Chapter 2
Preston
Bangkok—3 months earlier
Bangkok in the middle of summer was one of the worst places to be. Ninety-five degrees and a hundred percent humidity surrounded by eight million people wasn’t my idea of fun. I’d been here for three weeks now, and this op was nearing the end. I’d been working closely with Thailand’s Narcotics Suppression Bureau. They had reached out to the DEA for assistance in this case and I was the lucky one who received the assignment. The NSB had three contacts who worked as confidential informants, and who’d connected me to one of their dealers. The dealer worked exclusively for one of the largest heroin traffickers in Asia. The dealer had zero knowledge that the DEA was even here and that I was the agent. If I could gather intel on who their main supplier was, this op would be completed, and I could get back to the States.
The only reason I’d accepted this assignment was my life had been threatened again and there was a huge target on my back. I’d infiltrated one of the largest Mexican drug cartels and with the help of my sister had shut it down. Now they were after my ass. Well, actually they weren’t because all the major players were either six feet under (having been gunned down in Mexico), or sitting in a U.S. prison. It was one of the other cartels that wanted me now. They didn’t like a rat and I was a rather large and ubiquitous one. I just wouldn’t go away.
Luckily, my sister, Terri Mitchell, had gone undercover in WITSEC and was now Caroline Cole Middleton. She’d finally gotten to marry the love of her life, Justin Middleton, and they were currently living their happily ever after in Seattle. We had orchestrated her death in Charleston, so everyone, including Justin’s family, believed Terri had died in a car bombing. Happily, she hadn’t, and after undergoing extensive plastic surgery, she was out and about with a new identity.
I needed to pay them a visit soon so I could give them their wedding pictures. They snuck off and got married in Big Sur. I attended the wedding, but they didn’t know I’d been there. I had borrowed the memory card from their photographer. My sister hadn’t been thinking when she’d hired one for her secret wedding. Those damn photographers posted their work all over the internet. We couldn’t have Caroline’s cover blown by one small mistake like that.
Once I finished here, I’d hopscotch my way back home. Well, there really wasn’t anywhere I’d call home. I had a place in Montana, a cabin only a few select knew about. It was loaded with high-security measures, so it was safe. It was one of the few places I could relax when the need arose.
I scanned the bar I was in, making sure there was an escape route which I usually needed. There was hardly a transaction that took place anymore where a slip out the back wasn’t necessary. Sometimes, I even had to head up a flight of stairs and exit from the rooftop.
After surveying the place, I crafted an escape plan. In the process, I noticed this bar was crawling with women. Damn, it’d been a long time since I’d been with one. I normally didn’t allow my thoughts to wander there, but this was Thailand after all, home to some of the most talented prostitutes. Hmm, maybe later.
I knew exactly when he left. I didn’t see or hear him but felt him brush by me. That was enough. Pete Kowalski and I had worked together for years. He was good. Really good. He had just dropped my next set of instructions into the back pocket of my pants. I downed the rest of my bourbon and headed out.
Once I had safely returned to my hotel, I read what he’d given me. My contact was going to be at a restaurant the next night with my main target. I needed to be there by eight. This was my chance to get an introduction and hopefully get things tied up quickly. Once I was assured all was in order, I decided on taking Bangkok up on its offering of women.
Hours later, after being serviced by three extremely talented prostitutes, I went home to bed, feeling empty inside. My mind reflected on the shit life I’d chosen. Oh, I had the medals of glory for serving my country and all the other bullshit. But at what price? My father had been murdered by the cartel I’d infiltrated, my mom was in WITSEC, and so was my sister. For a time, when my sister had to make her fiancé think she had actually died, I wondered if I had done the right thing. Caroline had suffered so terribly that at times I thought maybe it would’ve been better to have taken the chances with the cartel. I let loose a long breath as I thanked God that it had all worked out for her in the long run.
Now I, on the other hand, was another story. There was no hope of redemption on my part. My mind was a warped mess. First, there had been that eighteen-month stint in prison along with my work in the cartel. Then there had been my dad’s murder. He died thinking I was a fucking drug addict. He never knew the truth about why I had gone to prison. I’d spent time in the big house, the state pen. It was all part of my cover to infiltrate the cartel. I had the shit beaten out of me daily. I’d been burned, cut, stabbed, punched, kicked, branded, and you can probably figure out what else. That’s why I never got involved with women anymore, and when I did, it was with prostitutes as they had no expectations of me. I was what you might call not fit for proper society.
I’d also lived on the streets as a drug addict. I wasn’t really, but I played the part for the undercover role. I shot up saline to make it look real. My life consisted of living in squalid conditions, being filthy, and going for weeks on end without bathing. Living like a normal human being had been a difficult adjustment. My body was on full alert all the time, tense and edgy, waiting for something, anything to happen.
My thoughts shifted back to Caroline and Justin, and I was envious of what they had together. One look at the two of them and it was evident how much they loved each other. They were so soft and gentle toward one another, always sharing secretive glances, and not caring if anyone saw. And they couldn’t keep their hands away from the other, constantly touching in some way, holding hands, or winding their arms around one another. Those two were the perfect match and it was quite something to see. Well, I could pretty much count on the fact that I’d never have anything like that in my life. I would never allow myself to get close to a woman. Not with the psycho shit I carried around in my head. No good woman deserved that.
Lying flat on my back, staring at the ceiling, I figured with the direction my thoughts had taken, I was in for another sleepless night. Whenever my past haunted me, I had an urge to scrub myself until I felt clean again. It never worked, but it gave the illusion it did. I dragged my naked ass into the shower and stood under the spray, turning it as close to scalding as my skin could stand. That was my routine when the dark shit descended and consumed me. There was no running from it. Those bastards had done one hell of a number on me, and it wasn’t going away as far as I could tell. PTSD much? And therapy? Sure, I needed it, but I never stayed in one place long enough to keep it up. Or so I told myself. The truth was, I couldn’t possibly open myself up to a stranger. My secrets were meant to stay buried.
When I’d scrubbed myself as hard as I could, I turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. I stood naked in front of the mirror, staring at my marred torso. The varied scars from prison were everywhere. So were my tats, but every single one had meaning. They weren’t just random things I took a liking to. No, all my ink had significance.
Like the heart that was in four pieces. It represented how my line of work had torn apart and destroyed my family. Or the cross on my arm that was turned sideways. I still had faith, even though it was a bit tilted at times. Then there was the sunburst that was covered with a cloud of darkness. Pretty obvious that one. There were various ones of all sizes, but my favorite was across my lower back. It was in large old English letters right above where they had held me down and carved the word Slave into my skin. Directly above it, I had NO ONE’S tattooed. That one was the most meaningful, but also the most private of them. Most people thought it was the equivalent of a tramp stamp, because they never saw what lay directly below it. They didn’t know how those bastards had bound and gagged me, and then I gave my head a viscous shake to free that memory from my mind. I abhorred those painful thoughts. Years from now I was pretty damn sure I would still be dealing with this shit. That’s why I would never ruin a woman’s life with this baggage.
I brushed my teeth and headed back to the bed. For what, I couldn’t tell you. Sleep would evade me, so I turned on the TV and stared at it until it was time to get up.
A couple hours later, I was leaving my room to grab a bite to eat, when my phone went off. It was a text from Skip. That was one of Pete’s work names. It just said one word: showtime. That meant we were on for tonight.
My gut tightened but I forced myself to down some caffeine and eat. Having a clear head was imperative, and eggs seemed to do the trick for me. I was in a full-fledged danger zone and one tiny mistake could cost me my life, not that I really gave a damn. But it could ruin this op and a lot of personnel were counting on me. I still couldn’t figure out why I was so damned loyal to this organization. Maybe one day I would.
Usually, when I was on assignments like these, the days dragged on. This one was no exception. Eight o’clock could not get here fast enough. Everything was lined up and ready to play out. Pete had hidden a gun in the women’s restroom, just in case. If they suspected something, they would search the men’s but not the women’s, or so we hoped. I wasn’t wearing a wire, because they’d check for that too.
I hadn’t shaved my head in a while, so my hair had grown out, giving me a more professional appearance. I suited up and took a taxi to the restaurant. A group of goons met me at the door and escorted me to the table. Once there, they removed my suit coat, searched all the pockets, did a complete body search, which was quite intimate, and then told me to sit. I was a fairly large guy, over six feet tall and I easily carried about two ten on a light day. When I played the drug addict, I had to keep my weight down to fill the haggard role, but now that I was able to pump iron and eat again, I was back to my normal size. I pretty much looked like a dwarf next to these bodyguards. They were huge. My target, Anonda Ratanaporn, sat across from me.
“So, Mr. Shelton, my friends tell me you can be of some assistance to me.”
“Your friends are correct.”
“How so?”
“I want to expand your distribution,” I explained.
My target was much younger than I thought he’d be. He was in his mid-thirties, about my age, Asian, and slightly built with dark hair and eyes. He wore tailored clothing and was very meticulous about it. I knew because so was I. His silk tie was tied to perfection, the knot flawless. His white shirt was pristine, as was mine, with not a wrinkle or crease in sight. The cut of his jacket made me believe his tailor was on call just for him. When he moved, his jacket moved with him and not against him, almost as if it was a part of his body. For an instant, I was jealous. I loved a good suit.
Mr. Ratanaporn looked at me thoughtfully and then said, “I don’t need any more distribution. I am quite satisfied with what I have.”
“But are you really? Your entry into the U.S. market is minimal. I could help with that. If your presence grows there, it could spell infinite wealth for you.”
My target nodded and furrowed his brow. His wheels were spinning but he didn’t want me to know.
“Mr. Shelton, how would you do that and how do I know I can trust you?”
“You don’t. I would have to earn that. I would increase your distribution by introducing you to the right connections.”
He suddenly clicked his fingers and the ginormous bodyguards disappeared. Then my contacts showed up. They took seats on either side of me, and Ratanaporn asked them what they knew of me.
After some lengthy discussion over an eight-course meal of some excellent and not so excellent food, Ratanaporn decided to check me out further. I gave him my hotel name and room number and he told me he would be in touch.
Damn, I was hoping this deal would close in a day or so. This could drag on for a while.
A week later I got a call. I was told to meet Ratanaporn at one in the morning at an address in a part of town I wasn’t familiar with. After a little investigating, it seemed it was a warehouse district of some sort. There was no way I would meet with Pete because I had eyes on me. I sent him a message via the hotel courier. It was cryptic, and if anyone intercepted it, they would think it was a teenager sending her boyfriend a message through a variety of Taylor Swift songs. It was a trick we’d used countless times, but we always changed the songs. The letters of the words would come from the second word of the line of each verse. It was a huge pain in the ass, but it worked like a charm.
When I arrived at my destination, there were several of Ratanaporn’s bodyguards waiting for me. They frisked me, and after they were assured I was unarmed and unwired, they both nodded.
“Mr. Shelton, come with us,” one of them said. I kept my mouth shut and followed orders.
We wove our way through crates and containers and reached a building that was well lit. The door was open, so I followed them through, and we ended up in an office. Ratanaporn sat behind a desk where several other men were present.
“Ah, Mr. Shelton. Shall we begin?”
I nodded and smiled. No introductions were made, but I made a mental note of what everyone looked like. I had a nearly perfect eidetic memory, so it wouldn’t be a problem for me to recognize these guys again.
“I have decided that I would indeed like to expand my heroin distribution into the U.S., namely the Los Angeles area.”
You have got to be kidding me. L.A.? My poker face gave no indication of my thoughts.
“Mr. Ratanaporn, I understand how appealing that market might seem to you, but I was thinking something less conspicuous to start with, such as Seattle or Portland.” I had to say that because he was testing me. He knew damn good and well that market was owned by one of the largest drug cartels. I didn’t really care where he wanted his crap. It wouldn’t get there anyway if everything worked as planned. I fidgeted and gripped my hands together, making it appear that what he suggested had me on edge.
“Mr. Shelton, you must understand my position. I want L.A. It offers me the most potential.”
Now I rubbed the back of my neck and looked around the room, acting as if I were gauging the others present. Again, I could give a rat’s ass about them.
“Mr. Ratanaporn, you must realize that L.A. is controlled by the Durango Cartel. They would not take too kindly to someone invading their turf.” I gave him a shaky smile. I was greeted with a solid stare and dead silence. “Surely you understand the importance of turf control, Mr. Ratanaporn?”
He slammed his hand down on the desk so hard, I actually jumped. It startled me, as I hadn’t expected it. He was not as mild mannered as I had initially thought. He was an experienced trafficker and I had made an error here.
I narrowed my eyes and said, “Mr. Ratanaporn, is L.A. worth shutting down every possibility of ever getting product established in the U.S.?” Then I shut up.
We had a staredown. He realized I knew my stuff. I knew the first person to speak would lose, so I clammed up.
After several extremely long and uncomfortable minutes, he finally said, “No. But I want it. So, what do you propose?”
“One small bite at a time. We start with Seattle, then Portland, then south to San Francisco. Before the Durango Cartel knows what hit them, we are firmly ensconced in L.A., stealing all of their fucking business. Not only heroin, but whatever else you want to sell. How does that sound, Mr. Ratanaporn?”
He slammed his hand down on his desk again, only this time it didn’t startle me. This time I smiled. “Do we have a deal?” I asked.
“I think we do, Mr. Shelton. How will you get the product?”
“I won’t be. You’ll be shipping it the usual way. We can work out the details. Is that good with you?”
“That is good with me. How long are you in Bangkok?”
“Another week. Is that enough time?”
“More than enough.” He smiled.
Then I smiled and dipped my head. I rose to my feet and let the bodyguards escort me back to my taxi. My job would be completed in a week. Then I would be in the wind for a month. That was how I operated. I carried several sets of aliases with me when I traveled but they could be destroyed at a moment’s notice. After next week, Mr. Shelton would cease to exist. When I went dark, there were only a couple of people who knew how to find me, Pete being one of them. I usually went to large cities where I blended in, where no one would notice me.
I left Bangkok ten days later, after Mr. Ratanaporn, his front men, and his connections had been arrested. I traveled to Katmandu, then back to Delhi, and I ended up in Istanbul for a while. When I figured things had calmed down, I booked a flight to Washington, D.C., to spend some time with my mom. Then it was time to go to Seattle. It was time that my sister and her husband saw the wedding pictures that they thought their photographer had lost.