Tiger by the Tail-eARC Read online

  Soon Yi crouched on the floor, then sprang at him. Mike was prepared for her attempted rake to his eyes. He blocked the attempt with all of his strength, whipping her arm away from him and riposting with a straight arm to her chest, propelling her backward toward the closet.

  Mike followed up immediately, expecting her to try and use the closet door either as a shield or a feint to lure him in and block with it. She did neither, however, grabbing the edge of the door and lashing out at him with a foot at his knee. He dodged, and this time grabbed her foot and pulled her off the door. Even as she came forward, she lashed out with her other foot while in mid-air, coming within a hair of hitting his face. Only Mike’s superb reflexes and training kept her from connecting.

  She landed on the floor with a bone-jarring thud. Following up his advantage, Mike used his superior weight to pin her to the ground. However, as he dropped to one knee, she jammed her free foot against his thigh and shoved herself away with everything she had while sitting up and lashing at his face again. As Mike reared back, he felt the wind from her fingers as they passed less than an inch away from his face.

  Despite her ferocity, Mike hadn’t let go of her foot, and now he twisted it one hundred eighty degrees. She was forced to roll with it, otherwise he would have crippled her by tearing the ligaments in her ankle and knee. However, she didn’t try to get away from him, but slid toward him, free leg cocked to attempt to hit him again.

  This time Mike was ready, and snaked out his free arm to grab her other leg before it could connect. Getting his feet under him, he lifted her off the ground and dropped her before she could get both arms underneath to protect her head. The top of her skull smacked into the carpet. Mike repeated the blow, then swung her into the closet door, the last smack knocking her half-senseless.

  Mike dropped her back on the floor. He knelt down and got her in a choke hold, applying enough pressure so that she was on the edge of blacking out.

  “I was going to simply have another little chat with you about some people you might know who came on board tonight, but since we’ve both gotten all sweaty, we’re going to clean up first.”

  He lifted her up and dragged her into the bathroom’s shower stall. Mike pushed her inside, grabbed her hands, and forced them to the showerhead pipe, lashed them to it with his belt. The shower had been designed for Americans, and she had to stand on her tiptoes to reach the ground.

  Mike hit the water, letting the stinging cold spray play over her, making her come to with a splutter and cough. Wet feathers sluiced off her face and body and fell to the floor. She moved her head out of the stream, but he forced it back under, prying her mouth open so the jet got inside. “Something’s not right with you, and we’re staying in here until I find out what it is!”

  “I swear—” she said between coughs and choking. “I don’t know anything!”

  “Wrong answer! Earlier tonight that fat fuck Sunia sent men to board my ship. I am sure they were trying to steal that box. The only way they could have even found us is if someone was transmitting them our co-ordinates, and the only person on board who could do that—who would do that—is you.”

  “How—could I—do that?” She spluttered. “I’m always—locked in here—!”

  “I don’t know yet—but I am going to find out before we’re through here. You’re like no whore I’ve ever met, even Katya. You fight way too well and you haven’t gone to pieces like a normal hooker would have by now.”

  “That’s ’cause—I don’t take shit—from any man! I’d rather die first!” She tried to bring her knee up into his groin, but Mike easily batted it aside.

  “If you don’t start talking, you will wish you were dead before I’m through with you.” he tore off the soaking wet t-shirt and cotton panties they had given her for clothes, then spun her around to face the wall, heedless of her pained groan as the belt cut into her wrists.

  Mike grabbed her jaw and forced her face up to the cascading water. “Again, telling me what I want to know might make this easier on you—then again, you’re pissing me off so much that it probably won’t.”

  A moan escaped her gritted teeth, and she tried wrenching her head away from the water to spit in his face, but Mike forced her back under, until she was choking on the stream again.

  She tried to head-butt him, and he slapped her so hard that when he grabbed her head and lifted it to see if she was conscious, a trickle of blood leaked from her nose.

  “Tsk-tsk.” “That should stop you from trying to claw my eyes out. Now, I’m still waiting for you to tell me how you communicated with Sunia’s men!”

  “I don’t—know what—you’re talking about!”

  “Bullshit!” Mike changed the shower spray to freezing cold water. “I’ll stay here all night if I have to.”

  “It had—to be—something else! Maybe someone bribed a port guard to give up your route,” she gasped.

  “Impossible, since we change course every hour, regardless of what we tell the harbor. Try again!”

  “I—don’t—KNOW! The case itself—maybe it’s—bugged!!”

  The words made Mike stop right there. He untied her and let her slide to the shower floor, trying to rub some feeling into her bruised and swollen wrists. Breathing hard, he stepped out of the shower. “I’m going to go check on what you just said. Who knows, maybe you’re right. If not, I’ll be back.”

  Soaking wet, he walked out of the room, earning a raised eyebrow from Vil at his appearance.

  “No one can say that I’m not willing to go to any lengths to get what I need from an interrogation,” He started to walk down the hall, then turned him Vil again. “Remove the closet doors—all of them—and no male is to be left alone with her in the room. Pairs only. Katya can go in unescorted if she wishes.”

  On his way back to his room, Mike sent a quick text to Vanner to check and see if there was any kind of transmittal device on the box. He then showered off and fell into bed, where he slept dreamlessly for the next eight hours.

  * * *

  “Exactly how in the hell did you know that?”

  The next morning, Mike was enjoying a three-cheese omelet with steak, home fries, toast, and coffee on the aft deck when Vanner strode up to his table and set a photograph in front of him.

  Munching a slice of buttered sourdough, Mike leaned over to see a shot of the dissected case, with what looked like a small transmitter hidden inside the lining. “Huh. Is it still working?”

  “Yup, transmitting a microburst pulse about every six hours. The funny part is it only transmits its coordinates when prompted, otherwise it’s damn near inert. It wouldn’t show up on any sort of electromagnetic scan, and of course, a lot of those would be out of the question due to the cargo in the first place.”

  “It’s still able to transmit, right?” Mike asked.

  “Yes, Creata made sure it was still powered during her examination.” Vanner frowned. “So, this means that we pretty much have eyes on us the whole time we’re doing this.”

  “Until we get rid of it, yeah.” Mike nodded while staring at the photo. “She was right.”

  “Who. Soon Yi? You’re shitting me!”

  Mike leaned back in his chair. “No, we discussed it at length last night. You never came up with anything on her from the databases, right?”

  The Marine intel chief almost looked insulted. “No. And we ran her every which way we could in every country in the region. Even in such backwoods places like Mongolia.”

  Mike forked up some home fries. “Do they even have an intelligence service?”

  “We’re still trying to figure that out. Bottom line, she’s definitely not from there. I had Greznya and the girls run everything they could think of everywhere. I swear, if they had the epicanthic fold, we checked it out. She’s got half a dozen priors in Pontianak, the capitol city of West Kalimantan province, Indonesia. For all intents and purposes, she’s a working girl who decided to leave the capitol for greener pastures. She wound up near
Pemangkat, where she met Tony, and the rest we know. Bottom line, if she is a spook, she’s so deep undercover her own agency doesn’t keep a jacket on her.”

  “Or you haven’t found it yet.” Mike smiled as he said this—he was sure Vanner and the girls had done everything they could, but he also liked to keep the stocky Marine on his toes.

  “If we haven’t, that’s ’cause it doesn’t exist to be found.”

  “Maybe so, but how in the hell did she know about that?”

  “Lucky guess pulled out of her ass?” Vanner guessed.

  “Nope. Besides, there’s some other things about her that don’t add up.” Mike summarized his encounters with her. “First she takes a waterboarding, but has the stones to still come on to me the next day. I don’t care if she flew all the way to Stockholm—no way is that normal. She’s been trained by someone. You searched her clothes, right?”

  “Every which way before locking her up, and then again while she was sleeping. Took the damn things apart this time. Nothing but cloth.” Putting his hands on the back of a chair, Vanner leaned forward. “You think she’s shadowing the box?”

  “Perhaps, or maybe she’s gone rogue or got burned by her agency, and is looking for either revenge, or to make a profit off this—and us.”

  “Now that’s an interesting theory,” Vanner said

  “Maybe, but I’d prefer some facts to back it up.” Mike thought about this while he sipped his coffee. “Maybe we can put out some feelers in the merc world, see if anyone knows about a female Chinese operative who got burned or double-crossed.”

  Vanner frowned. “We’re good, but that will take some time. Everyone working in the shadows is always ultra-careful about who they friend and who they foe. Even with our bona-fides, that doesn’t mean they’re just going to open up to us.”

  “Well, I guess you’ll just have to persuade them—that, or break into some serious top-secret files.”

  “Let’s try the web first, see what we can scare up.”

  “Okay. Want some breakfast?”

  “No thanks, I already ate.” Vanner straightened up and turned toward the stairs. “I should head back down anyway, see how Creata’s doing with putting that damn box together again. I’ll let you know if there’s any trouble.”

  Mike nodded. “Works. We should make Phuket in a few hours. Make sure everything’s ready to go by then.”

  “Can do.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Six hours later, Mike, Adams, Jace, and Arun were riding through the streets of the city of Phuket, in the Muang Phuket District, on the island of Phuket, Thailand.

  Midway off the western coast of the Kra Isthmus, Phuket had been fiercely contested by the English, French, and Dutch for its lucrative tin resources in the 17th century. The victorious French established a brief monopoly until 1688, when they were expelled from the country during the Siam Revolution.

  A century later, the Burmese attacked the island in 1785. They were repelled by the heroic actions of two women, Than Phu Ying Chan, the wife of the deceased governor, and her sister, Mook, both of whom achieved their victory by dressing as male soldiers, and dressing other women as male soldiers to swell the numbers of their army. Afterward, the local heroines were awarded the honorific titles Thao Thep Kasattri and Thao Si Sunthon, respectively.

  When the tin market collapsed in the 20th century, the Phuket and the rest of Thailand turned to other exports and imports to survive, mainly, exporting rubber and importing tourists. After the tsunami of 2004, which killed tens of thousands, many of the island’s resorts and buildings had to be repaired or rebuilt, all of which was swiftly done.

  Now, as the party drove through the streets, they found no evidence of the terrible disaster than had flooded the island eight years ago. The streets were clean and well-lit, the buildings were modern, and even the palm trees were thick and lush. Tourists mingled with locals everywhere, and the city looked, and even more importantly, felt prosperous and thriving. The island had also escaped the massive flooding that had inundated most of the mainland, including the capitol city of Bangkok, and was definitely open for business.

  The four men were all dressed in tourist casual, with loose-fitting, short-sleeved shirts and linen sport coats that could hide much underneath them. Adams had left his coat behind, preferring a brightly colored Hawaiian shirt covered with palm trees and bright parrots that Mike had said looked like Thailand had thrown up on him.

  “Man, you guys sure are into economy—naming the city, province, and island the same thing.” Adams said. “How does anyone tell where they’re going?”

  “Oh, we get around well enough. People’s names around here are hard enough to say, so we try to make it easy on the foreigners,” Than replied with a smile.

  “Maybe so, however, your name is a model of brevity,” Jace said. “I assume that it’s a nickname, like most Thais?”

  “More like a professional alias, if you must.” The black marketer shrugged. “My true name is not as—renowned in certain circles. Therefore, I conduct most of my business under my nickname, as is common in our country. But, I am sure you would find the local women to be more than enough variety enough for you, Mr. Adams,” Than said from the SUV’s front seat.

  “I definitely agree with you there.” The Master Chief said as he turned to ogle a pair of bikini-clad women walking down the street.

  “Eyes front, Ass-Boy. You’re staying within sight of me at all times on the ground,” Mike said without looking back.

  “Even after what I got done in Hong Kong?” Adams asked.

  “We shouldn’t be here long enough even for you to get into trouble. Than’s set up the meeting to convert our gems, and then we’re back on the water to Myanmar. The sooner we get these chips out of our lives, the faster we can go back to busting pirate heads.”

  “That should not be a problem—I have been doing business with Khun Chal for years. Everything should be in order, and we will complete your transaction swiftly and be on our way.”

  “Yeah, I just keep remembering the saying about best-laid plans,” Mike said, staring out at the nightlife around them.

  “We should be fine. Just remember those pointers I told you about,” Jace said.

  “I’ve got them,” Mike said.

  “Hell, at least here we can go around strapped,” Adams said. “That should make you feel better.” Besides pistols, the three men all had their earpieces that linked them with Vanner and his girls on the boat.

  “That it does,” Mike said. “Let’s just get in, sell the gems, and get out.”

  Jace followed Than’s directions to a street a block off the main thoroughfare. They drove past a bar undergoing obvious remodeling, with soaped out windows and scaffolding covering the outside. Jace parked the SUV on the next block, and the three men scoped the area before they all got out and headed to a side door leading into the club.

  With Jace and Adams casually sweep-and-clearing the way forward, Mike and Arun walked up to the metal fire door that looked bolted shut. Arun hit a button on his phone, said a quick phrase in Thai, and the door clicked open a few seconds later.

  The inside in the midst of being transformed from a dingy tropical dive into something decidedly more upscale. The walls had been patched and primed, the bare wooden floor had been sanded and was ready to varnish, and the old, rattan furniture was stacked along one wall, probably awaiting the junkman to cart them away. A marble-topped table and five chairs sat in the middle of the otherwise bare room.

  “Come on.” Than strode toward the table and pulled out a chair, with Mike, Adams, and Jace following suit. They were all just about to sit down when a door behind the bar opened, and a small, wizened old man with a fringe of white hair came out. He was simply dressed in a loose, white linen shirt and matching trousers, with sandals on his feet.

  Than immediately rose and clasped his hands together in front of his chest, fingers pointing up, and bowed until his face touched his fingertips. “Sawasdee
khrap, Khun Chal.”

  The older man mirrored the gesture, bowing not quite as deeply as Than had. “Sawasdee khrap, Khun Arun.”

  “These are my associates that I had told you about.” Than indicated each person as he introduced them. “Michael Jenkins, Charles Adams, and Jace Morgan.”

  The old man gave each American a slighter bow, nodding as he saw all three men return the gesture before sitting. Jace had instructed Mike and Adams about the greeting, saying it would be polite to return it if someone used it to greet them. It was especially important to do so for an older person, as Thai culture particularly venerated its elders.

  “Welcome, gentlemen, to what will soon be the most popular bar on Phuket,” he said in Thai as he took his seat. Chal was at twelve o’clock, with Than sitting across from him. Mike and Adams sat to the right of Chal, with Jace on the left.

  “Thank you for seeing us on such short notice, Khun Chal,” Than said, with Jace translating.

  The old man waved off his thanks with a stubby brown hand. “For you, it is no problem, Khun Arun. Do any of you require anything. Drinks? Smoke? Something stronger?”

  The three Americans demurred, and Arun asked for mineral water. A henchman brought a bottle of Perrier, as well as a hookah for Chal, who prepared the water pipe, lit it, and puffed contentedly. After a few puffs, he offered the pipe around the table. Than took it first, then Mike, Adams, and Jace. The smoke was smooth, sweet, and minty. As the last one to use the hookah, Jace passed the pipe back to Chal, who nodded with satisfaction.

  “Very good, Khun Arun, very good indeed. Shall we get down to business?”

  “As you wish.” Than nodded again to the old man, and handed him the same small pouch Soon had given him. Chal brought out his own loupe and examined several of the gems under a small lamp that was brought to him. Then the two Thais began a rapid negotiation that Jace could barely follow. He tried letting Mike know the numbers being bandied back and forth, but they changed too fast for him to keep up with. There was much arm-waving and head shaking and Chal even waggled a wrinkled finger in Than’s face at one point while saying several derogatory things about Than’s ancestry, appearance, and the terrible deal he was being forced to make. Than, however, stuck to his guns throughout the entire tirade, citing the quality of the gems and Chal’s expertise in selling them for an even higher price elsewhere.