out of Asia,” while another rather enigmatically read “Blood Atrocity on
Wonsan.” A number of Thais who seemed not to be part of the
demonstration simply stood by and watched, most smiling, some waving at
the convoy as it raced past.
Rear Admiral Thomas J. Magruder, immaculate in his dress whites, turned
in the limo’s seat as the convoy accelerated onto Route 3, looking
through the back window. The commanding officer of Carrier Battle Group
14 assured himself that the limos following with several of his staff
personnel and aides were still with the convoy. There had been time
only for a brief reception with the That military officers at Sattahip.
The real business of the day was scheduled for later, in Bangkok, and he
didn’t want to lose half his staff in the traffic.
“Well, CAG,” he said, settling back in his seat. “We’re past the
demonstrators.”
Commander Marusko looked up from the briefing papers he was reading.
“Yes, sir. Not that it amounted to much. That was a pretty laid-back
group of radicals back there.”
“Someone probably paid them to walk around with those signs.” Magruder
grinned. “A dirty job, but someone has to do it.”
“Yeah. You know, Admiral, somehow Thailand seems an unlikely place for
a communist revolution.”
Magruder had to agree. Bangkok was one of those strange Oriental blends
of East and West, a city like Tokyo, Singapore, or Hong Kong.
Everywhere, the strangely canted, peaked roofs and golden spires of
wats–the local Buddhist temple–rose and mingled with the
glass-and-concrete monoliths of modern architecture. In many ways, it
had more in common with the West. A communist insurrection had
sputtered on in the more remote parts of the country since the 1970s.
Only in the past few months had the situation become unstable.
That was why Jefferson had been ordered into these waters.
Chaos was the word that came to Magruder’s mind as they left the main
highway and followed the Sukhumvit Road past upper-class residential
side streets, then plunged into the city’s heart. The city streets were
a teeming, endless jam of cars, trucks, buses, carts, pedestrians, and
the curious three-wheeled passenger-carrying scooters called tuk-tuks.
Everywhere, signs advertising “Rolex” and “Pepsi” coexisted with signs
covered with the buttonhook loops of That writing and the blocky
ideographs of Chinese. A gigantic billboard featuring a dark-eyed That
movie actress, her bare breasts almost modestly covered by a stripe of
advertising copy, towered across the street from the gleaming and
tranquil spires of a wat, a green Buddha, standing three stories tall,
looming in a niche between two glass skyscrapers.
People clogged the sidewalks and streets with complete disregard for the
traffic. Thais and foreigners alike in Western dress mingled with
shaven-headed monks in yellow robes; with farmers selling food from
egg-crate stalls; with merchants hawking souvenir Buddhas, gemstones,
watches, and grasshoppers from rickety stalls; with white-helmeted
police and That soldiers in khaki uniforms; with tourists from a dozen
countries all carrying Japanese cameras. Within the space of seconds,
Magruder saw Western business suits, Philippine sarongs, Indian saris,
Japanese kimonos, Indonesian sarongs, Sikh beards and turbans,
traditional Chinese robes, miniskirts, cutoffs, T-shirts, and
everywhere, everywhere, American blue jeans. The limousine was
air-conditioned and the windows rolled up, but the bawling cacophony of
the streets still filtered through; shouted pleas, screamed invectives,
shrill sales pitches and greetings in a dozen languages; braying horns;
clashing gears and thundering vehicle engines in earsplitting need of
mufflers.
The convoy was slowed to a crawl by the traffic, but with horns blaring
it continued to make headway against the tide. Several blocks past the
landscaped magnificence of the That Intercontinental Hotel and the
sprawl of a four-story shopping mall, the limo turned right and began
making its way along the colorful turbulence of one of the dirty,
crowded klongs, or canals, which had given Bangkok its reputation as the
Venice of the Orient.
The seat of Thailand’s government was located on the north bank of the
Kiong Phadung. Magruder had expected a colorful and ornate palace of
some kind and was surprised to learn that the government carried out its
business in a complex of modern, air-conditioned skyscrapers several
blocks from the old National Assembly building, the King’s palace, and