the plan had to begin now, before those machines reached their
destination.
Hurrying through the empty outer office, he went to his desk and picked
up the telephone. “Savahtdi!” he said as the switchboard operator came
on line. “Colonel Kriangsak Vajiravudh speaking, Give me a line to
Sattahip.
Major Chani Silapakom, Army Air Operations. Quickly!”
After a few moments, a voice came over the line. “Colonel Kriangsak?
This is Major Chani. What can I-”
“Listen carefully, Major. The sun sets on two hundred years!”
“The sun sets …” There was a moment’s hesitation from the other end
of the line. “Yes, Colonel, I understand.”
“Commence operations as planned. Your pilots have received the orders
sent over this afternoon?”
“Yes, sir. Everything is ready.”
“Excellent. Carry out your instructions, Major.”
He hung up the phone. The sun sets on two hundred years. A nonsense
phrase, actually, one made up by Hsiao as a code signaling the final
phase of Sheng li. It was apt, however, and Kriangsak wondered whether
Hsiao had chosen it deliberately.
Bangkok had become the capital of Thailand in 1782, a little more than
two centuries ago, when the first of the Chakri kings, the founder of
the current dynasty, had established his seat of power in what was then
a fishing village on the Chao Phraya River. And when this night was
over, the sun would indeed have set on two centuries of Chakri rule. If
King Bhumibol still ruled, it would be at the sufferance of the leaders
of the coup under Kriangsak’s command.
And Hsiao, of course … though Kriangsak thought it should soon be
possible to ease the Chinese general aside from the halls of power in
Bangkok … or eliminate him entirely. Hsiao Kuoping was more
interested in dealing with the drug lords of the Golden Triangle than
with controlling Thailand.
Many options were open, and soon Kriangsak would only have to choose
among them.
There was a delicious irony about the situation. In 1981, Kriangsak’s
father had died leading the attempted coup which had come to be known as
the Young Turks’ Rebellion. That rising had failed because the plotters
had been unable to enlist the support of the King.
This time, though, it would be different. The King would support the
coup, or …
Kriangsak made a second call, this time to another major in an army
barracks in Bangkok. A third call went to the garrison commander at Don
Muang. A fourth to a captain at the Grand Palace.
By the time he was done, men and machines were on the move throughout
the Bangkok area.
There would be no failure this time, so long as Hsiao kept his part of
the bargain.
The telephone receiver clicked in his hand. He held it to his ear, then
smiled. Good. The city’s phones had been knocked out on schedule. In
the distance, he could hear the crackle of gunfire, and the first, faint
wail of a siren. Now, he thought. Now it begins!
1931 hours, 19 January
The Warehouse, Bangkok
The door banged open. Phreng stood outside the room, between two
Burmese holding AK-47s. “On your feet,” the That said. He too held an
assault rifle, and its muzzle was directed squarely at Tombstone’s
chest. “Now!”
Tombstone stood with exaggerated slowness. “Where are you taking us?”
“Never mind that. Hurry it up!”
“He can’t!” Pamela said, flaring. “You hurt him …”
“We’ll do a lot more to him if he doesn’t move fast.” Phreng gave her a
leering, gap-toothed grin. “And we’re not done with you yet, little
muu. We were only just getting acquainted when we were rudely
interrupted, no?”
They were led at gunpoint through the warehouse, Tombstone walking with
a pronounced, halting limp, Pamela supporting him by one arm. A side
door opened into an alley between the warehouse and another large,
empty-looking building. An army truck filled the road, its motor
running.
A bell clanged with an uneven rhythm somewhere in the near distance. Any
seafaring man would have recognized the sound, the ringing of a channel
marker buoy moving with the lap of the waves. They were near the water,
then. The warehouse suggested a dockyard complex. This could well be