of Bangkok, but there wasn’t a tourist in sight.

  They walked for thirty minutes, but the scenery never changed. There were no shops open. When people passed them, he tried to speak, but no one spoke English. This did not look good. An American walking down the street, holding the hand of a little Thai girl. Thailand had been an attraction for pedophiles for decades, and while such people disgusted Jason, the locals didn’t know that. Perception was everything, and he would be perceived as a pedophile.

  The late afternoon sky blended in a hazy overcast. He could not see the sun, affecting his sense of direction. His language skills were extremely limited, but he tried. He knelt by Preeda and said, "Tuk-tuk?" A tuk-tuk was a small, three-wheeled motorized vehicle, commonly used as a taxi in Thailand. He could tell she understood his question, and she glanced around the residential neighborhood, then back at him. She shook her head and repeated something in Thai. He rose, grabbing her hand again, continuing uneasily down the street.

  Jason's stomach growled, and his parched throat made it difficult to swallow. Preeda must be in worse condition. He fished out another Jolly Rancher, hoping it would cheer her up. She popped it in her mouth and grinned. They meandered along the street when a car drove past them and stopped about fifty feet away. Maybe this guy will give us a lift, Jason thought. Then four angry young Thai men stepped out of the car.

  Maison Andrepont cursed and threw the phone against the couch. Helena peeked from her magazine, her eyes scowling at the violent outburst.

  “Damn!” He grabbed a vase from the end table and flung it against the wall, shattering the vase into small pieces.

  She had seen this behavior before, only not soon enough. Her life with Maison began years ago. After she moved in with him, it became hell.

  “That was a Dragon and Lotus porcelain vase . . . from the eighteenth century. I can’t find another one like it.”

  “It’s my money, bitch.”

  “It was your money. You just made ninety-five thousand francs worth of dust.” Helena glared at him, her teeth clenched, struggling to say nothing else. She hated when he called her that.

  It was his money. Hers? All but gone now after Maison manufactured the loss of her job.

  “What are you are upset about?”

  “That damn Suttirat. Even dead, he’s causing me more problems,” he said.

  Helena put down the magazine on the couch beside her.

  “Dead? Was there an accident?” She knew the answer. She was toying with him. A way of getting information.

  “No, Nimol took care of him.”

  “Nimol? Was Sarathoon too busy?”

  He ignored her comment. “It was a problem that needed addressing immediately. The fool sold my gold bars.”

  “Your gold bars?”

  “Yes, woman, my gold bars. The American officer you seduced in the casino paid in gold. Somehow, he found Suttirat’s and bought them there. They are the same gold bars Suttirat makes for me to pay Arthit and his men. Nimol says they are outside the normal shipment.”

  “So, your dealer used your set-up to make money on the side.”

  “Yes. That was obvious when Ben Harris made his payment last week.”

  Sarathoon entered the living room. Maison took the manila envelope and removed the contents.

  “This is from the jewelry shop?”

  “Yes,” Sarathoon replied. “Earlier today.”

  “I can’t see without my glasses. Is this him?”

  "Ponleak says, yes. He picked up the gold in the shop, and they are pursuing him now," Sarathoon said.

  “Get these pictures to our friends in the Municipal Police Department. They must find Ben Harris.”

  Sarathoon nodded, took the envelope, and left. Maison moved toward Helena and sat next to her; his face buried in his hands.

  “What’s happening?” she said.

  “I directed Nimol to kill Suttirat and bring his wife and daughter here.”

  Helena sat upright, her body tense.

  "Here? Why? There is no reason for you to bring them here. Why don't you kill them like you do every other problem you have?" She realized she might have gone too far, lest she becomes his next problem.

  Maison turned and backhanded her across the cheek.

  “Don’t speak to me that way, bitch,” he yelled. “I decide what is best for my business. I decide who comes and who goes from my house. I-I need to speak to this woman and find out what she knows.”

  “What about the little girl? Are you going to kill her, too?”

  Maison paused. Did he just tremble?

  “I will do what I have to do.”

  27

  October 13, 2003

  A crowd gathered on the edges of the street as the four teens approached Jason and Preeda. They shouted, trying to get people to watch. Preeda shook her head, clearly scared. Hiding behind Jason, she clung to his shirttail and pants pocket.

  Jason readied himself; he expected what was coming.
These punks were looking for a fight. He knew why, but it was apparent they were attempting to incite the onlookers.

  The four moved into position, circling Jason. He studied them quickly. The one in front, with the big mouth, was the leader. He appeared to be the oldest and looked like the strongest. The one to his left, the cockiest. Jumping from side to side, the teenager fancied himself a kickboxer.

  The one to his right stood stoically, not moving or saying anything. Jason turned to the fourth guy, standing behind him. He was the smallest, and Jason could see the fear in his eyes. All stood about six feet from him, forming a crude circle he couldn’t escape.

  An old man pushed his way through the crowd and yelled at the teenagers. Jason had no idea what they said, but Preeda released his grip as she gazed at the old man. The leader yelled something, and Preeda again gripped Jason’s pocket.

  Jason deduced the jumper on the left would be the first to strike—followed by the leader. He was right.

  The jumper leaped toward Jason and led with a leg kick to the body. Jason held the canvas bag up between them, and the jumper's shin impacted the metal container holding the gold bars with significant velocity. The jumper fell to the ground in agony.

  The leader moved toward Jason, the canvas bag gripped tight in his left hand, ready to use again. It clattered when he lowered it. The kick must have broken the box, and the gold bars fell out, now loose in the bag.

  He slid Preeda behind him. The leader lunged at him, attempting to grab him. Jason brushed his arms away, using his left hand and the bag, bringing a solid right hook to the kid’s jaw.

  As he went down, the third guy lunged toward him. Jason swung the canvas bag toward him, hitting him in the head, and he went down. When he hit him, a bar of gold flew out the hole in the bottom of the bag. It landed on the ground in front of number four, who stood speechless. When he squatted to pick it up, Jason moved toward him. Number four peeked up sheepishly.

  “Boo,” Jason said loudly. The fourth guy screamed, dropped the gold bar, and ran.

  The street went silent for a moment, then at once, the crowd cheered. Not taking the time to gloat, Jason picked up the gold bar. The old man who yelled at the teenager stepped out in the street in front of them.

  It wasn’t just an old man. Jason immediately recognized the orange robe. A monk . . . and . . . something seemed familiar. He was the monk from outside Wat Pho, the Temple of the Reclining Buddha.

  The old monk spoke to Preeda, who responded shyly, blushing. Jason grinned as she squeezed his hand.

  The old monk smiled at him, then gestured to his left. A younger monk stepped from the crowd and handed the elder two water bottles, which he gave to Jason.

  “Kop kun kop.” Jason bowed his head.

  The old man smiled and nodded his head. Jason handed Preeda a bottle of water as the old man ushered them to continue their journey. He didn’t know what had been said, but they recognized Jason was protecting Preeda from something or someone.

  Jason picked up and dusted the dirt and gravel from the gold bar that fell out of the bag. He then noticed streaks on the bar. He tried to wipe them off and realized they weren’t coming off. Examining the bar closer, several chips revealed a gray substance underneath. His mind whirled when the realization came to him. These were not real gold bars.

  Captain Chris Weaver arrived in Lieutenant Colonel McClendon’s suite five minutes after he was contacted. He had Martinez find Jimmy, who met him at the suite just before he entered. Chris knocked on the door with trepidation.

  “This is something you’ll need to get exposed to eventually, co.”

  “What is this?” Jimmy said, making quotation marks with his fingers.

  “The bullshit that goes on outside of flying airplanes. Welcome to the Air Force.”

  The door opened, and Lieutenant Colonel McClendon stood there in his BDU's.

  “Sir, I’m Captain Chris Weaver. I’m the nav from the Jakal crew. This is Lieutenant Jimmy Olds. He’s the co-pilot. The first sergeant said you were looking for someone from our crew?”

  “Come on in, guys,” McClendon said, walking toward the living area. There were papers laid out on every surface in the room and a dry erase board with a bunch of names on it. All the names were lined out except for the Jakal crew.

  “Sir, I’ve accounted for everyone except Captain Conrad,” Chris said.

  McClendon nodded. He had all the names lined out but one.

  “Where’s Conrad?”

  Chris and Jimmy looked at each other. This was not good.

  “I-I don’t know, sir. He said he had a meeting with you this afternoon around 1500,” Chris said.

  "He never showed. That was two hours ago." McClendon moved to the window, staring outside the glass. "Here's the deal. JUSMAGTHAI has informed me there has been a shooting at a jewelry store in the northern portion of Bangkok a little over four hours ago. We've been running an accountability check and have contacted everyone but Conrad. Where did he go?"

  Chris struggled to find words. Jason went to help Ben Harris. He’d tried to convince him otherwise—now McClendon knew Jason disobeyed a direct order. Or did he?

  “Sir,” Chris said. “Jason went to a jewelry shop called Suttirat’s. It’s—”

  “Damn it,” McClendon yelled. Chris noticed Jimmy jump slightly. “That’s where the shooting took place.”

  “Was Jason there when it happened?”

  “We don’t know.”

  “What—”

  “We don’t know where he is, Captain. He’s missing. He’s not among the injured, and the only person reported dead is the owner.” McClendon gave the two junior officers the data dump on what he knew about the shooting.

  “Da-amn,” Jimmy said, eyes wide.

  McClendon glanced at Jimmy, then turned back to Chris.

  “Find the rest of your crew and put your heads together. We’ve got to find Conrad. But none of you are to leave this hotel until we find out what the hell is going on and why US servicemen are being targeted in Bangkok.”

  Chris and Jimmy left the suite. Once in the hallway, he turned to Jimmy.

  “Go find the rest of the guys and meet me in the pub.”

  “Okay. What are you gonna do?”

  Chris clenched his teeth. “I need to check on something.”

  Jason stared at the scraped bar in his hand. These bars were not real gold. They were something coated with gold. Why was the jeweler ripping off Ben? For the money, obviously. Think. Think.

  He secured all the gold back in the metal box and grabbed Preeda’s hand. The two continued in their original direction. Preeda let go of his hand, opened her water, and took a long drink. Jason did the same, ignoring the people on the street still marveling at him taking on four thugs to protect a little girl.

  They wandered for what must have been an hour. Preeda grew tired, and Jason picked her up again. She felt much heavier this time; Jason's sore back and arms strained to hold her. Sliding her on his back, she wrapped her arms around his neck. It was much closer to the evening as the gray sky grew darker, and the scent of dinners being cooked invaded his nostrils.

  His thoughts turned back to his mission. How could Ben have been so foolish? No, it wasn’t his fault. Anybody could have been duped like this. The truth is, nobody knows what they’re really buying when they buy gold here. Ben bought all the bullion he could find, and somebody thought him an easy mark. That would explain why these last eight bars weren’t available until today.

  The gold was fake. Ben said he paid off some of his debt with this gold. Was some of that gold fake, too?

  That changed everything.

  If Ben didn't get the final payment to the casino, he was in trouble. If the casino found out Ben paid them with fake gold, he was dead. Either way, it was bad. Jason's mission changed from merely delivering the gold to his friend. He had to warn him. His life was in danger.

  28

  October 13, 2003

  Chris beat on the
door for several minutes. Eventually, Ben opened it, wearing gym shorts and a t-shirt.

  “What the fuck do you want?”

  “What did you send Jason to do?”

  Ben looked like he had been sleeping and kept the door partially closed.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You sent him to Suttirat’s, didn’t you?”

  Ben’s face turned pale, and the corners of his mouth dropped. His change in temperament lasted only briefly, and his face returned to the scowl it had previously.

  “What’s it to you? Besides, he’s his own man, not my errand boy.”

  Chris pushed his way into the room, grabbing the taller captain by his shirt collar and pushing him against the wall.

  “Look, asshole, I don’t have time for the cat-and-mouse horseshit. You sent Jason to Suttirat’s to pick up something. During that time, somebody shot up the place. People are dead. We don’t know who yet, and Jason is missing.”

  “Damn.” Ben appeared concerned for the first time.

  Chris released his grip, and Ben walked toward the window. His gaze lingered through the glass, and he shook his head. "I just asked him to pick up my gold. I had one last payment to the casino. If I don’t pay it off, there’s no telling what they’re going to do. They-they’re going to kill me for sure.”

  “They’re gonna have to wait in line if we can’t find Jason,” Chris said. “If he contacts you, let me know. And be sure to tell him what’s going on here. As far as I know, the colonel has no idea he was running an errand for you, and I don’t want him finding out. It’s a direct violation of his no-contact order.”

  “Y-you know about that?”

  “Yeah, asshole, I do. But here’s what I want to find out . . . what are you gonna do to find Jason?”

  Ben shrugged his shoulders. “Not much I can do. I’m restricted to the hotel.”

  “Yeah, I figured as much. Jason’s too good a dude to hang with a jackass like you.”