You can pay this. Smelly dogs don't have money.”
She took it. Her eyes dropped. A 1,500 baht lesson. Got to do what you can for the country’s tourism standards.
Chai saw me coming out of the bar and got in the driver’s seat of a black Benz 500 SEL parked in front of the entrance. I slid in the back. My notebook was on the seat beside me, and I knew the Glocks would be under the seat in front of me.
Chai sitting at the wheel, engine running, looking straight forward and waiting for instructions.
“Lat Prao 93.”
We eased out of the forecourt of the Montien, Chai driving at a reasonable pace, not wanting to draw fire from a panicked soldier or red shirt. I plugged in the BB and downloaded the message that Cheep had sent me. I wanted to get a look at this fucker.
Lucjan Kaminski, age 35. I figured the passport was bullshit. I have a Polish passport. I've got four of them. They're the easiest to get and they give you access to EU countries. He had a pinched face and a hooked, long nose, with deep-set eyes. It was a black and white scan of a passport photo so the resolution was poor and the contrast made the cheekbones high and dark. With the pinched face, it made him look evil, or maybe that was just the way I was looking at it. The yacht's papers were more revealing. I'm sure the name was also faked, but the make would be real. The papers showed she had entered Thailand the day before the kidnapping and then gone straight to Yacht Haven. I started to forward the message to Mother with a note to get the photo of Lucjan around our contacts, and then I stopped. Little point, and it was a risk. I was pretty sure they'd left Thailand two days ago. The hundred million dollar question was where were they now? I canceled the format and instead hit reply, typing out:
- Find out how much diesel they put in the yacht.
Most big yachts sail with a full tank. Knowing how much diesel was put in would give us a range, assuming an average cruising speed of eleven knots, standard for a Hatteras. Also assuming that they were headed back to where they came from. Both big assumptions but something was better than nothing. Got to have a start point for searching. If they came in straight from where they had last been, it would give us a radial within which we could search. A Hatteras 53 is not a small motor yacht, and the yacht clubs and marinas around SE Asia are not that many.
I looked up from the screen and over to my right, through the dark tinted car window. There was an orange glow reflected in the clouds above Lumpini Park. Bangkok was on fire.
How You Doing, Baby
14 May 2010 Bangkok 9 pm
Pim stood in the doorway looking very pissed off , her eyes puffy and swollen. I smiled. No response, but she stepped aside to let me in. I slipped off my shoes and walked past her into the living room. I didn't sit down and I didn't look back. That would be inviting trouble and I already had enough. She walked past me, picked up a magazine from the coffee table, and sat on the sofa, her long smooth tanned legs pulled up underneath her. She was wearing one of my shirts, the top four buttons undone, and lacy black underwear. I didn't dwell there, afraid she might glance up and catch me staring at her crotch. She didn't look at me, focused on the upside-down magazine in her hands.
I retreated upstairs to the bedroom. It was easier than facing the barrage of silence, and I stank. I stripped off. The 9 hadn't faded. I put on her shower cap and pulled it down low over the stitches around my eye and stepped into the shower. I like to use hot water first and finish with cold.
Pim and I had met at a function for a democratic MP trying to get re-elected. I'd been asked by Mother to go, and Pim was there as the dutiful daughter of the MP. The first thing I noticed, she wore no make-up. She was tall, had long glossy black hair and honey tanned skin. In a room full of starlets, models, and
She took it. Her eyes dropped. A 1,500 baht lesson. Got to do what you can for the country’s tourism standards.
Chai saw me coming out of the bar and got in the driver’s seat of a black Benz 500 SEL parked in front of the entrance. I slid in the back. My notebook was on the seat beside me, and I knew the Glocks would be under the seat in front of me.
Chai sitting at the wheel, engine running, looking straight forward and waiting for instructions.
“Lat Prao 93.”
We eased out of the forecourt of the Montien, Chai driving at a reasonable pace, not wanting to draw fire from a panicked soldier or red shirt. I plugged in the BB and downloaded the message that Cheep had sent me. I wanted to get a look at this fucker.
Lucjan Kaminski, age 35. I figured the passport was bullshit. I have a Polish passport. I've got four of them. They're the easiest to get and they give you access to EU countries. He had a pinched face and a hooked, long nose, with deep-set eyes. It was a black and white scan of a passport photo so the resolution was poor and the contrast made the cheekbones high and dark. With the pinched face, it made him look evil, or maybe that was just the way I was looking at it. The yacht's papers were more revealing. I'm sure the name was also faked, but the make would be real. The papers showed she had entered Thailand the day before the kidnapping and then gone straight to Yacht Haven. I started to forward the message to Mother with a note to get the photo of Lucjan around our contacts, and then I stopped. Little point, and it was a risk. I was pretty sure they'd left Thailand two days ago. The hundred million dollar question was where were they now? I canceled the format and instead hit reply, typing out:
- Find out how much diesel they put in the yacht.
Most big yachts sail with a full tank. Knowing how much diesel was put in would give us a range, assuming an average cruising speed of eleven knots, standard for a Hatteras. Also assuming that they were headed back to where they came from. Both big assumptions but something was better than nothing. Got to have a start point for searching. If they came in straight from where they had last been, it would give us a radial within which we could search. A Hatteras 53 is not a small motor yacht, and the yacht clubs and marinas around SE Asia are not that many.
I looked up from the screen and over to my right, through the dark tinted car window. There was an orange glow reflected in the clouds above Lumpini Park. Bangkok was on fire.
How You Doing, Baby
14 May 2010 Bangkok 9 pm
Pim stood in the doorway looking very pissed off , her eyes puffy and swollen. I smiled. No response, but she stepped aside to let me in. I slipped off my shoes and walked past her into the living room. I didn't sit down and I didn't look back. That would be inviting trouble and I already had enough. She walked past me, picked up a magazine from the coffee table, and sat on the sofa, her long smooth tanned legs pulled up underneath her. She was wearing one of my shirts, the top four buttons undone, and lacy black underwear. I didn't dwell there, afraid she might glance up and catch me staring at her crotch. She didn't look at me, focused on the upside-down magazine in her hands.
I retreated upstairs to the bedroom. It was easier than facing the barrage of silence, and I stank. I stripped off. The 9 hadn't faded. I put on her shower cap and pulled it down low over the stitches around my eye and stepped into the shower. I like to use hot water first and finish with cold.
Pim and I had met at a function for a democratic MP trying to get re-elected. I'd been asked by Mother to go, and Pim was there as the dutiful daughter of the MP. The first thing I noticed, she wore no make-up. She was tall, had long glossy black hair and honey tanned skin. In a room full of starlets, models, and
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