The Hunt for Shambhala

9

“You fell in the Chao Phraya?”

Riley sighed. It was embarrassing enough explaining to Selena and Decker what had happened with Kunchai, but now he had to do it all over again to Charlie Valentine. “The point,” he said quietly, “is that we lost the journal.”

“You lost it, you mean,” Charlie said.

“To be fair to him,” Selena said, “Riley was hanging off the roof of a taxi at the time.”

“Let’s not focus on what happened,” Decker said. “If you want the damned book back, and if I want my money, then let’s think about what to do next. Charlie — did you find anything on Kunchai’s computer when we were on our magical mystery tour of central Bangkok?”

Charlie smiled and nodded his head. “I sure did. While Tarzan here was swimming through the typhoid in the Chao Phraya, I was getting forensic with Kunchai’s laptop.”

“And what did you find?” Selena asked.

“Lots. First, Kunchai might be the big man as far as putting the frighteners on local drug pushers and pimps, but as far as what’s going on with the journal I think he’s just small fry. As far as I can see by reading through various email threads, he was hired to get the journal by Lee Kuan.”

“And he is?” asked Selena.

“Thanks to Google I now know all about Mr Kuan. He’s a Chinese triad originally from Hong Kong but now he’s essentially an exile on the run from the Chinese authorities. He’s wanted in China on multiple charges of theft, fraud extortion, drug trafficking and murder.”

“One of life’s nice guys, huh?” Decker said.

Charlie gave a sad smile. “Something like that, yeah. And he’s a big deal. Kuan controls a large part of the opium crops in Thai’s sector of the Golden Triangle.”

Decker looked surprised, but quickly concealed it. The Golden Triangle was one of the most notorious opium-producing regions on the planet. Along with the opium produced by Iran, Afghanistan and Pakistan, known as the Golden Crescent, it was a dangerous place responsible for a large part of the heroin that wound up on the streets of Western countries.

The money involved was stratospheric, and those involved in the highly illegal trade were not known for their generosity when their business was harmed. If Professor Selena Moore and her friends were messing with Thai opium producers then that was one battle they could fight alone.

“If you ask me,” Decker said. “Kunchai has taken the journal to Kuan because he’s really not the sort of man you fail.”

“And where can we find Mr Kuan?” Riley asked. “Is there an address for this clown?”

“No,” Charlie said flatly. “A great deal of care has been taken to conceal private addresses of these people, but there are bookings for a lot of flights down to Ko Samui and they’re all on private planes — light aircraft by the looks of it.”

Selena said, “So now we know, we can go and get our journal back?”

Decker looked at her, and then scanned the faces of the other two men. “You really think messing with heroin lords is a good idea?”

“No choice,” Selena said. “We need that journal — it could lead us to Shambhala and God only knows why this Kuan is so keen to get there but we have to stop him and get there first. It’s my life’s work, Mr Decker.”

“So any clue where we’re looking on Ko Samui?” Riley said. “I know a girl down there.”

Selena rolled her eyes. “Of course you do.”

Charlie swung around in the swivel chair and faced them. “The only thing we have to go on is a few references to a specific hotel — the Grand Paradise Hotel. I checked it out and it looks like Kuan might own it as part of some sort of consortium.”

“In that case we’re go,” Riley said.

“Aren’t you all forgetting something?” Decker said, giving them an earnest glance.

“What?” Selena said.

“When do I get my twenty-five grand?”

Selena sighed. “Are you sill going on about that?”

Decker looked amazed. “Of course I’m still going on about it!”

“Very well,” Selena said. “We’ll go to the bank first thing in the morning.”

“And then I’m splitting, right?” Decker said.

Selena looked at him. “If you’re frightened to come with us, just say so.”

“I’m not frightened, lady,” he said. “I have a cargo business to run.”

She smiled. “Of course you do.”

Mitch Decker waited patiently in the street while Selena, Riley and Charlie went inside the bank and withdrew the money. It was the usual steamy day in Bangkok — much like hanging around fully-dressed in a sauna, he considered — but that was the case in so much of this part of the world so he didn’t hold it against the city.

He raised his hand to his face and wiped the sweat from his forehead, bringing his hand down to his side and habitually wiping the sweat off again on the side of his trousers.

Across the street, the Englishwoman, her Australian sidekick and the former English military policeman were exiting the bank. She had already seen him and looked with horror at the sweat-wipe move. She weaved through the traffic toward him.

“Have you never heard of a handkerchief?” she said.

“Listen…”

“Forget it. I’m not your mother.”

“You can say that again,” he said under his breath.

“What was that?”

“I said, I see you got the money.”

“Oh… yes. Here,” she held out her small canvas bag. “Just under nine hundred thousand.”

“Woah — I thought we said twenty-five grand?” he said mischievously.

“It’s Thai Baht, Mr Decker. You can pay the exchange fee to change it to American dollars all by yourself.”

“I know what it is,” he said, more quietly this time. He pushed the brim of his hat up an inch or so with his forefinger and took the small bag from her. “You don’t want your bag back?”

“Keep it.”

“That’s very generous of you,” he drawled. “It must be worth at least a buck fifty.”

“If you must know, my parents bought me that bag when I started my degree at Oxford.”

He looked down for a moment, realizing he had gone too far. “I’m sorry — here, let me just stuff the money in my pants and you can have the bag back.”

“Oh, Jesus,” Riley said, shielding his eyes.

“Please, no,” Selena said. “Not seeing you stuff anything down your pants is worth any price.”

Decker looked back up and for a moment they locked eyes. Even here in the heat and the dust and chaos of the Sathon Tai Road she looked beautiful, but also a little lost. He surprised himself by suddenly being grateful that Riley Carr and Charlie Valentine were with her. She could go just about anywhere with a former commando and ex military cop at her side and stand a better chance than most. That was something, at least.

“So this is it then,” she said, straightening herself up and holding out her hand.

“I guess so,” Decker said, and returned the courtesy.

In the American’s opinion, they shook hands for a second too long, but then Selena turned to the Australian. “Right then, we’re off.”

“You sure you’re going to be all right at this hotel?”

“Sure,” Riley said, his broad grin of white teeth shining in the Thai sun. “What could possibly go wrong?”

Decker turned to Selena. “Just that you don’t look like the type to take on a drug lord and win.”

“Oh no, Mr Decker… I can handle anything that comes my way.”

“If you say so…”

Selena turned to leave but then stopped and faced the American. “Actually, I don’t suppose I could ask just one tiny favor?”

Decker swung the bag over his shoulder and sighed. “What now?”

“You couldn’t just nip us down the coast to Ko Samui in your little aeroplane, could you?”

“I don’t believe I’m hearing this.” He turned around on the spot raised his arms to heaven.

“Oh God — is that a flounce?” Selena said.

“Huh?”

“I just wondered if you were going to flounce off.”

“No!”

“It did look like a flounce, to be fair,” Charlie said, and Riley nodded in agreement.

“It’s really not very far — not even three hundred miles,” Selena said. “Even in your Avion it would take less than a couple of hours.”

“Avalon, not Avion.”

“Yes, that’s what I meant.”

Decker shook his head. “I’m not doing it for free. That’s a whole other pile of fuel.”

“I’ll pay, of course.”

“Fine,” he sighed. “To Ko Samui, and no farther.”

Lee Kuan knew about pecking orders, and he respected them. Kunchai answered to him, and he answered to Rakesh Madan. Kunchai, who was now bound to a chair with duct tape around his mouth on the edge of Kuan’s mezzanine also understood about pecking orders.

Kuan was not pleased with Kunchai, because he had allowed the Englishwoman and her uncouth Australian hired-hand to track him down to his nightclub in Bangkok and force him to flee. There was a good chance the whole operation was compromised — but at least the journal was now in safe hands.

Everyone here knew Kuan was a Hong Kong triad lord in hiding from the Chinese Government in the Thai islands. At home, not even his vast wealth could stop the authorities from giving him a life sentence for his various crimes. The rest of his life in a Xinjian laogai appealed to him as much as having his balls covered in satay sauce and cooked over a hot charcoal flame… Chinese forced labor camps were not exactly known for their welcoming and comfortable lifestyles.

Luckily, certain Thai authorities were easier to buy than a fake Rolex in Patpong Market, so he was protected — but the price was high. Even luckier still was the deal he had struck with Rakesh Madan.

Madan was known throughout the world as one of India’s richest men and as a reclusive technological genius. He rarely ventured in front of the paparazzi, but what only men like Kuan knew was his success hadn’t all been achieved through hard graft.

Kuan had heard nasty rumors about Rakesh Madan. The sort of gossip that people whispered low and that stopped a man in his tracks. Somewhere in the north of India where the Aghori cannibal cult dwelled, Rakesh Madan would vanish for weeks at a time and no one knew where he went or what he did. Some say he crept around the charnel grounds with the Aghori and feasted on the dead, others said it was even worse than that.

Yes, there were lots of rumors about Madan in Kuan’s neck of the woods, and so Kuan had entered into the deal cautiously. Madan knew no one in Hong Kong, and Kuan had lots of contacts. With Kuan’s men in Hong Kong under surveillance, he had used Thais, but the result was the same — the journal was now with him on Ko Chalam.

The very same journal that Rakesh Madan seemed to want more than anything in the world… the journal that would help him in his search for Shambhala.

Kuan stifled a laugh and shook his head. He sipped his tea and strolled out to the swimming pool to watch the stars set over the ocean. If the Indian billionaire wanted to chase myths and legends in the foothills of the Himalayas he was more than welcome to do so, but Kuan preferred to be surrounded by cold, hard cash than non-existent legends.

He skipped up the floating staircase beside the pool and turned back in towards the upper level of his house. Stepping onto the mezzanine he saw the terrified, pleading eyes of Kunchai.

“So now you see, Kunchai,” Kuan began nonchalantly in his garbled Thai, “why I am so very upset that you have allowed these people to get so close to us and almost take the merchandise from right under our noses. Mr Madan is very disappointed in me for choosing such an incompetent fool to head the Hong Kong operation.”

“I swear — there is no way they could know about you or Mr Madan.”

“You had better be right, Kunchai.”

“Please, Mr Kuan, I swear I will kill all of them.”

“I am certain you would like to do this for me, but it is too late for you to redeem yourself. Mr Madan has asked me to terminate your contract.”

With that said, Kuan raised his leg and placed his boot on the elaborate spindle at the rear of his bespoke dining chair. Without a word, he gently extended his leg and toppled the chair, and the man tied to it, over the mezzanine and into the plunge pool one storey below.