by Sam Powers
He recognized the irony of his situation, given how he’d chewed out the kid for getting caught just a few days earlier, and for requiring a rescue. What were the chances Brennan had ignored his request to leave immediately and was hanging around Bangkok instead, looking for the woman?
Probably pretty good, from the evidence so far. Not that it would likely help; Brennan didn’t speak the language, didn’t know the city, didn’t have contacts or resources. He sure as Hell wasn’t going to think of randomly stopping by an animal farm nearly an hour from downtown.
You’re exercising wishful thinking, old man, he told himself. It wasn’t that he felt old; but in the clandestine ops game, forty-seven was practically prehistoric. Nobody’s going to get you out of this mess but you.
The group finished chatting, at least for the moment. Amanda strolled over. She had a blue dress suit on and sensible pumps. She could’ve been running for Congress, she looked so suitably professional. Two of the dark suits were obviously her bodyguards. The other two he hadn’t seen before, nor the shorter man with the grey suit, who hung back, out of hearing, to chat with them.
“You know Mr. Spencer,” she said as she approached, “I have the rather nasty suspicion that your decision to snoop around our offices after your escapade the other night was yours alone. I’m not sure any competent manager would suggest something so foolish and brazen as to walk into our building, which means you probably didn’t get authorization from whomever it is for whom you work.”
She strolled slowly over until she was just a few feet away, looking down on him. “Do you like the surroundings? This place has been here for about fifty years now, but it looks a little older. The humidity and air pollution will do that… along with a general lack of upkeep, of course. Are you a religious man, Mr. Spencer?”
He frowned. What was she getting at? “This is outrageous,” he said, trying to sound calm-but-indignant. “I am not only certain you are mistaking me for someone else – as I have never had an ‘escapade’ in my life – I am also certain that you shall hear from my lawyers and the authorities. Kidnapping an American citizen…”
“Oh… pooh,’ she said. “You’re an American agent, likely working for the Drug Enforcement Agency or the Central Intelligence Agency. You were caught on camera freeing poor Joe Brennan from the basement of Somchai Mercedes’ house just three days ago. We have high resolution images of your face, and unless you are the unluckiest man alive and just happen to have a body double living in Chiang Mai, also not a very good liar.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
She smiled broadly. “You guys! You’re so charming with all this bravado and gamesmanship! I swear, I could put you and Joe in a room together with a bunch of my single friends and they’d all be fighting over the two of you in no time. Even you, given that a few of them have daddy issues. Now, why don’t we just skip all the evil villain/superspy nonsense and accept that we both have agendas with which we disagree; you tell me why you’re here, and what you’re so interested in, huh? Because you know the alternative is going to be someone working on you. And whether this all ends quickly or with you…” she nodded over her shoulder, “…in that pit with the crocs? Well, that’s up to you, Mr....I’m sorry I didn’t get your name…”
She’s sneaky. I can see why Joe liked her… until he knew her. Why did she have to be such an evil bitch? “You know my name is Spencer, and you know very well that I am a trade representative from…”
“Oh stop!” she chastised. “You’re embarrassing yourself.”
He looked around. How much would she give up, Lang wondered. “I take it you don’t own this place. I’d already heard of it before we got here.”
She looked around. “Yes, absolutely terrible, isn’t it? Can you believe a place like this still exists in 2003? I’m rather of the opinion that with the internet becoming so big, people around the world will be talking and communicating about everything within twenty years, and cultural boundaries that allow this sort of thing to happen will cease to exist. Everyone will have to get along. It seems terribly boring, the future.”
“Groups of people communicating anonymously but with shared goals and objectives?” Lang retorted. “Sure, when has a scenario like that ever gone badly? Oh, yeah… every terrorist cell on the planet. No thank you. I’ll take the telephone any day.”
“Such a cynic! You must be CIA. The DEA types are gung ho, starry eyed patriots. They mostly believe in what they’re doing. You seem more of the unsure type, running on rote habit and a sense of self-righteousness.”
“I told you, I’m a trade consultant with…”
“The Inter-Continental Trade Association, yes, yes, I’ve heard all of that nonsense already from my staff. They tell me it has long been viewed with suspicion, although most assumed it was merely a proxy for a firm or corporation that wanted local business intelligence. They’ll be genuinely excited to hear it was a government front… you know, like the laundromat at the start to The Man from U.N.C.L.E? They have those on Thai TV, you know. They tried dubbing them with local voices but it was disconcertingly out of place, and they switched back to subtitles.”
“Why did you bring me here?” Lang asked. “Just for the intimidation factor?”
“Sort of,” she said. Then she lowered her voice surreptitiously and nodded once over her shoulder. “You see the short guy back there with the grey suit? His boss owns a huge portion of the land between this park and the river. My company, on the other hand, owns almost all the land surrounding his properties, but we do not have access to the shipyards without paying him tribute. It has gone on for far too long. So we’re going to buy him out.”
“Is that some gangster euphemism for wiping out your competition?”
That seemed to baffle her slightly. “No… it literally means we’re going to buy him out. But he’s not particularly enthused by the idea. I thought I needed a demonstration of intent, and renting this place for the day was remarkably cost effective. Plus, it has a sort of ‘evil’ cachet to it, abusing animals for money. If he thinks I approve of this sort of thing, he’s not going to suspect me of any weakness whatsoever.”
“And do you?” Lang’s contempt was obvious from the tone.
She looked around and wrinkled her nose with distaste. “Hmm. Not really, no. But it’s an institution and even if I wanted to buy it and knock it down, I’m not sure the owner would go for it. And he apparently has some connections…”
“That’s the word around Bangkok,” Lang admitted.
“Besides,” Amanda suggested, “there are likely to be future issues that require… clarification in a similar manner. Having a pit of crocodiles to feed people to within handy distance of the head office just seems too delightful to not take advantage. Who else knows you’re here?”
“My office at the IATC will be calling the police by now.”
“Uh huh. Sure they will. You’d have an easier time getting your friend Mr. Brennan here than the cops, and from my intel I understand he was slated to take a flight back to America two days ago. That means you’re all alone here, Mr. Spencer. Your friend Larry Nguyen… would you like to know what happened to him?”
He was sorely tempted to break cover. But that’s what she was counting on, and Lang knew it. “Never heard of him.”
“Then you won’t mind that Somchai Mercedes literally flayed the skin from his body while he was still alive. He was a crazy little man, that Somchai. I’m rather glad Joe killed him, or I’d have had to do it eventually. Far too ambitious and recreationally psychopathic. How he’d made it to fifty-eight without getting caught is beyond me.”
Don’t even listen. It’s a script, effectively, regardless of how much is true. “I still have no idea what you’re talking about, but it sounds pretty crazy.”
“I bet it does. I just bet it does…” She looked like the conversation had become tedious. She turned to one of her large associates and said something quickly in Thai.
The bodyguard was typically shorter at about five-seven, built like a brick outhouse, muscles bulging slightly against his suit fabric as he reached down and yanked Lang to his feet.
She said a few more words and the man dragged Brennan over to the steps, then led him down them one at a time until they were at the edge, looking down at the amphitheater swamp. “Now, here’s what is going to happen, Mr. Spencer. I’m going to ask you some more questions, and this time I’m going to get some answers. The first time I’m unsatisfied, I give Prahn the word and he tosses you into the crocodile pit. The local trainers are renowned for taking risks by sticking their heads into the crocs’ open mouths during the show. It’s a tourist bit with a drugged croc that they perform all over the country. Personally, I think they’re idiots, and a few have been fatally wounded over the years, which is just nature’s way of evening the score. Are we clear on the rules, Mr. Spencer?”
“You love the sound of your own voice, don’t you?”
For just a split second, he saw her smile fade and her face go completely cold, emotionless as a stone, like all thought, hope and life had been drained, just an animal studying prey. “Do you know who my father is, mister...? I’m sorry, I still didn’t get your name. “
“It’s Farley. First name Chuck, middle initial U.”
“Chuck U, Farley. Very droll.”
“I’ve heard of your old man. Big business tycoon, but retired now, out of the spotlight. That’s what I thought, anyway, until this insane kidnapping scheme of yours. Now I have to wonder…”
“So cute, that you keep up the pretense. Anyway, as you doubtless know, Sạkdi̒s̄ithṭhi̒ was a ruthless opium warlord for many years preceding his… social prominence. I didn’t see him a lot as a child, because I was with my stepmother most of the time in America. But whenever I did get to stay with him, he demanded I remain completely silent in his presence. There were no exceptions. Women, he insisted, were to be seen and not heard, unless a man wishes it…a very un-Thai attitude, I might add, very rural and rough.
“The consequence is that I rather suspect you are right; I do like the sound of my own voice, as I was not allowed to use it for so many years. In fact, he did not wish to speak with me until I’d bested my brothers and taken over the firm and then he suddenly had a great deal to say.
“I let him stay on, of course, as a figurehead during the transition. He’s in a seniors’ home now, the very best. Much nicer than the artists’ building a few blocks from here, which we’ll level, of course.” She sighed. “He hates the place, naturally, and the lack of control or privacy. But it’s a condition I placed upon his continued survival. Now, when I choose to visit him…” She stared at Walter again, her eyes still just as lifeless, “…he remains silent in my presence. The sheer, raw humiliation he feels to have been bested by his daughter…” She took in a long, deep breath through her nose, letting endorphins wash over her at the thought of it, “… it utterly completes me. It enervates me to see him in his pitiful, mewling, dependent state. That’s what it’s like to win, Mr. Spencer. That’s what it’s like to win all the time. I imagine that’s how I’ll feel when I watch an eighteen-foot crocodile eat you alive.”
Lang’s eyes flitted around, hunting the immediate area in a clinical assessment. The pillars were potential cover; the chain attached to the railing ahead of him was a weapon that could take out the closest guard, wrapping up his gun wrist and ramming the hand into the metal bar. That would give him a chance at grabbing the gun. The other guard would react quickly, go for his piece, which would allow him a moment to roll sideways into low cover behind the first row of seats. The other two guards and her guest were too far away to immediately help her. Take out the second guard, then the woman.
“If you’re thinking of trying anything sneaky…” Amanda added, “… I’ve put a man with a rifle at the far end of the place, cross-corner to us. He has a scope and is a very good shot, Mr. Spencer, so regardless of what you accomplish, surviving won’t be the result.”
Damn it. It was darker at the far end of the unlit amphitheater and there were shadows around the square column supporting the roof. But he could just make the man out, the rifle braced on the back of the chair ahead of him.
She walked down the stairs to where he was being held and looked over the edge. A pair of crocs, anticipating food, had waddled over and were looking up at them. “Hmmm… neither of them is the big one, although he’s probably around someplace. I can’t imagine what an eighteen-foot croc with those razor sharp teeth can do to a man… We’ll close the sluice, of course, so he can’t drag you off into the river and lake. We don’t want him burying you under the water to marinate you. He wants tenderized Mr. Spencer, whereas we want to see him make a meal of you. What’s your real name?”
“I told you…”
She flicked her eyes toward the pit and the guard understood, grabbing Lang by the back of his jacket, then dangling him over the edge. The crocodiles reared up slightly and snapped their jaws, the sound of their teeth coming together like croquet mallets smacking wooden balls. “They’re like cute little puppies,” Amanda said with a smile. “And it’s din dins! What’s your real name?”
Lang felt his sense of panic rising and tried to push it down. He saw the briefest flicker of movement to his left, over where the sniper was located.
The man suddenly disappeared from view.
Lang turned his attention back to the crocodiles. He needed to delay, buy just a few more precious minutes. He was pretty damn sure her cover had just been taken out, and that meant one thing.
Brennan.
CHAPTER 13
Brennan followed the convoy until it turned off into the crocodile farm, just outside the city. He’d scoped a map of the area as they drove out and knew a small perimeter road ran around the park, which took up about a quarter of its suburb. When the cars turned, he kept the Jeep going straight, to avert any notion that he’d been following them.
He wanted eyes on the place. It seemed big, several acres at least and it had crocodiles and elephants, according to the signs they’d passed. Beyond that, he had no idea what a crocodile park entailed. Probably ponds, lakes. Maybe an aquarium tank?
The road curved and ran past a shanty town of clapboard and loose tin, tiny houses built into the side of the road, each less than six feet tall and barely wide enough for a person to sleep lengthwise. After a half-mile, they upsized to small one-room houses, some also running as businesses, one renting tuk tuk taxis, another selling fruit.
At the intersection to the ring road and main thoroughfare heading toward the shipyards, he turned and drove a mile or so away from the farm, then parked on the side of the road in a sleepy neighborhood. It wasn’t quiet; the big road and the nearby shipyards and docks saw to that. But there were few people around, just a handful on cheap sun chairs, sitting in front of their businesses or homes, a few kids playing in the street.
He got out and retrieved his kit bag from the back seat. Volkker had outdone himself with the list, and thrown in a couple of surprise gifts to boot.
Brennan walked back to the main road, waited until the suicidal drivers had zoomed by and ran across. He’d learned in less than a day that trying to walk across any road in Bangkok was sheer insanity, as cars simply ignored pedestrians as if they didn’t exist.
He crossed the quieter and empty ring road, following the farm’s six-foot exterior wall. It had barbed wire strung along the top, three staggered strands, making defeating it with a jacket or blanket out of the question. His eyes tracked the wire along the wall for several dozen yards until he was satisfied that it wasn’t also electrified. That meant he could snip it, simply cut out three pieces and clamber over.
But he needed a secure entry point. He reached into the bag and took out the fiber optic camera. It was a black box just a little bigger than a deck of cards, with a thin whip-antenna-like attachment on the top, on the end of which sat a small lens. The flexible whip could be curved to the bes
t position to look over and around objects. He placed a ninety-degree kink in it, then reached up over the wall and took a look around.
He repeated the process five more times along a mile of wall, until he was sure of where he was going in, at the end of an alley between the modest homes, where the wall was unprotected and low enough to just hop over. The farm seemed considerably more concerned with keeping its scaly occupants inside than keeping others out.
It was early afternoon but there had been few cars parked outside the place, as if it had been shut down for the day. Whatever she was up to, she wanted privacy but a public venue. That probably meant another meet of some kind, like at the airport.
He followed the paths past the sections of lagoon and canal, the crocodiles eyeing him lazily. At one point, he crossed a small footbridge, and below, a large crocodile with a scar across its left eye kept vigil, perhaps waiting for the latest suicide victim to stop by. The park had become notorious for people using its occupants to off themselves.
Toward the main road on the park’s northwest side, he heard voices and found cover behind a grove of trees adjacent to the path. People were in the big building ahead, which looked like some sort of open-sided arena. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but there was definitely more than one. He heard a feminine chuckle and a small shiver ran down the nape of his neck.
Amanda.
He wondered where Walter had gotten to; Brennan knew he could use the help. Multiple voices meant multiple guns.
He gave the voices another minute, and when they hadn’t moved or gotten closer, he followed the path to the base of the amphitheater, pacing its walls to the other side, where there was a second customer entrance. The voices were fainter, suggesting they’d remained near the far doors. He pushed open the door, then let it swing closed gently, the lack of a latch keeping things quiet. A set of stone steps led up to the top-level concourse, about forty feet above the show floor and behind the top row of seats.
