World of Trouble (9786167611136) (11 page)

It had gone pretty much that way almost
everywhere else on the planet. Why should Thailand be any
different?

WHEN SHEPHERD GOT to Silom Road he stood on the
sidewalk and watched the masses of yellow-shirted marchers surge
by. There were a lot more of them than he expected. Was the
government really that popular? Maybe, but then again, maybe not.
He understood the basic principle of the color-coding and knew it
was government supporters who wore yellow, but he was a little
vague on all the nuances involved in the concept. And this being
Thailand, he suspected they were many and largely unfathomable to
foreigners.

Of course, most of the demonstrators were no
doubt a little vague on the nuances as well. Many of them were not
believers in any cause, but merely hired hands paid on a daily
basis to carry the colors of one side or the other. Well behind
them, deep in the shadows, stood the men who paid the poor to
battle it out in the streets in the name of platitudes about which
not one of them gave a damn. The goal, of course, was to control
the government so the men in the shadows could line their own
pockets and those of their friends. If one group had that power
then the other side didn’t. It was that simple really. And that was
why the battle went on and on, gaining almost daily in ferocity,
with no end in sight.

Elizabeth Corbin slipped through the crowd
and pushed in next to Shepherd.

“Where’s your shirt, Jack?”

She was a rail-thin blond, although whether
natural or not Shepherd had no idea, and very tall, even slightly
taller than he was.

“Gotta have a shirt,” she said. “Red or
yellow, don’t make no never mind. But you gotta have a shirt to
play.”

“Hello, Liz. Doing a story about the
demonstration?”

“Nope. This stuff was cute for a while, but
it got old fast. I won’t get another line into the paper until they
kill a few people.”

Liz was the Bangkok bureau chief for
The
New York Times
and her casual cynicism was a standard part of
the kit carried by every foreign reporter Shepherd had ever met in
Thailand.

“Then I hope you don’t get another line about
it into the paper,” Shepherd said.

“I will sooner or late. You can take that to
the bank.”

Shepherd nodded but said nothing.

“So where’ve you been, big boy? Lose my
number?”

Liz flirted casually with Shepherd every time
he saw her. It generally made him slightly uncomfortable, which Liz
naturally realized and that just caused her to step it up. He often
wondered if she handled every man she knew the same way or if he
had been designated for special treatment.

“Not in the market, Liz. But if I were—”

“Yeah, I know. I’d be your first stop. You’ve
said that before and I’m still waiting.”

“I’m flattered at your patience.”

“And I’m amazed at yours. Anita’s been gone
how long now?”

It was Shepherd’s policy not to talk to
The New York Times
about his personal humiliations, so he
said nothing.

“Okay, I get the message. Never mind. When
you get over Anita, give me a ring. I may or may not be
waiting.”

The last of the yellow shirts passed by and
automobile traffic reclaimed Silom again. So much for politics.
There was money to be made.

“You had breakfast yet?” Liz asked. “I think
the
Times
can still afford to treat you at Coffee World, if
only barely.”

“Sold,” Shepherd said. “It’ll make my whole
day to know the
Times
is paying for my coffee and
muffins.”

“Who said anything about muffins?” Liz
asked.

***

COFFEE WORLD WASN’T very crowded and it didn’t take
them very long to collect two lattes and a couple of bran muffins
and settle in at a table by the window. Shepherd put the brown
envelope with Charlie’s banking documents on the table, pulled his
cell phone out of his pocket, and laid it on top.

Liz tapped the envelope with one perfectly
manicured forefinger.

“What’s that?” she asked.

If she only knew, Shepherd thought. But that
was not what he said.

“Just some corporate organization documents
I’m reviewing for a client.”

Liz quickly lost interest in the envelope
just as Shepherd thought she would. “I hear the prime minister’s
going to resign,” she said. “What do you hear?”

Shepherd took a long hit on his coffee and
pinched off a chunk of his brand muffin. “I’m not the guy you need
to ask about that, Liz. I don’t know a thing about Thai
politics.”

“Bullshit. You used to be big pals with
General Kitnarok. Word around is that you still are.”

Shepherd gave Liz what he hoped was an
appropriately enigmatic smile and said nothing.

“And how about your girlfriend, Jack? She’s
right in the middle of everything that happens in this country.
What does she say about it?”

Kathleeya Srisophon was the woman Liz always
referred to as Shepherd’s girlfriend, no matter how often he told
her how wrong she was. It was true that Kate was the Director
General of the NIA, Thailand’s National Intelligence Agency, the
local version of the CIA, and it was also true that Kate and
Shepherd were acquaintances. It would probably even have been fair
to call them friends. But calling Kate his girlfriend was
stretching a modest acquaintanceship beyond all recognition.

“I guess there’s no point in my saying
again—”

“Absolutely none, Jack. You can’t bullshit
me. You and Kate have been an item ever since that mess you got
into with Plato Karsarkis. I hear she saved your life.”

Shepherd knew better than to argue with Liz.
He had already tried that. So he said nothing.

“What is NIA saying about the prime
minister?” Liz pressed. “Is there going to be civil war?”

“Now look, Liz, just because there are a
bunch of kids strutting around in colored shirts, don’t—”

“I’ll bet that’s exactly what the Jews in
Germany said about the Brownshirts in 1936.”

Shepherd just shook his head and tore another
chunk out of his bran muffin.

“I’ve heard something about Kate,” Liz
started up again when she realized Shepherd wasn’t going to take
the bait. “I know you’re going to say you don’t know anything, but
at least tell me if you think I’m way off base here. Will you do
that?”

Shepherd chewed silently, but Liz apparently
took that as a yes. He wasn’t surprised. Liz took almost everything
as a yes. Even an outright no.

“My sources tell me the prime minister will
resign within a week,” she said. “And the ruling coalition is going
to pick Kate to replace him.”

Shepherd almost choked on his muffin.

“You can’t be serious.”

Kate wasn’t a politician and Shepherd was
certain she had no interest in becoming one. She was an
administrator who ran Thailand’s intelligence apparatus, one that
was both more extensive and more effective than most people knew.
She wasn’t anything like the ignorant, corrupt farmers with bad
haircuts who had controlled the Thai political system since the
overthrow of the absolute monarchy in 1932. Kathleeya Srisophon as
Prime Minister of Thailand? There was no way in the world that was
going to happen.

“Then she hasn’t told you anything about it?”
Liz prodded.

“I haven’t talked to Kate in a while,”
Shepherd said.

It was true, but as an answer to Liz’s
question it sounded pretty lame, even to him.

“Uh-huh,” Liz said. “Sure.”

“Look, Liz, I really don’t think—”

“She’d be the perfect choice, Jack. Think
about it. Her great-grandfather was some mucky-muck in the court of
King Rama VI. Her grandfather went to Oxford and led the Free Thai
movement that fought the Japanese in World War II. And her father
was a Nobel Prize winning economist who became president of the
Asian Development Bank.”

“There is no way Kate is going to become
Prime Minister of Thailand, Liz.” Shepherd shook his head again.
“Absolutely no way.”

“Why the hell not? She’s spent nine years at
the NIA and was Director General by the age of thirty-five. She has
degrees from both the University of Massachusetts and Oxford
University. She’s as qualified to run a country as Barack Obama was
when he was elected President of the United States.”

“It’s not that, Liz. Kate’s not going to be
Prime Minister of Thailand because—”

When Shepherd realized what he was about to
say, he abruptly stopped talking.

“What?” Liz snapped. “A woman? Is that what
you were going to say, Jack? That Kate Srisophon will never be
Prime Minister of Thailand because she’s a woman?”

Shepherd did his best to look offended, but
of course that was exactly what he was going to say.

No woman had ever been prime minister of
Thailand, a country whose social order is as nearly feudal as
anyplace left on earth. Those few women who have achieved national
office in Thailand had all been stuck away in places like the
health ministry from which they could smile nicely for the cabinet
photographs and then get the hell out of the way while the men got
on with running the country. Shepherd had always assumed Kate had
been appointed Director General of NIA only because the politicians
had her marked down as a wealthy aristocrat with neither the need
nor the stomach to demand a place around the open feeding trough
that was government in Thailand. Kate probably seemed like a safe
choice for an office out of which none of the real politicians
could figure out a way to make any money.

Shepherd was about to say that to Liz when
his cell phone rang. He glanced at the display. It was Pete
Logan.

“I’m just finishing breakfast,” he answered.
“Can I call you back in ten minutes?”

Shepherd could have sworn he actually saw
Liz’s ears rotate toward him like two little satellite dishes.

“Who’s that?” she asked.

“Ten minutes,” he said into the phone. Then
he hung up and put it back on the table.

“It was Kate, wasn’t it?” Liz said.

“It was a client,” Shepherd said.

“You’re lying.”

“I’m a lawyer, Liz. That’s what I do.”

“Look, Jack, I can tell you know something,
something important, and—”

“Damn,” Shepherd interrupted, looking at his
watch. “I had no idea it was almost eleven. I’ve got an
appointment. Got to run, Liz.”

He shoved the rest of the bran muffin into
his mouth and stood up.

“Thanks for breakfast. I’ll call you.”

“Look here, you slick bastard, if you even
think of leaving this table before you tell me what you know about
all this, I’ll—”

Shepherd was certain Liz’s threats would be
both inventive and terrifying but, before she could work up a
decent head of steam, he snatched his telephone and Charlie’s
documents off the table and bolted for the door.

SHEPHERD DODGED ACROSS Silom Road through the traffic
and walked up a quiet side street overhung with a dense canopy of
willow trees. He stopped, pulled out his telephone, and called
Pete.

“So you got lucky last night,” Pete said
immediately.

“I was just having breakfast.”

“Bullshit. I could hear that broad from the
Times
. I know she was with you.”

When Frank Sinatra died, Pete became the last
man on earth to use the word broad in connection with the
identification of a woman.

“I went out for breakfast. I just bumped into
Liz by accident.”

“Bullshit. I’m a trained law enforcement
officer. I know when people are lying to me.”

“You’re with the FBI. Everyone lies to
you.”

“Just admit it, Jack. Give an old man a
thrill. You got lucky.”

“You’re younger than I am.”

“Hell, almost
everybody
is younger
than you are.”

Shepherd dodged a helmeted motorcyclist who
for some reason apparently preferred riding on the sidewalk to
riding in the street. When the whine of the bike died away, he
tried nudging Pete toward a more productive topic.

“Did you find out anything about Robert
Darling and Blossom Trading?”

“You’re changing the subject.”

“Can’t get anything past you. You really
are
a trained law enforcement officer, aren’t you?”

“Okay, be a prick. I got nothing for
you.”

“You mean if I don’t tell you some smutty
stories, you won’t give me any information?”

“I meant that I got nothing for you. Zip.
Nada. The Bureau has no interest in either Robert Darling or any
company named Blossom Trading.”

“They’ve dropped the investigation
already?”

“There is no investigation. Never has
been.”

“But Keur told me—”

“I understand that, Jack. But there is no
investigation. Period.”

“Are you shining me on here, Pete?”

“I could be.” Shepherd could hear the grin in
Pete’s voice. “But I’m not.”

“Did you check out Keur?” Shepherd asked.

“Yeah. Leonard Keur is a senior agent working
out of the D.C. field office. Is that what he told you?”

“That’s what he told me.”

“So there you go.”

“But then why would he—”

“Keur was just pulling your chain for some
reason. I wouldn’t worry about it. Hey, I’d be the first to admit
that we do that kind of shit every now and then, but don’t quote
me, huh?”

“I don’t see why—”

“Got to go, Jack. You owe me one.”

Then Pete hung up without saying goodbye.

***

SHEPHERD WALKED BACK to the Grand thinking about what
Pete had just told him and not seeing how it made any sense. When
he got there Hamster had disappeared from his perch on the couch in
the lobby, but Mr. Tang was still sitting behind the front desk
just like he had been when Shepherd left for breakfast. He was
sucking energetically on a pencil while he studied a computer
monitor so old Bill Gates’ initials might well have been scratched
on the bottom. The thing with the pencil was something Mr. Tang did
when he was worried and Shepherd had noticed that it always seemed
to soothe him. Sometimes he wondered if the taste of lead had a
tranquilizing quality that might work for him, too. Maybe he ought
to try it and find out.