The Widow's Strike (5 page)

M
alik spoke over
his shoulder
as he peeked out of the blinds.

“Has anyone paid you more scrutiny than normal?”

“No, sir. Actually, they’ve quit looking at us. We’ve been attending class for over a month.”

Malik turned, speaking to the group. “Don’t get careless. They are on me night and day now, and it was almost impossible to get clean for this meeting.”

He didn’t tell them why that was the case. Since the discovery of the dead police officer he’d been questioned twice. Both overtly pleasant affairs, nothing more than poking his story to see if they could find a hole, but a sinister cloud hung behind the smiles of the Thai officials. Luckily, he’d made progress on the Persian-carpet front, with orders from three separate stores to back up his cover. The backstopping for the business itself was as strong as that of any company on earth; his company was fully owned and managed by the Pasdaran, blended into the myriad of textile industries the Revolutionary Guards Corps dabbled in.

The men eagerly nodded their heads, wanting to prove they were better than the idiots who had screwed up the mission against the Zionist diplomat a year and a half ago. Malik kept his stern visage but was inwardly pleased. He’d handpicked each of them, fighting with their respective Quds commanders to get them released for this mission. Since he had the ear of the ayatollah himself, it wasn’t much of a battle.

The men were all young, were all here on student visas, and had all been living their cover for a little over two months. They were clean-shaven, and if you didn’t look at their passports, they could have been from Italy instead of Iran. Each had a specialty, giving the team expertise in everything from computers to explosives. All were extremely well trained but had been picked for another critical reason: their fervent belief in exporting the revolution. They hadn’t even been born when Iran became a theocracy bathed in blood, but they had been steeped in its mystique from the moment they could walk. There would be no Pattaya whores with this group.

“Okay. Good,” Malik said. “What do we know about the son?”

Roshan, the engineer, spoke first. “We’ve located him, but taking him will be difficult. He attends a boarding school way north of the city center. The school is located on the grounds of a gated community, primarily full of European expatriates. He’s not allowed to leave during the week but is free to come and go on the weekends.”

Not good.
“We don’t have time to waste guessing where he will be on the weekend. What about his mother? Where’s his true home?”

Roshan said, “His mother is dead. He’s an only child, which is why his father put him in the boarding school while he works in Singapore.”

Malik considered. They’d have to mount a surveillance effort against the boy just to determine likely ambush spots, and they’d only be able to do it on the weekends. He was looking at three weeks or more to get the mission done, and he wasn’t sure he had that kind of time.

“Have you looked at the school? How hard would it be to get him there?”

“Not hard to take him, but they’d know he was missing within eight hours when he missed bed check. There would be a full-on search, starting with alerting the father.”

Maybe
. It would be risky, but he didn’t see much of a choice. If they could get the boy, then move immediately to the Iranian embassy, they could hold him indefinitely. It would mean bringing the ambassador and a host of other people into the mission, along with alerting the mullahs about what he was doing. Possibly causing them to balk at the diplomatic explosion the mission might engender. But they’d risked greater things. Two years ago they’d tried to kill the diplomat from the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia right inside the home of the Great Satan. This would be nothing compared to that action.

His pacing and reflection were interrupted by Sanjar, the computer expert.

“Sir? I don’t think we will need to guess about where he will be on the weekend.”

“Why?”

“I hacked his Facebook page, and he uses Foursquare. Uses it relentlessly. I have a pattern from the last two months of weekends, and he usually goes to the same places.”

Sanjar might as well have been speaking in Thai to the older general. “What are you talking about? Explain.”

“Foursquare is a social media program that lets you announce where you are at any given time, allowing your friends to track you and possibly meet. Every time Kavi enters a location, he plugs it into Foursquare, which then posts the location on his Facebook page in real time. In the last two months, he’s mainly gone to the nightclubs on Royal City Avenue and to a large mall called Terminal Twenty-one.”

Malik couldn’t believe someone would tell the world what they were doing every minute of the day. “What do you mean ‘in real time’? You mean it appears when he sends it, or does it upload later, as a history?”

“It’s instant. I’m currently building a database of his habitual patterns, focusing on the venues where he’s a mayor.”

“Mayor?”

“Yes, sir. With Foursquare, the person who logs in the most at a given venue is awarded the honorary title of mayor until someone else logs in more than him. Kavi is mayor of two different places, which means he frequents them a lot, and it also encourages him to keep going back. He won’t want to lose the title.”

The idiocy boggled Malik’s mind. But he was more than prepared to use it.

“Are you sure you’re clean? Nobody is on you?”

“Yes. We’ve done everything as instructed.”

“Okay. Use this week to conduct reconnaissance on the possible locations. Plan an attack at the most likely ones. Insha’Allah, we’ll have the key to the virus this weekend.”

I
t wasn’t until
they had
checked into their hotel in Bangkok, after the visit to the prison in Chiang Mai, that Jennifer found the passport. A brand-new one, blue, with an entry stamp into Thailand and a picture of Knuckles inside. She flipped it closed and tapped her palm with it, a little disgusted at her naïveté.

In truth, she should have known something was up when Pike went to visit Knuckles in a suit, claiming to be from the State Department. He’d told her it was simply to keep the prison from giving them the runaround and that she’d be the one to represent the company. When he presented a black passport at the prison, she knew he’d been planning it all along.

After passing through the entry control point and moving into the visitation center, she asked, “Where’d you get a diplomatic passport?”

“Before we left. While you were getting the plane set up at Dulles.”

“Isn’t that doing exactly what Kurt wanted to avoid? Highlighting State Department interest? What if they contact the embassy? What’ll we say then?”

Pike flicked his eyes at her, a little annoyance coming through. “I’ve spent a lot of time over here. Trust me, they won’t contact the embassy. They’ve got a bunch of foreigners in this jail, mostly for drug running, and they get visits all the time from representatives of other countries. Did you see all the people sitting around in the entry control point? They’re waiting to visit someone. Probably be waiting for days. We just skipped all that.”

Before she could reply, the door opened on the other side of the wire-mesh wall, and Knuckles was shown in by a scowling, chubby Thai guard with deep-set eyes. She was shocked at his appearance. He was gaunt and pale and looked like he had lost twenty pounds.

He shuffled forward, both his arms and legs shackled, barefoot, wearing a cheap peasant top and what looked like pajama bottoms. He was shoved onto the stool across from them, and the cuts and bruises on his face became visible. He smiled, and she saw he was missing two teeth, the smile becoming a grotesque sneer.

Pike said, “What the hell happened to you?”

Before he could answer, Pike stood up and waved to the guard. “What did you guys do to him? What’s going on here?”

To Jennifer’s astonishment, Pike switched to Thai, chattering in a singsong, his voice rising, conveying what he was saying by emotion alone.

Knuckles ignored the conversation, saying, “Hello, Jennifer. I’m glad to see Grolier Services cares so much about their employees that they’d fly halfway around the world to check on them.”

“My God, Knuckles, what have they done to you?”

He flicked his head at the conversation going on with Pike. “Let him get done with Piggy. I don’t want to tell the story twice.”

“Can I get you anything? Medicine or food?”

“Don’t bother. Piggy’ll just take it to spite me.”

She saw Pike wave off the guard. Knuckles waited until he sat back down next to her.

Pike asked, “Is what he says true? You killed an inmate?”

“Yeah. That’s true all right, but it was because they were beating the shit out of me.”

“So you
killed
one of them? Jesus, Knuckles, what am I supposed to tell the State Department now?”

Knuckles’s expression became feral. “It was kill or be killed, damn it. That sadistic son of a bitch over there—the guy I call Piggy—runs his block like a little kingdom, granting favors for payment. He tried to take my watch, and I brought him down.”

When he didn’t continue, Pike said, “And? You obviously didn’t kill
him
.”

“And he moved me to a cell with some sort of mafia group to teach me a lesson. They waited until nightfall and I had to take on seven of them. I didn’t mean to kill one, but he left me no choice.”

Knuckles saw Pike’s disbelief and smacked the wire mesh with his fist. “I didn’t ask for this. He’s the one that’s responsible.” He leaned back and said, “In the end the whole thing didn’t matter. Piggy’s got my Rolex anyway.”

Pike said, “So you’re not in general population now? You’re in solitary?”

“Yes. A new section of the jail. Individual cells with no windows. Run by Piggy himself. See that PDA on his belt? It’s a high-tech detention system, and he controls my life with it. Water, light, the cell doors, everything. He likes to keep me in the dark.”

Pike swore. “This is going to make getting you out a damn sight harder. They had nothing on you before.”

Knuckles’s demeanor cracked for the first time. “Pike, you gotta do something. He’s a sadistic son of a bitch and he’s going to kill me. I swear to God this place is just like
The Deer Hunter
. I’m waiting on him to give me a pistol with one bullet and start a betting pool.”

Pike slowly nodded, his eyes unfocused, thinking. Jennifer said, “We’re going to the embassy right after this. We’ll find someone to help. They can’t keep you locked up forever. You’re an American citizen.”

Knuckles said, “Tell that to the other Americans in here. Thailand has the death penalty for running drugs. I’m pretty sure killing someone probably warrants torture before death.”

“But it was self-defense! They were beating you. The embassy won’t take that sitting down.” She turned to Pike. “Will they?”

He ignored her. “Knuckles, hang in there. I’ll get you out. I promise. Piggy should back off a little bit now that we’ve been here and seen you.”

As if on cue, Piggy walked over to them and cut in. “Time’s up. Back to cell.”

Jennifer said, “You’d better not hurt him anymore. I’m going to the embassy right after this.”

Piggy’s face split into a leer. “Go to your embassy. I don’t care. If you really want to help him, you and I could work something out.”

He laughed at the shocked look on her face, then jerked Knuckles to his feet. Jennifer said nothing as Knuckles was half dragged out of the room.

After the door closed, she said, “Pike, we need to do something soon. Regardless of Piggy hurting him, if he catches a disease in here it’ll probably
be
a death penalty.”

“I know. Come on. Let’s get to Bangkok.”

“To the embassy?”

“Yeah. Sort of.”

* * *

From Chiang Mai
they flew straight to Bangkok, the Gulfstream jet making the trip infinitely shorter because of the ease of private aircraft facilities outside of the other commercial air traffic. Landing at the older Don Muang Airport to the north of the city center, they paid for a private car, with Pike giving directions in Thai.

Jennifer sat in silence, watching the traffic begin to build up after they’d exited the toll road. Eventually, she turned and said, “Where did you learn to speak Thai? You never told me you could do that.”

He smiled. “You never asked. Anyway, it sort of became a moot point after 9/11. After I joined the Taskforce. Like speaking Latin. I wish I’d learned Arabic or Farsi.”

“Where?”

“In the Army. Everyone in Special Forces has to learn a language, depending on your group’s focus. Before I joined the Taskforce, I was in a group that focused on the Pacific Rim and Asia, so they sent me to learn Thai.”

“Well, I think it’s a little amazing.”

He laughed. “That’s because you can’t understand it. Trust me, I’m saying things like ‘We demand a donkey ride to Bangkok.’ I’m so rusty that Piggy back there probably understood two sentences out of all that shouting.”

After forty minutes they began traveling south down Wireless Road, Jennifer no longer asking questions, distracted by the massive ebb and flow of the world that was Bangkok.

She caught a glimpse of an American flag and focused on the building near it. The taxi kept going past, and she said, “Pike! That’s the embassy right there. Tell the cab driver to stop.”

“We’re not going to the embassy.”

“What? You want to go to the hotel first?”

“No. We’re going to JUSMAGTHAI.”

“What in the world is that?”

“Joint US Military Advisory Group, Thailand. I want to talk to a friend first, get a feel for the embassy before we go there.”

“Who?”

“A retired SF guy. He works at JUSMAG, doing exercise facilitation for units coming in here. He’s been in Thailand forever and deals directly with the embassy all the time.”

They crossed under Rama IV Road and did a U-turn, and the driver pulled to a stop adjacent to a walled compound with men in uniform in a guard shack, the Thai flag floating in the breeze.

“This isn’t American,” Jennifer said.

Pike said, “It’s a Thai military compound, but JUSMAG is inside.”

A man appeared outside of the gate and waved them into the drive. Pike exited, and Jennifer saw them hug. Momentarily, the gate opened, and Pike entered the car again. The vehicle pulled into a small courtyard, the man who’d waved them in waiting patiently on the curb.

Pike said, “Stay here. I won’t be long.”

“You mean I’m not coming?”

The door half open, he said, “Uhh . . . no. My buddy got the car in, but I’m not sure where they’ll check IDs. They don’t let civilians in here.”

“But you’re a damn civilian!”

He exited, saying, “Not today I’m not.”

Muttering under her breath, she watched him walk away.

An hour later and they were in their high-rise hotel on the Chao Phraya River; Pike had refused to talk about what he’d found out and exasperated Jennifer when he bypassed the embassy yet again.

When she pushed, all he had said was, “Look, I’m going to help Knuckles. Actually,
we
are. In fact, I’ve got to meet a man in an hour who might help us more than the embassy can. My buddy did the introductions. Let me talk to him first. If it pans out, I’ll tell you what we’re going to do. If it doesn’t, I’ll head to the embassy like Kurt instructed.”

She’d exploded at that, saying, “Bullshit! Tell me now. You’re treating me like a child. Like when we first met. How is this guy going to help when the embassy can’t?”

Pike said nothing for a moment, deciding. “He’s got infrastructure here. Things that’ll help us with Knuckles.”

“You mean he has some pull with the embassy?”

Cryptically, he’d said, “Yeah, something like that.”

* * *

Now, holding the
passport for Knuckles, her patience with the subterfuge had run out. She waited for Pike to finish putting his toilet articles in his bathroom. When he came out, he pointed at the connecting door to her room and said, “You going to unpack, or what?”

She held out the passport like she was holding a bag of dope. “What is
this
? Where did it come from?”

Pike took a deep breath and let it out, looking a little sheepish. “It’s for Knuckles. I got it the same time I got my dip passport.”

“Why?”

He began fiddling with his luggage again. He said, “In case.”

“In case of what, Pike?”

He said nothing, ripping through his bag like he’d lost something, flinging underwear and T-shirts onto the bed, a pathetic attempt to get her to drop the discussion. She repeated the question.

“In case of what?”

He halfheartedly stuffed a T-shirt back in, then zipped the bag closed. He dropped it and looked into her eyes.

“In case he doesn’t have a passport when we break him out, all right?”