The Chiang Mai Chronicle: A Declan Power Mystery (21 page)

Declan sat down on the balcony’s sofa and picked up his mobile. A number of messages lay in the inbox but two jumped off the screen. The first was from Bangkok Man. It read: Beware! You are in the Devil’s lair!! Call when you are alone. He looked back into the apartment. Bee was still in the shower. Declan pushed the dial button. No response. The cryptic message set him on edge. He next went to the message from the Chiang Mai Chronicle. The morning edition was off the press and had been forwarded to him. This only occurred if there was a message for him left in the Obituary page. He opened the file and tried to remember Morgan’s code. Adjusting his glasses, he scrolled down the page. There it was. Peter Marlowe.

The morning breeze had a balmy quality to it. Still, Declan shivered as he paced up and down the spacious balcony. If Pantrem’s message had been less than straightforward, he at least knew that Bee was perhaps not the damsel in distress she had let on. And Morgan’s imbedded warning confirmed that something had gone awry at the Chronicle. He was in the dark. But the straws he was clutching at were clues. That was enough. He again tried to contact Bangkok Man. Bingo!

“Look, you need to get out of that condo. Now!”

Declan was taken aback by the frantic nature of Phitak’s normally calm voice. “Got it,” Declan answered. This was no time for questions. “Where do we meet?”

“Get down to the street and I’ll pick you up. I’ll wait five minutes.”

The line went dead and Declan strode for the door. As if on cue, Bee, naked, with beads of water washing down her body, emerged into the living room. “The offer still holds,” she purred into his ear. “Or, I’ve heard men enjoy the wet look if you are interested in more pictures. Are you going somewhere?”

“I thought I’d go down to the lobby and grab the morning edition,” Declan said chiding himself for the evident nervousness to be found dripping from his voice.

Bee smiled, looked at him quizzically, and turned for the front door which she opened. She bent over, picked up a waiting paper, looked at the headline, and tossed it into Declan’s arms. “The Lan Na Herald delivered daily.”

Declan stared dumbfounded at the headline. The Lan Na Herald? He looked up at Bee who returned his gaze with a smile. She was about to speak when her phone sprang to life.

Phitak Pantrem made no pretense that Rose was in his custody. He walked her roughly through the lobby and flashed his badge and steel when the concierge tried to inquire as to what was going on. The concierge backed away as Stephen Kelm’s hawk like stare quickly summed up the situation. He thought to go check on Pantrem’s hotel room. That thought was dismissed. His man was dead. Worse yet, Rose was apprehended. And, by her bedraggled look and labored walk, she had been worked over. Rose lifted up her head and shot him a quick glance. The etching of sadness lining her face was overwhelming. Rose had been broken. Her Lord had been betrayed.

Kelm weighed his options. He could make a move on Pantrem. That was a fifty fifty proposition however. One of them would be dead. He saw the concierge pick up the phone and watched as the frightened man frantically relayed what was happening to presumably the police. Certainly the lobby was lined with security cameras. He would easily be identified. No, a daring rescue mission was out of the question. Kelm affected a disinterested yawned, motioned for the lobby waitress, and lazily ordered another cup of coffee. He reached for his phone. Perhaps it was time to disappear but, if so, he would not leave his Lord in the lurch.  And, his job was not complete.

The cool water splashed down Oum’s face and body. It felt good to wash away the dirt. More to the point, it felt good to wash away the filth of Martin Gay. Peter Morgan’s wife, Jade, and daughter, Alison, also relished in their release from the oppressive cage they had been confined to. Even if they were still prisoners, just walking away into a proper house was enough to provide a spiritual lift.

“What are these clothes?” Jade asked as she walked over to the neatly placed attire resting on the room’s dresser.

Oum placed the comforting cotton towel around her body and walked to Jade’s side. “They are the dress of a slave.”

“A slave?” Jade answered incredulously. “I don’t understand.”

“Mommy, will we be slaves?” Alison asked her eyes wide.

“No, of course not,” she answered casting Oum a cross look. “What do you know to talk of such things?”

Oum nostrils flared. Even here, amidst their plight, Jade Morgan was able to maintain her air of superiority. She walked over to a stool and sat down. Her eyes closed seeking a more serene time. Oum smiled inwardly as she thought of her frequent visits with Declan to Wiang Khum Kam museum; the museum which was the shrine to the glory days of Lan Na. ‘Someday, when I get the time, I’m going to write an historical fiction novel, you know, like that Dan Brown guy, about the ancient Lan Na Kingdom,’ he would always say. So full of ideas, so full of optimism, was her Declan. She began to sob. Indeed she did recognize these clothes, as she did all the ceremonial wear of the ancient Lan Na royal court. Declan had given her a large coffee table book with many brightly colored photos. The book, Power Dressing: Lanna Shan Siam, had illuminated her imagination. This would be the attire, an outfit for a king and one for a queen, for their wedding. She loved to flip through the pages and dream of her special day. Little attention did she pay to the dress of the slaves. That was from another time, another world. But whatever strange drama she had found herself wrapped into, her role would be as a slave. It began to dawn on her. A certain truth was being unveiled. That whoever was orchestrating these strange events indeed had an eye on the past. Thanat Jaisaen, a grandson of former Lan Na Royalty, was trying to bring the Lan Na court into the 21st Century.

She thought to a photo prominently displayed in her treasured book. Scant attention had been paid to the lowly servants in the background equipped with wide fans to cool their masters. Another wave of tears washed into her eyes. Oum looked around the room. She peered through a thin slat in the window shutter. All she could see were trees flowing up a hill. They were in the mountains. Trapped.

Captain America strode through door a picture of vitality. He held his phone in his hand and was listening intently to the voice on the other side.

“It seems like the most prudent move General,” he stated crisply. “Yes, you can expect our full support,” he answered steadfastly. “The United States response? Well, I’ll check with State later today. We can expect some soft sanctions. I wouldn’t worry however. We’ll set up some back channels to offset any loss in aid.”

Pantrem listened carefully. He got the drift. The Thai military was on the move. A coup was in its initial stages and the coup leaders wanted, needed perhaps, the backing of the Naresuan Commission.

“Thank you General. Best of luck in Bangkok and consider Chiang Mai handled.” 

Phitak Pantrem could not help but admire this man’s obvious wealth of energy. But he was also apprehensive and on guard. Death oozed from the very pores of this dangerous man. Captain America was an assassin. And, in his day, there was no better.

They were situated in a small cottage just behind the United States Consulate. There were three rooms: A living room, small kitchen, and bedroom. Rose was confined to the bedroom. A pot of coffee steamed in the kitchen where Pantrem rose to greet his superior.

“What have you got out of her?”

“Well, Thanat Jaisaen is the not the man we need to be in fear of to begin.”

“I know. Tell me something I don’t.”

Phitak’s mind screamed: ‘How the fuck should I know what you do and don’t know?’ “Your man Stephen Kelm is no longer your man,” he continued calmly. “He now is under the employ of the person we should have been focusing on all along.”

“This was cleverly disguised,” the clearly consternated man shrugged. “But, it seems I’m getting old, perhaps too old for this game. In any event, I had good reason, we all did, my Thai colleagues included, to believe Thanat was behind the separatist movement.”

Pantrem noticed a personal tone, an uncharacteristic softness, to his boss’s tone. It was as if Jaisaen and he shared a connection.  “How so?” he questioned knowing he was speaking out of line.

Captain America cast him a stern look. But then a look of resignation appeared on his face. “Forty years ago, when Thanat was a young boy of fifteen, and I an up and coming operative, I killed Thanat Jaisaen’s father.”

The admission hit hard. But, Pantrem figured, many men had died at this man’s feet. “What was the mission?”

Captain America rose and poured himself a cup of coffee. More surprisingly, he refilled Pantrem’s cup. “Pottpawan Jaisaen, nicknamed Pott, had cast his lot with the communist insurrection that was being waged at that time.”

“Certainly Thanat is not a communist. Hell, he is one of the richest men in Asia.”

“Neither was Pott. But the Lan Na cause has never strayed far from the Jaisaen family. He saw it as a way to reestablish Lan Na as an independent state. Pott merely bankrolled the communists.”

“And you were sent up to turn off the spigot.”

“Yes. But I had another motive as well. You see Pantrem, I was having an affair with Pott’s wife. It was heated.”

Phitak had his elbows planted on the table with his chin placed atop his hands wrapped in Captain America’s story. “So you acted on emotion.”

“You could put it like that. I was in love. But my future wife also lay on top of a vast fortune and I was not a man of means. It was my ambition to release my bonds from the CIA and to engage one hundred percent of my time, energy, and abilities to the Naresuan Commission.”

Pantrem thought for a moment. “So you are…”

“That is correct. I am Thanat’s father-in-law.”

Phitak fought the urge to laugh considering the absurdity of the situation.

“And so, I was led to believe ‘like father like son.’ There is no joy in killing two generations of a family but no other avenue seemed fit.”

“Then here we are,” Phitak said pointing to the bedroom door. “And in there is part of the real King of Lan Na’s plan. Let me catch you up with what information she provided.”

Stephen Kelm casually kept a gun pointed at Declan’s head as he huddled with Bee. The sun now gently made its way into the living room allowing a misty haze to hover about. Declan was surprised at how freely they talked of their plans in front of him.

“You certainly are making it easier for me to write my story. Hell, I even see a book in this madness.”

They both looked over at him as if they forgot he was there.

“Dead man talking,” Kelm chortled.

“Declan I’ll miss you. And truly, if it was possible, I’d let you live. I even contemplated having you and Oum enjoy a slave wedding.”

He was caught off guard. “A slave wedding?”

“Why yes, as we speak, Oum is going through her orientation. She will be a slave at the Lan Na Royal Court. I had thought to keep you as a court scribe. The love you and Oum share is a thing of beauty and one I take no great pleasure in extinguishing. My original idea was to enlist Phitak Pantrem in the role. But that has not gone as planned.” She shot Kelm a look of disgust before continuing. “However, Stephen here has come up with ‘plan B’ which in many respects is even better.”

Declan rose from the sofa. He wanted to spit in Bee’s face. Kelm also rose bringing his gun within inches of Declan’s face. That Oum was still alive was enough to keep him afloat. It was a source of hope, a lifeline to cling to. He also knew Bangkok Man was on the hunt. That gave him courage. Declan stepped back from the nozzle of the gun and laughed. “The Lan Na Royal Court! That’s a good one.”

Bee instantly slapped him across the face. “It is not a joke Declan Power. And with a snap of the King’s fingers you would be dead as we speak.”

Declan sat back down. The slap stung, but his smile remained. “And where is this king? Certainly it is not Thanat Jaisaen. I figured that out at our interview. Lan Na runs through his veins, but he is not the sort to hoard illusions of grandeur.”

“No, he does not have the supreme ambition of his father. Now there was a man. He had the strength to envision the rebirth of Lan Na. I will fulfill that dream.”

“You?” Declan said his smile growing wider. “You’re one hell of a sexy broad but you’ll have a tough time convincing anybody you are a dude.”

Kelm walked over to Power and belted him on the side of the head. “On your knees slave,” he growled. “You may not live for long but until that time you are in service to your Lord and you’ll act as such.”

Declan could feel the blood creeping down the side of his cheek as he was shoved down onto the floor.

Bee walked over to him. “On your knees Declan Power. No, I have a better idea. Stephen, bring him to my bedchamber. Declan Power will indeed serve his Lord.”

The beatings had been carried out with purpose. Both Oum and Jade Morgan had each received twenty lashes from the bamboo rod. ‘Never look your lord directly in the eye’ the staff supervisor shouted as the bamboo cut through the air. ‘Always prostrate yourself before your Lord or your master’ accompanied the crash of the rod against skin. Screams of agony filled the room as instructions were doled out. None were worse than the cries of a little girl her world being ripped asunder.