the Kiong Toey district, the rough waterfront area on the river which
serviced Bangkok.
Phreng gestured with the AK, directing them toward the back of the
truck.
Tombstone was already gauging his chances. There were Phreng and four
Burmese, plus the driver, a brawny man who looked like a That
dockworker. Six men, three with AK assault rifles. The odds were not
good.
The That barked orders, and two Burmese closed in on Pamela. Standing
to either side of her and pinning her arms, they manhandled her toward
the truck.
“Let go of me!” Pamela demanded. She twisted against their grip.
One of the Burmese bellowed with pain and rage as Pamela’s foot caught
him squarely in the kneecap. He released her as the girl jerked free,
striking wildly at the other guard with her fist.
Phreng turned away from Tombstone. That was the chance he’d been
watching for. Tombstone whipped around, smashing his left elbow into
the side of Phreng’s head. The That slammed back against the side of
the truck, and Tombstone grabbed for the AK.
They battled for the weapon in the cramped space between warehouse wall
and truck. Tombstone crowded in close, then snapped his knee up hard,
aiming for the That’s groin. Phreng screamed. And then Tombstone had
the AK as the civilian dropped to his hands and knees on the pavement.
The two Burmese with AKs stood just beyond, beside the truck’s cab, one
fumbling with the weapon slung over his arm, the other bringing his
assault rifle up to aim at the American. Tombstone’s finger closed on
the trigger. An ear-splitting chatter of full-auto gunfire exploded in
the night, impossibly loud in the tight confines of the alley.
One gunman crashed against the side of the truck, then dropped to the
pavement. His partner slammed into the warehouse wall. Tombstone
whirled and pounded around to the back of the truck. Where was Pamela?
The guard she had kicked was just getting up off the pavement, tugging a
revolver from the waistband of his pants. Tombstone smashed him in the
face with the AK’s stock.
Fresh movement caught his eye … Phreng, rising now with one of the
dropped AKs in his hand. Tombstone fired, stitching Phreng’s torso from
groin to throat with bloody explosions.
“Pamela!” he yelled, rounding the back of the truck. Where was she?
“Pam!”
There she was, on the far side of the truck! Another Burmese guard was
holding her from behind, using her body as a shield as he backed away,
one hand around her waist and the other clamped over her mouth.
Tombstone’s eyes met hers, and he saw the terror there.
In the same instant, the canvas curtains screening the back of the truck
were thrust aside. Men were jumping out, armed men in uniform.
And behind them, handcuffed to a railing inside the truck’s canvas top,
he saw Bayerly, staring back at him with eyes as wide and as terrified
as Pamela’s.
Tombstone jerked the rifle skyward, unable to fire for fear of hitting
either of the American captives. A That soldier running toward him
opened fire, and Tombstone felt something snap past his head.
A That soldier …?
The alley seemed filled with running men now. More soldiers were
arriving from someplace … the other side of the alley, from the inside
of the warehouse. Tombstone ducked and whirled, seeking cover, but
there was no cover in the alley, only trash-cluttered pavement.
He heard a man’s yelp of pain, then Pamela’s voice shouting in the
darkness. “Run, Tombstone. Run …!”
Her scream was drowned by gunfire. Bullets sang from the pavement near
his feet and whined off the wall near his head, but he was already
running, pounding down the alley toward the open street beyond. Random
shots snapped past as he rounded the corner, plunging into a narrow,
poorly lit street.
Pamela had given him his chance to escape. If he let himself get caught
again, his failure would be like a betrayal. His lungs burning with the
effort, he ran faster.
CHAPTER 19
1945 hours, 19 January
Kiong Toey District, Bangkok
Bangkok was in an uproar, a beeping, screeching, milling-crowd panic
that exploded on every side of Tombstone as he tried desperately to
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