Biowar

89

Karr glanced up at the ceiling of the Bangkok Star Imperial, trying to catch a glimpse of himself in the gold leaf. But the shine was more luster than reflection.

“Now that’s a surprise,” he said, spinning around as he continued to stare upward. As he did, he bumped into one of Bai’s security people.

It was a fairly hard bump. The man — who, though six-three, was still about four inches shorter than the American — fell to his knees, suddenly out of breath. Karr leaned over to help, applying a very special first-aid resuscitation technique — which resulted in the guard’s Beretta pistol flying up out of his hand into the air.

Karr snatched it when it reached eye level. He stuck it into his waistband as he walked toward the office Bai used as his headquarters. Two large Asian men — they looked Chinese, but that may have been a function of the tattoos on their necks — pushed their chests out in his direction.

Their drawn pistols were somewhat more impressive than their muscles.

“Hey, guys. Remember me?” said Karr cheerfully. “I have some business with the boss.”

The sentry on the right replied with a long sentence that, when translated from Thai, might be considered a travel suggestion.

“Nah, he definitely wants to talk to me here rather than there,” said Karr. “Although I suppose he can catch me after I talk to the defense minister. Either of you got the time? I may be running a bit late.”

As the two men pressed closer to him, the door at the end of the hall opened. Bai said something to the men, who stood aside.

“Thanks,” said Karr, walking inside.

“Why are you here?”

“The obvious reasons,” said Karr.

He sat down in the seat near the desk, then opened his jacket. Bai immediately flashed his pistol.

“Relax. I want you to look at these pieces of paper, then decide whether you want to cooperate or not. Your call.”

The NSA op pulled the documents out of his coat pocket and unfolded them. The top two were copies of electronic transfers that had been made to Bai’s personal account from Hong Kong banks occasionally used by the Chinese Communist government as a conduit for external operations. One collected transactions from Bai’s accounts overseas, showing that the money had indeed gone to him and his family. The next two were authorization memos connecting the transfers to arms shipments to guerrillas in Myanmar. Last but not least was the transcript of a conversation between Bai and a member of the guerrilla group known as the Crescent Tigers.

“The translation on that last one may not be that good,” Karr said as Bai stared at the intercept. “They did it by computer and they had to use English because the character set was a serious pain in the ass to transmit. I mean, you know, technology’s great, but it does have its limits.”

Bai sat back in the seat. “What do you want?”

“Kegan. I need him now.”

“I owe him too much to betray him.”

“He saved your sister’s life, yes,” said Karr. “But that was a long time ago.”

“I can’t.”

“You think he’s worth these papers showing up in the defense minister’s office? Considering all you’ve done for him already?”

Bai shook his head, but Karr could tell he was wavering.

“He’s going to die anyway, Mr. Bai. You know that as well as I do. The other people looking for him won’t be as considerate if they find him before I do. And you know they’re looking for him. They followed me out of here last time I came by.”