The Chiang Mai Chronicle: A Declan Power Mystery (18 page)

Declan took one last look at the carnage unfolding on the screen. “What does this have to do with Uncle Thanat?”

For the first time a smile came to her face. It too was magnetic. “You haven’t heard. He’ll be the new King of the new kingdom, Lan Na reborn.”

Bell’s assertion confirmed Bangkok Man’s suspicions. Declan digested the information silently. The drama came more closely into focus. “Quite an accusation. Can you prove it? I had an interview with him earlier today and he seemed relaxed; a man quite content with his lot.”

“Have you ever been lied to Mr. Power?”

“Sure. Which is why I asked: ‘can you prove it?’” Declan knew the clock was ticking. He wanted to leap over the table, grab the femme fatale by the throat, and demand knowledge about where her madman relative would have taken Oum. But he was a newspaperman. He’d get the information, but he needed to move carefully.

“Yes,” she answered simply. Bell leaned back in her fan-backed bamboo chair, gazed out as the water rushed by, and did not attempt to disguise her fright. She returned her attention to the discussion. “I hope Marty was right.”

Declan didn’t need her to elaborate. She was hoping he was as good as advertised. “What proof do you have?”

“The TEFL program, the one you exposed, was bringing in a great deal of money. Accounts were set up, bank accounts that could not be traced to Thanat or even the University. This became the, how do you say, the seed money for what you see happening now in Bangkok.”

“And you know where the paper trail leads?”

“Directly to the office you conducted the interview in this afternoon. This is why I am in danger. Thanat found out about my affair with Marty, one he deeply disapproved of, but worse, he came to understand that I knew too much. Not a good thing if you live in his world.”

“You can lead me to the documents and files?”

“I’ll give you your story Declan Power. Then you get me the hell out of here.”

“I don’t give a damn about any story sweetheart.” Declan lied. He did in fact care deeply about what could be his biggest byline yet. But it was priority number two. “My first concern is my girl. She was kidnapped this afternoon and I think I know by whom.”

“My Uncle? But why?”

“The Lan Na Ripper who I believe to be one and the same as dear Uncle Jaisaen.”

The sounds of a river boat, its guests cheering loudly the traditional sounds of Lan Na dance and song, road merrily past. Silence hung over their table as both Declan and Bell ruminated over their respective predicaments.

Bell’s countenance softened. “You love her.”

“With all my heart,” Declan said not trying to hide his hurt.

She reached across the table and softly grabbed his hands. “I heard it said that love always finds a way.”

Declan was grateful for her tenderness. Their eyes caught hold of one another, each searching for a release from their plight.

Bell pulled away and stiffened in her chair. “It makes sense. Thanat Jaisaen as the Lan Na Ripper that is, I mean he would never do such things himself, but the little army he has built up around him, sure they are very capable.”

Declan nodded crisply, thankful to deposit his emotions back into his pocket. “The Bangkok angle fits. Create a scenario where the prime minister from the north flees to Chiang Mai. Set up a provisionary government here. And then emerge as the law and order man capable of setting wrong to right.”

“It’s working.”

“The game’s not over Bell. I’ve got a plan, but we need to work fast.”

Peter Morgan folded his arms not trying to hide his wide grin. The Chiang Mai Chronicle was buzzing with energy. First the emergence of a serial killer and now Bangkok exploding into flames. This was a newspaper publisher’s dream. The evening edition, The Lan Na Ripper Strikes Again!, had flown off the rack. But Bangkok would lead in the morning. Even this brought a chuckle. Declan Power being knocked off the front page just when he thought he had another splash. He hated Power just slightly less than he needed him. Declan Power sold papers.

A rap on the door knocked him off his thoughts.

“Boss, I just got word! Another massacre happened on Loi Kroh.”

Morgan looked at his young assistant. “Is it the Ripper?”

“Maybe so,” the eager to please recent university grad said breathlessly. “I’ll get in touch with my lads and see what they know.”

Morgan waved him off. Apparently Power wouldn’t be off the front spread for long. He reached for his phone. Power would need to update him. Perhaps the Lan Na Ripper would indeed lead for the morning edition.

The fuse had been lit. Bangkok was now in flames. Phitak Pantrem stared at the carnage the Bangkok Police were powerless to control. He was not surprised. The clash between the power bases of the North and Northeast of Thailand pitted against the Bangkok elite and their Southern supporters had finally reached its boiling point. Thanat Jaisaen’s rhetoric of an independent North, a Lan Na Republic, had only made conditions more volatile. His mobile lit up announcing an incoming call. His orders would be forthcoming.

“Yes.”

“Your cover has been blown,” a dry voice said without emotion.

Phitak was surprised, and not happily so. It was an American voice: Captain America. This meant a terminal order was forthcoming. He sighed. But it would be his last job. The killing needed to stop.

“I know. A hit-man came after me today.”

“The Police Chief is dead I hear, but you escaped with somebody.”

“Yes, a newspaper man.”

“Can he be of use?”

“Yes. He is extremely annoying but can be valuable?”

“He’ll need to get you inside Jaisaen’s estate. Is that feasible?”

“I believe so. Tomorrow there will be an event on the campus of King Mengrai University. Declan Power, the reporter, has been invited.”

“Tread carefully, blend in to the environment, and take care tonight. Jaisaen will have men on the lookout. He’ll redouble his efforts after today’s botched attempt and we need you to move tomorrow.”

“What is the order?” Pantrem asked very well knowing what his assignment would be.

“Take out Thanat Jaisaen. But, he must be allowed to give his speech. He’ll advocate for an independent Lan Na Republic. This assassination needs to be handled delicately. And you cannot be caught.”

Pantrem frowned. The job, this assignment, was easy enough but the guilt was beginning to weigh heavy on his soul. “Ok, I’ll proceed. You’ll hear from me when I am safely in China.”

“Kunming will be expecting you. Oh, and one last thing. The reporter, Power, he too needs to be erased.”

A crescent moon had taken flight in the starry sky. Pantrem had left the restaurant with a scant nod but Bee’s conversation, if melancholy, had eased the tension of the situation.

“Your wife, you love her?” Bee asked. Her tone remained serious but a sparkle appeared in her gaze.

Declan also detected a hint of seduction in her voice. Surely he must be mistaken he thought; ladies like her didn’t muck with blokes like him. A smile crept to his face. It didn’t matter. He had Oum. “Yeah, she’s my girl. But she’s not my wife yet. Our wedding day, next month on the twenty-fifth, will be in her village.”

Bee clapped her hand in glee: “Wonderful, a Christmas Day wedding!”

“Yeah, Oum is Buddhist. She’s never had much time for the Christians. Me either. But I’m Catholic and she thinks it will bring us good luck.”

“Well, if she is a good Thai Buddhist she surely consulted her monk for a lucky marriage day.”

“Indeed,” Declan said with a laugh. “But for me any day would be lucky to marry her.”

Bee leaned over and grazed Declan’s hand. “You said you had a plan. To save your wife, umm, your girlfriend, I mean.”

The reality of the moment was not lost to him. He noted that Bangkok Man had returned to his table. Declan waved for him to join them.

“Bee, I’d like you to meet a big part of my plan.”

Pantrem sat down. His face betrayed no emotion. He gave her a curt nod while sitting back in his chair arms folded across his chest.

Declan noted the tension on his face and the clear suspicion on hers. “Look,” Declan began, “We all need each other. Bee, I, with Phitak’s help, can get you out of Chiang Mai.”

“No, out of Thailand,” she stated in a low fierce tone. “I have family in China.”

Bangkok Man concentrated his stare on Bee. “It would be helpful if I knew what is going on here.”

“Her uncle is Thanat Jaisaen,” Declan informed him conspiratorially. “She’s in fear of her life, something we can understand, and she also can connect some of those dots you alluded to earlier.”

Pantrem’s interest perked up. “I’m listening.”

“And I’m not feeling comfortable,” Bee hissed. “Declan, I was told you could help me, help me to get away. Now you talk of some plan, a plan that seems to put me in more danger. Now, now, this man comes to our table. Who are you?”

“The man who can deliver you to China safely,” Pantrem stated sharply as his eyes making a quick appraisal of the room. He noticed a man concentrating on his mobile device but taking quick, furtive, glances at their table. This information was filed away. “But first I need to know how you can help me.”

The pulsing light of Declan’s mobile interrupted the tense back and forth. He rose from his seat. “I need to take this. You two reach whatever agreement you can but do it fast.”

“Something’s going down on Loi Kroh! What do you have for me?” Peter Morgan barked.

Declan fought the urge to throw the phone into the river. The last thing he needed was his Brit prick of a boss jumping all over his case. “It’s fluid and I’m on it. I’ll have something tomorrow for you.”

“You got the interview with Jaisaen?”

“Yeah, Bart the Fart didn’t catch you up? In any case, better to run with that after the event at Mengrai University. I’ll be there covering it from head to toe.”

Morgan juggled the phone in his hand. There was no sense pushing Power on the latest development with the Lan Na Ripper. And, like it or not, Power was the man to stick on Thanat Jaisaen. “Ok, I’ve got my hands full with the open rebellion in Bangkok. But I’ll need a stack on my desk by the end of business tomorrow.”

Declan stashed his phone into his pants pocket. Then, suddenly, a thought rushed into his mind. It was a reporter’s intuition. Bartholomew Hartin had been acting strange earlier in the day at Jaisaen’s office. Why was the question?  Body language mattered. On many occasions, Declan could infer as much from one of his interview subjects than the words they spoke. The body language of Bartholomew Hartin screamed guilt. Or, at the very least, he had something heavy weighing on his conscience. Conversely, Thanat Jaisaen appeared completely comfortable, at ease even, with his situation. He was missing clues; a man searching for pieces of a half finished jigsaw puzzle in the dark.

Halfway across the room, seeing Pantrem and Bee engaged in conversation, he stopped and pivoted around. A startling thought emerged. Declan was in Bizzarro land and Bartholomew Hartin was a leading figure.  He dialed his boss’ mobile.

“Morgan, you need to listen to me,” Declan said anxiously, relieved Morgan had bothered to pick up.

Morgan looked at his phone annoyed, “Power, what the hell is going on? I’ve got work to do. You too or are you on the piss again!”

“Look, you hate my guts, right,” Declan said cupping his hands to muffle the conversation.

“Yes, I don’t try to hide it.”

“And I feel the same way about you. But, as a newspaper man, I respect you.”

“Yeah, yeah Power. I respect you too. Look if you need a pep talk now’s not the…”

“Bart the Fart,” Declan interrupted. “Is he at the Chronicle?”

“Yes,” Morgan hesitated.

“Neither of us respects him. That’s the cold truth and we both know why he’s in your employ. But there’s been an air about him lately. Not just his usual alcoholic incompetence. His body language was all wrong today.”

Peter Morgan paused. An image appeared. It tumbled vividly out of his memory. Power was right. Bart Hartin’s surprise visit to his office earlier in the morning was completely out of character. He now looked up from his desk. Bartholomew Hartin had stealthily entered his office and now his gaunt face was staring down at him. A change had indeed come over Bart. It was unsettling. Hartin closed the door.

“In fact, he’s here right now. Look Power, I’ll call you right back.”

Declan returned to the table, but his thoughts rested on the other side of the tranquil river. The walls were closing quickly around him. Oum had been violently kidnapped. Chief Pao and Job were dead, brutally and brazenly murdered in broad daylight. And now, Morgan was cornered in a room with Hartin. He chided himself. Bart’s demeanor had screamed menacing. Yet he had dismissed it as just Bart being Bart when a closer scrutiny was in order. 

Bee and Phitak were at least being civil. Tomorrow was the day of reckoning. They needed to be in Thanat Jaisaen’s compound with each having a job to carry out. But how to survive the night was the immediate question.