Emerald Buddha

Chapter 13

Alex and Spencer walked along the sidewalk in downtown Bangkok. Heat rose in waves around them; the air was muggy and tinged with the aroma of fried food, cigarettes, and exhaust. Pools of oily water glistened in potholes, the remnants of a morning cloudburst that had dropped a few inches of rain on the metropolis just after dawn. Street vendors hawked every manner of ware, from leather wallets and consumer electronics to illicit substances and sex shows where animals or children featured a prominent role.

They ignored all the come-ons and made their way toward the Chinese cemetery, past ornate temples layered in gold leaf and bright hues and into a residential district where every other building boasted a sign in neon red or green proclaiming the lowest prices in all Bangkok.

When Alex told Spencer the agency had secured weapons for them, Spencer had insisted on accompanying him to inspect them.

“You don’t have to. I can handle it,” Alex had said.

“No problem. If my life’s going to depend on gear, I’d rather see it with my own eyes before we buy off.”

“Suit yourself. But is it really a good idea to give civilians submachine guns? That’s an accident waiting to happen.”

“They know their way around weapons. They’ll be fine after some basic orientation.”

“If they shoot their foot off, it’s on you.”

“Appreciate the concern.”

Spencer had let Alex’s condescending tone go. He could see the agent’s point. If the situation had been reversed, Spencer would have voiced the same concerns, and he didn’t take it personally. Both were professionals, and neither was trying to make a new best friend. They had jobs to do, and might need each other to survive once in the jungle.

As they passed a restaurant filled with local diners, a comely young woman in a short red silk dress offered them a menu with a bright smile. Alex shook his head and Spencer noted his permanent scowl was back on display — like he’d just swallowed a shot of vinegar.

Three blocks down, Alex checked his smartphone and verified the address.

“It’s that orange place,” he said. They crossed the street and approached the building, which housed apartments above an antique store.

They entered the shop, and a wizened man with gray hair and steel spectacles peered up at them from his chair, which was surrounded by curios and furniture.

“Anurak?” Alex asked.

“Yes. How may I help you?” Anurak replied in good English.

“I’m looking for a baby carriage.”

“We have several.”

“Something in blue.”

The old man’s demeanor changed, and he pushed wordlessly past them to the entrance. He flipped the sign over so it read “Closed” through the glass door, and locked the deadbolt. When he returned, he was all business.

“In my warehouse,” he said, and led them through a glass-beaded curtain to the rear of the building.

A dark green duffle bag rested on a wooden crate near a water dispenser. Chests, armoires, and tables filled the large space. At the far end a refinishing and sanding area sat empty, cans of stain and varnish strewn around the floor. Anurak unzipped the bag and removed a submachine gun. He handed it to Alex, who disassembled it with practiced familiarity and inspected the parts. Anurak watched with an impassive expression and then extracted another identical weapon and gave it to Spencer, who eyed it approvingly.

“Heckler & Koch MP5SD6. Very nice. Three-round burst mode, integrated suppressor, chambered for 9mm parabellum. Thirty-round box mag. Simple, easy to use, light, compact,” Spencer said.

“No match for an AK,” Alex observed.

“In the jungle? How close are we going to be? Fifty yards? Tops? Although I agree, which is why I requested a pair of AKMs for us. Bulkier, but a lot more stopping power and range.” Spencer fieldstripped the ugly little gun with sure hands. “Didn’t see any reason to saddle them with any more than they’ll need.”

“I have four Beretta 9mm pistols as well,” Anurak said.

“Where did you get the H&Ks?” Alex asked.

“Pakistan. They manufacture them under license there. These, as you can see, are new. Only test fired to verify they’re in good working order.”

“And the AKs?”

“Chinese. Quite good, I think you’ll agree. Accurate to at least three hundred meters.” Anurak peered over his spectacles at Spencer. “Depending on the shooter, perhaps farther.”

Twenty minutes later they were done with their inspection and had accepted the arms. Each pistol came with three full magazines and belt holsters, and the MP5s and AKMs with six full magazines each. They exited the shop, with Alex carrying the heavy bag, and retraced their steps toward the hotel. Spencer glanced at Alex as they made their way down the blistering sidewalk and noted the sweat beading on his forehead.

“I can take it for a while. We can trade off,” Spencer suggested, and Alex nodded and handed him the duffle.

“We’ll swap every couple of blocks.”

“You want to grab a taxi? Or a tuk-tuk?” Spencer asked after another block, the swelter almost overwhelming with the heavy load, referring to the motorcycle-based tricycles that carried a pair of passengers in addition to the driver, ubiquitously used in Thailand for cheap transportation.

“Might as well.”

The sound of a powerful motor roared behind them. They spun just in time to see the grill of a dark sedan bearing down on them, two of its wheels up on the sidewalk. Spencer threw himself out of the way; Alex was right behind him, but a split second too late. The car slammed into his legs, throwing him into the air like a rag doll as the vehicle accelerated and sped away.

Alex struck the ground with a sickening thwack, and Spencer could see in an instant that at least one of his legs was broken, and likely his pelvis as well. Spencer glared at the departing sedan, its license plate unreadable due to muck smeared across it, and then forced himself to his feet and ran to where Alex lay in the street.

“Can you talk?” Spencer asked, kneeling beside him.

Alex fought for breath. The pain had to be blinding, Spencer knew, and he recognized the signs of shock in Alex’s pallid complexion. He stood and looked around and saw a woman on her cell phone, frozen in place.

“You. You speak English?” Spencer called out.

The woman nodded. “Little.”

“Call the police and an ambulance. My friend’s hurt. Please.”

“All right,” she said, and terminated her conversation and dialed emergency. After thirty second she hung up. “They coming.”

“Thank you.”

“Crazy man in car.”

“Yes,” Spencer said, suddenly remembering that he had a bag full of guns and ammo. Perhaps the police wouldn’t be that understanding of his presence under those circumstances. He knelt beside Alex again and whispered to him, “Nod if you understand.”

Alex managed a weak nod.

“Help’s coming. You carrying anything that would give your cover away?”

A small shake of Alex’s head, almost imperceptible.

“Okay. I’m going to get out of here. Hang tough.”

Alex nodded again and Spencer stood, the wail of an approaching emergency vehicle all the warning he needed. He turned and, without saying another word to the woman, jogged to the corner and disappeared down the side street, and then sprinted as fast as he could manage with the bulky duffle toward the boulevard two blocks down.

By the time he made it to the wide street, more sirens were klaxoning toward Alex. There being nothing left he could do for the fallen agent, Spencer flagged down a tuk-tuk. He gave the driver the name of a hotel a block and a half away from his, and then sat back in the seat, the duffle beside him, his brow furrowed in thought as he tried to piece together what had just occurred.