Black Tiger (50 page)

‘That hurts!’ I complained as the chain pulled taut and the steel bit into my wrist.

The voices grew louder. Then there came ominous crashing sounds, then silence. Chee Laan looked stricken. Her eyes burned in her pale face. ‘Sya is killing him!’ she hissed. I started twisting my hands inside the handcuffs. Fortunately for both of us, I have double joints. There’s no such thing, a doctor told me—just very loose articulation, making them suppler than other people’s. Still, I can do it. I can also dislocate my toes at will. The pain is useful; it distracts. It was useful when Vasit celebrated our nuptials.

I compressed my hands into the narrow shape of a folded leaf, making my right hand as streamlined as a spearhead and slipping it through the steel ring. I unwound the chain with the empty cuff and handed it to Chee Laan. Wordlessly she wound the chain up and snapped the cuff into the second one about her left wrist.

As I heard Sya leave the bedroom and enter the sitting room, I pulled the bathroom door open a crack, turning the handle softly. I laid a finger warningly across Chee Laan’s lips. I had caught a glimpse of Raven, slumped in a chair, his mouth slightly open and his head lolling awkwardly. I have seen plenty of dead people and I was pretty sure I’d just seen another one. Chee Laan must not see him and start shrieking her head off—or worse still, in a rush of sentimentality, refuse to leave.

His wrists and ankles were bound to the chair. Sya had used the flex from the lamp, which lay on the carpet beside Raven. Its shade had rolled off.

I closed the door and braced my back against it, and then turned to her. She was forcing her arm, encumbered with the bulky steel cuffs, into the sleeve of a bathrobe. Two robes had hung on the hooks behind the door—peach-coloured like the towels, luxury weight. I shrugged into the other one and tied the belt.

‘Is there any way out of here?’ I whispered.

‘I’m not sure. What about Raven?’

‘Later,’ I murmured. ‘If we escape, then we can help him.’ She nodded and pulled the door open, gliding through into the bedroom. I followed, remembering she still had that master key. I managed to interpose myself between Chee Laan and Raven; I didn’t want her sidetracked.

The penthouse bedroom had heavy silk wall hangings. Chee Laan slid herself neatly behind the drapery and beckoned, and I followed, with one backward glance at the motionless form of Raven, and Archin, still snoring on the bed. Whatever she’d given him, it was potent and Archin was feeling no pain. She fumbled behind the hanging and I heard the chink of chain on metal. A hidden door swung open and we were through to the other side. As she locked the door behind us, I looked around. We were in a mirror image of the penthouse suite bedroom, but in addition to the burgeoning purple silk curtains and hangings, and the same enormous window, this room had a mirrored ceiling, handcuffs, whips, the whole caboodle.

‘My father’s private room.’ Chee Laan glanced about with a moue of distaste.

‘Looks like a tart’s boudoir,’ I said rudely.

She regarded me coolly. ‘Just a place of entertainment. My grandmother gave it to him, to keep his games in-house and under control. She understood him well.’

We got out of there as fast as we could, walking purposefully, speaking quietly and casually, as if we were guests looking for the hotel’s health spa.

We were dressing in her office when she asked, ‘What about Raven? What can we do?’

‘Nothing, Chee Laan, if he’s in trouble with Sya. We can’t act against Sya in this city.’
Especially
, I thought but did not say,
with you wearing half a pair of handcuffs, a pretty Chinese girl who’s obviously escaped arrest
. Cops would have orders to shoot on sight, under the circumstances. Since the demonstration and the riots, and a number of fatal accidents befalling members of the royal family, the whole city was on edge; the police force was especially jittery, and fanatically loyal to Sya Dam. And the fallout from the war in Vietnam had made everyone trigger-happy.

‘But Sya will kill him,’ she insisted, almost pleading. ‘It’s my fault! I led him into the trap. I told him Sya was here, I told him Sya was planning a coup. He’s going to get himself killed, and it’s all my fault!’

‘Oh, he’s not going to get killed!’ I said—and I wasn’t lying, because for my money Raven was already dead. I had to make her understand that unless we got to the king, there was no hope for me, either, and I was still very much alive, and fully intended to stay that way. ‘Raven’s probably gone for help,’ I consoled her perfidiously. ‘You didn’t see him, did you?’

‘No…’ she replied hesitantly.

‘Well, then!’ I said with an air of triumphant finality. ‘He got away!’ I could see she wasn’t completely convinced, but it kept her going until we reached her car.

Chee Laan’s Lotus sports car was a little bomber, and she drove it expertly, gunning the engine once we were clear of the city’s chaos and the fleets of samlors, bicycles, and asthmatic Datsun taxis. I sensed this headlong pace was beginning to intoxicate her, but her jaw was set and she had a grim, preoccupied look, so I guessed her thoughts were with Raven. Just so long as she got me to Hua Hin and didn’t falter, I didn’t care what she did next.

The road ahead shimmered in the heat between paddy fields and palm-fringed villages. Horn blaring, we swerved round the overcrowded buses, listing heavily under the weight of passengers crouched on the roof and clinging to the sides. The flush of evening washed over the sky, silhouetting palm trees and temple chedis with aureoles of pink and gold. Processions of ducks and buffalo under the command of children wearily trudged through the flat landscape, along with a gang of women stone-breakers, returning to their village with pickaxes over their drooping shoulders, the ends of their loose turbans bound about their mouths to keep the dust from their lungs.

I pushed the seat back and stretched my leg onto the dashboard. ‘I’d never have fit in, you know. At court,’ I said. ‘They’d always hate and despise me. And Toom, drooling and whimpering, he got on my nerves!’

‘So you never loved Toom?’

‘Chee Laan,’ I said seriously, ‘I’ve never loved anyone, except Vichai.’

‘How about the king?’ I was amused by the hint of reproof in her voice. It’s usually Thais, not Chinese, who hold royal rank in awe.

‘Ah, the king…if he were a peasant, one wouldn’t have looked twice. He is handsome in a brooding, coltish way, perhaps. He’s bred to pride, brought up to rule, but even so, there’s a touch of the rebel in him. I liked that. Not one to grovel, not always wagging his tail and trying to please like Toom!’

My dismissal of Pim’s brother annoyed her. Or perhaps the frown meant she was fretting over Raven. This was irritating, because all love does is distract you from more important things. I turned away from her and considered my own troubles. I needed to plan my tactics with the king. Sya would be hard on our heels, desperate to reach the king before I did. My future depended on beating him to it.

‘I will not rest until Sya Dam is dead,’ I vowed.

When Sya discovered they had escaped, he regretted not killing the two young women immediately. He was too frugal and opportunistic to impulsively neutralize a potential asset, and he had by no means exhausted Salikaa’s potential. As a means of manipulating the young king, she had offered a unique advantage, and she could always be disposed of later, before she had a chance to make damaging revelations. But the risk was high. However, he reflected, killing Salikaa would have entailed the necessity of eliminating Chee Laan Lee also, and that was unthinkable. Grandmothers tended to be sentimental. Sunii Lee was his valued business partner, and such an act would seriously compromise their fruitful cooperation.

Finding his prisoners had absconded offended him deeply. Salikaa on the loose was more than an irritant. Sunii Lee’s wrath would have to be endured.

He returned to the bedroom and glared resentfully at his helpless enemy and his recumbent slave. He toyed with the idea of killing Archin in the throes of his haze—as an Akha, he recognised the poppy-sleep. He pressed the muzzle of his gun to Archin’s eye socket. The giant did not stir. Reconsidering, Sya twirled the gun around his finger, then slapped it back in its holster regretfully. Archin might still prove useful, and disposing of his enormous corpse would be time-consuming. Avoiding unwelcome publicity to the Rachanee would require ingenuity and bribes better employed elsewhere. Also, Sya wanted Archin to know in his stupid ox heart that there would be no mercy. To fail Sya the Tiger was death.

Now he had the further nuisance of this man Raven. In Bangkok, life was cheap, but
farang
death and disappearance occasioned hassle and could prove expensive.
Farangs
resented the death of one of their own, even scum like drug mules and hippies, garbage anyone should be happy to be rid of. Sya’s lip curled. Even for lowlifes,
farangs
sent busybodying, impudent officials armed with warrants backed up by Interpol; they bought politicians and blackmailed them with aid programmes. No, this
farang
had to meet with an accident. Sya considered the layout of the Rachanee, examining its strategic possibilities.

Not too difficult, after all. But it must be done quickly. The foreigner must have a skull of steel, as he appeared to be waking up.

Raven

A heavy brass lamp applied mercilessly to the skull beats any sleeping pill. As I swam reluctantly back into consciousness and pain, I cursed the fat woman in the sunhat who’d blocked the only clear shot I was going to get at my enemy, Sya Dam. After that, I vaguely remembered following Sya and his hostages. There was no sign of the women now, but Sya prowled about me, occasionally peering into my face.

Blood had pooled in my cramped limbs. I must have been collapsed in the chair for some time. He’d bound me with the flex of the lamp. Seeing I was conscious, he brought his face close, a mask of malevolence.

‘I hope, Raven, that you are ready to die. It is the time for dying. Your great Mr Henry Kissinger, he too will die. Yes, I know all this! The American general, he thinks himself mighty clever. He will escort the great man to the hidden airport in the northeast, to take off in secret for Beijing. Preparing the way for who knows what—a state visit by President Nixon, perhaps. Rapprochement. Nobody loses face. Trade flourishes. Everybody happy.’ He paused.

I kept surprise off my face, feigning a dazed submissiveness I did not feel.

‘But maybe not everyone shares this rapture. In Taiwan, there will be unhappy faces. In the northwest, the tribesmen will be pretty sore. Hard men, with long memories, unforgiving descendants of Kuo Min Tang warriors. Expert marksmen.’ He adopted a mocking Pidgin English. ‘For them, no problem. Those guys shoot your Mistah Big Henry Kissinger right out the sky. Pam!’ He leaned along an imaginary gun barrel and took aim at some invisible object on the horizon. ‘So—no rapprochement. So sad.’

‘But you hate the Chinese,’ I mumbled stupidly.

Sya chuckled. ‘The Jeks are outsiders. Like me—like all Akha. We are allies in a common cause. We don’t need to go to bed together to work together.’ He laughed mirthlessly. ‘We screw each other, whichever way.’

‘Tribal rebellion?’

‘I want respect for my people. For this, we need money. The Chinese have money. So we trade what we have. Sunii Lee
taitai
dreads rapprochement with Red China. She has too much invested in Taiwan. She does not care for communists. Also, she has skeletons in her closet. Communists are very narrow-minded people. So I arrange matters to Sunii’s liking. She, in turn, bankrolls my rebellion.’

‘Civil revolt threatens business interests. Surely the Lee family wouldn’t want that.’ I was playing for time and he saw that, yet in his arrogance he indulged me.

‘For those in the business community, even national emergencies can prove lucrative, with the right foreknowledge.’

‘Fostering rebellion? The loyal Black Tiger?’ I feigned incredulity.

Sya smiled. ‘Ah, loyalty! A wise man learns to prioritise his allegiances. And I, Raven, am first and foremost Akha. Once, it is true, I almost repudiated my roots. But then I saw what the Akha would become: like the Meo, the La-wa, the Lahu—exhibits in the Thais’ human zoo.’

‘Even if you arm the tribes, the Thais will call on their American allies for help. And they will get it. America will need her Thai airbases, even when the Vietnam War is over. ‘

He gave a snort of laughter, flaring his broad nostrils. ‘The Americans will abandon Vietnam!’ The true fanatic now, he seemed bent less on killing me than on convincing me.

I grunted. ‘Don’t underestimate them. Americans are brave, well trained and well armed. The Akha will be slaughtered.’

‘Better dead, perhaps, than stuffed in a museum!’ said Sya, with glib
braggadocio
. He looked at his watch and sighed. ‘Too bad. No more time to chat. Perhaps after all you are not a stupid man, for a
farang
. Raven—Black Bird. But unfortunately for you, I am pressed for time. Now get up. Hump that chair with you to the lift.’ He flung a bed cover over my knees. Seizing the chair-back, he moved the legs forward side by side, pivot and twist, until we reached the elevator. He was as strong as an ox. When the lift arrived, empty, he manoeuvred me into it and pressed the button. I struggled with my bonds but Sya had knotted the flex too tightly; all I achieved was searing my wrists and ankles with the wire. Sya watched the numbers light up in the panel as we descended. I tried to hurl my weight against the emergency stop button, but he anticipated me.

‘Accept your fate,’ he said. ‘Do not anger me. Let us make our farewells with dignity.’ The doors slid open, revealing the crowded, noisy, steam-filled kitchen, a vision of Dante’s
Inferno
. Sya stepped out. ‘Goodbye, Dr Raven. We will not meet again.’

He bent his neat-cropped head in an ironic
wai
. The doors closed behind him. The lift began its ascent.

Then I heard the sound of the doors just below being forced open. The lift jerked to a halt. I heard unidentifiable sounds, and the smell of something burning assailed my nostrils. Scorching heat rushed up, enveloping me. As thick black smoke plumes began to permeate the narrow steel box in the wooden shaft, I realised at last what Sya had done—and I began, far too late, to scream.