The Chiang Mai Chronicle: A Declan Power Mystery (16 page)

“Yeah,” the man breathed, a smile slowly crossing his lips. “That is a lady I’ll never forget.”

Pantrem stubbed out his cigarette. His target was not an innocent onlooker. Of that he was sure. Nonchalantly ducking into Best Bar’s back entrance, he snuck a quick look at the man. A camera had been taken out, its aim concentrating on the shrub. He needed to act quickly. Emerging at the front of the bar, on Loi Kroh, he took a right and entered the adjacent bar (find name). The girls were quickly quieted by the flash of his badge and he was eagerly shown the back exit. He stepped into the alley slowly. The man was still maintaining his vigil. The Chief and Declan Power emerged from the premises and scanned up and down the alley.

‘There he is,’ the man recognized. He knelt down on the gravel and reached into his backpack. He felt around for his pistol, the silencer already attached. He slowly lifted his head noting his target was standing unobstructed within an easy range. The action would be swift. Nobody would know what had happened until it was too late. He took a breath and planted his knee firmly into the gravel. His pistol was drawn into place.

“Quiet,” Pantrem whispered. He carefully leveled his gun against the back of the assassin’s head. The man slowly stood up discreetly showing his hands to be empty. Pantrem kept his gun placed roughly in the man’s back. He bent over to pick up the backpack.

Declan caught sight of Bangkok Man as he scanned the crowd. There was something in his countenance that signaled danger. The man standing directly in front of him also set off an alarm. It was a man he recognized. Bangkok Man noticed he had caught Power’s attention. He raised his eyebrows. Declan nodded to Best Bar’s back door as he cut through the growing number of policemen mulling around.

Lieutenant Job followed Declan and the Chief into the back of the bar. Declan motioned for Bangkok Man to deposit his prisoner in the back office. Here he was cuffed by one of Job’s men with his hands arrested behind his back. The Chief called in his men to clear the bar of customers. The girls were allowed to stay. Pantrem signaled for Declan and Job to join the Chief at the bar.

“Who the fuck is this guy?” Job questioned.

Pantrem tossed the backpack on the bar. He retrieved the pistol. The Chief whistled. “That is quite a piece of steel, a silencer as well.”

“And a bullet with your name on it Chief,” his second in command said shaking his head with bewilderment. “So, again, who is this guy?”

Declan trained his eyes on Bangkok Man. “Better yet, who are you Bangkok Man?”

“I’m the man who just saved the Chief’s life and maybe your own Power,” Pantrem snapped back.

“A tax man doesn’t sniff this guy out. What the hell is going on Pantrem?”

The Chief and Job leaned their elbows on the table intent on the answer.

“I am who I say I am,” Pantrem countered throwing his identification on the table defensively. “You’d think I’d get a bit more gratitude considering I just captured a man whom may hold the key to this fiasco. Perhaps we need to be in their grilling him.”

Declan maintained his suspicious glare and accusatory tone. “So how did you pick this guy out of the crowd?”

“I saw him staring at the shrubbery right outside the exit. He took out his camera and started snapping some photos and then looking closely at the screen. It seemed as if something, something important, was hidden in the brush.” He tilted his head towards the Chief Pao. “You should get somebody to check that out.”

Job lifted himself of his stool. “I’ll do it myself.”

“Anyway,” Pantrem continued, “It was odd so I kept my eye on him. Then he knelt on the ground and placed this backpack here carefully beside his leg. That’s when I made my move.”

The Chief brushed aside Pantrem’s explanation. “Ok, what’s important right now is to interrogate that man. My interrogation Pantrem,” the Chief said pointedly.

“Our interrogation Chief,” Pantrem said waving his badge.

“With me in there as well,” Declan said desperately. “It is my lady, my family, my story.” 

Inside the room the man being held for questioning waited serenely. His assignment had been interrupted. It had not been foiled. Not yet.

The Chief strode in the room to greet his assassin. A sharp blow to the would be killer’s face was delivered with purpose. “You’d do best to answer my questions if you hope to leave this room alive.” Chief Pao slowly put his tools of persuasion on the table. Declan marveled that his friend rarely travelled without his kit.

The trapped man sat impassively. His eyes slowly scanned the room. A hint of a smile emerged as his inquisitor purposefully placed a pair of pliers, a blood encrusted screw driver, and an equally ruddy pair of scissors before him. It was not a reaction Declan was expecting.

The first question was obvious. “Who are you working for?” asked Pantrem.

“I think I may well have the answer,” said Job as he brusquely entered the room brandishing a blade. Soaked with blood and with a finely crafted teak gold encrusted handle, this was no ordinary knife. The ancient Lan Na emblem was brilliantly gilded for all to see. The lieutenant then slammed the royal dagger on the table. All eyes went towards the prisoner. No response was forthcoming.

The only reply was an uninterested shrug of the shoulders. The Chief wasted no time. He grabbed his pliers, walked behind the seated man, bent over slightly, and went to work. Declan, Pantrem, and the hawk like eyes of Job watched on astonished as the man displayed no emotion other than a clenched jaw from which he still managed to relay a crooked smirk.

The Chief stood upright, a look of satisfaction on his face, and tossed the tip of his index finger on the table. If he was surprised by the stoic demeanor of his prisoner he did not let on. His audience shifted their gaze to the single digit lying oddly next to the tools of torture.

For a moment only silence hovered about the proceedings, each man taking the time to organize their thoughts on how to proceed. It was then that the moment was seized. The stone cold assassin swiftly launched free from his supposed captivity. In one motion he grasped the Lan Na dagger, pivoted, and drove it through Chief Pao’s throat. He followed the fallen policeman’s path to the floor and expertly commandeered his weapon. Slow to react, Lieutenant Job received a bullet directly between his eyes.

Declan flew under the table barely comprehending the swift blow of death which had erupted in the small office. It was Phitak Pantrem who responded with alacrity. He leapt over the table driving his fist into the prisoner turned aggressor’s throat. The gun crashed against the floor careening into Bangkok Man’s lucky grasp. From his back, prone on the floor, with Chief Pao’s blood soaking through his shirt, he fired off two rounds. Still, the adroit killer bore down on him the dagger at the ready. Pantrem desperately rolled over. His face brushed against the Chief’s moist leathery cheek. Bangkok Man tasted death and braced for a final assault. He then heard the loud thump of a fallen body.  

The assassin lay dead. Declan Power lay paralyzed, the sole witness of Pantrem’s heroic deed. Pantrem and Power shared a panicked stare.  “Who the fuck are you Bangkok Man?” 

Oum huddled in the corner her minding racing in confused horror. She had just been presented with a tray of finely prepared food. The tray was shining silver. Martin Gay had been thrown what appeared to be flesh and bone. He greedily hoarded his bounty into a corner of the cave which apparently had been made into a makeshift home. Through the eerie darkness she could feel Ben Post’s eyes boring into her very soul.

Marty had proudly shown her his attempts at dislodging the door. This provided her with an odd sense of hope. “Declan will come for sure now!” he exclaimed in a desperate tone. She wanted to say that he was coming anyway but did not want to engage Martin Gay in even the shortest of conversations. But Declan would come. Declan was her rock, the only person she could count on in this world. Hunger began to overtake her. Despite the revolting scene she was forced to inhabit the cave with, she needed to eat. She needed her strength. Further she retreated into her dank corner, turning her back on the twisted cellmate whom also had found his hunger, Oum disgustedly picked up the intricately engraved spoon and fork set before her. She took a moment to read the ancient Lan Na script which had been expertly chiseled into the cutlery. ‘A dinner fit for a king,’ she mused.

The news from police headquarters hit hard. The tip of the king’s spear was dead. But how? This was a man trained to do one thing: kill. This man was an assassin of the highest order. He had in fact completed his mission. The Chief of the Chiang Mai City Police lie dead along with his second in command.

“What happened exactly?”

“Your man was brought into Best Bar to be questioned. I handcuffed him myself but let the cuffs loose. After that I don’t know. The tax officer from Bangkok, along with the reporter from the Chiang Mai Chronicle, bolted from the bar. We went in to the office and Pao, Job, and your man all lay dead.”

“The dagger?”

“No.”

The phone was carefully set on the table. Peering at the luminescent sun as it disappeared over the mountain top it was clear that all had not gone to plan. Here, at the center of the Lan Na Renaissance, a valuable asset had just been lost. And it didn’t make sense. Yes, Power was meant to live. But how did the tax auditor escape. And what was he doing in a police investigation anyway? A high voltage of energy flowed through the majestic and newly powerful body wrapped in the old robes of royalty. Now was time to exercise a monarch’s power. The mobile was retrieved, a number entered, a debt to be repaid.

“Stephen, your man, our assassin, is dead. I need to find out about a tax auditor from Bangkok. The man’s name is Phitak Pantrem. He’s been snooping around recently and it seems he may be more than he appears. Do not leave one stone unturned and report to me tomorrow.”

The man on the other side of the phone, Stephen Kelm, registered a smile. He knew Pantrem well even if they had never had the pleasure of a proper introduction. They were cut from the same cloth. He had shed that cloth however. He had been paid handsomely to turn his coat. And the cause was just. It was time for the North to rise again. All the training and expertise he had gained in the intelligence field were at his King’s disposal. The cause of the Lan Na Rebellion would not be let down.

“Yes, Lord,” was his simple reply. He had a leg up, the element of surprise on his side. Pantrem was a man to be respected and all due care would need to be planned for his ambush. But, when all was said and done, Pantrem was still but just a man. 

The rainy season had been heavy, a fact which could be seen as the deep currents of the Ping River rushed by. The onset of the cool season, early December, had brought a brisk chill to the early evening air. Few people chose to sit on the open air deck of the Riverside Restaurant rather opting for the cozier atmosphere inside.

Pantrem was busy on his phone, recounting the events to his superior in Bangkok. Declan didn’t bother to eavesdrop as the Thai was being spoken too fast. In any case, he was more familiar with the northern Thai dialect. It didn’t matter. Pantrem would need to come clean.

A couple of Beer Laos were placed on their table along with a plate of Kaw Moo Yang the delicious and spicy northern Thai appetizer of pig’s neck. They were hungry and dug in without pleasantries. Two more pints of beer were ordered and the empty plate cleared. It was time to lay all cards on the table.

Declan began to speak but was halted by Pantrem’s raised hand.

“I work for a group. Some think of it as a commission, while others feel our responsibility is to act as a shadow government. Whatever the fact, we run our business from Bangkok. I cannot tell you anything more than that.”

Declan knew when to probe and when to move forward. “I’m not concerned with that. Right now I’m more interested in how you can help me get my lady.”

“And I’m interested in how you can help me bring a megalomaniac with imperial aspirations to his knees.”

“Then it seems we have a mutual self-interest. And your group, I assume you weren’t talking to your wife, what do they want?”

“The people for whom I work are not interested in politics as such. They’re not even exclusively Thai. But they are very interested in Thailand functioning as it is as a sovereign state.”

“So, you take Thanat Jaisaen’s talk of a revitalized Lan Na kingdom seriously.”

“Not the talk so much,” Pantrem emphasized, “But rather the actions.”

“Such as,” Declan probed.

“You know the mobs that have been gathering in Bangkok obviously. Their intent is to drive the current prime minister, Yingluk, from office. They have a deep hatred for her brother Thaksin Shiniwat and indeed the whole Shinawatara Clan.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“What you don’t know is how the protests are being funded.”

Interested, Declan leaned his elbows on the table. “By whom?”

“We’ve, ‘I’ you might say, and yes my stock in trade is accounting, traced a great deal of funding to Chiang Mai.”

Declan let out a whistle. “So, you figure that Thanat Jaisaen is supporting the insurrection as a pretext to split from Thailand and form a new government, a new kingdom.”