The Assassin on the Bangkok Express Read online

  ‘To do what?’

  ‘Act as an escort.’

  ‘A high-class hooker?’ Cavalier asked, his words laced with sarcasm.

  ‘No, a security job. Azelaporn was hired by the Mexicans to help exit Thailand with their gold. He hired me to assist him. I had sent all my money back to my family. I needed work. I did not want to box again.’

  ‘You’re protecting the bloody Mexicans?’

  ‘My job is to help facilitate their exit,’ Jacinta said defensively. ‘I hate what I am doing; it’s a short-term project. I need the money.’

  ‘How will you get them out?’

  ‘Cortez was petrified that Seals would be used to attack him. He will not leave the hotel he is in. He has a phalanx of bodyguards. He won’t go near an airport. Azelaporn suggested two choices—by ship and by train. He has chosen the latter—a train to Singapore. From there he will load the gold—the proceeds of their activities in the region—into a frigate owned by his cartel, which will take him home.’

  ‘Which train?’

  ‘There is only one that could handle the consignment: the Bangkok Express. He has bought two carriages at the rear where the gold will be stored and his bodyguard will stay. He has booked a further carriage for his own use.’

  ‘You are saying that my daughter is alive and well? Please don’t play with this, I beg you.’

  ‘I never have “played” with you.’

  ‘How is she?’ he asked anxiously. ‘She looked a lot different.’

  ‘She is so beautiful, but I fear …’ her voice trailed off.

  ‘What?’

  ‘She really doesn’t engage. Stays in the background. I think he keeps her drugged. But she plays the piano like an angel. She seemed on a real “high” when I watched a performance at the Millennium Hotel.’

  Cavalier sat with his head between his hands.

  ‘She is his personal chattel; his prisoner?’

  ‘It seems so.’

  ‘You think she is drugged. On what?’

  ‘You name it, the cartel has it. They are in the business.’

  After a several seconds’ silence, he asked: ‘Why are you informing me of this?’

  ‘Would you expect me to hide it from you?’

  Cavalier seemed shaken and bewildered. Overriding this was the elation of knowing that his daughter was alive, if Jacinta was telling the truth. He had no real reason to doubt her, given their connection over the assassination of Mendez. Jacinta had not aided and abetted Cavalier’s mission. Yet she had facilitated it and had helped protect him during his escape. He had faith in her. Yet there was a flicker of caution in his mind. She was now being paid to protect the man who had taken his daughter captive.

  ‘Can I trust you?’ he asked, searching her eyes.

  ‘You have before,’ Jacinta said, touching his forearm. ‘If Cortez and Azelaporn knew I was here, they would kill me, no question about it. I’m on a secret trip. No one knows where I am.’

  Cavalier was quiet for several minutes, watching a monk feeding a deer.

  Jacinta could sense the dials of his braining spinning. She filled the void: ‘There’s another thing. In the two weeks after Azelaporn was fired, I was unofficially in charge of the police while the junta figured out who would replace him. I had you and all the other suspects, including your aliases, taken off the wanted lists. You are no longer officially wanted for anything in Thailand, although keeping a disguise is a wise move while you’re here. Azelaporn still has strong contacts inside the Force. If he could somehow nail you as Mendez’s killer, he would be hoping to restore his image and reputation, although I doubt any government, especially a military junta, would ever allow him back in the Force. The police are their main rivals.’

  Cavalier had been listening, yet was preoccupied by the news about his daughter.

  ‘Give me time to digest this,’ he finally said. ‘Where are you staying?’

  ‘With you perhaps? That is, if you have a spare bed.’

  ‘I do. Would that be wise?’

  ‘Not if you secrete me in your apartment.’

  Cavalier considered her for a moment.

  ‘I have a flight back to Bangkok tomorrow morning,’ Jacinta said. ‘It would be better if I were not registered somewhere or seen staying in a hotel.’

  He continued to stare.

  ‘I asked you twice before if you trusted me,’ she said.

  ‘Trust? Trust is instinctive, don’t you think? It is not something divisible. Either you do or you don’t.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I am concerned that you are back with that dangerous sleaze Azelaporn. And you are protecting Jose Mendez.’

  ‘I am sorry if you feel that way. But I have a big family to support. I once could do it with my police salary and the annual boxing match. Not now.’

  ‘Didn’t you get a good payout from smashing that Russian last year?’

  ‘I gave it all to my family and the families of my two murdered friends.’

  ‘Guilt money for not protecting them?’

  ‘Something like that. This assignment is for just a few weeks. After that, well, I won’t ever work for Azelaporn again.’

  Cavalier nodded. He seemed to be softening.

  ‘I may be able to help you save your daughter,’ she said. ‘You must understand that we Thais can separate payment for necessities from moral imperatives and loyalty to those worthy of it, or otherwise.’

  ‘Hmm,’ Cavalier mused.

  ‘Did I not assist you in Bangkok when, if I had wanted money, I could have arrested you? Even Azelaporn would have given me a bonus. And then there was your escape last year …’

  ‘Okay,’ he said with the hint of a smile, ‘and anyway, knowing you are in the apartment will allow me a decent night’s sleep.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘I will never forget the way you despatched four thugs in my front garden in Melbourne. Not to mention that Russian twice your size in Bangkok.’

  ‘And I shall never forget the way you despatched Leonardo Mendez in Nana Plaza,’ Jacinta said, holding his arm and searching his eyes for a reaction.

  ‘That wasn’t me,’ he said, deadpan.

  ‘You are not saying it was that Swede, Lars Nystrom?’ she asked.

  ‘No, I don’t know anyone by that name,’ he said, ‘but clearly, he was your number one suspect.’

  Despite his remark about Jacinta’s presence allowing him to sleep, he hardly had a wink. The news that Pon was alive caused him to be restless for most of the night as he wrestled with what he could do to save her. Related, deeper thoughts intruded. Cavalier tossed and turned over the final reason that he and Pin had split. Their relationship had been fractured, but not completely broken. They had drifted apart. Pon, their one biological child, had been the glue when their work and interests had caused suspicions. Cavalier wondered about his wife’s relationship with a medico-colleague, who seemed to have become more than a companion. And Pin had worried about the clandestine nature of Cavalier’s work beyond journalism. They were both workaholics. His lengthy time away from Thailand on assignments—and his need to keep his Melbourne base—did not help. Pon’s apparent demise had led to their differences becoming irreconcilable. Seven years later, there was no going back.

  Yet now that it seemed Pon was alive, he mulled over the what-might-have-beens. Since the split he had not taken up seriously with anyone else. His professional activity and travel were always the excuse for avoiding intimacy or commitment. There was now a void in his personal life. He wondered if he were capable of filling it again. Yet relationship concerns were now a minor distraction from the task at hand, which would need all his focus: how to save his daughter.

  15

  TRAIN OF THOUGHT

  What are your thoughts about Pon?’ Jacinta asked, when they sat down at a breakfast cafe outside Chiang Mai after taking different taxis from the condo.

  ‘I am going to rely a lot on your intelligence,’ he said. ‘Whe
re does the Bangkok Express run?’

  ‘From Bangkok west to Kanchanaburi, then south through the Thai border with Malaysia, on to Kuala Lumpur and finally to Singapore.’

  ‘What dates?’

  ‘It leaves Bangkok on 24 April and runs for three nights, ending up in Singapore on 27 April.’

  ‘That’s in less than two weeks. What do you know about the train?’

  ‘It’s run by a French company, the Belle Époque Group, which has hotels and trains in many countries. The Express is very upmarket. It has magnificent dining. They do their best off-train—with stops in Kanchanaburi, Penang and Kuala Lumpur—to enhance the experience and also justify the expense.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘For the best carriage births, thirty thousand dollars for the three nights for one.’

  ‘Not cheap.’

  ‘The clientele are well heeled.’

  ‘Retirees ticking off a bucket list?’

  ‘That, and a curious variety of others.’

  ‘Could you send me a guest list?’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do. The train is not filled yet,’ Jacinta said.

  ‘Could I make the trip, do you think?’

  ‘Passports will be examined very thoroughly. Cortez is paranoid and Azelaporn is not much better after your handiwork last year.’

  ‘You mean that of Mr Nystrom?’

  ‘Pardon me, yes. I hear they will interrogate every passenger before boarding. Of course, it will be light.’

  ‘You believe passengers will put up with that?’

  ‘They’ll have to,’ Jacinta shrugged. ‘Most travellers are used to all sorts of privations with terrorism everywhere these days. This will be sugar-coated, with champagne and snacks served beforehand.’

  ‘Hmm. I’ll need detail on the train. Where was it built?’

  ‘In Thailand in the late nineteen-sixties. First run as the Eastern Spirit in Northern Thailand. When Belle Époque took the train over in 1990 it went through an extensive internal rebuild and fit-out.’

  ‘Who designed the new version?’

  ‘His name is Paul Witowski. He managed to create a blend of Asia and colonial pomp. He was inspired by the 1932 movie, Shanghai Express, starring Marlene Dietrich.’

  Cavalier interjected as his brain raced ahead:

  ‘I’ll need detail about carriage hallway widths, carriage sizes, if there are adjoining berths with a common door. I want to know if there is an observation car.’ He looked at her intently. ‘I want to know if it is feasible for a man to move outside the carriages; how many train guards there will be and how they are armed; that sort of thing.’

  ‘Could you text me a list of your requirements?’

  He nodded and asked: ‘Are you completely with me this time?’

  She smiled and touched his hand.

  ‘I am,’ she said.

  ‘It will be trickier than last time. Make sure Azelaporn pays you up front.’

  ‘I already have.’

  ‘Good. May I ask how much?’

  ‘Eight hundred thousand baht.’

  ‘You have all of it?’

  ‘Half.’

  ‘Okay. If I decide to do anything, I’ll pay you at least twice as much for your assistance.’

  ‘You don’t have to …’

  ‘Oh, yes I do. I am sure to need you. And you are putting your life on the line.’

  16

  SECOND PITCH

  Cavalier was in an agitated mood in the evening. He watched an old YouTube interview with Sean Connery and listened to an Astrud Gilberto album in an attempt to relax. At midnight he dressed and took his Harley on a traffic-free ride into the notorious bar and massage parlour area of Chiang Mai’s Loi Kroh Road. He found the Coyote bar owned by the English-man, Paul Biggs, whom he’d met at Thai language school. He was drinking with the big German, Joachim. They greeted him cordially. Cavalier ordered a beer. Adele was on three TV screens singing ‘Skyfall’. Three women in the bar were quick to join him, but he was in no mood for carousing.

  The news about his daughter had disturbed him greatly, coming so close to the death of Ted. First and foremost, he was elated to learn she was alive. The second, nagging thought was that she had been a captive of Cortez for seven years. Cavalier knew that she was partial to drugs and had experimented, much against his wishes. He reflected that she could be impulsive, similar to both him and her mother. He feared that Cortez had taken advantage of that.

  Cavalier downed the beer and asked for another. He told the bartender to play Leonard Cohen singing ‘Dance me to the end of love’. The women circled again, hoping that he would take one of them for an hour, or the night. He offered a drink to one, called Tuk. She wore a long purple dress and was more mature than the others. Cavalier danced with her and then invited Tuk to play a game of billiards. A Russian, about a hundred and ninety centimetres tall and around a hundred and twenty kilograms, watched the game with growing agitation. Tattoos covered his every limb and throat, which featured a prominent, ugly swastika.

  Cavalier played a slack game and let Tuk get close. At the end of it, the Russian shouted at Cavalier: ‘My woman!’

  ‘Tell you what, sport,’ Cavalier said, ‘I’ll play you for her.’ Both Paul and Joachim made signs that he should not further antagonise the Russian, who grunted, ignored Cavalier’s offer of a handshake and prepared the balls for a game. The Russian indicated he wanted to play Tuk. She shook her head.

  Cavalier tapped his own chest and pointed to the Russian, who begrudgingly agreed. Cavalier indicated the Russian should break first, and then asked the bar woman to play ‘Uptown funk’ on the videos over and over during the game. He began to dance with another of the girls while the Russian slotted two balls and missed a third. Cavalier stopped dancing and took so long surveying the table that the Russian complained. Much to the appreciation of onlookers, Cavalier then proceeded to slip around the table in rhythm with Bruno Mars on the screens, while slotting every ball with a mix of aggression and subtlety that had every person in the bar watching and applauding.

  After every pocket, he would glance at the action on the screens. Finally, he potted the black for a win. The Russian again refused to shake hands.

  ‘Where did you learn to play like that?’ Paul asked.

  ‘It’s obvious,’ Joachim said. ‘Bruno Mars taught him.’

  They all grinned.

  ‘That sort of stroke play looks professional,’ Paul persisted. ‘C’mon, where’d you learn?’

  ‘You saw the movie Casablanca?’ Cavalier asked. The others nodded. ‘Remember when Rick said, “Of all the bars in all the world, you had to come into mine”? Well, I’ve been in most of those bars that had pool tables.’

  Tuk moved towards Cavalier. The Russian manhandled her, then pushed her hard in the chest. Cavalier stepped between them. The Russian picked up a pool cue and swung it at him. Cavalier ducked and was caught a glancing blow on the back with a force that snapped the cue. The Russian lumbered at him, shoving him into a corner. After weaving away from the heavy-armed lunges, which demonstrated the Russian was more thug than fighter, Cavalier let go two snap punches in the Russian’s big stomach. It winded him. Cavalier stepped side on and hit him hard in the right ribcage. The big man wheeled around, trying to face Cavalier, who had outmanoeuvred him again. Cavalier struck, this time in the left ribcage.

  The Russian was almost immobilised. Even through the alcohol haze, he was hurting. Cavalier slapped him hard across the left cheek, then the right. He slipped behind the big man and kicked him in his huge derrière. The Russian went down on all fours, gasping. Cavalier moved side on, and pushed him in the side. The Russian rolled onto his back and was not able or willing to get up.

  Two of his mates approached Cavalier, without any enthusiasm for taking him on, having witnessed his restrained demolition of their larger companion. Paul—known in the bar as ‘Bigus’—and Joachim, both nearly as large as the Russian but much fitter, intervened, stopping
the altercation going any further.

  Cavalier’s first inclination was to leave, but Paul and Joachim insisted on buying him a drink. He was distracted by the Russian’s mates demanding beer for them and a black coffee for their stricken companion.

  ‘Ask politely,’ Paul said. ‘Put your money on the table and I’ll consider your request. Oh, and the pool cue will cost you another two thousand baht.’

  The Russians paid for the cue, put their hurt mate’s arms over their shoulders and dragged him away.

  ‘Have the police been called?’ Cavalier asked, loudly to be heard over the blaring music.

  Paul ordered that it to be lowered and replied with a laugh: ‘Good heavens no. This happens almost every night.’ He handed Cavalier a beer. He had only taken a few sips when three local ‘tourist police’ arrived to investigate.

  ‘They must have been informed by a rival bar,’ Paul said to Cavalier. ‘Let me handle it.’

  Paul told the police that it had been a minor scuffle. He slipped them five hundred baht not to make a report. The police left.

  ‘You can handle yourself, my friend,’ Joachim said.

  ‘He was drunk,’ Cavalier said.

  ‘You toyed with him.’

  ‘He’d had a skinful. His blood pressure would be low. A solid punch to the jaw, or his head hitting the concrete, could have killed him. When the blood doesn’t have the force to reach his brain, he’s in trouble.’

  ‘If the blood could find it,’ Paul laughed, raising his glass to Cavalier.

  ‘He is a really big, nasty guy,’ Joachim remarked. ‘Paul’s had trouble with him before. They are Russian mafia from Pattaya, trying to muscle into the bar business here.’

  ‘Do you box?’ Paul asked Cavalier.

  ‘You sound like Ernest Hemingway,’ he said with a smile, as Paul’s attractive, ultra-shapely partner and bar owner, Oh, snuggled up to him.

  ‘I have just started learning Muay Thai with Joachim in the early morning at the boxing ring here,’ Paul said. ‘You should come.’

  ‘Hmm, might join you.’ Cavalier got up to leave and shook hands with them. ‘Thank you for intervening.’