The Scarlet Crane: Transition Magic Book One (The Transition Magic Series 1) (10 page)

“Yes, Elder. I’ll tell no one.”

Ballo picked up the knife.

“I remove your hair so others may know you are prepared for
nkumbi
.” He chopped Isa’s hair close to his head, gathered the chunks into a mound on the fig bark, and started scraping his scalp. Isa winced when the knife cut his skin, eyes filling, but kept still. When the Elder finished, Isa rubbed his hand over his head; the air was cool on his skin. “Take the hair with you when you leave. Go into the Forest away from the camp, and bury it. Thank the Forest for your life.”

The Elder then picked up the small finished basket. It held a wet paste of clay and ash. He gathered a handful and spread it on Isa’s face. “I mark your skin so all may know you honor Muungu.” He handed Isa the basket. “Use this each day with the rising sun.”

Isa set the basket aside. He burned with a question that could wait no longer. “The Bantu told Zaire that youths die during
nkumbi
from bad magic. Is that so?”

Ballo’s eyes crinkled in amusement. “Always with questions. So it has been with you, more than any other. The Bantu say childish things. No one knows when death comes.
Muungu
rules death.”

Isa nodded. Elder Ballo had told him what every child learned, but little about what happened during
nkumbi
. Fear drove another question. “Could I die during
nkumbi
?”

“Of course. Or you could die sitting here. Muungu decides. Have courage, Isa. If most Bambuti youths died in
nkumbi
, there would be no Bambuti.”

The Elder snapped his fingers inches from Isa’s face, drawing him away from thoughts of death.

“You pass through two doors during
nkumbi
. Doors of the spirit. The first of these is circumcision, which marks your readiness for marriage. The second is
samawati
magic, which is possible only while you have
samawati
eyes. This is when you and the others will perform magic. It is
samawati
that marks your passage.”

“How about
lliama
?”

“
Lliama
also has two parts—the
samawati
door first, when a girl’s eyes change; the second when she has her first blood and moves into the marriage hut. First blood always after
samawati
.”

“When—”

“Enough questions. Before the circumcision, the Elders will teach you
nkumbi
songs. Sing them well, or you will be whipped. When they are pleased with your singing, your
dhakari
will be rubbed with herbs to lessen the pain. Then they will cut and remove your
ngovi
.” He had Isa pull his loincloth aside and show he understood where he would be cut. “Then you will rest while the Elders sing.”

Isa decided he didn’t want to think about circumcision.

“After you have rested, you will call on Muungu for the
samawati
magic. I will teach you the words you must say, sacred words that have been handed down from our earliest ancestors. At the end of these words, you may ask
Muungu
what you wish.”

Another momentary pause. “Heed me, Isa. Say the words as I give them to you or the magic will fail. Your magic must be something deep in your heart, or it will fail. It must be something no other youth has asked for, or it will fail.”

“What happens if I fail?”

“Muungu decides. Return here tomorrow after your work in the Forest, and we will begin your study.”

“Thank you, Elder. I will study each day.”

Elder Ballo laughed with glee, like an antelope skipping over a hunter’s net. “Study hard, young Isa. Your
nkumbi
is in two days.”

Bangkok

The Kingdom of Thailand

Ambassador Rosemary Strong’s disclosure that John had been invited to accompany the Thai National Intelligence Agency on a raid was met with momentary silence.

Director Bentley’s voice resonated over the conference speaker from her Washington office. “Rose, can we trust the NIA? What’s the risk John will end up being the one locked in a Thai prison?”

“I don’t think it’s very high, Marva, even though the Thai government has historically been a bit undependable. They’re trying to ditch their reputation for tolerating human trafficking and this gives them a chance to score brownie points with the U.S. Plus, I’ll assign a top aide to accompany John for added security.”

The ambassador’s confidence didn’t leave John with a warm and fuzzy feeling. Her power was absolute within the embassy, but zero on Bangkok’s streets. On the other hand, this bust could give them their first hard information about the Chinese kidnapping program.

“This is a chance worth taking, Director. We need a break.”

He looked at the ambassador. “You’re providing me with a firearm, right?”

“Yes. However, understand that it’s illegal for you to be armed. The NIA is likely to be more understanding than the local police, but don’t test their tolerance. If they uncover your weapon, they’ll confiscate it and you.”

“I’ll approve the op as long as John is armed,” Marva said. “That’s better than doing it with only his cane for protection.”

“Show a little respect for the cane, please,” John said. “Let me get going here. I’ll update you when I know more.”

The ambassador leaned over to the phone console, disconnected the call, and punched in a new number.

A soft, musical male voice answered. “Yes, Madam Ambassador?”

“We’re ready for you,
Khrup
Aran.” She hung up and turned to John. “Aran Niratpattanasee is my senior aide. He served the last two ambassadors in the same capacity. His tenure is unusual and speaks to his skill as a troubleshooter. He’s been the point person for the NIA.”

The door opened a moment later to admit a slender man carrying an aluminum briefcase and a red accordion folder marked Top Secret. He was about five-foot ten, a fit-looking 150 pounds. His wrinkled face and a full head of silver hair suggested he was in his sixties, perhaps older. He wore a tailored gray pinstriped suit.

John rose and exchanged the traditional
wai
greeting, bringing his hands together at his chest. Aran returned the
wai
and extended his hand for a firm handshake.

Aran sat next to the ambassador, across from John. “Don’t worry about the last name.” His English carried no hint of an accent. “Aran is just fine.”

The ambassador stood. “I’ll leave the two of you to your planning.” She left the room, closing the door behind her.

Aran pushed the metal case across the table to John. “I use an ankle carry.” He stood and pulled the right leg of his trousers to about mid-calf, exposing a holster and weapon. “I took the liberty of including a similar rig in the case. If your pants won’t conceal it, we can get some made for you very quickly.”

“Thanks, but not necessary. Mine are cut to accommodate a backup.”

“Excellent. The weight can make you limp if you aren’t used to it. The NIA would notice if you limped like Festus.”

John smiled. “Not a problem.
Gunsmoke
?”

“Yes. I’m a fan of American TV westerns.”

John’s smile broadened. “Perhaps
Have Gun Will Travel
is appropriate.”

“Richard Boone as Paladin; ran from ‘57 through ‘63.”

“Aran, our intelligence indicates that my presence in Bangkok is known. I believe I was followed this morning when I left the hotel. Could it be the NIA?”

“Possibly, but I doubt it. They know your name and your agency. I’ve told them you’re investigating a report of young children being kidnapped from developing countries. There’s little reason for them to track you.”

“Okay, I’ll let that go for now. What have you learned about Thai kidnapping rings?”

Aran sighed. “Kidnapping isn’t a brutal enough word. It’s trafficking and slavery. Men and women, of course, but also children, sometimes as young as four. Kids are bought, then put to work—begging, running drugs, prostitution. Any vile abuse that will make someone money. Selling a child is the only way some families survive during hard times. This trade is an open secret among my people. And it’s known but officially discounted by our government.”

Aran slid the red folder across the table. “I put together a small team inside the embassy to focus on children. We worked with the NIA and local police, partnering to interview their confidential informants. The NIA also did a couple of sweeps and brought kids in for questioning. Mostly what we did was sift rumors. The file has the interviews and pictures of the kids.”

“What did they do with the kids after the interviews?”

“Protective custody,”Aran said. “The NIA didn’t want them on the street talking about the interviews. They’ll cut them loose eventually, probably after a few raids are completed.”

“And then what happens to them?”

Aran grimaced. “I’m afraid the life of a street kid is a brutal one.”

John skimmed the folder’s contents. There were a couple of dozen reports of interviews with the NIA’s informers. The kids in the photos looked malnourished, their body language aggressive, their eyes pinched with fear. His stomach churned as he flipped through the pages, a blowtorch at the base of his throat. He returned the file to Aran.

“Tell me about the ride-along.”

“The NIA is going to arrest a gang known as Scorpion operating out of Nongki, about three hundred kilometers from here. The gang’s been paying forty thousand baht—double the usual—for six- or seven-year-old children. A shipment of kids is due to leave Nongki late tomorrow night. We’ll go along and view the interrogations after the bust.”

“Where do I need to be and when?”

“The NIA plan is to leave for Nongki at midnight and take Scorpion at sunrise tomorrow morning. Get some rest and come back here at eleven. I’ll take us to the NIA assembly point. We’ll get details of the raid during the drive.”

“Let’s hope our trip doesn’t end with another OK Corral,” John said.

Aran’s demeanor softened. “
The Life and Legend of Wyatt Earp
. From 1955 to 1961, I believe. Not a favorite, but interesting.”

John stood and
wai’d
to Aran. “
Sawasdee Krap.
I’ll find my way out. See you at eleven.”

“Excellent. I suggest you take a tuk-tuk to your hotel rather than walk. They’re very difficult to follow.” He left the conference room and closed the door behind him.

John opened the briefcase and withdrew the gun and ankle holster. He inserted a loaded clip, strapped the holster to his ankle, and shoved the weapon into the holster.

He had no difficulty finding a tuk-tuk. The motorcycle-rickshaw hybrid pulled into the busy street and began a rapid slalom across the lanes of traffic, the driver dodging traffic like he was a bird in a flock of thousands. The heavy air stank of exhaust.

Death drives a tuk-tuk.

John closed his eyes and waited for the thrill ride to end, either with his arrival at the hotel or at the pearly gates. He survived, arriving as the sun set in a vermillion sky.

No one could follow me on that contraption.

He arranged for the driver to return that evening.

* * *

John hadn’t anticipated the added terror of a tuk-tuk ride on dark streets with a headlight made from a two-cell flashlight. He climbed from his seat and glanced at his watch. Eleven twenty-five.

He presented himself to the duty Marine, who checked his ID and said, “Just a few minutes, please.
Khrup
Aran Niratpattanasee will join you here.”

Aran entered the security building five minutes later. “Meeting you here was easier than getting your ankle through security, not to mention your cane. Shall we go?” He gestured for John to precede him to the street. A stretch black Chevy Suburban pulled through the gates and past the concrete barriers, parking beside them, motor running. The car reflected the night, its windows impenetrable.

John bent to enter the SUV and caught a glimpse of a person sitting in the corner, facing the rear of the vehicle. He startled and cracked his head on the door frame, recognizing the ambassador a split-second too late.

“Sorry, John!”

“No problem.” He hesitated and then sat next to her. Aran climbed in and sat facing them.

“The fewer people who know I’ve left the grounds, the better.” She addressed her driver. “Staff Sergeant, please circle the embassy until I tell you otherwise.” The car surged into the empty street.

“You’re going with us? Is that wise?” John asked.

“I’m not going on the raid. I need to talk with you. I just finished a conversation with Marva and Stony,” she said. “Ambassador Hogan was found dead this morning. He’d been garroted.”

“Jesus,” John said. “Don’t suppose they had any hint about who was responsible?”

“None. And there’s another disturbing development. As soon as Hogan went missing, Embassy security searched his home, took his computer and anything else they could find. In the piles of paper they found a name that no one in the embassy recognized. Stony was able to trace it to a captain in the Thai NIA. The same captain you’re meeting tonight.”

“Goddammit!” John stared at the dim lights parading outside the darkened windows, listened to the sounds of tires on pavement.

“We have to assume the NIA—or at least this part of it—is dirty. I suspect this is why I started getting cooperation. The bust is either designed to send you on a wild goose chase or take you off the board. We need to abandon tonight’s plans.”

John said, “Maybe.” He looked at Aran. “How many vehicles will the NIA use tonight?”

“They mentioned two.”

John faced the ambassador. “How fast could you get a team together to take down those two vehicles?”

Rose nodded to Aran, who answered for her. “An hour.”

“Okay, I agree that we have to forget the Scorpion gang—intelligence about them is probably bullshit anyway. But this captain was connected directly to Hogan. He’s got to know more than the Hanoi gang leader. We need to grab the bastard and learn as much as we can.”

Rose shook her head. “Too risky.”

“Hear me out. The NIA isn’t going to make their move at the rendezvous point because it’s too public. They’ll act somewhere on the road to Nongki, in the countryside. So we meet them as planned, but a little late, to give us time to get our team in place. Aran and I’ll insist on riding together, along with the captain. Our guys will intercept the two NIA cars before they can spring their trap. We’ll subdue the people inside our car while our intercept team takes the other one.”

John looked at the ambassador and Aran. “Well?”

Rose took a deep breath. “I’ll agree if Aran thinks he can make it work. Marva’s going to have my ass.”

Aran said, “I’ll have to use my own people. There’s no time to involve the CIA or the Marines. They wouldn’t agree anyway.”

Rose scowled and nodded. “When the Secretary learns about this, I won’t have to worry about Marva.”

“I need to make a call,” Aran said. He took out his phone, dialed, and began barking instructions in Thai.

The driver continued to circle while Aran talked.

When he’d finished, John asked, “So, can your guys get ready in time?”

“I didn’t give them a choice. We set the rendezvous just before an abandoned petrol station thirty miles from Bangkok. We’ll use two cars, six to a car. I don’t think the NIA will hit us before that, but who knows.”

John said, “That’s a risk we’ll have to take. I’ve been thinking some more about this. Once we’re on the road to Nongki, I’ll look at you and nod toward an NIA guy. He’ll be yours to control when your team springs the trap. Blink at me a couple of times to let me know you got the message.”

Aran glanced at his watch. “That’ll work. I’ll call the captain and let him know we’ll arrive an hour late.” He punched a number into his cell. “
Sawasdee Krap.”
He spat several sentences into the phone before he was interrupted. He listened with a feral grin, then snapped the phone closed.

“He wasn’t happy, but he’ll wait.” He directed the driver to proceed to the drop point.