that he was never dating another stewardess for as long as he lived.
1844 hours, 19 January
The Warehouse, Bangkok
It was dark outside as Hsiao completed work on the last set of
operational orders. They were committed now, with Sheng li hanging on a
single toss of the dice. Leaning forward at his desk, he used the
intercom to summon Phreng.
“You sent for me, General?”
“Yes. Get the prisoners.”
“Yes, sir.” Phreng hesitated, then grinned. “Are we going to start
working on them again?”
Hsiao heard the man’s not very subtle emphasis on the plural “them.” He
knew Phreng had been looking forward to working on the girl, and the
thought angered him. For Hsiao, torture was a tool, not a means for the
gratification of twisted personalities.
He was not going to let Phreng enjoy that pleasure … not yet, at any
rate. The Americans might yet have some value as hostages, and he
didn’t want them permanently damaged.
There was no need. Bayerly had given him all the information he needed.
“They are not to be hurt. Either of them.”
Phreng’s expression fell. “Yes, sir.”
“Make arrangements for a truck … an army truck with a canvas top. We
will take them out tonight.”
“Yes, sir. Where are we taking them?”
“To U Feng.” Hsiao tapped the end of his pen against the maps spread
out on the table before him. “We will want to be clear of the city
before the festivities begin.”
“Festivities, sir?”
Hsiao allowed himself a shallow smile. “Tonight we begin the final
phase of Sheng li.”
“Tonight!”
“Yes. Now … have my driver bring the car around.”
“Yes, sir. And your destination?”
“Lumpini,” he said, reaching for the telephone on his desk. That was
the name of a large park on Rama Four Road, less than two miles from
Klong Toey.
He’d used it for meetings with fellow conspirators before. “I have some
final arrangements to make.”
Phreng made a wai and backed out of the office. Minutes later, Hsiao
was speaking the innocuous code phrases which would inform Colonel
Kriangsak where and when his master would speak with him.
The attack on the Jefferson had to be carried off swiftly, before the
Americans were aware of their danger. It would not take long for the
helicopters, already prepared for their mission, to reach the carrier
from the air base at Sattahip.
CHAPTER 18
1910 hours, 19 January
The Warehouse, Bangkok
Tombstone and Pamela had been returned to the room where he had been
held earlier. Mercifully, the bodies of the three seamen were gone,
though the coppery stink of fresh blood lingered. Traces of red gore
still streaked the concrete floor and pooled about the rusty drain in
the center of the room.
Their clothes had been returned to them, though wallets, watches, money,
and IDs were missing. Their captors had collected everything they could
find back in the hotel room, searching for useful information. That he
and Pamela were being allowed to dress was in itself encouraging.
Possibly the worst of the ordeal was over.
They were going to be moved, Tombstone guessed. He didn’t think Hsiao
was going to dispose of his captives, not yet at least. Their Chinese
interrogator was planning … something, something very big. He and
Pamela would have hostage value for negotiations if nothing else, and
Hsiao did not seem to Tombstone to be the sort of man who would throw
away any advantage, however small.
His mind turned to Bayerly. An initial surge of anger died before it
more than ruffled his thoughts. It was hard to blame Made It for
breaking the way he had; Tombstone himself didn’t know if he could have
sat there and done nothing while they tortured Pamela. The question for
the moment was not Bayerly’s cracking, but what could be done about the
situation now.
As he sat down on the edge of the cot next to Pamela, she reached over
and took his arm. He was surprised by the strength of her grasp as she
leaned close and echoed his own thoughts. “Matt? What are we going to
do?”
He glanced around the room without answering, looking at the walls. They