Read Online Bullet Beach by Ronald Tierney - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ronald Tierney
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them, I believe.â
âJust not with you,â Maureen said.
âItâs easier for one person to disappear than two. Itâs just playing the odds.â
Though the stretch from the hotel to Lumpini Park was walkable, perhaps even pleasant on a seventy-degree day, this was a ninety-six-degree day. The heat and heaviness of the air made it a bad idea. Shanahan boarded one tuk-tuk and Channarong and Maureen caught another.
Shanahanâs motorized rickshaw sounded like a lawnmower and only went a little faster than one running on the power of human legs. At the entrance to the park, a statue of Rama IV stood at the front gate to welcome visitors. Just inside was a political demonstration. Banners flew, people on megaphones spoke.
Shanahan continued until he was further into the park. He found a bench and sat, pulling out his now tattered newspaper and began to read as pigeons gathered around his feet. With the exception of the heat, it was very much like any city park. Strollers and bicyclists whisked along the wide walkways.
He read for about ten minutes looking for Maureenâs arrival to signal that the tail had been identified. But she did not come. Instead a man in a light suit, not Thai, not Asian, sat beside him though there were empty benches nearby.
Perhaps the man just liked this bench. In a few moments the man reached in the jacket pocket and pulled out a number ten manila envelope, folded it in half, and put it between Shanahan and himself.
Thatâs when Shanahan noticed Maureen maybe 75 feet away. Shanahan gave her the slightest head shake in the negative. She stopped and pretended to examine her shoe. The man sitting next to Shanahan got up, leaving the envelope, and headed further into the park. Maureen was walking again. She pretended she didnât know Shanahan and continued on in the same direction as the man. Once past him, she waved her arms behind her, letting him know he was not to follow.
Shanahan put the envelope in the newspaper, folded it up and walked back toward the entrance. He was worried about Maureen, but if he interceded heâd likely screw everything up and Maureen would be upset that he didnât trust her.
As he passed back through the gate Shanahan caught Channarong out of the corner of his eye. Neither acknowledged the other. Shanahan headed back into the business district. In the midst of a gathering of food vendors, Shanahan moved about as if he were interested in what they were selling. He doubled back a couple of times and noticed Channarong, which meant that he was being followed. But so far, he was unable to make out who it was and therefore he wasnât sure how to shake him, which was the point of the exercise.
Then again, Shanahan thought, who was the man in the park? Were there two, separate people interested in his comings and goings? He stepped into a multi-floor mall, glad to be in the cool air, if not thrilled about the choice of goods. He looked around for some other way out and couldnât find one. He went into a luggage shop and pretended to look at the wares. He came out again into the overwhelming heat. He thought about the Skytrain, which would whisk him out to the suburbs, but if he managed to dodge his tail, the timing might make it difficult for Channarong to follow the culprit. He was, he thought, a bit rusty at the spy game â though some things never change. The clandestine exchange on a park bench, for example. Only this time, it wasnât prearranged.
Shanahan wanted two things. To be cool again and to read what was in the envelope. He did not want the person tailing him to know that someone else had contacted him. If neither knew about the other, he wanted to keep it that way until he could sort out the situation. He found a bar and went inside. The cool air hit the layer of perspiration on his face and it was instantly chilling. He pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped at his forehead before going
âJust not with you,â Maureen said.
âItâs easier for one person to disappear than two. Itâs just playing the odds.â
Though the stretch from the hotel to Lumpini Park was walkable, perhaps even pleasant on a seventy-degree day, this was a ninety-six-degree day. The heat and heaviness of the air made it a bad idea. Shanahan boarded one tuk-tuk and Channarong and Maureen caught another.
Shanahanâs motorized rickshaw sounded like a lawnmower and only went a little faster than one running on the power of human legs. At the entrance to the park, a statue of Rama IV stood at the front gate to welcome visitors. Just inside was a political demonstration. Banners flew, people on megaphones spoke.
Shanahan continued until he was further into the park. He found a bench and sat, pulling out his now tattered newspaper and began to read as pigeons gathered around his feet. With the exception of the heat, it was very much like any city park. Strollers and bicyclists whisked along the wide walkways.
He read for about ten minutes looking for Maureenâs arrival to signal that the tail had been identified. But she did not come. Instead a man in a light suit, not Thai, not Asian, sat beside him though there were empty benches nearby.
Perhaps the man just liked this bench. In a few moments the man reached in the jacket pocket and pulled out a number ten manila envelope, folded it in half, and put it between Shanahan and himself.
Thatâs when Shanahan noticed Maureen maybe 75 feet away. Shanahan gave her the slightest head shake in the negative. She stopped and pretended to examine her shoe. The man sitting next to Shanahan got up, leaving the envelope, and headed further into the park. Maureen was walking again. She pretended she didnât know Shanahan and continued on in the same direction as the man. Once past him, she waved her arms behind her, letting him know he was not to follow.
Shanahan put the envelope in the newspaper, folded it up and walked back toward the entrance. He was worried about Maureen, but if he interceded heâd likely screw everything up and Maureen would be upset that he didnât trust her.
As he passed back through the gate Shanahan caught Channarong out of the corner of his eye. Neither acknowledged the other. Shanahan headed back into the business district. In the midst of a gathering of food vendors, Shanahan moved about as if he were interested in what they were selling. He doubled back a couple of times and noticed Channarong, which meant that he was being followed. But so far, he was unable to make out who it was and therefore he wasnât sure how to shake him, which was the point of the exercise.
Then again, Shanahan thought, who was the man in the park? Were there two, separate people interested in his comings and goings? He stepped into a multi-floor mall, glad to be in the cool air, if not thrilled about the choice of goods. He looked around for some other way out and couldnât find one. He went into a luggage shop and pretended to look at the wares. He came out again into the overwhelming heat. He thought about the Skytrain, which would whisk him out to the suburbs, but if he managed to dodge his tail, the timing might make it difficult for Channarong to follow the culprit. He was, he thought, a bit rusty at the spy game â though some things never change. The clandestine exchange on a park bench, for example. Only this time, it wasnât prearranged.
Shanahan wanted two things. To be cool again and to read what was in the envelope. He did not want the person tailing him to know that someone else had contacted him. If neither knew about the other, he wanted to keep it that way until he could sort out the situation. He found a bar and went inside. The cool air hit the layer of perspiration on his face and it was instantly chilling. He pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped at his forehead before going
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