Grandad, There's A Head on the Beach

16.

"But they were arrested?"

"Every last one of them. The ministry police task force was there waiting for them at the dock in Pak Nam. TV crews. Interviews. Helicopter. Media frenzy. They were whisked off to Bangkok."

"And you think, in spite of all that, they'll get off?"

"I don't want them to, of course. But as hot news, it's relegated to page three by the airport takeover. And public memories are short. In a week it'll all be forgotten."

I was sitting with Noy and Mamanoy in their simple but comfortable granny flat at the back of Somjit's house. They'd been well looked after, and nobody had seen a sign of the Special Branch people since Mair sent them on a wild goose chase. Elain seemed to have taken a shine to the Noys. She was hiding shyly behind Noy's legs.

"Plus the fact they knew some important figures," said Mamanoy.

"Well, at this point it's looking like we might have got them too," I said.

"How?"

"We had the link to the Rescue Foundation, evidence, sound recordings. There was a raid, and they found documents that tied them to the slavery. Or, at least, to the slave ships. The foundation godfather is the older brother of the current shadow minister of education. A lifetime Democrat from an old southern family. He's registered as the owner of the slaver boats. Our present prime minister and his cabinet would be only too delighted to make all this public and put pressure on the police ministry to rush the case through the courts. That reduces the time our southern MP has to bribe witnesses and make the Burmese slaves go away. But you know how these things work. A change of government tomorrow and suddenly there was never a charge to answer. On the positive side, all the foreign attention might make a difference. There's pressure on the police to get convictions on this case. And as all the work was done for them…by us…the Royal Thai Police force could look good on the world stage without having to do very much. At the very least they'll get convictions against the villains that don't have family connections: the slave boss and his crew, all the people involved on dry land."

"Your Lieutenant Egg?" asked Mamanoy.

"Facing charges. The rat brothers are prepared to give evidence against him. Say they were just hired help. Everything was his idea. And there was the cloned truck in his garage. His physical attack on Chompu. I think this might be one police case that doesn't get lost in the system."

"Did it really make any difference?" Noy asked.

"What?"

"The coverage. The Internet. Isn't it temporary entertainment? A fad? Then tomorrow the cyber world moves on to the next burst of excitement."

Our Noy was short on optimism. It was time to reveal my secret identity.

"The Internet isn't all Tweeters and mindless surfers and Facebookers," I said, even though it pretty much was. "What happened out there in the Gulf has been picked up by a lot of international press. I was the deputy head of the crime desk at the Chiang Mai Mail before I moved down here." All I picked up was a look of disbelief. "I was online as often as I could be, looking for stories to follow up on. The newspapers get a lot of their content from the Web. You wouldn't know where to start if it was just you and the Internet. The newspapers are like your dinner ladies. They give you your lunchbox all packaged, apple and all. You can get through the content in your canteen break."

"And be as knowledgeable as the newspaper allows you to be," said Mamanoy.

"You can choose your newspaper," I said. "Find one you trust."

"I'm not sure I trust any of them," she said.

"Then you'll have an opportunity to discuss your fears with The New York Times," I told her.

"The New York Times?"

"They're coming for an interview this afternoon…with you. Just a Bangkok-based journalist and his photographer. I imagine they're getting bored with strolling around the airport asking people their feelings. As we still haven't completely rid the Lovely Resort of its Special Branch threat, Somjit has kindly agreed for us to conduct the interview in her garden gazebo."

The Noys exchanged a glance, then laughed. This was all some fantasy. Their lack of faith was starting to annoy me.

"Listen," I said, "I've lost half a tooth, which won't do my modeling career much good. I've thrown up a dozen times…which might. I haven't slept for forty-eight hours and my nervous system is ragged. I would have had a very successful day today if only I could find the energy to type up this whole trafficking drama and send it off to the newspapers. I've had every daily in Thailand contact me. I could be the flavor of the week. All I need to do is put in the time…type, type, type. My career is standing on the runway waiting for permission to take off. And where am I? I'm here with you. And why am I here? Because you aren't concluded."

"I don't understand," said Noy.

"I have to put your story to bed before I can get some rest myself. I could have had a few hours' sleep when I got back from the media circus at five this morning, but I lay

on my lumpy mattress and all I could think about was you two.

"I'm sorry we gave you insomnia," said Noy. "But this is one story that won't be put to sleep."

"Yeah, I'm sorry too. But it's what I do. I can't stop until I get you two off the hook."

I'd been trying to keep the bed/sleeping analogy going, but it was exhausting.

"You know, I think it might be a good idea for us to move out before the reporter gets here," said Noy.

"Well, that would be a terrible shame," I told her, "considering the guy didn't drive all this way just to photograph me. He's got an even better story. An exclusive, in fact. I've told him all about you and what happened in America."

Both Noys stood as if they'd heard a silent rendition of the national anthem.

"You've what?" said Mamanoy. Her face was flushed with anger.

"They think it's a great story," I went on. "You're going to tell your story to The New York Times."

Noy's jaw dropped and almost banged the monkey on the head.

"You are out of your mind, you know?" said Noy.

"Some people tell me that. But why? What's wrong?"

"What's…? I'll tell you what's wrong. Apart from the fact there's no way on the planet Earth I'd do it, you're mad if you think a newspaper with an office in Bangkok would even think about running it. There would be implications far beyond the political."

"I suppose that depends how you tell it," I said.

"There are options?"

"There's one I can think of."

"Tell me."

"Fiction!"

She laughed.

"You want me to lie?"

"Only if you have an aptitude for it. There's nothing more embarrassing than a poor liar."

"And how do you propose my daughter lies her way out of the mess we're in?" asked the mother.

I reached dramatically into my shoulder bag and produced three sheets of Times New Roman. I handed them to Noy.

"When we got back this morning I was a little too psyched-out to sleep. When the slaver story broke, all the wire services were on the phone. Justin from The New York Times contacted me for quotes. I know him from articles we'd worked on together. Nice fellow. Bit serious. But when I mentioned you, Noy, and told him about the predicament you were in, he was fascinated. He's good-looking and available, by the way. We came up with a solution. Neither of us believe they'll take up the story in the newspaper, but they have a long list of subsidiaries, magazines, Web sites. So I took the liberty of writing up your press statement. I'm pretty darned pleased with the way it turned out. But you read it. Talk about it with your mother. If you really don't think it would solve everybody's problems, then I'll give you our truck and some money, and you can live on the road one step ahead of the police. All that in spite of the fact you haven't actually broken any laws. Face-breaking isn't illegal, as far as I know. Read it."

Noy opted to read it aloud so her mother could hear.

"The Poor Student Who Said, 'I Can,' " she began, then looked up and glared at me.

"Just read it," I told her.

"My name is Thanawan and I was one of the lucky ones. Based on my results at a suburban school and a generous quota system, I won a scholarship to study in the U.S.A. It was a science program at Georgetown University in Washington D.C. It's one of the top learning establishments in the country. And from the day I arrived, just looking around at the brilliant students from all over the world, I felt really out of my depth. The knowledge I'd acquired at my school suddenly felt so inadequate. And to make matters worse, I shared many of my classes with ML Chaturaporn, a young lady of aristocratic blood from a family I had admired all my life. She let me call her by her nickname, Goong. I was surprised at how amenable she was, how friendly and helpful. Not only was she a beautiful person, she was also a brilliant student."

Noy put down the paper.

"Is this the point where I throw up?" she asked.

"Just keep reading," I told her.

She sighed.

"…a brilliant student. While I was stumbling through the textbooks, scratching a C here, a D there, she was sailing along with As and distinctions. And yet, for reasons I have yet to understand, she continued to see me as a friend. She helped tutor me on difficult points. She talked to me as an equal. She even helped me through a bad relationship I fell into-through my own naivete-with an American boy. She was there to hold my hand when I cried. She…OK, pass me the bucket."

To my surprise, Mamanoy told her to keep reading.

Noy's eyes passed from me to her mother, then back to me. She understood that this wasn't a game.

"I can't tell you how close we became," Noy read. "Me, the daughter of a schoolteacher. She, of refined birth. I couldn't believe my luck. But then the final exams drew near and I fell into a panic. I considered how it would destroy my parents if I failed. How disappointed it would make my local community. How would I be able to go on living if I didn't graduate?"

"My friend Goong felt my fears and set herself a challenge of tutoring me to excellence. She told me that I had a solid basic knowledge. All I lacked was confidence. During the break before the final semester, we worked every day and late into the night. Bottomless coffees. No sleep. All the theories that had baffled me became clear through her eyes. She was an amazing tutor. And so we were in the final semester and I was full of confidence. I hardly noticed how pale and wan my friend was becoming with every month that passed. She missed classes. Was late with some homework assignments. Yet still she continued to tutor me. It wasn't until just before the last assessments that she confessed to me about her poor health. She had low blood sugar and was taking medication. Our late-night blitz had taken its toll. On the night before one important exam, her body temperature was way down. Her doctor said she had severe hypoglycemia and recommended immediate hospitalization. But this was finals week. She too had obligations to her family. And so we sat those exams. Me with my new-found confidence. She, dull and sedated-barely able to read the words on the paper. It's incredible, given her circumstances, that she was able to pass anything at all that term."

Noy sighed, not for the first time.

"Well, there's some truth, at last."

"Final paragraph," I said. "Be patient."

"But I excelled, just as she had promised," Noy read. "I felt I had stolen her glory. I was so embarrassed. I knew she would never hold a grudge against me. She's such a kind person. She comes from a fine, upstanding family. All I ask and pray is that Georgetown University can find it in their hearts to give her a second chance. To allow her to resit her final courses and show the world what a brilliant scholar she is."

Noy laughed.

"Wow," she said. "What a bunch of lizard poop."

"Smelly though it may be," I said, "this way you keep your degree, the duchess maintains her dignity, and if we're lucky, you can go home and live your old lives."

"I think it's perfect," said Mamanoy.

"Mum, you can't be serious?"

"I am. This is exactly what Jimm says. It's a get-out clause. It's a face-saver. If The New York Times runs this in one of their magazines as a feel-good piece, all the media in Thailand will pick up on it. They'll have you and Goong hugging on national television. The bigger it is, the safer we are."

"Then she comes out of this as a heroine," said Noy.

"So what?"

"She's an asshole."

"It doesn't matter," I said. "It's a little late to start worrying about pride. At the end of the day, you end up with a degree from Georgetown. That's all that counts. Once your picture's out of the press, nobody will tie your name to this farce. You'll have employers queuing up to hire you."

"You expect me to sit through an interview and read all this…crap?"

"No. I want you to tell it as if it really happened. As if you're remembering it. I want you to add little personal details. How you exchanged Hello Kitty e-mails. Taking photos together in a passport photo booth. Late nights in pajamas eating marshmallows. The sloshier the better. I want it all to really have happened. And if it makes you feel better, just imagine how uncomfortable the duchess is going to be when her family forces her to join in with the charade. They'll come out of it smelling pretty sweet if the daughter plays along. I can see you having a grand old time at the TV interview."

Noy stared at her mother. Mamanoy smiled and shrugged.