The Quiet Professional

by Michael Byars Lewis

  “What?” Her heart pounded, and her mind spun in circles. Did he just say what she thought he said? She looked across the bed at Lawan. The beautiful Thai woman did not move.

  “It is true. Preeda is his daughter,” she said, tears rolling down her cheeks. “He made me leave his mansion when he found out I was pregnant six years ago. But his guilt of abandoning his daughter seems to have overcome him at times.”

  Helena’s eyes welled up, and she gradually backed away from the bed. Her hands trembled, her steps: short and deliberate. The disappointment was only overcome by her decision to change her situation. There had been a time when she thought she wanted children with Maison Andrepont, but that was long ago. He told her it would never happen. He didn’t like children.

  It all became clear to her now. Why Suttirat’s Jewelry store was chosen out of all the shops in Bangkok. The purchase of the extra-large crucible he gave them for melting his gold. Why his men had chased them all over Bangkok. And why he had them brought here. Helena shook her head and silently cursed herself for missing the obvious.

  Preeda was his daughter.

  That explained everything. Her tears flowed as the reality of her situation overwhelmed her. She knew if Maison was going to kill anyone in this room anytime soon, it could be her. She had the least to offer him. All she could give him was sex, and she detested that with him. She did what she had to do to keep up appearances.

  Helena backed into the corner, crying. She sat on the floor, her mascara running down her face. Think. I’ve got to think. Her options were limited. Her one advantage was she was a hell of a lot smarter than Maison. He was just crazy.

  This was all too much. Much bigger than originally planned. The kidnapping of Lawan and Preeda. Holding Jason Conrad hostage. The stupidity of trying to collect a ransom for him. Buying missiles to shoot down the president. And now, a secret daughter. The daughter he swore he would never have. It validated her decision to bring down Maison.

  She needed to act. Her sobbing subsided, and a tissue appeared in front of her face. Jason knelt next to her, Lawan stood behind him. Helena flashed a quick smile, took the tissue, and wiped away her tears.

  With help from Jason, she stood and smoothed out her dress with her hands. She nodded at both and took a deep breath.

  “I’ll get you out of here,” she said. “Somehow.”

  47

  October 16, 2003

  Jason went into the bathroom to put on the clothes Helena brought him. They fit loosely, and the shoes were too tight, but they would do. He stepped out to see Lawan and Preeda sitting on his bed. Everyone was prepared to go on the run. Helena met them in Jason’s room and handed him a backpack with several liters of water and some food.

  “Here,” she said, giving Jason a set of keys. “These are the keys to my Mercedes. It’s in the main garage.” She turned to Lawan. “You remember how to get there?”

  Lawan nodded, and Jason stuck the keys in his pocket.

  Helena pulled an envelope out of her purse and gave it to Lawan.

  “When you reach the border, the chief of the watch will recognize the vehicle and approach you. Hand him this. It is his usual payment. He’ll let you through without any issue. You won’t need passports.”

  Jason nodded approvingly. She is thorough, he thought. Smart lady. Damn good looking, too.

  “Can we expect any problems leaving the compound?” Lawan said.

  “No. Maison’s men know my car. I come and go as I wish. They won’t think anything about it. The windows are tinted, so they shouldn’t be able to tell I’m not driving, but I would have her drive out while the two of you duck out of sight until you are outside the compound.”

  Jason and Lawan both nodded. She reached back into her bag, pulled out a small pistol, and handed it to him. Jason recognized the rectangular body with the ejector port directly over the top of the grip. A MAC-10—a compact, blowback-operated machine pistol. This one did not have the two-stage suppressor, so if he had to shoot, it would be loud as hell. Appeared to be a foreign knock-off, perhaps, Rhodesian. He ejected the extended magazine containing thirty-two 9-millimeter rounds. This will do. He did not realize, but he grinned from ear to ear.

  “You are like a child on Christmas,” Helena said.

  “Yep,” Jason replied as he cycled the action and pressed down on the bullets to check the spring in the magazine. He reinserted the magazine and chambered a round. When he turned back to Helena, he saw she produced two more magazines and gave them to him.

  “Happy New Year,” she said.

  “Thanks.” He stuck the spare magazines in his pocket, the ends protruding out.

  “There’s something I must tell you before you go,” Helena said. Her hands held her purse in front of her, her shoulders drooping.

  Jason, detecting the severe tone of her voice, looked up.

  "Maison intends to attack the president."

  “Do you mean the prime minister?” Jason said.

  “No, the president. Of the United States.”

  Jason’s mouth fell open.

  “Are you kidding me? Is he insane? When? How?”

  “No, he’s not insane. He’s financed a group of terrorists to commit the attack on the day he arrives for the APEC.” She slipped Jason a piece of paper. “Here is the information on them and their general location.”

  Jason read the paper. “The BIPP? I’ve heard of these guys. I didn’t think they were that organized.”

  “Maison has financed their training for over a year.”

  “Why? What’s his motive?”

  “It doesn’t matter. What matters is the attack takes place in three days.”

  “Well, he’d better have one hell of an army if they’re going to take on the force protecting him.”

  “He won’t need to. Maison has purchased three surface-to-air missiles. He’ll shoot him out of the sky before he lands.”

  "We've got to call someone," Jason said his head on a swivel, looking for a phone.

  “There are no landlines here,” Helena said. “Maison uses strictly cell phones.”

  Jason glanced at Lawan, who nodded. He turned back to Helena. “Give me your cell phone.”

  “No. If you use my phone, he’ll know I told you. He’ll kill me. I’m helping you live. That’s enough. You can save the president on your own.”

  "Okay, fair enough. Lawan, grab Preeda, and let's go."

  The three of them moved toward the door when Helena stepped in front of them.

  “Before you go, you must make it look like you overpowered me. Hit me.”

  “Lady, I’m not gonna hit you.”

  “If you don’t hit me, he’ll kill me.”

  “I’ve never hit a lady, and I’m not going to start now.”

  Helena slapped him hard against the face. Jason shook his head, stunned.

  “That’s not gonna work.”

  She slapped him again, harder this time.

  “Oww . . . okay, maybe I’ll start to think about it.”

  Helena started to reel back and slap him again when Lawan leaped forward and delivered a crushing blow just below her left eye. She fell to the floor, dazed and barely conscious. Jason stared at Lawan, surprised.

  “I’m not afraid to hit a girl,” she said.

  Preeda’s eyes were wide, and her mouth formed an “O,” no doubt shocked by what she just witnessed her mother do.

  “Follow me,” Lawan said, grabbing Preeda by the hand and sprinting down the hallway. Jason locked the door from the outside, so Maison’s men would think nothing was wrong, and then followed close behind as the three headed toward the garage.

  48

  October 16, 2003

  The two groups met in an abandoned warehouse on the south side of Bangkok. Thick shafts of light beamed across the empty space through the uncovered windows, illuminating the inhabitants within. Arthit and his men arrived in a discreet white van. The Chechen and his men, in a dark-colored SUV. Both vehicles parked in
the middle of the warehouse, face to face. The Chechen had five men who spread out, each sporting combat tactical gear and some sort of compact tactical rifle; Arthit could not identify it. His four escorts huddled together near the van, each carrying an AK-47 with spare magazines in their pockets. They wore regular clothes in the event they needed to blend into the crowd in the streets.

  The two men met halfway; the briefcase firmly gripped in Arthit’s hand.

  “You have the money?” the Chechen said.

  Arthit lifted his hand holding the briefcase.

  “Three-million. US dollars. A cashier’s check made out to . . . whomever you are today.”

  The Chechen smiled. “Very good. Here’s how this will go. My men will put the missiles in your van while I take this to deposit in my bank. Once the check has cleared, I will call my men, and you will be free to leave.”

  Arthit nodded. It was a reasonable exchange. The warehouse was located ten minutes from the bank, so the whole process would take less than thirty minutes. Arthit opened the top of the briefcase. He reached in, pulled out the envelope, and displayed the check. A broad smile formed on the Chechen’s face, as his eyes danced over each zero on the check. Arthit returned the check to the envelope and the envelope to the briefcase.

  The Chechen signaled his men to bring the missiles. Two men rushed to the SUV, grabbed a familiar looking Pelican case, and carried it to him. They set the case on the ground in front of Arthit and jogged to the SUV for two more identical cases. When they brought the last case, they opened the lids. Three SA-16, surface-to-air missiles, one in each box.

  “The batteries?” Arthit said.

  The Chechen reached in each box and activated the battery for each missile.

  “Please don’t insult me by suggesting I would sell you missiles that don’t work. Your employer would spare no expense hunting me down.” He flipped off the batteries.

  “No insult intended. It’s just business.”

  “Yes, comrade. Business.”

  The Chechen’s men closed the lids and carried the boxes to Arthit’s van, where they set them on the ground. Arthit’s men placed the boxes inside the van, and Arthit handed the briefcase to the Chechen.

  “I anticipate your phone call,” he said.

  “This should not take long. They are waiting for me at the bank.”

  The Chechen climbed in the SUV. He cranked the engine and drove to the bank. Arthit watched the SUV leave and then surveyed the Chechen’s men. All five strategically positioned around the warehouse, confident they had the situation under control. Too confident, he determined.

  Jason's eyes darted back and forth, continually looking for threats. He grimaced; every beat of his heart pushed against his bruised body. Lawan held Preeda's hand, and the three of them slipped through the mansion toward the garage. The three of them reached the kitchen downstairs, which opened into a vast living area attached to the long hallway that led to the garage. Up to this point, no one detected them.

  “How much farther?” Jason whispered.

  “Just down the hall,” she said, pointing across the house.

  “That’s a lot of territory to cover.”

  Lawan nodded, her face void of any expression; she recognized the danger. She had often plotted her escape from this house. The threat of failure kept her here far too long.

  They left the security of the kitchen and sprinted across the vast room. It felt like they were lambs lining up for the slaughter. There was nowhere in the room to take cover if someone started shooting at them. Jason tried to push the thought out of his mind—it only made their journey seem longer.

  When they reached the entrance to the hallway, Lawan and Jason pressed against the living-room wall, Preeda held tightly in her mother's arms. Lawan peered down the lengthy space. Fifty to sixty feet long, with nowhere to hide.

  “Let’s go,” Jason said. No point in waiting. As they moved into the hallway, a loud shot echoed in the vast living room, the bullet hitting the wall above their heads.

  “Stop!”

  “Get out of here,” Jason yelled at Lawan, tossing her the car keys. Still holding Preeda, she wasted no time rushing down the hall. He checked across the room; Helena stood with two men, one was small and timid. The other held a smoking pistol. A pistol he leveled in Jason’s direction.

  Jason ducked behind the wall as a second round missed him high and left. At the end of the hallway, the girls were almost to the door. Jason hugged the wall and glanced back at his attacker. He was moving toward him in the open. Clearly, not aware Jason was armed.

  Jason dropped down and around the corner of the wall, his target in sight, not twenty feet away. He lifted the MAC-10, aiming for center mass. The weapon was inherently inaccurate, and he fired three quick bursts. The gun roared, the sound echoing off the walls increasing the weapon’s loud report. With each burst, the weapon kicked up, and Jason quickly brought it back to his target.

  His attacker’s eyes grew wide milliseconds before the first round struck him. Several more rounds hit him before his body hit the ground. Jason wasn’t sure if he was dead or not, but it didn’t matter. The man was no longer a threat. Jason’s attention shifted to Helena and the small man, still across the room, and he nervously raised a gun toward them. They were not a threat.

  But the shooting would alert anyone who was. He needed to leave now. Helena opened a panel on the wall and reached inside. Instantly, a loud siren blared, and lights started flashing.

  Damn.

  If the gunshots didn’t alert the masses, this would. He turned and raced down the hallway through the door. Lawan sat in the Mercedes, waiting for him while the massive garage door opened.

  “Hurry!” she hollered. “We don’t have much time.”

  Jason jumped into the passenger's seat about the same time Lawan put the car in gear and stepped on the gas. The car cleared the rising door, and Lawan sped into the circular driveway, barely missing the fountain out front.

  The sirens outside whined like an air raid was occurring, and the numerous flashing lights could probably be seen for miles. He started to ask which way, but it was pointless. She knew where she was going. He let her handle this. The sound of AK-47 fire peppered the air over the blaring sirens. Rounds were hitting around them.

  “They’re missing us,” he said.

  “They’re not trying to hit us. They want us to stop.”

  “Why?”

  “They think we are her. Must be trying to slow us down, so we can’t get out.”

  “What’s stopping us?”

  "That." She pointed ahead of them as they entered the long driveway. A large, electrically powered gate started slowly closing. They were a hundred yards away, and the metal gate trudged across the road, gradually blocking their path. Lawan's foot pressed the accelerator to the floor.

  More gunfire erupted, imploding the ground in front of the car, dirt and gravel spewing upward, the bullets coming dangerously close. Jason saw the gunman to the right of their car on the wall. He rolled down his window and pointed his weapon.

  “Keep going,” he yelled and squeezed off a quick burst. He missed, made an adjustment, and fired again. He was sure he missed again, but it had the desired effect—the guy stopped shooting.

  "Hang on!" Lawan screamed. Jason glimpsed forward and quickly pulled himself back in the window as she steered the car to the left, off the road. The black Mercedes vibrated violently, and the car accelerated on the uneven surface, racing to beat the closing gate. Lawan narrowly breached the gap. Jason almost had his head taken off by the massive steel gate before the gate slammed shut.

  Once the car zoomed through, Lawan steered the car back on the road. Preeda shrieked in the back seat and climbed up to look behind them.

  “Preeda, get down,” Lawan said.

  Preeda complied immediately and smiled when Jason checked on her.

  Lawan kept her speed up for five minutes until they reached a section of dirt road that was not as forgivin
g as the pavement. She slowed appropriately, and for the first time, they both relaxed.

  The circumstances of their escape raced through his mind, and Jason was furious.

  “I knew I shouldn’t have trusted that bi—trusted her,” he said, grateful he caught himself. Although Preeda didn’t speak English, Lawan did, and he didn’t want to disrespect her by cursing in front of the child.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Helena led those guys straight to us. We could have been killed. She set off the alarm. Everybody in Cambodia will be on our tail any minute now.”

  Lawan shook her head, the corners of her mouth jutting upward.

  "No, she helped us. The two men with her must have found her in your room. She had to keep up appearances. If she were trying to stop us, she would have told the armed one you had a weapon."

  “What about the alarm? We barely made it out of there. They’ve got to be close behind us.”

  “No. Again, she helped us. Maison’s compound is designed to keep people in as much as it is to keep people out. The alarm she hit locks down the compound. There is a thirty-minute timer before any of the doors can open.”

  He was beginning to understand now. “Including the heavy metal gate,” he said.

  “Yes.”

  Jason nodded approvingly. “What about the authorities? Can they contact the border patrol and stop us before we cross?”

  "It's possible, but not likely. She's gone this far in helping us. I'm confident she will work on her end to prevent any complications at the border. She has as much to lose as we do."

  49

  October 16, 2003

  The manager of the bank met the Chechen at the door with two armed guards. He had been very discreet in what he needed. Verification needed to happen immediately.

  The four men marched back to the manager’s office and closed the door behind them. Anxious, the bank manager slid behind his desk, typed in his password, and opened the file to the Chechen’s account. The guards stayed by the door.