Chapter 35
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Tonight the lobby was lit warm and low. A celebrity pianist played an old show tune Flint half recognized.
Drake sat across from him at one of the small marble tables near the entrance, ankle on knee, an untouched glass of whiskey on the table in front of him.
No ice. Flint had ordered the same two hours ago.
Hundreds of people came and went. Some locals and some tourists or businessmen. Few westerners, which should have made Wallace easier to spot. But even with Gaspar monitoring the CCTV as well as two sets of trained eyes on the crowds, they hadn’t seen him.
Drake watched the front entrance and the bar. Flint watched the reception desk and the corridor to the private elevators. Between them, they could see anyone who came, went, or stopped to wait.
Drake kept his voice below the crowd noise and spoke into the comms. “You confirmed that our guy is really here?”
“Checked into the top floor suite three hours ago. Registered on a South African passport,” Gaspar replied. “But it’s the same guy who handled the prince. For sure. I sent you the CCTV screen capture.”
Flint took a slow drink of the bottled water he’d poured into a separate glass from the whiskey. They had screen captures for the South African and his Asian assistant. She hadn’t registered separately. Both were already upstairs.
What they didn’t have was a face for their latest client.
“He’s established a two-visit pattern. He comes for recon a couple of days before the transaction, then comes back for the handover itself. Uses a separate alias for each visit. The guy is careful to the point of paranoia.” Gaspar repeated the intel he’d shared before.
The repetition was reassuring to Drake, but Flint didn’t need it. Gaspar was more reliable than gravity.
“I identified the pattern with the prince at the Phraya two years ago. Since then, I’ve confirmed the same pattern at a few high-end Bangkok hotels,” Gaspar said. “I haven’t run every place in Southeast Asia, but the pattern is consistent.”
“What alias is he using tonight?” Flint asked, speaking freely. The lobby noise had increased as the evening wore on. There was no real danger of being overheard at this point.
“Lewis Graves,” Gaspar replied.
“Which suite is he in?” Drake wanted to know.
“Penthouse One. The largest suite in the hotel.”
“And we’re not going up after him?”
“Not yet. We’ve got limited information on security. We don’t want to step into trouble, “ Flint replied. “If his pattern holds, he’ll come down to us.”
As time passed, the lobby filled while the bar attracted more after-dinner drinkers. The pianist competed with the noise of the crowd with a louder set of standards. A waiter replaced their water glasses but didn’t touch the whiskey.
Drake continued to watch the front entrance and the bar while Flint watched the reception desk and the corridor to the private elevators.
“Anything moving upstairs around Penthouse One?” Flint asked into his comms.
“You’ll be the first to know. The private floor doesn’t connect to the Hotel’s general CCTV system,” Gaspar replied. “I can’t see beyond the private elevator. There’s been no action there so far.”
Five Thai men came through the front doors moving as a single unit. They cut through the crowd at the front entrance without slowing.
Flint felt the energy in the lobby change. “Gaspar, can you see them?”
The Thai at the center of the protective wedge was older than the others. Flint noticed his heavy gold watch and ornate wedding ring. His face was hard set. He marched forward as if he were storming an enemy’s castle.
They crossed the lobby toward the reception desk.
Gaspar said, “The boss is a wealthy local Thai property developer. Married to a real beauty, they say, with a wandering eye. The other four are his private security.”
The husband leaned over the counter and spoke to the clerk. The clerk shook his head. The husband spoke again and the clerk stepped back and moved away from the desk. Behind the husband, his security team surrounded him in a loose half-circle while scanning the lobby and the front doors.
Flint said quietly, “We’re not getting involved.”
“Copy that,” Drake replied.
After a few minutes, the pianist changed his set again. The husband was still at the desk, and the four security guards continued to watch as if they expected trouble.
Gaspar said, “Looks like the man’s wife was in the hotel. She entertained a male guest in her room last night.”
“I’m guessing that’s not okay in Bangkok,” Drake joked.
“I wouldn’t try it, no,” Gaspar replied dryly. “The response is usually violent, and the police look the other way. Bringing four armed men to kill the guest who slept with his wife is how that kind of thing gets handled here.”
“So they’re just going to hang out and wait until the poor schlep shows up and have a shootout in the lobby?” Drake asked.
“Can’t rule it out,” Flint replied just before the doors of the private penthouse elevator slid open. “Heads up. Four from the penthouse headed toward the lobby. Three men and a woman.”
A Thai woman in a dark suit walked ahead, scanning everything around her as she came. Behind her, a Western man moved as if the others were deciding where he went. Behind him, a heavily built Indonesian man with one hand inside his jacket.
Graves walked behind the others.
“Gaspar, who’s the guy in the middle?” Flint asked.
Graves’s group moved fast along the corridor. The Thai woman in the lead had not yet seen the husband and his security at the reception desk.
“His name is Clive Sear,” Gaspar said, reading from a record. “UK citizen. Real estate developer. Accused of arson for a warehouse fire in East London. Fifty-one dead. He was charged but skipped bail. Interpol issued a red notice nine days ago. International warrant to detain for prosecution.”
“Which means Sear is Graves’s latest client,” Flint said. “And it’s likely the husband at the desk is another one of Sear’s problems. The press reported Sear was a rampant womanizer.”
Graves’s group exited from the corridor and turned into the lobby. The Thai woman in the lead and the husband at the front desk saw each other at the same time. The husband said something neither Flint nor Gaspar could hear.
Graves didn’t slow the pace. He angled toward the front doors attempting to carry his group past the husband with plenty of clearance.
Which was when Graves noticed Flint. He then glanced toward Drake and kept moving toward the exit. His group moved through the lobby and out into the night.
The husband issued a sharp order to his security team. Five men went after four.
The husband and his four security men cleared the front doors. Graves’s group was already moving down the covered portico toward a curved drive. The portico was lit. The drive curved past a hedge that screened the front entrance from the street.
Drake was already standing. Flint dropped a stack of cash on the marble, and they moved through the lobby toward the front doors.
The fight started as soon as Graves’s group cleared the front doors.
Flint and Drake reached the covered portico outside.
The first of the husband’s men went down at the hedge under a strike from the Indonesian. He hit the paving stones, unconscious.
The Thai woman in the dark suit broke the second one’s knee and took his pistol off him before he hit the grass, howling.
The third came at Graves. He broke the man’s nose with the heel of his hand, grabbed his weapon, and hit him in the throat with it.
The fourth stopped where he was, dropped his weapon, and held his hands up, palm out.
Three black Mercedes came around the curve as if they’d been summoned. Graves spoke briefly to Sear before Sear and the Thai woman took the first Mercedes.
Graves huddled briefly with the husband before he and the Indonesian took the second car. The two Mercedes pulled away in different directions.
The husband stepped into a chauffeured sedan which went in a third direction, leaving his disabled security team on the ground.
Flint said into his comms, “Gaspar, you got all three of them?”
“Yeah. I’ll focus on the two we care about. The husband will be easy to find later,” Gaspar replied. “Head back to your hotel. I should have something before you get there.”
“We’re not going after Graves tonight,” Flint said as they walked along the sidewalk. “We’ll grab some dinner and call you afterward.”
Later, Gaspar called to report. “Graves was dropped off at a private aviation field. He boarded a private jet. The flight plan filed is to a coastal field in southern Thailand. He’s in the air now. The flight plan ends there.”
Flint waited.
“Sear and the Thai woman were dropped at a larger airport. She walked him to international departures where he displayed an Australian passport in the name of David Moran. Commercial flight to Australia,” Gaspar reported.
“Where did she go after that?” Drake asked. “We’re still in Bangkok. If we can find her, we might get some answers.”
“Still working on that.” Gaspar came back twenty minutes later.
“You’re off the hook for tonight. After Sear’s flight departed, a driver took her to a different private aviation field.
She boarded a different charter, but the flight plan was filed to the same coastal field Graves used in southern Thailand. ”
“What do we make of that?” Flint asked.
“That’s where it gets interesting,” Gaspar replied. “A turboprop came in from the south earlier. After Graves’s jet landed, the turboprop logged out on a new flight plan. Single passenger declared. Destination is an airstrip on an island country called Suratan, in the Gulf of Thailand.”
“And the woman’s flight?” Drake asked.
“Lands at the same coastal field where the same turboprop is scheduled to return for a second leg out tonight. Same destination. Suratan.”
Flint sat back in his chair. “Can you follow those planes on satellite video recorded imagery to confirm?”
“Possibly. I don’t do a lot of work in that hemisphere. I’m not sure exactly what’s available,” Gaspar replied, but Flint could hear the keys clacking on his keyboard as he searched.
Flint looked out the window at the lights along the river. The traffic on the Chao Phraya was quieting for the night. A long-tail boat passed below, lit by a single bulb at the stern.
“I’ve never heard of Suratan,” Drake said while Gaspar worked. “What is it?”
“It’s damn near invisible is what it is,” Flint replied. “There’s a lot of smaller islands in the region. This one probably has one airstrip and no commercial flights. If Graves wanted an impenetrable fortress, easy to defend, Suratan would be a good one.”