The Chiang Mai Chronicle: A Declan Power Mystery (20 page)

Morgan knew he had but one chance. “Well, if that is the case, let me cooperate.”

“To say ‘I don’t trust you’ would be a gross understatement Peter Morgan,” Hartin replied with his own grim chuckle.

“You’ll need to have Power’s photo shoot, his centerfold page, set properly.”

“My bloody oath Peter Morgan!” Hartin raged as he shot from his chair. “It is just that type of filth that we are trying to rid this kingdom of. The new Lan Na Republic will represent a pure culture and not emit the filth that Bangkok has injected up north.”

‘So what is it?’ Morgan wanted to ask, ‘A kingdom or a republic?’ But he had gotten the reply he was looking for. “Ok then. You’ll still need help with the obituaries and classified ads.”

Hartin sat back down, regained his composure, and appeared to give Morgan’s suggestion some thought. He clapped his hands. “Now good editor you are talking sense.” His mood seemed to brighten. “That will save me a few hours and is the type of cooperation that may well save your wife and daughter’s lives. On with it man!”

Declan Power wrapped up his first photo shoot. If it wasn’t the professional grade of his photographer Lek, he would still be able to make due. He looked down at the camera. ‘Exquisite’ he murmured.

“Thank you,” Bee’s voice called. “I was quite nervous you know.”

“It shows. That heightens the aura of sexuality. This edition will jump off the racks I can guarantee you.”

Bee gave a wry smile. “But I’ll be out of the country so all the glory will go to you.”

“And I’ll be on an island with my girl,” Declan added his voicing drifting off.

She handed him a Stoli and orange juice. “Which brings us back to reality.”

“Best to go over our plan again.”

Bee rose and began to pace impatiently. “One, two, three! I know already.”

“We can’t be too careful. There’s a lot at stake for the both of us. Bangkok Man as well. Step one: I go to cover your brother’s speech.”

“And I go with Pantrem and get the documents outlining Martin Gay’s TEFL scam.”

“Step two: I’ll try to get Thanat Jaisaen, Lan Na’s king in waiting, back to his office for an interview.”

“There I’ll confront my brother with the documents. Bangkok Man will supply the muscle.”

“Then the trade, the documents for my Oum. Step two is complete.”

“On to step three!”

“Step three is the easy part. Oum and I are off into hiding till the dust settles while you and our Bangkok friend are on a plane to China. We’re out of Hades kitchen happy with our lives.”

Bee let out a deep sigh. “More relieved than happy but at least this nightmare will be over. And you’ll have your blockbuster story.”

“As long as I have my girl I’ll take it. But that is the plan,” Declan said as he closed his eyes and thought of holding Oum in his arms.

Annie rolled on top of Phitak. She let out a long low growl as she rode him. He cocked his head to the side and captured Chiang Mai’s skyline as it was framed by the hotel suite’s bayside window. It was a splendid diversion to help him from exploding into her gyrating body. He wanted this to last.

She slapped him on the cheek. “Look at me!”

Annie was a dangerous sort. She liked it rugged. He roughly grabbed her breasts and squeezed. Annie screamed. It was mixture of pain and pleasure. Annie again belted him. Phitak pumped harder, threw her off him, entered her from behind, and began to slap her bottom. She grabbed the bedposts and shook violently. They both were coming to a climax and each was trying to suck as much pleasure out of the experience as possible. This was a cocktail to be savored, a one night stand for the ages: ‘Wham bam thank you ma’am’ and on with their lives. Then, amidst the screams, it was over.

It was no time to cuddle. They both knew this night was for rough passion, a violent collision of heat where romance had no place. He dismounted leaving her with another slap across her bottom. She accepted it with a moan.

“I’ll be right back Annie,” he said as he walked into the shower.

“Don’t be long big boy. I’m waiting,” she panted heavily.

Phitak turned on the shower full blast. He adjusted the temperature knob to its highest level bringing the water to a scolding heat. Bending over, he reached behind the toilet’s water basin. There, taped against the porcelain, he found his revolver. He let out a nervous laugh. Never had he thought he’d have the circumstance to replicate Al Pacino’s famous scene from The Godfather. The bathroom was beginning to steam up. Difficult to see, but as he placed his ear against the door he could hear, more like feel actually, some slight activity in the room. Life in the shadows helps one to develop a sixth sense. It could save a man’s life. He sat down on the throne and began to sing. Loudly. 

Dawn hinted at its arrival. The day, THE DAY, was upon them. Bartholomew Hartin had waited, perhaps wasted, a lifetime for such an occasion. But the bottle was behind him now. The bottle had served a purpose however. It had covered up the shame. He could have been Sir Bartholomew. A Commander of the Realm, a British lord, was part of his inheritance. Yet his father could not countenance that. He was disowned if not disinherited. The image of his father came strongly into focus. His father, also Bartholomew, a man, a lord, who had served his country with distinction and honor, never could come to grips with the fact that he could have sired someone who would be derided as Bart the Fart. Bartholomew Hartin Sr. was a straightforward man. He eloquently stated his feelings to his son on any occasion available. “Monty’s second in command, a decorated hero of El Alamain, the Lord of Dorchester, should never have been on the receiving end of such a cruel joke as you son.”

Tears began to well up in his eyes, the shame again filling to the brim. “But no!” he bellowed, “not today.” Today was his day of triumph. His father had been the recipient of good fortune. Born into wealth, he merely needed to fill out the prerequisites of his station. The mighty Lord of Dorchester never built anything. Bart the Lionheart had simply fought to uphold the ancient traditions which had been polished and handed down to him in the form of a silver spoon.

Now a different emotion arose. This too brought tears. A sense of pride and accomplishment took the place of the shame his father had always forced upon him. Today he would experience something his father could have only dreamt of. On this day, Bartholomew Hartin Jr. would be an active participant in the creation of a kingdom.

He looked at the work Peter Morgan had finished. Yes, a proper order had been restored. No longer would he take orders from a Muswell Hill upstart. Better yet, no longer would he have to tolerate the presence of that Irish lout Declan Power. Sir Bartholomew Hartin, the newly appointed Minister of Foreign Relations, representing the Kingdom of Lan Na, would now take his rightful place amongst the world’s elite.

“Can’t sleep?” Bee questioned with a yawn as she made her way onto the balcony.

“A lot on my mind. Actually, I’ve never been much for sleep. Too early for a smoke though,” Declan chided himself as he flicked the spent butt over the railing.

“Calms the nerves,” Bee said as she handed him a cup of coffee.

“I never took you as a smoker.”

“Only after sex,” she laughed.

“And pizza and wine as well I hear,” Declan said joining in the laughter.

“Well then Mr. Power, you are the crack reporter.”

“Your bed partner will be my first ‘girl next door’ subject,” Declan offered with a twinkle in his eye.

“Ah yes, Nikki was a willing toy. The things she’d allow to be done to her.” Bee took a sip of her coffee, stood up, and leaned against the balcony’s rail. “My last sunrise I suppose. I’ll miss it, my lifestyle that is.”

“I’m sure there will be pizza and wine in China,” Declan joked.

Bee let Declan’s quip slide. “The day is upon us Declan Power. Let’s see we make it to the other side. I’m off to shower.” She looked at him nervously. “We well may not make it you know. My Uncle is clever and dangerous and, if we’re caught, surely deadly.” She took him by the hand. “Come to the shower with me. It may be the last good thing we do.”

Bee’s robe fell to the floor. Declan felt himself wrap into her embrace. But he knew it would be a price too high. He kissed her on the cheek. “Being faithful now, with you for the taking, if this is the last good thing I do it will be enough.” He let her go. The temptation was strong and the will to resist wavered. But, as she turned the corner and faded from view, he smiled, inhaled the coffee’s thick aroma and thought of the girl that made his heart tick.

He sat, sang, and waited. Bangkok Man knew the drill all too well.

The door opened. Just a crack at first, then slowly it a shadowy figure could be seen in the doorway. A burst of gunfire shattered the silence crashing through the shower door. Pantrem didn’t wait for introductions. He buried three bullets into the unsuspecting gunman and hurtled quickly over the crumpled body.

Annie’s face registered shock. She quickly pivoted and raced for the balcony. He instantly recognized her motivation. A suicide jump. But that wasn’t going to happen. He easily vaulted over the bed and tackled her before she could reach the sliding door.

“How many Rose?” he hissed.

Her eyes looked up in surprise and horror.

He slapped her roughly across the face. “How many,” he repeated.

She shook her head. “No, no, only him!”

He got up and motioned for her to do the same. She was naked, unarmed, and trembling with fear. Rose was also a viper. He kept his gun trained at her head. “On the bed.” He went over to his suitcase and produced a pair of handcuffs. “Turn over.” Rose did as ordered and rolled over onto her stomach. He grabbed her arms and pinned them behind her back before applying the cuffs. He then ripped apart the pillow case, balled up some fabric, and stuffed it into her mouth.

Pantrem then went to check on the gunman. Just as he suspected, the hired killer was dead. He checked the hotel room door to make sure it was secure. He had thwarted one ambush. This wasn’t the time to let his guard down. A bottle of Scotch beckoned for his attention. He poured himself a glass and sat down on the sofa. His mobile pulsated, the neon blue jumping into the still air. A frown crept on to his face. “I’ve got a piece to our puzzle,” he said lazily finally picking up the phone. “I’ll have a lot more soon. Make sure I’ve got a ride waiting by the hotel in about one hour.” He shut off the phone and tossed it onto the sofa.

Rose began to jerk heavily against her bondage. Phitak went over to his suitcase and produced a jar of Vaseline. He sat beside her on the bed and finished the last of his Scotch. “Ouch, still hot,” he exclaimed as he started to apply the Vaseline to the nozzle of his gun. Rose’s eyes widened. “That’s right dear. You’re about to get fucked again.”

The words had been committed to memory. Later in the day he would confirm what many had suspected for some time. Thanat Jaisaen had his eyes on a revived on a Lan Na kingship. How badly they had misjudged him. And few would believe that this majestic burden had been thrust upon him. Yet events had spiraled out of control and now Thailand was on the precipice of civil war with emotions running high on both sides. Neither was willing to concede. He looked at the phone. “The Naresuan Commission,” he spat. If he was to be king then kingly decisions would need to be made. Reluctantly he dialed the number of a deadly enemy.

“Can we talk?”

“Thanat, or should I say Your Highness,” a familiar steely voice replied.

The same image always appeared when that voice came crashing into his head. The burning timbers of a centuries old palace with the high pitch scream of his father futilely battling to escape from his assassination. An adventurous life extinguished. His mother looked down at him. He would never forget her wan smile. The haunting voice beckoned to them with a matter of fact assured tone. “Come now, the both of you. What’s done is done and needed to be done.”

His mother went willingly, eagerly even, while he needed to be dragged away. At the age of twelve Thanat Jaisaen had become a man as he swore vengeance on the man they called Captain America. But this moniker conjured up no images of superheroes. No, this Captain America was a viper. He was capable of the most heinous acts of treachery and violence. This enemy was also highly effective; and, oddly enough, a man who could be trusted. If a deal could be struck that is. Today was such a day.    

Stephen Kelm sat in the lobby of the Four Seasons Hotel. His watch pulsated 4 A.M. The culmination of a career seeking its highest point would be achieved on this very day. Now he would control his own intelligence gathering network. He sipped at his coffee. The act against Phitak Pantrem should have been completed. Still, experience told him to wait. He thought of Peter Morgan’s wife and child. Smart, intelligent, beautiful, she would make a fine wife for a man of his stature. His king, his lord, would surely give her to him if he requested.

This was the subtle genius of what was being reestablished in the Kingdom of Lan Na. A court, a true royal court would be established where people of merit could wield power and live in a style befitting royalty. And then there would be Rose. She would make a fine concubine. Kelm let out a laugh. He looked around to see if anybody had noticed. The lobby was virtually empty. Rose was but a dream. She’d be kept locked up after today to be seen and enjoyed only by their lord. He kept his eye trained on the elevator bank. He saw the light flash on floor ten. Pantrem’s floor. The arrow read down. Kelm gathered himself. The moment had arrived.