International Incident Page 8

  Enough of this.

  Sasha pushed her wineglass away and chugged the rest of the bottled coffee. She returned the empty bottle to the table with a dull thud. “Why don’t we pay our check and walk down to the car. We can wait for Connelly there,” she suggested. She deliberately kept her voice light.

  Mel, who clearly shared her sense of unease, wasn’t fooled by her tone. She agreed instantly. “Great idea.” She nodded her head and signaled for the waiter to bring their check.

  Apparently the waiter missed the signal. Several moments passed in excruciating slowness before he wandered by again. Sasha stretched out her arm and tugged on his sleeve. “Can we get our check, please?”

  “Oh, you ladies shouldn’t go running off so soon. The night’s just getting started.” He smiled broadly at both of them.

  “We have an important appointment in Bangkok. We need our check right away so we’re not late,” Mel said, her voice all business.

  The waiter lowered his eyes and nodded. “Ah, our loss is Bangkok’s gain, eh? I’ll be right back.” He walked to the back of the room and turned to give them a long look before disappearing into a dimly lit hallway behind the bar.

  “Isn’t the cash register in the front near the hostess station?” Sasha asked, her eyes still on the hallway. She tried, without success, to shake the feeling of foreboding that had settled over her.

  Mel didn’t answer. She pulled out her phone and unlocked the screen. “I’m just going to send Ron a message and give him our ETA.”

  It was a completely ordinary, natural thing to do—to let your boss know when to expect you back. And yet, Sasha got the distinct impression that Mel’s message was intended to provide a timeline of events in case someone ever needed it later.

  Goosebumps rose on Sasha’s arms and she pulled her light cotton sweater tighter around her shoulders. She scanned the hallway again, but there was no sign of their waiter. “How much do you think the bill came to?” She opened her purse and took out a fistful of Thai currency. “Will this cover it?”

  Mel glanced at the bills fanned out in Sasha’s hand and laughed. “That would more than cover it. Not to mention a very generous tip. But let me get this; I’ll put it on the corporate card and get reimbursed.”

  Sasha could hear shakiness in her voice when she answered. “No, listen. I’ve got a bad feeling. I want to get out of here. I’m skeeved out by the fact that some guy was watching us. Our waiter gave me a weird vibe and now he’s taking a really long time. Let’s just go back to the car.”

  Mel looked as though she was about to argue, but just then the sound of glass crashing and male voices raised in testosterone-laced anger rose from the bar and filled the space. She stood and pushed back her chair. “Yeah, I’d say that’s our cue to go.”

  Sasha threw the money on the table, and they hurried out of the restaurant.

  * * *

  Jan was in the sweet embrace of another cigarette, his eyes rolled back into his head, as he floated in that space between wakefulness and asleep. Suddenly, a flurry of knocks rained down on the wooden door, as if someone was pounding with both fists. He tried to focus and push himself up from the couch, but his head lolled back against the cushion. He giggled.

  The doorman let out an exasperated grunt as he walked across the room and yanked the door open. One of the waiters stood in the doorway, yammering in rapid-fire Thai. Whatever he was going on about had him all in a lather, and Jan thought that his excited hand gestures resembled the flapping wings of a bird. After another brief back and forth, the drug dealer barked out a few words of dismissal and waved the waiter back into the restaurant. He closed the door and turned toward Jan. His face was a mask of anger and frustration.

  “What’s wrong?” Jan managed to say through his near-stupor.

  The giant of a man rubbed his hand over his bald head, thinking, before he responded. “Your American friends left. The boss told me to have their waiter stall them until he could get a team here. But now they’re gone and it’s on my head.”

  The Americans? Oh, right, Sasha McCandless-Connelly and her friend from the Embassy.

  He noted the man’s tense, set jaw. “You look uptight. Here, have a smoke. My treat.” He extended the rosewood box that held the bundle of heroin cigarettes he’d purchased from the Thai earlier in the day.

  The man waved it away in disgust. “Keep your junk away from me. I need to think clearly. I have to clean up this mess.”

  “Suit yourself, friend.” Jan leaned back, unoffended, and watched with amusement as the man paced a tight line back and forth across the small room.

  His muscles bunched up in his back and neck, creating bulges in his suit. After several trips across the room, muttering under his breath, he swung the combination lock to open the wall safe in the corner and reached inside. He removed a set of keys, a bundle of cash, and a snub-nosed gun. Jan started to ask where he was going, but halfway through the question, he nodded off.

  The sound of the door slamming barely registered in his dream.

  20

  Thiha Bo led Leo to the boat. He gestured with his hand for Leo to stay back, partially hidden behind a barrel. When the time was right, he waved for Leo to follow him, and they crept up a rickety makeshift ramp. The board splintered and split as Leo ascended it. He froze and held his breath for a moment, waiting to see if it would yield completely and cleave in half under his weight. The board groaned but somehow held.

  The stench on the deck stung his eyes and burned his lungs. It wasn’t merely the smell of fish. It was something foul and dank, festering. It smelled like sickness or like a room that hadn’t been cleaned in too long. Even the breeze blowing across the water didn’t clear the scent. It hung heavy like a cloud over everything. He coughed and buried his nose in his sleeve.

  Thiha Bo turned and frowned, raising a cautionary finger to his lips.

  Leo nodded. ‘Sorry,’ he mouthed.

  They sneaked further toward the front of the dilapidated boat. The fisherman stole quietly on his bare feet. Leo cursed his heavy leather shoes.

  The deck seemed to be deserted, the crew all busy on the pier unloading their haul. But there was no guarantee that there weren’t people below deck. Evidently, this Binh person was on the boat. How many others were there?

  Unanswered questions pricked at him. If he’d known they were going to board the vessel, he’d have demanded the pertinent information: how many people; where were they located; whether they were inclined to look the other way, sound an alarm, or rush him. He glanced over the edge at the dirty water. He knew his most likely emergency escape route, at least. Right over the side.

  When they had nearly reached the bow, Thiha Bo veered to the right and led him to a small cabin.

  “Captain’s private quarters,” he whispered, gesturing toward the cheap plywood door.

  Thiha Bo smiled, but Leo stiffened. He was putting a great deal of trust into a stranger—too much trust, he knew. But he didn’t have a lot of options. And the Burmese man didn’t set off any warning bells in his brain.

  Still, he kept a close watch on his guide—ready to tackle him or use him as a shield as the situation warranted—as the man eased the door open. The door wasn’t locked? A frisson of shock ran along his spine as he crossed the threshold into the dark room. Once his eyes adjusted to the dim light, his surprise evaporated. After all, what need was there to lock the door when the cargo inside was secured?

  Three large, rectangular wire cages lined the far wall. Leo judged them to be about four feet high by two-and-a-half feet wide. Two of the cages were empty. The third held a kneeling man, his hands bound in front of him with thick fishing rope. He raised his eyes fearfully and tensed when they entered the room, but when he recognized Thiha Bo, his shoulders relaxed. His face remained watchful and guarded.

  Thiha Bo crossed the room and squatted in front of the cage. He spoke to the man inside in a low, soothing tone. It took Leo a moment to realize he was speaking Vietnames
e. He didn’t know enough of his father’s language to follow the conversation but he could pick out isolated words and phrases. One word caught his attention: con gái, daughter. He’d learned the words for family relations before he’d traveled as a teenager to Vietnam to search for his father. The word filled him with dread. If Thiha Bo thought he might be the dead woman’s father, that meant she had been very young—at most, a teenager.

  The man in the cage hung his head sorrowfully for a moment. When he raised his face to Leo, tears shined in his eyes. “You were Mina’s father?” he asked in Vietnamese.

  Mina. Now at least she had a name.

  Leo shook his head no and looked to Thiha Bo. “Please tell him I’m not her father. I’m … a friend. Someone who wants to help,” he said in English.

  Thiha Bo translated the message. Binh started to shake his head wildly from side to side then choked out a response that Leo didn’t understand.

  “He says it’s too late to help her. He says to tell you he’s very sorry to say that your friend is dead.” Thiha Bo’s voice was mournful.

  “Why is he caged?”

  “Binh knew she was a girl and kept her secret. When the soldiers killed her, he tried not to react. But his soul reacted. Someone heard him weeping in his hammock and told the captain. This is his punishment for insubordination.”

  The explanation raised more questions than Leo could possibly ask. So he settled for asking the most pressing first. “Did you say soldiers killed her?”

  Thiha Bo frowned. “Not government soldiers. Private soldiers. I’m sorry, I don’t know the word in your language.”

  Leo did. Mercenaries. Contractors. Paid killers.

  “Why would someone tell the captain that Binh cared about the girl?”

  “Currying favor,” Thiha Bo explained. “Captain Vũ, he doesn’t like the Vietnamese. If you get one in trouble, you get better treatment. Extra food. Easier work.” He shrugged.

  “Vũ? Isn’t that a Vietnamese surname?” Leo asked.

  Thiha Bo laughed a soft, sad laugh. “Yes. How do you say it? He’s self-loathing.”

  Binh was watching their conversation silently, with wide, mournful eyes. He looked bereft, resigned.

  Anger surged in Leo’s gut, and he suddenly wished Captain Vũ would show up. He balled his hands into fists. “I can help you. I will help you. Both of you. All of you,” he promised in a fierce voice, shifting his gaze from the man at his side and the man in the cage.

  * * *

  Sasha glanced behind her as she and Mel walked at a quick clip to the car. They were still half a block away. And he was still back there. She touched Mel’s elbow.

  “The man who was watching us at the bistro--you’re sure he was a white guy?”

  Mel threw her a quizzical look. “Positive. Why?”

  “Because there’s a giant Asian man following us. Bald, ugly scar, wearing a suit that’s about two sizes too small. He’s been behind us since we left.”

  Mel swore under her breath and twisted her neck for a look at their new friend. “Well, he looks like bad news.” Her tone was dry, but she picked up her pace.

  Sasha had to agree with her assessment. She was pretty sure that the two of them could take him down if it came to that--between her Krav Maga training and Mel’s Bureau training they should have enough tricks in their bag to beat up one thug in a street fight. But, call her crazy, she really didn’t feel like getting into a brawl. For one thing, getting blood out of her pastel cotton dress would be a pain. For another, she wasn’t exactly wearing running shoes.

  She gave Mel a sidelong glance. The legat was wearing shoes that would have made Connelly proud—sensible low-heeled loafers. She reached down and removed one of her own stacked, high-heeled sandals, hopping on one foot as she did so. Then she removed the other.

  Mel arched a brow at the sandals, which were now swinging from Sasha’s right hand and then made a face at Sasha’s bare feet. “These streets aren’t exactly sanitary, you know.”

  “I’m up on my shots. I’m thinking that really big guys are usually pretty slow. Feel like running the rest of the way?”

  Mel grinned at her and took off at full speed. Sasha followed, catching up to her about a hundred yards from the sedan.

  “You’re fast,” she huffed out between breaths.

  “Sprinter,” Mel panted. “College track. Did we lose him?”

  They kept jogging but turned to look back. He’d fallen well behind them and had dropped to his knees. Sasha hoped he was experiencing chest pains or a cramp or something equally unpleasant. But that hope was short-lived as he braced his right arm with his left and took aim.

  “Swerve!” Mel yelled as she veered to the right. Sasha had already tucked and rolled across the filthy sidewalk, abandoning the sandals in the scrubby grass. The first shot whizzed between them and hit a metal street sign.

  Sasha scrabbled to her feet and danced left then right, weaving an unpredictable pattern as she ran. Beside her Mel did the same. It was like being chased by an alligator.

  Another bullet missed them. The car was just feet away. The man was a small, distant shape now. Sasha’s heart slowed a half a beat. Unless he was a sharpshooter, which he clearly was not, he wasn’t going to hit them at this distance. She kept zigzagging anyway. Better safe than sorry.

  Mel dug into her purse and pulled out the car keys. She hit the remote key to unlock the doors and they threw themselves into the front seat. She jammed the key into the ignition with shaking hands and the engine roared to life. She peeled out, clipping a trashcan with the passenger side as she yanked on her seatbelt one-handed.

  Sasha locked her own seatbelt and then exhaled. When her breathing returned to normal, she said, “Can I use your phone. I’ll let Connelly know it’s time to go.”

  Mel tossed her purse into Sasha’s lap. As Sasha pawed through it for the cell phone, it began to ring. She dug it out.

  “Look at that. He’s calling us.”

  21

  To Leo’s surprise, Sasha, and not Mel, answered the legal attaché’s mobile phone.

  “Sasha? Is Mel there?” he asked.

  His wife hesitated before answering. “She’s a little … busy … at the moment. What’s up?”

  “I found the boat. I’m on it, actually—the boat the woman was on when she was murdered. Her name was Mina. And her killers were apparently mercenaries hired by Thale.” He waited, but Sasha didn’t react. Something was definitely wrong, but whatever it was would have to wait until they took care of the time-sensitive reason for his call. “Does Mel have the power to authorize me to detain the boat until she can get a law enforcement team out here?”

  “Hang on.”

  He could hear their faint voices in murmured conversation as Sasha relayed his question and Mel answered it, and he wondered why Sasha hadn’t simply handed the phone to Mel. It would have been quicker. A squealing noise that sounded suspiciously like tires laying down rubber filled his ear.

  A moment later, Sasha was back on the line. “So, here’s the thing. We have to leave town. Now. Something’s come up. We’ll come down to the dock and get you, but you’ve got to be ready to just jump in the car, okay? Once we’re in the clear, Mel will reach out to Ron to mobilize the local police to deal with the boat.”

  “Are you joking? We have to secure the boat until someone can at least put the captain under arrest. And what do you mean ‘in the clear’? Sasha, what’s going on?”

  She sighed. “Okay, so don’t freak out. We’re fine. But a man with a gun followed us out of the bistro and he’s taken a few shots at us. But he’s on foot and seems to be a terrible shot, and Mel is a great evasive driver. We’re pretty sure we shook him, but we really need to get out of Dodge.”

  Leo promptly freaked out. “What? Someone tried to kill you? Who? Why? Are you sure you’re okay?”

  She spoke in the deliberate, calm and soothing voice that she used when one of the twins was having a meltdown. “We’re fine, hones
tly. Mel caught some creep watching us at the restaurant. We both got a bad vibe about it and decided to leave. And apparently it’s a good thing we did, since a giant, gun-wielding Thai man chased after us. But he was slow, and we outran him. The end. We’re in the car on our way to get you. It’s time to move on.”

  Leo bit his lip. An Asian giant trying to kill his wife was a legitimate problem, no doubt about it. But leaving the men on this boat and walking away was really not an option. They were effectively enslaved. He couldn’t pretend he hadn’t seen that.

  Besides, Sasha was always getting irritated with him for acting as though she couldn’t take care of herself. And she was with a federal agent, who seemed more than competent. He was silent as he tried to justify to himself what he was about to do.

  “Connelly? Did you hear me? We’re coming to get you. Be ready, okay?”

  He glanced over at Binh, still crouched in the cage like an abused dog, and Thiha Bo, who was pointedly studying the ceiling, pretending not to listen to his end of the conversation. Slowly, he said, “I can’t do that.”

  “What does that even mean?”

  “It means you and Mel need to get out of town, stat, but I’m staying here. Get in touch with the embassy as soon as you can safely make the call. Have them send the police to the dock. Once the captain’s been taken into custody and the crew members have been squared away, I’ll get somebody to give me a lift to Bangkok. Ask Mel to text me the address where you end up staying, and I’ll see you later tonight.”

  He could almost hear her thinking, trying to devise some other course of action, but they both knew there was no viable alternative.

  “There’s no point in my telling you this is a terrible idea, is there?”

  “You already know the answer to that.”

  She gave a sad little laugh. “I do. So I guess I’ll have to settle for telling you to please be careful.”