Chapter 34
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Bangkok, Thailand
“Two hundred thousand a year,” Sear mused. “I’ll wire the first payment within thirty days.”
Locke said nothing.
Sear straightened his cufflinks and glanced toward the terrace. “I have to say, Bangkok has been a pleasant surprise. I wasn’t expecting to enjoy myself.”
Locke, returning documents to the briefcase, didn’t look up. “You weren’t here to enjoy yourself.”
“One must live well or what’s the point?” Sear smiled. “I met a woman last night, actually. Extraordinary. Absolutely stunning. Educated in London. We had dinner at the hotel restaurant and spent the night together in her room.”
Locke’s hands stopped moving. “Her room? Not yours?”
“Hers. The River Wing. Also fourth floor. Lovely coincidence that she was registered.”
Locke replied, “What’s her name?”
“Ploy. Or maybe Ploynapas. Something like that.” Sear waved his hand again. The same dismissive gesture. “Does it matter?”
Locke’s phone vibrated on the table. He picked it up and read the message. Two lines. From Nan.
He read it, set the phone down, and stared at Sear. “The woman you slept with last night. Was she married?”
Sear laughed. “How would I know? That’s not the sort of question one asks, is it?”
“Her husband is downstairs. He brought four men with him. They asked the front desk for your room number.”
Sear’s cocky laugh died.
“You were told to stay in your room, order room service, and speak to no one,” Locke said. “Instead, you went to dinner, picked up a woman, and took her to bed. Her husband has money and connections. He’s here with armed men demanding information about you.”
Sear opened his mouth to defend himself.
“You picked the wrong man. He’s well connected and famously jealous. He’ll take your actions as a public humiliation,” Locke explained coldly. “The husband won’t ignore this. He will find you. And when he does, he won’t be satisfied with an apology.”
“You mean he’ll want to avenge his wife’s honor?” Sear asked with a smirk. “How quaint.”
“Perhaps you’re not as fond of your body parts as some men are.” Locke glared at him until the reality seemed to penetrate his thick skull and he dropped the smirk. “Let’s go.”
He typed a quick reply to Nan. On our way.
Locke’s phone buzzed again. Nan’s message said South entrance blocked. Two men outside.
Sear was relaxed, as if he still didn’t understand how much trouble he was in.
Locke opened the door. Nan waited in the hallway. Riza was beside her. Both had their jackets unbuttoned.
“How many in the lobby?” Locke asked.
“Five total. The husband and four men. Two at the front entrance, two with him at the reception desk. Armed. Pistols under their jackets.” Nan paused. “Hotel security won’t interfere.”
“Of course they won’t,” Locke said. A wealthy Thai man with four armed associates storming a luxury hotel” Security would only smile and wait for the all-clear.
“Options?” Locke asked.
“Two. Service elevator to the second floor, then the main staircase into the lobby. Which puts us thirty feet from the front door.” Nan glanced at Sear. “Or we wait them out.”
Waiting was not an option. “We’ll go through the lobby. Walk straight to the front entrance. Don’t stop.”
“I’ve already looped the cameras,” Nan replied. “We won’t show up on video anywhere.”
He nodded and turned to Sear. “Stay between us. Say nothing. Look at no one.”
“And if they recognize me?” Sear asked.
Locke stated the obvious. “Then you’ll wish you’d stayed in your room last night.”
Nan led the way down the corridor to the service elevator. Riza walked behind Sear and Locke followed.
The elevator stopped at the second floor.
The doors opened silently onto a quiet hallway decorated with silk wallpaper and fresh flowers on a side table.
From the hotel lobby below, noise drifted up the staircase.
Clinking glassware, a softly played piano, and the buzz of conversation in several languages mixed together to suggest a thriving enterprise.
They took the marble stairs down one flight without touching the brass handrail. The opulent lobby spread out below. Warm light and high ceilings surrounded the reception desk on the right. The front entrance was straight ahead through a set of tall glass doors.
“The husband is at the reception desk,” Nan said quietly as they descended. “Two men with him. Two more at the front doors.”
Locke could see the cluster at the desk now. The clerk had backed against the wall with his hands up. The husband was leaning over the counter, jabbing his finger.
They reached the lobby floor and turned toward the front entrance.
Locke noticed the two men as he came down the last step. Two Westerners, both in their thirties, sitting at a table near the entrance.
One watched the reception desk. The other watched the front doors. They weren’t tourists or businessmen.
Locke kept moving. The husband was the immediate problem.
They crossed the lobby without stopping. Nan walked ahead. Riza, the Indonesian, stayed close to Sear. Locke brought up the rear with the briefcase. Steady pace. Eyes forward.
The husband was still at the reception desk, leaning over the counter.
His two men stood behind him, focused on the clerk.
The two at the front doors glanced at the group as they passed but didn’t move.
Nan pushed through the glass doors and held one open.
Riza guided Sear through and Locke followed.
The heat hit them immediately. After the air-conditioned lobby, the night air felt like stepping into a bath.
The hotel’s front entrance opened onto a covered portico lined with potted palms and low landscape lighting.
Beyond the portico, a curved driveway led to the street.
Locke’s Mercedes was parked fifty yards away, idling at the far end of the drive.
They were twenty yards from the car when Locke heard the glass doors open behind them. He didn’t turn around.
Nan glanced back. “Coming up fast.”
“How many?” Locke asked.
“All four. The husband is behind them.”
“Keep moving,” Locke said.
They picked up the pace. The driveway curved around a low hedge of jasmine that screened them from the lobby entrance. For a few seconds they were out of sight of the front doors and out of the light.
That’s when the first one caught up.
A tall man with a shaved head grabbed Sear by the shoulder and spun him around. Sear yelped and stumbled backward into the hedge. The tall man had a phone in one hand, Sear’s photograph on the screen, and his other hand was already reaching under his jacket.
Riza hit him before the pistol cleared the holster. A hard, short punch under the ribs that doubled him over. Riza followed with an elbow to the back of his neck and the tall man went down face first onto the paving stones.
A stocky man came around the hedge at a run. He already had his pistol out. He pointed it at Riza’s back.
Nan stepped into his path and kicked the inside of his knee. His leg buckled. As he dropped, she caught his gun hand with both of hers, bent his wrist back until his fingers opened, and pulled the pistol free. She hit him once across the jaw with it and he sprawled sideways onto the grass.
Sear was scrambling to his feet in the hedge, tangled in the jasmine, breathing hard.
The last two came together. They slowed when they saw the tall one and the stocky man on the ground. The bigger of the two shouted something back toward the lobby. The smaller man pulled his pistol and swept it across the group, looking for a target.
Locke was standing three feet to his left. The smaller man hadn’t registered him. His attention was on Nan, who was holding the pistol she’d taken, and on Riza, who was stepping over the tall man he’d put down.
Locke set the briefcase on the ground.
He stepped forward and caught the barrel of the pistol with his left hand, pushing it away from Nan and Riza.
With his right hand he drove the heel of his palm into the smaller man’s nose.
Cartilage cracked. His eyes filled with water and his grip on the pistol went slack.
Locke twisted the weapon out of his hand, ejected the magazine, cleared the chamber, and dropped the pieces on the ground.
He was still standing, bleeding from his nose, eyes streaming. Locke hit him once more, a short strike to the throat, and he sat down on the pavement, gagging.
The bigger man looked at Locke. He looked at his three colleagues on the ground. He took two steps backward and stopped.
The husband appeared at the side of the hedge. He took in the scene. Four men down. Two Western men and two bodyguards still standing. The jasmine hedge was torn where Sear had fallen through it. A pistol lay in pieces on the paving stones.
Locke walked toward the husband and stopped close enough that only the two of them could hear.
“Your wife brought a man to her room. That was her decision. This man will be out of Bangkok within the hour, and you will never see him again.” Locke’s voice was level and pleasant.
“I have a copy of the video. I’m happy to send it to your family, business partners, and post it online for the world to view.
Everyone will see your wife walking a stranger to her room, obviously for sex.
You came here tonight to protect your reputation.
Say your wife’s attacker was dealt with.
You’re a man of your word. That should be enough. ”
The husband stared at Locke. He was breathing through his nose in short, sharp bursts. He looked at his men on the ground. He looked at Locke again.
Then he turned and walked back toward the lobby.
Locke walked to where Sear was standing. Sear’s collar was torn and his hands were trembling.
Sear looked at Locke. Then he looked at the four men on the ground.
Then he looked at Locke again. The arrogance was still there along with a new glint of recognition.
He finally understood that every word Locke had said in that suite was true, and that Locke would end his life as easily as he’d ended this conversation with the husband.
Locke reached into his jacket and produced a photograph. Small. Color. He held it up so Sear could see it.
A girl. Twelve years old. School uniform. Blond hair pulled back in a headband. She was standing outside a brick building with a green backpack over one shoulder, smiling at whoever was taking the picture.
The color drained from Sear’s face. “Where did you get that?”
“Her name is Chloe. She’s easy to find. She takes the seven forty-five bus to school every morning.” Locke held the photograph steady. “She’ll be a beauty one day. If she lives that long.”
Sear grabbed for the photograph. “You stay away from her. She has nothing to do with this.”
Locke hit him in the solar plexus. One short, precise blow. Sear folded forward, gasping, and dropped to his knees on the paving stones.
Locke crouched beside him and put the photograph in Sear’s jacket pocket.
“Nan will drive you to the airport,” he said quietly. Then he stood and walked to the Mercedes without looking back. The driver held the door. Locke slid into the back seat, set the briefcase on the floor, and leaned back against the leather. The door closed.
The Mercedes pulled away from The Phraya and turned onto Charoen Krung Road. Locke watched the city slide past. Neon and gold. The same view as when he’d arrived. The same heat pressing against the glass.
He was already thinking about something else.