Breathing Water: A Bangkok Thriller

15

He leans against the carved Mesopotamian wall, his shoulders midway between a king’s sandaled feet. After the mausoleum chill of the house, the heat actually feels good. He settles his shoulders against the warm brick, reaches into the rear pocket of his jeans, and pulls out the yellow sheets containing the list he copied on the thirty-sixth floor.

The list Dr. Ravi gave him at Pan’s command is in his shirt pocket. He opens it, too, and spends three or four minutes going back and forth between them.

Not a single name appears on both lists.

He is pushing that around in his mind when the low growl of an engine brings his head up.

Idling at the curb six or seven feet from him is a carbon-black, dark-windowed SUV, expensively pimped out in customized chrome. The word LEXUS is inscribed on the door in silvery italics eighteen inches high. Deep blue lights blink beneath the chassis and bounce off the asphalt, in time to a throbbing bass line that makes the entire vehicle pulsate. The windows are heavily tinted. The behemoth just sits there, a sort of right-hand drive Death Star energized by techno music. It doesn’t seem to be going anywhere.

A movement at the edge of his vision draws his gaze. In the turret beside the gate, the guard has picked up the phone. His eyes, like Rafferty’s, are on the SUV.

There is no one on the sidewalk. Except for the guard behind his bulletproof glass and whoever is in the SUV, there are, Rafferty realizes, no witnesses.

Not a comfortable way to look at it.

He could move, but there’s nowhere to go, just the wall with its frozen kings and hanging gardens, which he can neither climb nor melt into. A look at the guard’s anxious face makes it clear he’s not going to open any doors. Even if Rafferty turns and runs the long block to the corner, the SUV can keep up with him easily, and there’s no place to run to.

The SUV’s horn is tapped twice, like it’s clearing its throat for attention. A back window goes down five or six inches, and something long and shiny comes through the opening and points at Rafferty. It is the barrel of a rifle.

Rafferty can feel the precise spot in the center of his chest on which the rifle is trained, as though a stream of cold air were pouring through the muzzle of the gun. He can feel his knees loosen. He rests more of his weight against the wall just to stay upright. He feels his pulse bump against the band of his wristwatch.

After what feels like an eternity, someone in the vehicle laughs, and it pulls slowly away from the curb.

The license plate is not Thai. It has only five digits. Rafferty doesn’t even need to write them down.

“THIS IS ELORA.” The voice is brisk and cool. Rafferty has an image of a slender vamp from the 1940s, wearing seamed stockings and a dress with shoulder pads, her hair loosely rolled up around her head. A sort of executive big-band singer.

“Ms. Weecherat. This is Poke Rafferty.” This is his third cab in twenty minutes, and no one seems to be following it. His body still feels loose and nerveless, emptied by the draining of all that adrenaline.

“You were going to call me back.”

“And here I am.”

“This morning. While you were news.” The words are in precise English, with a faint accent that could be French.

“I’m still news.”

“That’s what everybody thinks.” Definitely French. “But it’s not true unless you have something new.”

“Do I ever.”

A moment’s evaluative pause. “If you want to talk to me, I’ll need to meet you,” she says.

“That could be difficult.”

“Call me again when it’s not.”

“Wait. You want what I have.”

“Because.”

“Because it’s sensational.”

“Then I definitely need to meet you.”

Rafferty says, “Someplace we won’t be seen.”

“Where are you?”

“New Petchburi Road.” It’s not true, but it’s not far off.

“How’s traffic?”

“I’m in Bangkok,” Rafferty says. “How would it be?”

“Where are you headed?”

“Toward Silom. Okay, I know where. Write this down.” He gives her an address on Silom and then a suite number. “That’s my dentist. I know her well enough for this.”

“A dentist? This had better be worth it.”

“Can you make the deadline for tomorrow’s paper?”

“Yes.”

“Then it’ll be worth it.”

He has been in the fourth cab only a minute when his phone rings.

“What the hell are you doing?” It is the man who sat next to him in the Lincoln.

“I’ve been thinking about buying a cab. Thought I’d try a few out.”

“Where are you?”

“ Rama IV Road,” Rafferty lies. “You mean your guys lost me?”

“Yes,” the man says. “But we know exactly where everyone else is.”

“When this is over,” Rafferty says, “I’m going to pull your teeth one by one and shove them up your nose.”

“No point getting mad at me. Just don’t disappear again, or there will be consequences.”

“What was that cute thing with the SUV?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Do you want this book or not?”

“He wants it.”

Rafferty says, “And he’ll be unhappy if things go wrong.”

“Things won’t go wrong.”

“They will if you ever pull anything like that again,” Rafferty says, and disconnects. Then he sags back against the seat and works on his breathing.