Death in the Kingdom (17 page)

‘My promise, Daniel. It is over!'

‘Goodbye once again, old friend,' I said.

‘Goodbye, Daniel. I am sorry for my weakness. For our friendship's sake I wish I had been stronger,' Tuk Tuk replied as he slowly regained his feet with the aid of his stick.

I helped Sakura into the passenger seat. It was dry and there was no blood or anything else on it. Choy had kept things together even in death. As I shut the door I glanced down at the corpse lying on the white shingle. Tuk Tuk would die lonely without The Cabbage. I didn't have any words for Choy. I walked around the truck and climbed into the driver's seat. I found the keys in my jacket pocket and started the Cherokee, flicking on the lights as I drove around the circular driveway. I headed back to the inside gate.

The gate opened immediately and I drove us across the bridge. Looking back I could see Tuk Tuk standing, watching. He raised his free hand in a gesture of farewell, whether to me or to his lost chance at sainthood, I would never know. The second gate opened. I drove most of the way through but halted when the rear of the Jeep was still on the bridge.

‘Would you kill me if you had to come back, Daniel?'

‘Kill you or take you off him,' I replied.

‘Take me off him?' Sakura whispered, almost smiling.

‘Taking you off him and letting him die alone would be the worst punishment of all,' I said. Sakura sat with her head turned, her eyes seeing right into me. It was a long pause.

‘You wonder how I could love a man like that. I know,' she said sadly. ‘Sometimes, especially in the early days, I wondered too. But there is another man in there, Daniel.' The thought of that other man made her blink and a sad smile touched her lips. ‘A man who will grieve that he has lost you as a friend. A man who will cry his heart out at Choy's funeral. I discovered that other man and married him and yes, he is dying, Daniel.'

‘Human beings, we never understand each other,' I said, reaching across to open her door.

‘Oh, sometimes we do,' Sakura replied softly, ‘only too well.' She turned her face to mine, held my chin with powerful slim fingers and kissed me. It was a kiss like none I had ever experienced. It went on and on, then her fingers softened to stroke my cheek and she was gone from the seat, leaving me like a guppy out of water, gasping for breath.

‘Daniel, go well, and when you hear that Tuk Tuk Song is dead, please call me.' With that the Jeep's door closed and Sakura was gone. I gathered some composure, and in the rear view mirror I saw the figure in white walking back across the bridge. She turned momentarily to wave, then the inner gate opened and she stepped through. I dropped the Jeep into gear and drove into the night.

It was a long drive down to Pha To. The irony was that it was only fifty or sixty miles southeast of where I had been in Ranong. If we hadn't gone through Choy's little charade, I'd have been there hours ago.

As I turned back down Highway 4 heading south, I wondered at everything that had just happened. I'd killed Choy. I'd let Tuk Tuk live, maybe only because of Sakura. And what of Sakura? That kiss, my God! And then there had been so much promise in her words of ‘Call me when …'. Christ, I was acting like a schoolboy with a crush.

As I struggled to stay awake, I still couldn't figure it all out. And shit, that fucking black box. It was sitting in my bag on the back seat, almost forgotten because of everything else that was going on. I had to deliver the buddha then get my arse and the box back to the embassy in Bangkok. But there was another factor at work here: What about the Americans? They had lost a big team out there in the Andaman. They would be pissed off and looking very hard for the box and whoever had it. If they found both, their revenge would be swift and bloody.

A few miles south of Prachuap Khiri Khan, I was snapped awake by a hell of a bang. In front of me a big tractor–trailer unit was weaving violently across the road. A tyre on the trailer had blown and the automatic brakes had locked on. Great chunks of rubber were airborne. Then another tyre went and the whole damned thing began to jackknife.

I had two choices: try and brake and risk running into the trailer and getting creamed by the traffic coming from behind, or put my foot on the pedal and try and get around. Instinct put lead in my right foot. I went wide across the lane, cutting in front of a braking sedan. I flew past the swinging cab of the tractor unit, my right wheels running down the centre strip. Thank God I was piloting a four-wheel drive as the right wheels ran on shingle and dirt, the left on the road surface. I passed just as the tractor and trailer began to roll. Switching my eyes between the road ahead and the rear view mirrors, I could see the whole unit skidding after me in a slow cartwheel that sent sparks flying. It was like a special-effects crash in a fucking movie, except people were about to die for real. Vehicles behind it were piling up nose to tail. Then the trailer was bouncing free of the driving unit and over into the northbound lanes. The chaos was complete when petrol fires started.

I didn't stop. This was going to take hours to sort out and I didn't have the time, even if I had the inclination, to get knee-deep in burned flesh and smouldering wreckage. I kept my foot to the floor to get some distance between the crash site and me. Cars in front of me were slowing. Some stopped when they realised that hell was erupting behind them. I kept my foot down and threaded my way through, eventually getting beyond them and back into the highway flow of traffic.

As the adrenaline started to wear off I began to lose it and slowed. I needed to sleep. I needed to think. I needed to talk to someone. Geezer! I juggled the phone, noting the power warning light blinking. I thumbed in Geezer's number. I hadn't spoken to him since I had left Patong. I needed to tell him that I'd pulled it off and I needed his advice. I was starting to get a bad feeling. Maybe it was just fatigue and, hell, I'd just offed a guy face to face and, in part, caused a whole bunch more to cash their cheques. I was also fucking scared that the whole of the CIA was going to be looking for me with extreme prejudice.

There was no reply from Geezer. I tried Sami's mobile with the last juice in my battery, but all I got was his voice mail. Maybe he was still in the air on his way home. I didn't leave a message. The phone died about then. Bernard was going to have to wait until I could recharge it. I didn't have a car unit but there was a mains charger in my bag. Later!

A downpour started and, even on full, the windscreen wipers were struggling to cope. I couldn't see the road ahead. I was about done and on the verge of falling asleep at the wheel. I pulled off the highway and found a place to park up. My sanctuary, for the time being, was off a secondary road that headed into a plantation. I had rubber trees on both sides and the highway was three or four miles back. I guessed I was a few miles north of Tha Sae which, in turn, was some twelve miles or so north of Chumphon.

With the vehicle doors locked tight and just the driver's window cracked open for air, I dropped the front seat as far back as it would go and played dead, the Walther lying on the floor under the edge of the seat. The drumming of the rain on the Cherokee sent me tumbling into a deep sleep in seconds.

16

Dawn came early for me thanks to a full bladder and the policeman in the rain cape, hard hat and dark glasses who was tapping on my window. My heart went from a dreamy sleep to near panic, and my adrenaline valve fully opened in a fraction of a second. As I sat up I slid my right hand under the driver's seat. The Walther was positioned for a quick snatch and shoot.

Anyone who wore sunglasses in the rain, cop or otherwise, was definitely a potential problem. It was a matter of attitude. This could mean big trouble. I turned the ignition key and pressed the button on the door to open the side window. My hand went down to the gun as I half turned to face the cop.

‘You okay?' he asked in passable English.

‘Okay,' I replied, sticking to English. ‘Just tired. It's a long drive from Bangkok to Phuket,' I said, trying to see the man's eyes through his glasses. Was he interested in the big canvas bundle in the back? I now had the gun in my hand, holding it close to the door. I wondered if he had a partner with him in the patrol unit. I couldn't see the car as his rain cape was blocking my view. If there were two cops and it came to a shoot-out, I would be in trouble.

‘It's good you sleep,' the cop said nodding, suddenly smiling. ‘That way you don't have accident. Have a good trip,' he added, turning away. There was no car and I almost laughed as I realised what had happened. My heart rate dropped dramatically and I pushed the gun back under my seat.

The cop got onto a little Honda step-through that was parked a few feet away and waved. So did the young schoolgirl wearing a white blouse and blue skirt with a clear plastic poncho over the top. She was perched on the back of the bike. The girl continued to wave as the Honda pulled away. I did likewise purely out of relief.

I guessed the cop was a country dweller, probably on his way to work at Chumphon after dropping his daughter off at school. He'd only stopped because I was parked on his road. I'd come very close to shooting an innocent guy. I breathed a deep sigh of relief. The rain had stopped. It was going to be a beautiful day and I hadn't killed anyone yet.

By the time I arrived at Chumphon it was hot and the sky was a cloudless blue. I filled up the tank and grabbed coffee and a sweet roll before carrying on to the turn-off for the west coast, just south of Thung Tako. The
wat
at Pha To was about twenty miles in, about the halfway point between the coasts. While the temple wasn't one of the giants of the land it was large enough, and quite plain. Maybe in the days when it was at its prime, it had been the Ruby Buddha inside that had dominated and not the surrounding buildings.

When I pulled into the temple grounds it was a few minutes to 10:00. Several saffron-clad figures stood around, as well as a few Thai civilians. A local bus, one or two cars and a few utility vehicles were in the car park. There didn't seem to be any tourist activity. Maybe without the Ruby Buddha there was no interest in yet another
wat
in the middle of nowhere. I couldn't begin to imagine what would happen when they put this baby back on display.

I got out of the Cherokee, locked the door and headed round to the main building towards the living area. Several monks looked startled as I approached them.
Farangs
were obviously thin on the ground there. I double whammied them when I greeted them in fluent and very respectful Thai. I went through the pleasantries before asking for the head monk. They all looked shocked at the suggestion that the top dog be summoned. ‘It is most important for this temple and the people of Pha To that I speak with him,' I announced. ‘It is very, very important. I have a gift of great value for your temple.'

With looks of confused consternation, the monks gathered to discuss the implications of my words. I knew that ‘gift of great value' was a key phrase in any language and eventually, after much discussion and more than a few raised voices, one of the youngsters departed at a most unholy clip. I waited for perhaps ten minutes. During that time orange-clad figures of all ages—from novices to ancient creatures—came by, all looking at the
farang
who could speak their language and who had a ‘gift' for the temple. In Bangkok or any of the other main temples I wouldn't have raised an eyebrow. Here, I was a martian!

Three monks approached through an archway. Two elderly guys in saffron supported a third dressed in white. I had heard of this: a monk in mourning rags, death robes on a living person. It was a rare practice; to put aside the saffron robes and don the white was probably the most soul-felt gesture possible. The third man was ancient. He looked to be older than time itself, like a creature who had forgotten to die a hundred years before. Another very old monk came to my shoulder.

‘Brother Thana has been in mourning for more than sixty years,' explained my companion of the moment in a whisper. ‘When the Japanese took our Ruby Buddha he donned the white robes and has not spoken a word since that time, other than in prayer. You are the first visitor he has seen that is not of our order.'

That was indeed significant. I just hoped the old boy's ticker was going to handle it. I bowed to the old monk and turned to indicate the Jeep in the car park thirty yards away. ‘I have something in my car that will gladden your heart,' I said softly. ‘We will need many strong backs to remove it.'

One of the speaking elders raised his voice, and in seconds a dozen young, fit novices appeared. They had no doubt been hiding in doorways wondering what this stranger wanted. They followed me to the back of the Jeep. I unlocked it. ‘This is very heavy. You will need a good grip and plenty of muscle,' I said as the swarm of saffron-clad figures gathered. I moved to one side. The old boy in white stood ten feet away with his two attendants.

Clutching handfuls of canvas and the strops we had tied around the buddha back on the
Odorama
, the young men eased the precious bundle out of the back of the Jeep. They lowered it onto the flagstones and stood around uncertainly. I pulled my Gerber folding knife from my pocket and stepped forward to cut away the strops. Then I cut the rope that bound the top of the canvas shroud.

‘You can take off your mourning rags,' I said to the old man in white as I flicked the canvas back from the top of the statue. There was an immediate gasp and, as one, the entire assembly fell to its knees, all except the old man and those who were supporting him. It was an image frozen for a few seconds, maybe half a minute. Then the old monk shrugged off the hands that gripped him and walked forward, unaided, to stand in front of me.

‘Thank you,' he said in clear, unaccented English as he held out a frail hand. ‘Thank you!'

‘My pleasure,' I replied as I shook his cool, thin hand gently, fearing I might break it. He turned to look at the priceless relic he had mourned for so long. That was my cue to make myself scarce. I moved away to close the back of the truck, resisting an overwhelming impulse to say aloud, ‘My work here is done!' The old man turned back towards me. I could see a thousand questions etched on his face. He was searching for words. One of the other old orange-robed monks was coming towards me.