Chapter 21
Over the course of his career, Harvath had been to his share of crime scenes. This one looked no different.
Yellow plastic evidence markers, each with its own number, indicated where shell casings had fallen. The bodies of the dead had been outlined in chalk before being carted off to Bangkok’s “City Morgue,” which was used for foreign nationals and cases involving the Royal Thai Police.
“Feel free to take a look around before we start,” said Davi, as she sat down at a wooden table in the center of the storeroom and opened her laptop.
Harvath and Morrell did just that. The damage to the space was substantial. It was amazing how many bullet holes there were.
Bending down, Harvath examined the variety of shell casings littered across the floor.
“What do you see?” Morrell asked as he picked at a bullet lodged in the wall.
“Nine-millimeter, 5.56, and 7.62,” said Harvath.
“Pretty standard stuff.”
“True, but this is like a drive-by shooting on crack. There were hundreds of rounds fired in here.”
“Correct,” said Davi. “Based on the witness statements we’ve gathered and the pockmarking on the walls, there were semi and full auto bursts.”
“How hard are weapons like that to find in Bangkok?” Harvath asked.
“It’s difficult, but not impossible,” said Davi. “You just need to know the right person to ask.”
“Tell me about the bodies,” said Morrell, as he walked over to the table, his examination of the room complete.
Harvath joined him.
The ISOC operative pulled up a series of photos. “We have identified these four here as Cambodians. We believe the other two are Chinese.”
Harvath and Morrell shot each other a knowing glance.
“How do you know those four are Cambodian?” Harvath asked.
Davi pulled up a second set of photographs. “Each of them was carrying one of these.”
Harvath peered at the monitor. On it were pieces of what looked like knotted cord. “What is that?” he asked.
“Ksae sin,” she replied. “Also known as ‘blessed cord.’ It’s a type of good luck charm. Like the Thai, Cambodians are very superstitious. They believe the cords will protect them from harm and misfortune while delivering health and good luck.”
“Even in a gunfight?”
She nodded. “Especially in a gunfight.”
“If Thai people carry them too, how can you be sure those four were Cambodian?”
“Because of the colors and types of knots,” Morrell interjected, familiar with the custom. “They represent different temples or monasteries.”
“Like some kind of Buddhist GPS?”
“In a way.”
Harvath turned back to Davi. “Is that all you got on them? No phones? No wallets? No IDs whatsoever?”
“None. Just the cords.”
“So, they were comfortable enough self-identifying as Cambodian, just not anything beyond that. Why?”
“If I had to guess,” said Morrell, “it’s because they were pros. And they knew that if their employer was revealed, it would stir up a shitstorm.”
Having tentatively concluded that the men at Tommy’s were Chinese Intelligence operatives, Harvath couldn’t help but wonder if maybe the dead Cambodians were also intel operatives.
Why they would be mixing it up, in Thailand of all places, was beyond him.
“Can you go back and focus on the two you believe were Chinese?” he asked.
Davi nodded and pulled up the photos. “What are we looking for?”
Harvath had to be careful. If the men were in fact Chinese and they were somehow connected to the dead men at Tommy’s, he didn’t want to blow up the one lead he and Morrell had.
“I don’t know,” he said. “Any cell phones on these guys? Wallets? ID?”
The ISOC operative shook her head.
“Nothing?” Harvath pressed. “No tattoos? Nothing? How about blessed cords or any other kind of jewelry?”
He didn’t want to ask what kind of watches they may or may not have been wearing.
If the men at Tommy’s had the same Breitling as the man Harvath had killed on the roof, and if that information made it back to Davi, she might get suspicious and tie Harvath and Morrell to what had happened.
It wasn’t worth the risk. They didn’t need that kind of hassle right now.
Changing the subject, he asked Davi to slowly run him through each photo, pausing to zoom in at different spots.
Finally, he said, “So no personal effects beyond the weapons they were found with and the clothes they had on.”
“Correct,” she replied. “Each man carried a few thousand baht, but that was it. Nothing else.”
“Like I said,” Morrell added, “professional hitters.”
Harvath nodded. “Both groups. But what were they doing here and what kicked off the bullet stampede?”
“Based on the ropes and the shattered skylights, not to mention the battered door leading in from the bar, I’d say somebody crashed somebody else’s party.”
Harvath agreed. Turning back to Davi, he asked, “What do you and your colleagues think happened? Is this somehow connected to the bombings?”
“We agree that there’s a high degree of professionalism here. In several strategic locations outside, we found three high-end remote cameras that we think were being used for some sort of surveillance of the building.”
“Have you been able to gather any information from them?”
“They’re locked down with very sophisticated software.
It’s going to take our tech people a while.
We’re not holding out a lot of hope. But back to your question, based on this happening so soon after the bombings, we’re staying open to the possibility that the events are connected.
There’s no evidence at the moment, however, linking them. ”
“What about staff from Teens?” Harvath asked. “Somebody had to know people were using the building.”
“There was an uncle,” Davi began. “That’s what we call an older person who does odd jobs, cleans up, that sort of stuff.
Police found him in the bar area when they arrived.
He had multiple gunshot wounds, likely from all the rounds flying through the walls.
He was unresponsive and died before the first ambulance arrived. ”
“Anyone else?”
“Police have spoken with the bar owner and his staff. No one has any idea who was here, nor why anyone would be here outside of business hours.”
“This uncle,” Harvath said. “Was he married? Did he have any family?”
Davi shook her head. “Dead end. No next of kin.”
Harvath was running out of ideas and asked to see photos of the weapons that had been recovered.
There was a little bit of everything—Russian, Chinese, American, and even Indonesian firearms. What was most striking, however, was that there was only one Glock—the most popular and most common handgun in the world.
“The dead Chinese guy there,” said Harvath, pointing at the man’s picture on the screen. “He has a Glock in his waistband.”
Davi enlarged the image and then created a split screen, pulling up an additional evidence photo of the pistol itself.
“Correct,” she replied. “Glock 19.”
“He and his partner, the other dead Chinese guy, they were both carrying the same kind of PDW, right?”
“Yes, they were. Russian-made KBP PP-2000s.”
“And on top of that,” Harvath continued, “each of them had the same sidearm. Russian-made Grachs.”
It wasn’t lost on him that the man he had chased across the rooftops had also been carrying a Grach. And even though he hadn’t bothered to ask Morrell if the two guys torturing Tommy Sombat had been carrying weapons, if they had, he was willing to bet they’d also been Grachs.
“Again, correct,” said Davi. “Grach MP-443s in nine-millimeter.”
“So why does this guy here also have a Glock 19? And why does he have it carelessly tucked in the front of his pants like an idiot, while he and his partner carried their Grachs in holsters on their belts?”
“Excellent questions.”
“How about spare magazines? Was he carrying any specifically for the Glock? Did the evidence techs find any on scene?”
After clicking through several reports, she looked back up and said, “No, he wasn’t carrying any spare Glock magazines. Also, the weapon was fully loaded when they pulled it from his waistband. It had recently been cleaned and didn’t appear to have been fired.”
“Has it been processed for prints yet?”
“Let me check,” said Davi, as she pulled out her phone and dialed a number.
As she did, Morrell looked at him and asked, “What are you thinking?”
“I think I’d like to know who that Glock belongs to.”