Bimat--A Vietnamese Adventure Page 5

  Dao didn’t tell John she was marrying Stu. She knew how he felt about her and didn’t want to hurt him. Besides, Stu had been her first long-time foreign boyfriend and the only man she loved.

  Now happily married, Dao had forgotten about John. That was until a few months ago

  Dao and Moo were setting up their shop on Threpasit market when Dao heard a familiar voice behind her.

  “Hello Dao.”

  She turned around and saw John smiling at her.

  Dao, feeling embarrassed, blushed, smiled, and said, “Oh, err, hello John. How are you?”

  John gazed at her and replied. “I’m fine, somebody in Pattaya told me you worked here, so I had to come and find out if it was true.” He then smiled. “It’s been a long time; how have you been?”

  Moo looked at Dao as she stammered and told John how sorry she felt about losing contact and having to change her phone number. She told him she was happy and doing well with her business, but never mentioned that she was married, and although John noticed her wedding ring, he didn’t mention it.

  John told her how he had spent the last few years trying to trace her and said he’d thought about her all the time. He told her that he still loved her and felt happy now he had seen her again.

  Moo had known about John for many years, but could say nothing to Spock, as this was the Thai bar girl edict. Besides, it was at her and Mamasan’s insistence that Dao went with John in the first place.

  Dao and John chatted for several minutes, and then John asked. “Can I see you later?”

  Dao saw the hopeful look in John’s eyes, so she agreed to meet him. She knew that Stu and Spock would be out until late, and she and Moo usually closed the shop around 10:00 pm and then went home, so she agreed to meet John at 8:00 pm.

  Moo felt angry, because not only did it mean her packing the shop stock away alone, but she would have to make excuses if Dao didn’t get home before Spock and Stu.

  John left the market with a spring in his step and Moo looked at Dao and said. “Why didn’t you tell him you are married?”

  Dao shook her head, sighed, and said. “I was surprised to see him. I thought he would have found a new lady and had forgotten about me by now. But I will tell him tonight.”

  “Well, you had better tell him,” said Moo, puckering her brow.

  “Yes, I will,” said Dao frowning.

  That evening, Dao met John in The Green Onion, a small restaurant on Second Road. She knew it would be a safe meeting place. It was where she and John had eaten together many times before, and a place Stu never went.

  Dao told John about now being married to Stu. She thought he would be angry with her as he had sent her a lot of money over the years.

  Instead, he looked forlorn and told her that he knew because he had seen her wedding ring, but he didn’t care. He told her that he still loved her and wanted to be with her and take care of her no matter what.

  Dao felt guilty and tears welled up in her eyes.

  Dao wasn’t westernised as quickly as Moo and she was gullible. To have two or more boyfriends was normal. Mamasan had told her that until a commitment was made by the Ferang, foreigner, she should have as many men as possible sending her money. Dao knew Mamasan was right after speaking with other long time bar girls who’d had many men sending money, with several being engaged two or three times.

  Moo only went short times for business, and once she’d committed to Spock, that stopped.

  Dao however, had only been with two; she loved one and was fond of the other.

  Dao became confused. Although Stu was now her husband, and she loved him, she was flattered that John still wanted her.

  They finished eating, and John, not wanting to lose her again, and not wanting the night to end asked. “Will you come to my room so we can talk more?”

  Dao felt sorry for John when he’d told her he slept alone every time he came to Pattaya. He assured her that he would never take another girl now he had found her again.

  Dao looked into his sad pleading eyes and nodded. “Okay John, but only for an hour, I have to go home.” They left the restaurant and went to John’s hotel room.

  Over the next few months, unbeknownst to Stu, Dao had liaisons with John when he came to Pattaya on a two-week holiday. She did not know how to say no to John, and realising that she had broken his heart before, felt guilty.

  Dao spent the odd day and occasionally a few hours at night with John, which John felt happy about, knowing Dao would never leave Stu as she constantly spoke about him. This wasn’t a problem in Dao’s mind because it was only sex and she pitied John. She felt madly in love with Stu, her husband.

  Moo, knowing about the affair tried to talk Dao into ending it with John many times. She told her that Westerners didn’t accept infidelity as easy as Thais and Dao told her every time John came to Thailand that she would end it, but she didn’t.

  ****

  Pon and Stu stayed awake all night talking. Pon felt worried and restless, and Stu couldn’t sleep through Spock’s snoring in an armchair.

  The telephone rang at 6:30 am, which woke Spock.

  Pon put the call on speakerphone so they could all hear.

  “Good morning,” said Thran, sounding frantic. “I just received another call from the kidnapper. Again, the voice was synthesised but it was the same man. The conversation was brief, with instructions for you, Pon.”

  Pon looked bewildered as Thran told them.

  “On Kim’s flight there should be two unclaimed pieces of luggage; Kim’s, and one other. A green holdall with North Territory decals belonging to Mr Lang Duc. He said that you would find further instructions in there.” Thran sighed. “That was all he said.”

  “Okay, thanks Thran,” said Pon, “I will tell Taksin and call you when we find the bag and check the contents. Hopefully, we can then figure out a plan.”

  “I hope so, son,” said Thran and hung up.

  Pon called Taksin who contacted his team at the airport and told them to retrieve the luggage and try to find the whereabouts of a Vietnamese man called Mr Lang Duc.

  Pon, Stu, and Spock arrived at the airport an hour later and were met by Taksin, who hustled them through to the operations centre in the VIP lounge. An empty holdall with old clothes piled up next to it and a large envelope addressed to Prime Master, Pon Meesilli, lay on a desk.

  Taksin picked up the envelope, handed it to Pon, and told them. “That was on top of that pile of clothes in the bag.”

  “What about Lang Duc?” asked Pon.

  Taksin picked up the flight manifest laid on the table, showed it to Pon and said. “Lang Duc was booked on Kim’s flight. He checked in at Hanoi airport, but never boarded.”

  Pon looked at the manifest. He remembered the woman at Hanoi airport telling him about another person not boarding but had paid little attention because he was worried about Kim.

  Taksin furrowed his brow, looked at Pon, and said. “This has been carefully planned Pon. I called Thran and told him and he said he will check on their database, but he assumed that Mr Lang Duc would be a phoney name and he’d used a forged passport when he checked in. ”

  Pon’s hands trembled as he ripped open the sealed envelope, took out a sheet of A4 typed paper, and read it. He looked bemused and then took out the rest of the contents, which were several aged photographs, newspaper clippings and a DVD disc.

  Pon then read the letter aloud and held up the DVD. “If you want to see Kim Meesilli / Hern Tangh alive, follow the instructions on the DVD. What we want, along with the three people involved, are marked on the information.”

  Pon and Taksin had seen the clippings and one photocopied picture before, they had been used for an investigation that they had closed many years ago. When they saw the other picture they looked at Stu and Spock, and Pon showed them.

  Spock and Stu looked at the newspaper clippings, and although they couldn’t understand the Thai writing, they saw the picture of Pon stood outside the Temple of the
Sacred light, with his head circled with red marker pen.

  They then looked at the other photocopied image of an old photograph and gasped. “That’s us years ago at the Siam Sawasdee Hotel,” said Spock as he saw the picture of them and Pon leaving the hotel, with all their heads circled in red marker pen.

  Spock looked closer and spluttered, “but how? Who could have taken that? it must have been ages ago because we haven’t stayed at the Siam Sawasdee for years, and look, I am wearing my old Adventure Hat ”

  The four looked baffled at one another and then Pon handed Stu an enlarged photograph, and said, “They want this in exchange for Kim.”

  Stu and Spock looked at the picture and then frowned.

  They looked up at Pon and Taksin who now spoke to one another in Thai.

  Taksin then ordered a DVD player brought in and Stu whispered to Spock. “That fucking box will be the death of us.”

  Spock smiled, raised his eyebrows up and down, and said. “Another adventure matey; maybe we’ll catch some fish.”

  Stu groaned as Taksin’s staff brought in a DVD player and TV and set them up.

  Pon placed the disc into the slot and pressed play. There was silence in the room as the disc loaded, and then a digitally distorted face appeared on the screen.

  — Chapter Four —

  The oncology consultant’s prognosis for the dying Sheik Mohammed Del Alaz was dire, giving him only months to live.

  Mohammed lay in a bed at the centre of a large domed room inside his palatial home in Riyadah, Saudi Arabia. His bed, surrounded by life-saving machines, monitors, and medical equipment, looked out of place in a room surrounded by ancient treasures. It appeared as if someone had plopped a hospital ward in the middle of the Louvre Museum.

  He was now a gaunt frail figure as cancer ravished his once handsome features and toned body. He had the best care and facilities that his wealth could buy. His bodyguards and medical staff were never more than a few minutes away from his large well-equipped bedside.

  From his deathbed, he could view all the treasures and holy relics from different cultures that he had amassed over the years.

  The collection, worth billions of dollars, and previously housed in a large underground vault, were now where he could always view them: displayed in his final accommodation and soon to be his mausoleum. ‘These treasures would appease Allah and the prophet Mohammed,’ he thought, looking around at the religious icons.

  However, one relic had eluded him and cost the life of his closest advisor and friend, Abdul Bhunto.

  That was many years ago, but he had never forgotten about what he'd witnessed from the webcam and the newspaper clippings regarding Abdul’s demise, which still haunted him.

  He had kept up to date with the news media of the event, but due to his other business commitments, followed by his illness with its slow and painful spread, he had neither the time nor energy to pursue his justice or exact his revenge until now, and accepting his fate, he could focus on his last defiant act.

  Mohammed, although hazy from the narcotic pain relieving drugs looked around his treasure room and at the glass case that he’d had built to house the relic he’d never obtained. In the case was a gold gilded framed photograph of Abdul.

  He stared at the photo and with his voice weak, said. “Soon my old friend, I will see you soon. You died bravely on the quest with infidels and I will join you at Allah’s right hand.” He wiped tears from his eyes, croaked “Allah is great,” and prayed before his pain intensified. He pressed a button at his side that injected morphine into him and he fell into a narcotic induced sleep.

  Several minutes later, Mohammed felt awake. He gazed at an ectoplasm figure taking shape at the foot of his bed. He looked wide-eyed as Abdul appeared looking pale and ghostly with cupped hands as if something appeared to be missing. The apparition looked at him and he saw desperation and sadness in Abdul’s eyes before he faded.

  Mohammed awoke with a start and covered in sweat, let out a piercing scream. Doctor and bodyguards rushed over to his bedside and tried to calm him down, and after the Doctors gave him a sedative, he fell into a dreamless sleep.

  Mohammed awoke pain free several hours later and as he sat up in bed. He set up a laptop computer on his over-bed table, he summoned Mophi, his bodyguard and head of security.

  Mophi was a large, muscular Arabian with an expressionless face, giving him a menacing demeanour. Previously in the Iranian Special Forces, he was now a well-paid bodyguard and mercenary for Mohammed and a ruthless bastard.

  Mohammed, typing instructions into a laptop computer when Mophi entered, summoned him over to his bed.

  Mophi bowed and stood at the side of Mohammed’s bedside as he showed him images on the screen.

  “I want this,” he said and pointed at an image, “and I want the men responsible for the death of Abdul, my loyal and trusted friend.”

  Mophi looked, smirked, and nodded.

  “I will find out more information,” said Mohammed and frowned. “Meanwhile, get the Ayatollah here. Sons of Islam have been offended and slain. We need to get a fatwa ruling against these infidels.” Mophi nodded as Mohammed put another image on the screen and smirked.

  Mohammed pointed at the screen and said, “then bring him to me.”

  ****

  Dawn broke over the arid plains of Las Vegas. Gates clanging, heavy doors banging, and the chatter of prisoners and guards, signalled another day at Clerk Detention Centre as the inmates’ lined up for breakfast.

  A tall, slim man stood alone. He looked weary as he waited in line for food.

  A stocky, shaven-headed tattooed American man standing behind him shoved him and smirked. “Oops, sorry Professor,” he said with a growl.

  The man turned, glanced at the bully, sighed, and then faced forward as the server dolloped scrambled eggs onto his plate.

  The tattooed man shoved him again and said. “Do you intend to eat that?”

  “Yes, I do,” said the man with an articulate English accent and walked away.

  “You're getting brave Professor,” said the American lout who followed the Englishman to a bench table and sat beside him.

  The other prisoners eating at the table smirked as the bully glared at the Brit, frowned, and growled at him.

  The Englishman sighed, picked up his plate, and scraped the contents onto the lout’s, who smiled. “That’s better,” he said and started eating both breakfasts.

  The Englishman got up and sauntered back to his cell. ‘I hate this place,’ he thought, ‘but it’s better than the alternative I suppose.’

  John Crawford, A.K.A Professor Julian Grimes, and known in Las Vegas as the Duke Philip of Southerby, had served almost a year of his seven-year jail sentence for multiple gambling frauds, which he’d committed around Vegas.

  Grimes had returned to Vegas years earlier to set up another convoluted con against the man whom he had conned out of a fortune, Sheik Mohammed Del Alaz.

  When Grimes arrived in Vegas, he spent a few months settling in and integrating into the high rolling scene at the casinos, also acquiring a cocaine habit that made him sloppy and uncontrollable.

  Funded by Mohammed, he lived way beyond his means and kept the Sheik continually paying for his fictional quest to discover the whereabouts of the missing Gnostic gospels of Judas Iscariot. He had told the Sheik he knew the parchments contained conversations between Judas and the Messiah, reputed to contain mind-blowing revelations about Judas being requested by Jesus to betray him to the Romans, thus completing his final act for god.

  After several years of living the high-life, the Sheik, after his failed attempt to get the Holy relic of Buddha, felt angry and warned Grimes that he wanted results, threatening to cut off his funds and giving him a deadline to produce proof.

  Grimes, fearing that he was about to be rumbled, flew to England to meet with an old acquaintance; a Cambridge Professor, Daniel Farquharson, who specialised in translating ancient languages. Even though Grimes
previously duped the Professor, they formulated a plan to fool the stupid Sheik. Grimes then travelled to Beni Masah in Egypt, the site of the discovery of some of the original gospels and other scrolls found from the same period written on papyrus.

  After befriending a local Egyptian official with a few bribes, he’d obtained old sheets of Coptic papyrus containing only small pieces of script considered being of no historic value.

  Grimes then returned to England, took the papyrus to Daniel, and flew back to Vegas.

  It took Daniel weeks of painstaking effort with microscopic scraping, shaving, and a laser to erase the ancient texts.

  Daniel then mixed the ink he’d scraped off with squid ink and used an ageing process that he had pioneered.

  It took several weeks for the new ink formula to integrate and stabilise, and then Daniel wrote new text in Aramaic onto the blank sheets of Coptic papyrus.

  While Grimes played roulette in the Riviera hotel’s casino, his mobile phone rang.

  “Hello Julian,” said Daniel, sounding excited.

  Grimes smiled. “Hi Dan, have you finished?”

  Daniel chuckled. “Yes, at last it’s ready. When are you coming to collect the parchments and when do I get paid?”

  “Great!” Grimes exclaimed, “I will be on the first available flight to London and I will pay you once I have seen the results, old bean.”

  “Okay, I'll see you soon,” said Daniel sounding relieved and hung up.

  Grimes lit a cigar, picked up his martini, and put his arms around an escort girl hovering nearby. “Pick a number young lady, and put $10,000 on it. I’m on a roll.”

  The following day, Grimes flew to Cairo and met his contact, Fayed. There was another man with him, a tall Egyptian, who introduced himself as Mr Tariq, the editor for the Sawi Al-Azhar, the weekly independent newspaper.

  The three went to the Grand Hyatt hotel, and after an hour, the editor and Fayed departed.

  Grimes left ten minutes later, took a taxi to the Cairo International Airport, and caught a British Airways flight to Heathrow.