In this business, alongside gut feelings, instincts and intuition there’s another thing called luck. Like being in the right place at the right time.
Once, during a dull patch, I read a definition of luck, which said that it is the force that causes things to happen by chance and not as a result of your own efforts or abilities.
It was luck that made me look up from a plate piled with fish bones and glance across the road. There was a small hotel opposite - the sort that caters for stays that last an hour or so or however long it takes.
This one was a slightly more upmarket version of those in the less salubrious parts of Bangkok, in that it charged ten times as much, and you could get an all American or all English breakfast, lunch, and even a pot of tea and a chocolate chip muffin in a cordoned-off area just off the street.
The sky above was dark, but at ground level, there were so many lights you could be excused for thinking it was midday and I had only just finished assessing my chances of being shot in broad daylight when I saw the two men opposite. How I picked them out through motorbikes, taxis, and the throngs forced by sheer numbers to walk in the narrow road I don’t know. Let us assume it was luck mixed with another rare skill - the ability to recognise someone you’ve never even met before from the back of their head. Naturally blonde males are not common in Bangkok.
“Anna, go back to the hotel. Stay there until I call you,” I said. “Any problems, call Colin. OK?”
Her black eyes looked at me through her long black hair. “Why?
What is it?”
I nodded with my head. “Over there, right at the back, in the corner.”
“Don’t be silly,” she said. I’ve no idea where she learned that phrase.
Silly is not my sort of word. It’s not powerful enough for me. I prefer the word stupid.
“If I’m not mistaken, the back of the head belongs to David Solomon,” I said, “And facing him is GOB.”
She put a hand to her open mouth. “What are you going to do?”
“Just watch them and see where they go.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s the only thing I can do right now,” I said, thinking she was being a bit silly. “Go to the hotel and stay there until I call you.”
“Why?”
“It’s my job. Colin sits in the office playing with his computer, while I sit eating fish watching the world go.”
She grabbed her bag and pushed her chair back. “Crazy farang.”
Now I’m not used to public demonstrations of affection, and such things are, quite rightly in my opinion, rarely seen on the streets of Bangkok. However, I suddenly felt an urge that didn’t emanate from my groin but from somewhere inside my chest. I almost bent over and kissed her because why was such a good question. Why was I here?
Why had I not told Charles Brady to get lost? Why had I gone to Cairo? Why Nairobi? Why Jimmy? Why did I think Kevin made a lot of sense? Why did I think David Solomon had actually said a few sensible things? Why this? Why that? Why everything?
“OK,” Anna said. “I’ll go back to the hotel and wait for you, crazy farang. Don’t be long.” And with that, she got up and walked away.
Again.
I stayed sitting. In fact, I ordered a bottle of Fanta, so I had an excuse to sit and watch the two men. I took a few photos on my phone, knowing it would flash but go completely unnoticed in this street. I paid the bill. Then I walked across the road to the open-air café cum bar. I mounted the two steps, and a girl in tight jeans and a nice smile invited me to sit at the front overlooking the street. I declined, ordered a beer, and sat at a table in the darker area at the back.
It was clearly O’Brian. Despite the humid thirty-three-degree heat and that the tie was missing, it was the same dark suit and the same long straight grey hair gelled back from his forehead. His complexion, despite the lighting, looked as if he’d just spent a week on a yacht in the Caribbean.
And opposite him sat the man I had, not long before, talked to on the phone. David Solomon was wearing a white tee shirt with an apple printed on the front with words that I couldn’t read. Two bottles of Tiger beer lay on the table between them.
GOB was talking. Solomon was nodding, gesticulating. Then, he opened his mouth, put something imaginary to his lips, and pressed his forefinger. It could only have been a demonstration of how to use an asthma inhaler.
O’Brian looked around. Solomon sat back and then pointed down the street. O’Brian nodded, said something, drained his bottle, and wiped his mouth. Solomon did the same. They got up, pushing the two chairs back, and Solomon beckoned the girl in tight jeans and handed over some notes. Meanwhile, O’Brian had sauntered out onto the street.
I also paid the girl but then sat for a moment to see what would happen. They walked up the road away from the main Sukhumvit Road, and I followed - one minute on the crowded pavement, then between rows of parked motorcycles, and then into the middle of the road. At the end of the street, they turned right and then left where the night-time sounds of Soi 11 faded. The street became darker and the pavement rougher and narrow. Tuk-tuks and motorcycles still passed by, short-cutting from somewhere to somewhere else.
I slowed to stay out of sight, until they suddenly disappeared from view to the right. I quickened my pace and found a hidden entrance to an apartment block and a concrete parking area surrounded by grass, shrubs, and trees. The block was lower and looked older than others, so I slipped between two shrubs and watched as Solomon and O’Brian walked up to a glassed front door. It opened automatically.
Behind it was a hallway and a reception desk on the left. A man stood up from behind the desk, said something to Solomon, and the front door closed.
Retracing my steps to the street, I looked back and saw lights come on in two windows on the top floor, so I hung around a while to see if anything else happened. Beside me, half hidden by the shrubs, was a sign in English “Apartments for Sale or Rent” with a phone number.
It was an idea I’d used before if I needed to get inside somewhere and take a look around but not now.
Meanwhile, if I needed to go anywhere in a hurry, there was a gathering of motorbikes and tuk-tuks touting for business at the end of the road.
As I turned to watch the windows on the top floor, one light went out.
A minute later, both Solomon and O’Brian appeared at the doorway.
Solomon was carrying a large, heavy-looking cardboard box. They walked to a car parked beneath the trees in the corner, and Solomon put the box in the boot. O’Brian watched and lit a cigarette.
Solomon returned to the apartment, the second light went out, and then he came back carrying an identical box which was also put in the car. O’Brian still smoked and watched.
Assuming they were going somewhere, I glanced in the direction of the tuk-tuks in case I needed one and then back at Solomon and O’Brian. Solomon was using his phone. O’Brian was lighting his next cigarette.
A few minutes later, another car, a shiny, new Mercedes, went past me and stopped next to Solomon and O’Brian. As Jimmy had reminded me the one colour that shows up in darkness is white. The man who got out of the Mercedes was an Arab dressed in a long white gallabiyah.
In Thailand, the sight of Arabs and Africans in traditional clothing had once been rare, but in some roads off Sukhumvit Road, it is now common. Indeed, in some streets, Africans and Arabs far outnumber
Thais. Some streets now resemble Cairo with shoe shops, clothing shops, crafts shops, money changers, Lebanese and Egyptian restaurants, and coffee bars with hookah smoking pipes.
Solomon raised the car boot lid and lifted out the boxes he had only just put there, and as the Arab held the rear passenger door of his car open, the boxes were transferred into the Mercedes. There was some brief hand shaking, then the Arab got into the car and drove slowly past me.
I grabbed a tuk-tuk and told him to follow with no idea how far we might be going. But it took less than ten minutes for the car to find its way around backstreets and enter another congested and busy street running parallel with Soi 11. In the heart of the Arab quarter the Mercedes stopped outside a brightly lit Arab pharmacy.
I paid my driver and watched the Arab in his white gallabiyah abandon his car where it was, get out, open the rear door, and then beckon to someone sitting inside the pharmacy doorway. A teenaged Arab boy in an identical but smaller size gallabiyah came out and, one by one, carried the two boxes inside as the man watched. Job done; the Mercedes drove away. But it was the boxes themselves that now interested me. They were specially designed boxes marked with the words “Clinical Samples - Refrigerated - Do not open until final destination” printed in red.
Now, I’m no novice when it comes to transporting goods, whether by land, sea, or air. I understand international freight regulations, and I’m quick at spotting attempts to bypass them. I also know it’s easy to mark boxes so that they scare the living daylights out of handlers, whether they are customs and excise officials or your local mail delivery man.
The survival of good, honest, and legitimate businesses who send hazardous materials by air or sea is always at stake. They are very careful and usually overcautious. Rogue companies are not. They break every rule in the book to ensure their illicit goods get through, and I did not, for one minute, believe that the contents of these two
boxes were clinical samples. But, by labelling them as such and saying, “Do not open until final destination,” it virtually guaranteed their safe arrival, unopened and unchecked. False paperwork would see to the rest.
So, what sort of biological materials needed constant refrigeration?
Vaccines? Live viruses? And where had the boxes just come from? A residential apartment? I called my tuk-tuk driver who was still loitering.
“You want to follow that Merc again? This a crazy road, mister,” he said. “Many things go on here.”
We followed it onto Sukhumvit Road again where it soon turned left and disappeared into the underground car park of a hotel. I paid the driver for the second time, walked into the hotel, picked up a copy of the Bangkok Post , and sat down. I didn’t have to wait long for the door leading to the underground car park to open. The Arab walked in
- a man with a round face and a thick moustache with his car keys in one hand and beads in the other. He went to reception, took a key, and then the lift to the sixth floor.
I’ve mentioned luck in this business but have I also mentioned professional judgement? I put my newspaper down, went to the reception, and said, “Mr Mohamed Kader just arrive. I was reading my paper and didn’t notice. He is on the 6th floor. Was that him?”
“Yes, sir. Room 604.”
I didn’t rush up to room 604. I’m not stupid, or even a bit silly. I returned to my seat to ponder my next move.
With all three main characters currently in Bangkok, it seemed to me that Thailand was the centre of operations and that Solomon had some sort of laboratory there. But where? It was very unlikely that KAVRO
was the place, although he may well have had access to certain of its facilities. It was also unlikely for a university to be involved although here was a possibility, he had access to facilities there. Perhaps this was his reason for keeping a girlfriend, Pim.
That left the apartment? Did Solomon’s home serve as a storage facility or even a laboratory? And Kader? This was what made me smile behind my newspaper. I had found him. And O’Brian? Where was he staying?
One minute, this job is all about sitting around; the next minute, you don’t know which way to turn. Mohamed Kader was upstairs but what was in those boxes? I decided to return to the pharmacy and ask a few questions. Anna was only two blocks away and I wouldn’t be long.
It was nearly 10:00 p.m., but the pharmacy, with its illuminated Arabic sign above, was still open. The teenage boy was chatting to an older Egyptian-looking man behind the counter. “Is this Mohamed Kader’s pharmacy?” I asked.
“Nam fielaan,” said the old man. “Yes. Shah Pharmacy.”
“I’m looking for Mohamed El Badry.”
“Mr El Badry is in Egypt, sir.” The information was flowing because the old guy knew nothing about what was going on.
“Dr Al Khoury? Is he here?”
“He is also in Egypt.”
Shah Pharmacy’s customer care was overwhelming, “My friend David Solomon told me Mohamed Kader was in Bangkok.”
“Mr Solomon was here earlier. Are you also in the business?”
Bullshit time. “I arrived this morning from Singapore. I’m with Shah Medical - Mr Kader’s Singapore company.”
“Yes, sir. Mr Kader will go to Singapore tomorrow afternoon.”
“Do you know if he delivered two boxes here this evening?”
“Yes, sir. We will send them to Shah Medical in Singapore tomorrow morning.”
“Thank you,” I said, smiling like a toothpaste advert. “That’ll save me checking with Mr Solomon.” I paused. “And Mr O’Brian from America, is he here?”
The old man now looked confused. The boy sitting next to him scratched his head. “Mr who, sir?”
“O’Brian, Mr O’Brian.”
“No, sir. We have no one of that name. Very sorry, sir.”
With a final thank you I walked back to our hotel. It now seemed to me that if we waited for law enforcements and the Interpol process to catch up, we might not only lose Solomon but fail to stop the release of the virus.
I knew where Solomon was based so Colin could organise a police search but my concern was the boxes being flown to Singapore in the morning. What did they contain?
I was at the hotel and ready to push the button for the lift when I had a another of those increasingly common and depressing episodes about my life. This time, though, it was what might happen when I told Anna I was planning to fly to Singapore in the morning. I needed to be fully armed with explanations.
And Anna wasn’t the only one. Colin had already advised me to back off and let due process take its course but I now wanted him to perform one of his miracles and track and intercept a cargo of refrigerated, hazardous biological material that might be live Malthus A virus.
I missed several comings and goings of the hotel lift before feeling ready to face whatever was to come. Once in the room, I took my time to describe what had happened since we were eating our fish.
Then came my announcement. I was flying to Singapore next morning.
“And what can you do, Mr Mathew, Mark, Luke and John, that the policemen cannot do?”
“They are too slow, Anna. They need signed pieces of paper. They need…it’s the way I am…I must finish a job.”
“But you promised you’d change for me. You said it.”
It was true. I’d said I needed to change. I think I might have said something that sounded like a promise, but how can you promise to change your entire nature? Words can get misinterpreted. In my experience, women are especially bad at misinterpreting things that are said. They hear what they want to hear. I’d told her about my flashback, the one about the drowning man, and had admitted a few shortcomings in the private emotions department. But hey, come on!
Give a guy some leeway. I’m getting old and fixed in my ways – at least that’s what Colin says.
“Yes. I will change,” I said. “Slowly. But I’m still in the middle of a job that started before I said whatever it was that I said. I need to finish it, Anna. After that then…”
“But I’m afraid.”
I couldn’t help it. I put my arms around her. “Afraid of what?” I asked.
“You. Me. Everything. You know? What is you say? Scared? And I can’t sit here forever. I need to see my pa. They are feeding him through a tube in his nose. He can’t move his arms, and he can’t speak. He stares and looks frightened. He’s scared too. You know?”
She was making me sniff like a school kid with a snotty nose.
“Yes, I know,” I said, and it wasn’t bullshit.
“How long will you be in Singapore?” she asked after a short pause.
Of course, I didn’t know. Two days? A week? I had to say something because she was looking at me expectantly. “Maybe three or four
days,” I said. And then she said something that gave me a way out of my dilemma but it was terrible mistake.
“What can I do while you’re away?” she said.
I sniffed and struggled. Then: “Check out the apartment block that Solomon uses. There’s a sign outside advertising apartments for sale or rent. Phone the agent and take a look inside.”
Then I called Colin to describe his next job.