Even in the middle of the day, Bangkok is a city of traffic jams. The economy of the city is inextricably linked to tourism, with people from all over the world coming to see the sights, and more frequently to shop at any of a sea of flea markets, tourist traps, and all manner of stores. This silver metropolis has a population of, including the metro area, almost twelve million even without the countless tourists- as a result, there can be traffic jams at 11:30 A.M. or 11:30 P.M.
The traffic jam that had started at 11:30 ended almost two hours later in the eastern suburbs of Bangkok. After a stop for food, the travelers resumed their journey. The skyscrapers and nearly impassable streets had given way to an odd mix of affluent neighborhoods, government construction projects, and traditional-looking village areas. The Thai cousins had been silent for most of the way, except to answer their American companions' occasional questions. Chariya focused on the road, still fairly congested so close to the center of the country, and Jao hummed movie themes sporadically. Their behavior made a strange contrast with the events of a few hours earlier.
Another half-hour and the suburbs were gone. The highway meandered across an utterly flat countryside, with a handful of towns and villages interrupting an otherwise spectacular view of the unspoiled Indochina floodplain. April is the peak of the dry season in Thailand, and while lush tropical grasses still covered the landscape, the shallow lakes that fed the area had mostly receded to ponds surrounded by mud flats. Exotic-looking palm trees dotted the landscape, and rice paddies occupied huge squares of land. This far from the city, the Thai agents were substantially more talkative. Their earlier bickering forgotten, they shouted back and forth from opposite ends of the van in a mixture of Thai and English. The Americans joined in when they had the chance, but none found the flat, repetitive landscape particularly interesting.
"Water buffalo!" Chariya shouted. Her window was open and her hair streamed back in the wind. Jao stuck his head between Bob's and Takeshi's to get a better view out the side window. The huge bovine continued chewing something, unaware of the passers-by.
On the other side of the van, Rene Levancon was showing off for no one on the motorcycle. He began riding circles around the van, until Zachary Taylor opened his window as well and berated the Frenchman for wasting fuel.
"Chariya, have we ever been this way before?" Jao called over the heads of the Americans.
Chariya stopped singing along with a Thai song on the radio. "Only once! When we were young!" She turned to Bob, trying to keep one eye on the road and the other on the mercenary leader. "Sorry we're acting like this. I've been stuck in Bangkok for years, and Jao is... well, you know Jao by now."
"Not a problem." Bob was only mildly annoyed by their behavior. His thoughts had been alternating between the mission, Rene's odd behavior, the security of the boat, and Leah Silverstone's request. The last of these had been shoved aside several times already but clung tenaciously to his thoughts, reminding him as soon as he wasn't occupied. The agents' banter had barely crossed his mind, even if it had crossed his hearing.
"Temple!" A small stone tower covered in statuary sat by the side of the road, in the middle of a patch of raised dirt. Gordon commented on the architecture, but none of the other occupants of the van cared or were able to follow.
The highway took a strange route, curving for miles out of the way for no apparent reason. Occasionally it reached the coast, passing through fishing villages and long stretches of beach. At one point, the highway followed a pair of bridges out to an island near the shore, and later, passed by a large port city. However, it also reached far enough inland at times that hills and mountains could be seen in the distance. The road seemed to go on forever, and the completely flat terrain made the way ahead visible for miles.
After several hours, low, wide hills came into view. The road had narrowed to the point that it was effectively no longer a highway but rather the only paved road in the area. "Almost there." Chariya announced, looking down at a GPS. She had become quiet once again at some point after the port had passed. Jao, deprived of someone to talk to, assumed a solemn demeanor soon after.
The road rose into the hills, which could now be seen to be the foothills of a mountain range. "The Cardamom Mountains." Jao explained. "They're across the border." The town of Trat came into view after the second hill. The province's central town was a sprawling collection of buildings centered around the highest hill in the region. The valley between these two hills was almost nonexistent, and a large number of buildings were located in this slightly sloped region.
"Apparently this is the tourist area. The north side of Trat is rubber farms, and the east side is the gem mines. The hotels and restaurants will be on this side of the hill, and the markets will be closer to the center." At some point, Jao had taken out a file on the area, and the diminutive Thai was now flipping through its pages.
"Anyone care where we stay?" Chariya glanced to the back of the van, but rapidly turned around again when Taylor alerted her to the presence of the first oncoming car for many miles. Bob spread his hands in a gesture of apathy and Gordon shook his head. Chariya regarded them in the rear-view mirror this time. "Cousin?"
"Sorry, I know Trat like back of someone else's hand." Jao grinned over the file.
Chariya scowled at him in the mirror. "I don't understand how you know so much slang and still don't know basic things in English." Sato poorly suppressed a fit of laughter, and the driver's gaze turned to him. "What did that mean?"
"Nothing. Nothing at all." Taylor answered for his cackling companion. "Let's just say he isn't good with slang either."
"Am too, G-dog! They say I sound like I come from a hood!" This was too much for Zach, who joined his Japanese comrade in another bout of laughter. Chariya drove the van into the parking lot of a fairly modern-looking hotel, and Rene Levancon pulled up alongside.
The check-in at the hotel went smoothly. A sleepy-looking clerk led them to a set of dusty rooms, observing the travelers' luggage with clear suspicion but asking no questions. Business was business in what could almost be considered a ghost town compared to fifteen years prior. When the two-man rooms were divided up, Rene's four companions had split two rooms between themselves, and Jao and Chariya took one each. Not wanting to share a room with the boisterous Jao, the Frenchman tried to convince Chariya to let him stay with her, only to be bodily removed from the room in under a minute.
The whole group met up outside the hotel after moving any luggage that was needed out of the van. The sun was still fairly high in the sky at six P.M. so close to the equator, so Bob led them to the sparsely populated market. A significant amount of money was spent, despite the low prices at various stalls with signs that Chariya pointed out meant "going out of business," but only Takeshi was particularly keen to show the group what he had bought. He spent most of the trip back to the hotel showing off his new kris dagger.
It was not until Bob decided it was dinnertime that anyone split off from the group. Chariya was very intent on the foreigners experiencing an authentic Thai dinner, but Rene suddenly decided he wanted Chinese food after seeing a dingy-looking Chinese restaurant on the way. "We had Thai food for lunch."
Chariya wheeled around. "We're in Thailand! You need to eat Thai food! Anyway, that was fast food. We're going to get real food now."
"Do you have to do this everywhere, Rene?" Even Gordon was viewing the younger man with a disappointed expression.
Rene shrugged. "I'm French. It's what we do."
"They say Frenchmen like good food." Chariya stomped off angrily. Rene strode away toward the Chinese restaurant. Bob and Gordon watched him go.
"What's gotten into him lately?" Bob asked Gordon.
Gordon sighed. "He's always like that. You know him. Three years and he's still the same kid."
Bob gave a grunt of agreement and followed Chariya down the road. The sun was sinking low in the sky, and the scattered lampposts were turning on by the roadside.
The night progressed much as any night of shore leave did for the crew of the Northern Cross. The most notable difference was that Bob took his leave in a bar with the Thai cousins. Chariya was barely able to tolerate alcohol at all, even after the heavy dinner- before long, a tipsy Jao had to guide her back to her hotel room. When he didn't return, Bob began to size up the bar, looking for a new drinking buddy. The building was sparsely populated- four rubber workers were getting drunk in a corner, an Indonesian was drinking alone at the far end of the bar, and the barkeeper had already confirmed to Jao that he didn't understand English. Bob began playing with a pocketknife, opening and closing the blade.
"You're not from around here, are you?" The voice was faintly accented. A thin Chinese man in casual clothes had silently walked up to Bob and was now standing over him. "And you're alone, how strange. Surely they didn't lure you here to work on the rubber plantations?"
Bob glanced up at the man, who was smiling faintly. "No, I'm not from this part of the world. I'm American."
"I can tell. White men don't play with weapons unless they're Americans." He sat down next to Bob, resting one elbow on the bar and his chin on the heel of his hand. "What brings you here, American?" The smile still hovered about his features.
Sadeski felt as though there was an eerie aura coming from this man, but attributed it to the low-quality Thai drink. "Business, pal."
"Ah, I see. You think I'm suspicious." The man drew his features into a sad expression. "Makes sense. This isn't exactly a place to find an English-speaking Chinaman. No more than it is to find an American." The faint smile returned. "I'll tell you who I am, then you tell me who you are. My name is Fan Xiaolong. I'm an information salesman." He turned to the bartender and ordered something in smooth Thai.
Bob had perked up at the last bit. "Information salesman? What does that entail?"
"Ah, ah, ah. You first." The bartender brought Xiaolong a cup of tea, then gave Bob a strange look.
Sadeski paid the Thai no heed. "Bob Sadeski. Security contractor."
His strange companion sipped the tea, then laced his fingers under his chin, using his hands as a sort of platform for his head. "A 'security contractor.' My, this is a lucky day. I didn't expect to find a mercenary out here. And that term usually means you're part of a crew. How many?"
"Operational security." Bob growled.
The man held his hands up in front of him. "I mean you no harm. I am on an information gathering assignment for a man named Do Young Kang. Do you know of him, Mr. Sadeski?"
"No. Haven't worked in China, ever." Bob took a swig of his remaining alcohol. He found himself hoping, for the first time since meeting the man on Ko Pha Ngan, that Jao would show up.
"He is one of the richest men in China. And therefore, one of the richest men in the world." Fan's face was completely motionless except when he spoke, the corners of his mouth faintly upturned. "He's looking for your kind of men for a high-paying job."
Bob's suspicion of Rene's activities paled in comparison to what he felt now. This was impossibly convenient, and Sadeski had long ago learned not to believe in coincidences. "I'm not the boss. We have a dispatcher. Talk to him." He passed the man Mark Birch's business card, one of about a dozen he kept in his pocket.
Xiaolong's eyes widened. "Ah, a real company! My employer will be very pleased. Naturally, we will check your credentials. Thank you, Mr. Sadeski. I will immediately convey this." He stood up, forgetting the tea. "Goodbye." He seemed to glide more than walk out of the bar. The barkeeper muttered something in Thai as the strange man left.
Fan Xiaolong stopped in the doorway. "Oh! Almost forgot." He turned to Bob once again, his grin seeming slightly more menacing this time. "Beware the eater of snakes." He was gone almost instantaneously. Bob scowled at the space where the Chinese man had been, then stood up and stalked out of the building, leaving a handful of bills on the bar.
Back at the hotel, Bob found Jao asleep on Gordon's bed. He carried the Thai roughly to the proper room, then, on a hunch, looked in the one occupied by Sato and Taylor. As he expected, Jao had missed the rooms by two doors and left the exhausted Chariya in Takeshi's bed. To ensure the survival of Sato upon the mercenary's return, Bob gingerly picked up the limp Chariya and carried her to her room. Surprisingly, she woke up during the trip but merely murmured something in Thai.
The night was uneventful until about one A.M. The whole crew had returned, finding the town generally devoid of entertainment. Bob and Gordon were awoken by a loud noise and bright lights outside the hotel. The two men rushed into the street half-dressed just in time to see a fighter jet taking off from the flattened hill they had passed over on the way into Trat. Bob rubbed his eyes to make sure he wasn't imagining the plane. He turned to Gordon. "What the hell do you think that's about?"
"I don't know, but it's leaving." The plane circled to the southeast and headed for the ocean, a dark shadow against a sky mostly lit by stars. Gordon watched it shrink toward the horizon, then stumped back to the hotel. "Shouldn't let it keep us up."
Bob waited outside a bit longer, puzzled by the events of the evening. As he stood, immersed in his mind, a long shadow passed across a nearby streetlamp. The shadow's owner was rendered a shadow himself by the position of the light, but Sadeski could see it belong to a fairly tall man, larger than the squat Thai and Khmer workers who inhabited the area. His first suspicion was Fan Xiaolong, but the "information salesman" was too thin to have cast such a shadow. Bob had a sudden mental image of the light simply curving around the Chinese man, hiding him even in plain sight.
The second hunch was easier to act on. Rene Levancon was not in his room, and his pistol had accompanied him out.
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