Chapter 6
SIX
Now, rice paddies bordered both sides of the road, broken only by clusters of wooden houses on stilts and the occasional Buddhist temple gleaming gold in the morning sun.
Beautiful country. Peaceful. Nothing like the churning in her stomach as they got closer to Mae Sot.
Skeet drove in silence. Maybe planning. Smart man. Because walking up to the widow of a murdered researcher to ask for evidence that could get them all killed? Yeah, that deserved some planning.
They slowed as they came into the city. Mae Sot sprawled around them—a border town that had seen everything from refugee crises to drug smuggling.
Narrow streets lined with two-story shophouses painted in fading pastels, their ground floors converted into small businesses—internet cafés, motorcycle repair shops, and restaurants serving both Thai and Burmese cuisine.
Vendors pushed carts loaded with fresh fruit through the growing morning traffic of motorcycles and pickup trucks. The air carried a mix of diesel exhaust, grilling meat, and the earthy smell of the nearby Moei River that marked the border with Myanmar.
Hand-painted signs in Thai, Burmese, and English advertised everything from money exchange to international phone calls.
“Next left,” she said, checking the GPS on Skeet’s phone. She’d have to buy a new one at the airport.
Elena Thanakit’s house sat at the end of a dusty street lined with mango trees. Modest but well-maintained. Blue wooden walls, corrugated metal roof, a small garden where vegetables grew in neat rows. A simple house for a renowned doctor and researcher. Interesting.
“You ready for this?” Skeet asked, cutting the engine.
“Define ready.” She grabbed her backpack, checked that her recorder was accessible. “I’m about to tell a woman her husband was murdered, then ask her to help us stop the people who killed him. There’s no amount of ready that covers that conversation.”
“If she already knows he’s dead—”
“She’ll want to know why. And when I tell her, she’ll either help us or she’ll run.” She opened the car door, the humidity pouring over her. “Either way, we’ll know where we stand.”
The front door opened before they’d even reached the porch steps. The woman who appeared could have been anywhere from thirty-five to fifty. Smooth skin and dark hair pulled back in a practical bun. Simple blue dress and sandals.
Her eyes were red-rimmed with grief.
“Dr. Thanakit?” Chloe said softly. “I’m Chloe Silver. This is Skeet Blackwood. We’re journalists and we’re here about your husband.”
“I know.” Elena’s English carried only the faintest accent, voice steady despite the tears that threatened to spill over. “The authorities called me last night.”
Chloe looked at Skeet, then went to the woman, put her arms around her. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
Elena nodded but backed away. “Come inside. Quickly.”
Chloe followed her in, and Skeet closed the door behind them. A pretty home with a European touch—photos of family on the walls, a small family room that adjoined the kitchen. Medical journals were stacked on side tables, children’s drawings stuck to the refrigerator with magnets.
“How?” Elena asked, gesturing them toward a small sofa.
Oh. Chloe shot a look at Skeet.
“He was . . . it was quick,” he said quietly.
Elena sank into a chair across from them. Hands folded in her lap with forced composure. “Marko called me yesterday, after his talk. He was scared. Said the supplements were killing children instead of helping them.” She wiped her eyes. “Said that if he didn’t call me by this morning . . .”
This wasn’t an interview. This was a conversation between women who’d both lost someone to Leonid Volkov’s operation.
“He told me he’d figured out what Volkov was doing,” Elena continued.
“The plant compounds—nightshade alkaloids—they weren’t being concentrated to provide nutrition.
They were being concentrated to cause neurological damage.
Slow at first, so it would look like natural illness. Then faster as the dosage increased.”
“Testing different concentrations,” Skeet said quietly.
“To find the most effective dose.” Elena’s voice broke on the last words. “My husband was a good man. He wanted to help people. And Leonid Volkov used that—used Marko’s compassion—to develop something that could kill people.”
Children. But Chloe didn’t correct her.
“Elena,” Chloe said gently, “we’re trying to stop Volkov before he can deploy whatever he’s developed. But we need proof. Evidence that shows what the research was about.”
“Marko keeps a copy of his files.” Elena stood up, moved to a small desk in the corner.
“Research notes, correspondence with Volkov’s organization, even audio recordings of their conversations when he started getting suspicious.
He said if anything happened to him, I should give them to someone who could expose the truth. ”
She pulled out a laptop and set it on the coffee table between them. “I’ve been waiting for the right people to come asking. People who will use this to stop Volkov.” She met Chloe’s eyes, a sort of accusation in them. “Not just write another article that disappears after a week.”
“We’re not just writing articles,” Chloe said. “Skeet works for an organization that handles situations like this. We’re going to stop Volkov.”
“How?”
“We don’t know,” Skeet said. “But he’s holding a meeting at a resort in Phuket this weekend. A meeting with pharmaceutical executives and investors. We’ll find out.”
“What do you think he could be doing?” Elena started to move files onto a flash drive then opened a file. “Marko was thorough. Everything is here—chemical formulas, test results, financial records showing where the money came from.”
The screen filled with documents. “And these,” Elena said, clicking on an audio folder. “Recordings of phone conversations. Marko started recording them a few months ago.”
She double-clicked on the first file. Dr. Radi?’s voice came through the laptop speakers. “Leonid, I need to understand something. The children in the test villages—some of them are getting sicker, not better. The neurological symptoms are getting worse.”
“Marko, my friend, you’re overthinking this.” Volkov’s voice. Chloe recognized the accent. “Field testing has variables. Some populations respond differently to enhanced nutritional supplements.”
“But the death reports—”
“Are unreliable. These are remote areas with limited medical facilities. Natural deaths from malnutrition can present in many ways.”
“This isn’t malnutrition, Leonid. This is alkaloid poisoning. The nightshade compounds—we could be giving them toxic doses.”
Pause. When Volkov spoke again, his voice had lost all warmth. “Marko, you need to trust the process. We’re developing something that will revolutionize refugee care. If you can’t see the bigger picture—”
“What bigger picture? Children could be dying!”
“Children die anyway in refugee situations. At least this way, their deaths serve a purpose.”
Chloe’s stomach lurched, and she glanced at Skeet.
His mouth made a grim line, his jaw tight. He wore a look that reminded her of Jake, back when he served in the military.
Back when he didn’t talk about what he did when he left.
Elena stopped the recording. “The casual dismissal of children’s lives—that was what my husband discovered. And he was going to expose it. That’s why he was killed,” she said softly.
“There are twelve more files. I haven’t listened to them all, but Marko said that by the end, Volkov wasn’t even pretending the research was humanitarian.”
“When was that last recording?”
“Four days ago. The day before Marko was supposed to fly to Bangkok for the conference. I remember they got into a big fight. Marko was shouting all the way across the house.”
“About what?” Skeet asked.
“I just remember Marko saying something about not accelerating the timeline.”
Silence.
“What does that mean?” Chloe said.
Skeet pulled up his phone. Looked at Elena. “Can you transfer all of these files to us?”
“Already done.” She handed him a small flash drive. “Everything is on here. But please—promise me you’ll make sure the world knows what Marko died trying to do. He just wanted to help people.”
“We promise,” Chloe said. “But you need to understand—if Volkov is willing to kill your husband to protect this operation, you might be in danger too.”
Chloe’s phone buzzed. Skeet’s number, texting from his own phone even though he was sitting right beside her. She glanced down at the message.
Skeet
Check the time. Resort meeting starts tomorrow afternoon.
Tomorrow afternoon.
They needed another seven hours to get back to Bangkok, then time to plan their approach to the resort. Time was running out.
“Elena, we have to go. But first—is there somewhere safe you can stay? Somewhere Volkov’s people won’t think to look?”
“My sister has a house in Chiang Rai. Remote, private. The children and I can go there.”
“Good. Go as soon as you can. Don’t pack much; don’t tell anyone where you’re going.”
“We’ve been staying with friends. But I came over today to get the computer.” She closed it, held it to her chest, her eyes filling. “He went quickly?”
Skeet swallowed. “Yes.”
Elena nodded, then surprised Chloe by reaching out and taking her hand. “Stop him. Whatever it takes, stop him. Marko believed that good people could make a difference if they were brave enough to try.”
“We’ll stop him,” Chloe said.
As she and Skeet walked back to the car. “You okay?”
“No.” Apparently, she’d stopped any pretense with him. “What are we into here, Skeet?”
“Hey.” He stopped walking, turned to face her. “Look at me for a second.”
She looked up, found those green eyes studying her face with concern.
“We’re going to stop him. You know why I’m so confident?”
“Because you’re delusional?”