An Autumn Hunting

Chapter 42

I spent as little time as possible getting clean under a hot shower, wondering how to get revenge on Achura, dismissed my thoughts as grudge fantasy. The clothes I found hanging in a wardrobe were a size too large, so the mirror showed me a burly man who’d recently undergone a serious illness. At least I was still wearing a suit, so I looked roughly respectable.

My face was still on fire with humiliation as I rejoined Quang in the conference room.

‘Anyone who works for me offers total loyalty,’ he said, his voice calm, dispassionate. ‘In return, I offer immense wealth, complete immunity from the forces of law, and the opportunity to live as you’ve always wanted.’

I sat down, feeling shrunken and insignificant in the too-large suit. I suspected that was deliberate, and it didn’t make me feel any better.

Being beaten in a fight by a woman drove any self-esteem I might have once had into the ground. I knew losing to a martial arts expert was only to be expected, no one could have done any better, but I also knew people would snicker behind their hands once my back was turned.

Perhaps Quang sensed something of that. He leant forward so his face was close to mine, and I could smell the sweet tea on his breath.

‘Achura is a phenomenon, a one-off. Growing up with five older brothers, she learnt how to defend herself, studied Thai boxing. If you’re from a poor family, success in the ring can feed your entire family. So she turned professional, around the same time she decided the world had to take her on her own terms. As a fighter, she was undefeated in over a hundred bouts. No one survived more than a few moments in the ring. If I had ordered her to, she would have killed you in less than a minute. There is no shame in being beaten by someone supremely gifted at their skill.’

I nodded, as if accepting the wisdom of his words, but deep down, I knew how I felt.

I once found the body of a homeless man, frozen in a graveyard set back from the north shore of Lake Issyk-Kul. The rats had emerged from deep in their nests, sensing fresh meat. They stripped away his face, the flesh on his arms and legs, feasting until nothing remotely human remained, then burrowed deep into his belly for the last pockets of warmth. My defeat would eat piecemeal at me in the same way, working its way deeper and deeper into my thoughts, relentlessly chewing away at me until the only solution was to eat my gun.

I knew I had to go along with Quang’s demand for subservience, so I nodded.

‘Forgive my stupidity, Khun,’ I said. ‘Obviously I’m used to Kyrgyz ways, and we don’t assume loyalty as a given. For us, it’s every man for himself and every man has his price, for which he’d betray his own mother.’ Not true, but there was no reason to let Quang know we were proud and independent, not bowed and broken.

Quang picked up the SIM card which still lay on the table, held it up.

‘I had this examined,’ he said. ‘I’m sure you’d expected me to do nothing less. It appears there is only one number in the memory, a Bangkok number. And when we tried to call it, the other phone remained switched off. Perhaps you’d care to explain?’

‘Like you, my colleague Aliyev is meticulous about privacy and security. I never speak to someone on the other end. I leave a text message, which is then bounced around various telecom companies worldwide until it reaches someone he trusts, who then relays the message face to face. It’s time-consuming, but impossible to trace. Even then, we use a code system, so an innocuous-sounding message tells Aliyev what he needs to know.’

‘For example?’ Quang asked.

‘If I write, “Grand Palace an amazing place, you’d love it here”, that tells Aliyev we’ve reached a deal. “Food far too spicy” means that the proposed deal isn’t going to happen. Even if someone read it, they wouldn’t know what it meant.’

‘And the phone?’

‘I buy a disposable mobile every time I send a message, get rid of the old one.’

Quang looked at me, his eyes searching my face for lies, prevarications.

‘What message will you send today?’

‘That the deal is on,’ I replied.

Quang nodded.

‘I’ll have my driver take you back to your hotel. Buy a mobile on the way: I want him to see you send the message. After that, he’ll destroy the phone and the card, you understand?’

I tried to hide my concern at not being able to contact Saltanat, but disguised it as concern over reaching Aliyev. I only hoped Saltanat was watching out for me, efficient as always.

‘I have my own methods for contacting Mr Aliyev,’ Quang said. ‘Surely you didn’t really think I would rely solely on you? I’m afraid you have a lot to learn about doing business, especially one like ours.’

‘I spent twenty years trying to put this sort of business out of business,’ I said, and was surprised at the genuine bitterness in my voice. ‘But the money is too big, too many people bought. Maybe you haven’t seen the consequences of selling drugs, protected as you are, shielded and invulnerable. But for twenty years it was people like me who had to do the cleaning up.’

‘Then why get involved now?’ Quang asked. ‘You’ve already attempted to murder one of your major politicians, and that didn’t change anything. All you’ve done is make yourself an outcast. Now you’re selling drugs yourself. But don’t worry; after a while the money will ease your conscience.’

Quang shrugged; my feelings were of no importance to him.

‘You can always give your money to charity, if you feel so strongly about it. But such a course of action would make me think one day you might betray me, and then Achura will come knocking at your door.’

Quang paused, looking across at the trees by the courtyard wall and the shade they provided. He waved a hand towards them, as if to reinforce the idea that a life under his protection far outweighed the alternative.

‘It’s not expensive to dispose of a nuisance here in Bangkok. A pistol shot from the back of a motorbike. A green pit viper hidden in your bedding. Even a simple ordinary accident when crossing the road. The Buddha stresses the impermanence of life. When necessary, so do I.’

I said nothing, head bowed, a neophyte humbly awaiting instruction.

‘Time for you to report to your master,’ Quang said, the scorn in his voice apparent. ‘I imagine your encounter with Achura may have dissuaded you from living in Thailand. That’s between you and Aliyev, and the duties he considers you’re fit for. Your flight will be organised for tomorrow; I don’t expect we shall meet again. In fact, I recommend we don’t.’

Quang beckoned to the driver who was standing a respectful distance away. One of the servants appeared carrying a bag; my clothes, I assumed. The driver took me by my upper arm, not hard, but just enough to steer me towards the gate.

As we reached there, Achura reappeared, calm and poised as ever, hands washed clean of the red chalk. Come to gloat over my defeat, no doubt. I patted the driver’s hand to release me, and walked towards Achura, arm outstretched to shake hands. Quang watched, amusement on his face, like someone watching ants scurrying at his feet.

‘No hard feelings?’ I asked, smiling as I took Achura’s hand. It felt surprisingly smooth, feminine, but with a core of steel along the fingers and the edge of the palm. Then I pulled her towards me even as I moved forward, smashed my forehead into the bridge of her nose, saw the surprise and shock blossom in her eyes, even as the blood blossomed across her cheekbones. My face was warm and wet, and I knew it wasn’t from my tears. Flecks of blood stung my eyes, spattered a scarlet pattern across my shirt; I knew it was time to go, and fast, before Achura recovered and decided to retaliate. I held up my hands, as if to apologise for an unfortunate stumble, an accident. I didn’t look across to see Quang’s reaction. From what I’d learnt of his persona, he probably didn’t move a muscle.

‘Next time,’ I whispered, the smile never leaving my face as I stared at Achura, ‘next time, I’ll fucking kill you.’