Chapter 41
As Harvath and Morrell neared the river, the increased police presence was impossible to miss.
Patrol cars and motorcycles clustered at intersections feeding the pier.
Their lights flashed as officers waved some vehicles through, turned others back, and pulled still more over for inspection. The city was tightening by the minute.
They pushed through the crowd at the landing and boarded just as the express boat was taking on passengers. Once aboard, they moved up to the bow.
Morrell pulled out his phone and called the CIA station, pressing for anything they might have on the attack.
Harvath made his own call and Ashby picked up on the first ring.
“We found where Koebler has been hiding out,” he said—no hello, no preamble. “Morrell has two tech officers there watching it. I want you and Palmer on-site ASAP, backing them up.”
“We’ll start gearing up right away,” she replied. “What are our ROEs?”
Harvath looked out over the brackish, green-gray water. It was the right question. Establishing rules of engagement was important. “I want him alive,” he said. “But if he gives you no other choice, kill him. Nobody on our team dies on this assignment. Is that clear?”
“Crystal.”
They spent another minute on logistics. He passed her the cell numbers Morrell had given him for KitKat and Mo, told her where to find their van, and then ended the call.
Morrell was wrapping up his own and slipped his phone back into his pocket as the boat pulled away from the dock.
“What have you got?” Harvath asked.
“It’ll take days to sort through the wreckage, but Thai police already have CCTV from the club.
Definitely a vehicle-borne device. But there’s a twist. The truck was made to look like it belonged to ISOC.
It pulled up near the main entrance to the clubhouse, parked, and the driver walked away a couple minutes before the blast.”
“Can they ID him?”
“Not with what they’ve got so far. He was wearing a helmet, face covering, and sunglasses.”
Harvath shook his head. “Jesus. Davi is going to be pissed.”
“You think?” Morrell replied. “Maybe we don’t get off at Sathorn. We keep going. There’s a great spot further upriver. Dollar beers and fifty-cent oysters. How’s that sound?”
“If Davi’s going to kill us, I’d rather not make her travel.”
The express boat churned north, its engine hammering beneath their feet, as it nosed into the Chao Phraya current.
Morning traffic on the river was already heavy.
Commuter vessels moved in both directions.
Boats known as longtails darted back and forth.
Barges filled with cargo crawled through the shallow water closer to shore.
On the express, office workers in pressed shirts stood shoulder to shoulder with laborers, tourists, and women carrying vinyl bags.
Nearly all of them had their phones out.
Some were speaking in rapid, clipped Thai.
Others were scrolling social media, craning to compare what they were seeing on their screens with the distant cloud of smoke hanging over the city.
Harvath kept coming back to Koebler’s choice of target.
The Royal Bangkok Sports Club was where wealth, influence, and senior leadership—civilian and military—intersected.
A bomb there would do more than kill. It would trigger a ferocious response and put the Thai government under intense pressure to act fast, whether they had enough evidence or not.
Whatever China’s role in this was, it couldn’t be good.
Fifteen minutes later, Sathorn Pier emerged through the haze—crowded, noisy, and choked with the usual morning crush—plus tons of additional cops. Morrell spotted her first.
Davi was standing just beyond the landing near a dark sedan, flanked by two Thai officers. She was scanning the arriving passengers with an expression that made it clear she was in no mood to wait.
By the time Harvath and Morrell stepped off the boat, she was already moving toward them.
“You owe me a corpse,” she said, her right hand on her hip—just forward of her service weapon. “This had better be good.”
Morrell reached into his pocket, took out his phone, and brought up the image. “The print you asked us to run came back,” he said. “His name is Kevin Koebler.”
Davi took the phone and looked at the photo. “Who is he?”
“American. Former Navy SEAL,” Harvath replied. “Before that, he was an explosive ordnance technician. He’s got a lot of experience with bombs. Big, nasty ones.”
“Do you think he’s in Bangkok?”
“I think there’s a strong possibility,” Harvath answered.
“Let’s say he is,” Davi replied. “What makes him our bomber?”
Morrell picked it up. “He was dishonorably discharged after multiple killings in Iraq were tied to explosives he had built. The Navy couldn’t prove it cleanly, so they drummed him out on lesser charges.
But if you’re asking whether he’s the kind of man who could do something like this, the answer is yes. ”
“That doesn’t make him our bomber.”
“No,” Harvath replied. “But he’s the first name we’ve got that fits the blast.”
Davi handed the phone back. “What’s the rest of it? What are you not telling me?”
Morrell took the phone. “We found a location in Khlong Toei. We believe he’s been using it as a bolt-hole.”
She stared at him for a beat. “And you didn’t think to lead with that?”
Morrell met her gaze. “The minute any of this goes wide, we lose our shot.”
“I’m the law here in Thailand,” Davi responded. “I decide how and where information flows. You do not hold out on me. Give me the Khlong Toei address.”
“Fine,” Harvath said. “But if you flood that neighborhood with cops, Koebler will smell it before the first car door opens. And once he does, he’s gone.”
“Is it under surveillance?”
“Yes.”
“By whom?”
“Two of ours,” Morrell answered. “More backup is on the way.”
Davi turned to one of her officers and issued a quick order in Thai. He nodded once and stepped away, already reaching for his phone.
“No local units,” she agreed, looking back at Harvath. “No marked vehicles. No sirens. But no one goes near that address unless I authorize it. Is that clear?”
“Agreed,” Harvath replied. “And tell your people the upstairs entry door and the overhead light just beyond it are booby-trapped.”
She made note of the warning and then delivered one of her own. Shifting her eyes to Morrell, she said, “One last thing. When this is over, you still owe me a body.”