Chapter 19
After having his wound closed with Dermabond, though Haney had been egging Staelin on to use staples, Harvath changed clothes, made sure his new phone was fully charged, and gathered up the rest of his gear.
By the time they arrived at Morrell’s apartment, a CIA team from the embassy was already there to pick up the Faraday bag. Once the handoff had occurred, it took him less than five minutes to clean up and change before they were back on the road.
From Morrell’s, it was about four and a half kilometers to Teens. As they drove, Haney used his laptop to pull up satellite imagery of the neighborhood. Harvath had no idea what they were walking into. If things went south, as they had at Tommy’s, he wanted to know what all their options were.
The Land Cruiser made for a shitty mobile command post. Unless you were sitting right behind or right next to Haney, he had to pass the laptop around so everyone could see the different spots he was calling out.
The team members then had to verify the locations on their own mobile phones, confirming they were all on the same page.
Three blocks up from Teens, Morrell pulled over and dropped off Ashby and Palmer. They’d be coming the rest of the way on foot.
With a block left to go, the CIA man found a parking space and pulled over. He left the key fob in the driver’s cupholder and hopped out to join Harvath on the sidewalk. Staelin and Haney would stay with the vehicle and act as a quick reaction force if needed.
Harvath and Morrell crossed to the opposite side of the cracked street and started walking toward Teens. But the closer they got, the more police and technical services vehicles they saw.
“What’s going on?” Harvath asked.
“No clue,” Morrell responded.
Soon enough, they could see that a cordon, complete with crime scene tape, had been established outside the bar’s entrance. It was being enforced by a quartet of uniformed Thai police officers toting automatic weapons. Whatever this was, it was serious.
Up ahead was a passageway that led deeper into the buildings behind Teens. Morrell gave Harvath a signal and they veered off into it. At multiple points, it was so narrow that either man could have touched the walls on both sides without ever fully extending his arms.
Harvath hated spaces like this. They were death traps. If anyone started shooting at them, the walls would funnel the bullets right at them. The sooner they were out of there, the better.
The passageway snaked along and branched off into other passageways, maze-like. Morrell, to his credit, kept them advancing toward the back side of Teens.
They knew they had arrived at the right spot when they turned a corner and came upon an army of crime scene technicians, bright work lights mounted upon telescoping stands, and even more cops than there had been in front.
Mixed among them were a bunch of plainclothes, who Harvath figured were detectives. One of them was a fit, very attractive, dark-haired woman in her late thirties. As soon as she noticed them, however, the expression on her face hardened.
Harvath was about to ask what her problem was when she began walking in their direction and Morrell uttered, “Oh shit.”
“Friend of yours?”
“Was,” the CIA man replied. “We should get out of here.”
“We just got here.”
“Trust me. You do not want to—”
“Richard Morrell,” the woman said, quickly closing the distance. “Why am I not surprised?”
Harvath suppressed a grin and kept his voice low. “She is definitely not a fan of yours.”
“I’m a bit of an acquired taste.”
“So is horse meat. What’d you do to piss her off?”
“It’s a long story.”
“It always is with you.”
“Just keep your mouth shut,” he said. “And let me do the talking.”
“This’ll be fun,” Harvath replied, taking a step away from his colleague. Whoever this woman was, she was coming in hot.
As she walked up to him, Morrell took a stab at being charming. “Hello, Davi,” he said, attempting a smile. “You look good.”
“Don’t start with me,” she replied. “What are you doing here?”
“My friend was in the mood for a gin and tonic, so I thought we’d—”
She cut him off. “Under the internal security act, I could have you taken in for questioning right now. It could be weeks, if not months, before you were brought in front of a magistrate. So, when I say don’t start with me, don’t start with me. Now, one more time, what are you doing here?”
“We heard that something went down at Teens, and so we came to check it out.”
“Heard from who?”
“Come on,” he said. “Look at all these cops. The word’s all over the street.”
“Things happen every day in Chinatown,” she responded. “Yet I don’t recall anyone from your embassy ever showing up to check them out. That tells me something.”
Morrell held her gaze. “A lot of Americans died in those bombings. What it should tell you, is that we’re paying attention. To everything.”
It was an excellent response. Even Harvath had to hand it to him. It not only summed up the current situation in Bangkok, but also suggested the U.S. had its finger on the pulse and was aware of a lot more than it was letting on.
“Now,” Morrell continued, “ISOC wouldn’t be involved in an investigation in Chinatown unless it was in the national interest. And right now, the most pressing interest for Thailand is figuring out who was behind the attacks. So, what do you have?”
“Fair enough,” the woman responded, before pointing at Harvath. “But first, who’s he? Besides being someone who likes gin and tonic.”
“I’m more of a bourbon man, to be honest.”
Morrell shot him a look and then answered the woman’s question. “His name is Harvath. He’s a liaison.”
The woman cocked an eyebrow. “What kind of liaison?”
“The kind who doesn’t like to talk about his job in front of people he’s never met.”
Extending her hand to Harvath, she stated, “Davika Rattanprasert. Internal Security Operations Command.”
“Scot Harvath,” he replied, shaking her hand.
Rattanprasert raised her eyebrow again and waited. When Harvath didn’t extend any further explanation as to who he was, she turned back to Morrell. “I’m not going to find him on a list of embassy personnel, am I?”
“I think a couple of guys have him in their fantasy football league,” the CIA man responded.
“So, he’s a NOC?” she asked, referring to intelligence officers that operated with official embassy cover.
“What I can tell you is that he’s here to help, and he’s good at his job. He was sent because Washington wanted its best people assisting Bangkok.”
“Mr. Harvath,” she began.
“Scot,” Harvath offered, trying to warm her up.
“Mr. Harvath,” she continued, “because of your proximity to Richard, I can only imagine what line of work you’re in.
To that end, let me make something very clear to you.
You’re not in the United States. You’re in Thailand.
And this isn’t Dodge City or Tombstone. This is Bangkok.
You respect our laws, or you will suffer the consequences. Is that clear?”
“Crystal,” Harvath responded.
“Good,” the woman said, tilting her head toward Teens. “They’re almost finished processing the crime scene. Once they’re packed up, I can walk you through and give you a briefing myself.”