'Yeah, ironic, eh? And even back then, he was always regarded by his own kind, as the kind of
lawyer who gave his own kind the bad reputation they all endure. He is - was, if you like - the
tar-brush itself.'
The Australian Foreign Minister gathered the last of his stuff and headed for the front door,
where he suddenly stopped and turned to his friend. 'I just had a thought.'
'What? That you might be half a step closer to The Lodge?'
'No. Oh yeah, but no. It was actually a cringing thought. Knowing Robert, he was wearing those
stupid dick-sticker togs of his. The jokes, when they start - and they will - are all going to be
about that you know.'
'Yep. Sad, isn't it.'
Chiang Mai, Thailand
Sunday 8 pm
Jana Rossi, her early dinner meeting with Lawan Terat enjoyably completed, was
sitting in the Royal Princess lounge bar on her own. The American, who this afternoon she'd thought
was trying to pick her up - in itself odd for a single white male in Thailand
- was nowhere in sight. Then she recalled he wasn't staying at this hotel, he'd only come to collect
mail and have a drink. They'd had an interesting chat, after he'd assured her he only needed to
talk to someone whose first language was English. A writer by profession, he'd regaled her with
his latest project: a spy novel that was giving him a few plotting problems.
After that encounter, then the superb dinner with the amusing Lawan Terat, Jana decided it was
time to call Ruth Jardine and accept the job - just in case she wasn't the only candidate running
around South-East Asia on a trial run.
Ever more willing to believe her great-grandmother's tales of Romany blood in their maternal
line, despite her genteel Gran's refusal to countenance the possibility, Jana wondered if there was
any way to trace a family tree that had no definable roots. Gypsy genes would certainly explain why
she so loved to be on the road anywhere, but particularly overseas, travelling and working, staying
in nice hotels or preferably with the locals met through her work. Okay, so it made for an erratic
home life, and any kind of lasting relationship wasn't likely, but she'd long ago opted for 30 good
friends to stay with in exotic places, rather than a partner to stay put with in one place. Jana's
soul mate, if there was such a thing, could only ever be someone who also enjoyed a life of change,
motion and adventure.
She lifted her eyes to the waiter delivering her coffee and in that same instance saw a vision
behind him that was so truly awful it shouted,
what the hell!
very loudly, in her head. No
nice person should endure such a horror more than once in a lifetime, let alone so soon after being
trapped with it for the worst ten days of that same life.
What on earth was Alan Wagner doing out of Australia again? Why was he in Thailand, in Chiang
Mai, in the same hotel as her? The man had never even been overseas, when she had unknowingly been
so stupid as to organise his Laui junket. So this would be the second time in his life that he'd
been anywhere. What were the odds of him invading her space by accident?
Jana pinched herself to make sure this whole Helix job-offer trip wasn't a perfect dream being
infected by a perfectly dreadful night-mare.
Ow; and bugger
.
Prompted by, she had no idea what, Jana leapt up from her club chair and headed out into the
foyer to find out what the bastard was up to, following her around like this.
Alan was nowhere to be seen, but there was a westerner, with a large professional-type
video-camera, standing alone out the front as if he'd just been dismissed and wasn't quite sure
why.
Jana approached him. 'Excuse me, but did I just see Alan Wagner?'
'Pardon?' the guy frowned as if he was trying to place her. 'Oh yeah, that was Alan. Um, and
aren't you, Jana Rossi?'
'Yes,' Jana frowned, and then pointed at his camera. 'Are you here because I am?'
The guy looked genuinely taken aback. 'Didn't know you were, here. We've just done an interview
with Sophie Deans and a bunch of elephants. This will freak Alan completely. He's gonna think you're
stalking him, you know.'
'That was my first thought about him,' Jana said pulling a face.
'And more likely - I know.' Bob nodded. 'He's just taken off down to the bar that Sophie went to
with her girlfriend, to ask her out for a late supper.'
Jana screwed up her face. 'He's old enough to be her father.'
'Alan thinks he's ageless.'
'Doesn't he know that Sophie's girlfriend is her
girlfriend
?'
'Apparently not.'
'And you didn't tell him?'
'Not in so many words.'
Jana smiled. 'Is he your friend or just a colleague?'
Bob smiled back. 'We've known each other for 12 years; I am probably his best,' Bob sniffed, 'and
only real friend. I'm certainly the only person who gets to call him a wanker without getting
fired.'
'Do you want to be a fly on the wall?'
Bob raised a 'wait right here' finger, dashed inside to hand his camera over to the concierge for
safekeeping, and returned to escort Jana to the Kalipot Bar five blocks down Loi Khro Rd and round
the corner in a narrow street full of bars, cafes and shops.
Alan Wagner was not, in fact, pursuing a date with the lusciously buxom Sophie
Deans, at least not on this outing. That was a plan for later, after he'd met with the mysterious
commando man who'd prompted this whole trip. He kind of liked this foreign correspondent notion, now
that he'd gotten over the trauma of being taken hostage.
But, having endured that captivity, he now had a new credibility and had scored an exclusive with
someone who would actually talk about the subject. If those damn Australian soldiers and their
super-bitch wanted to remain anonymous well so be it, he'd get the skinny from the guys who blew
things up instead.
The Singapore rendezvous had been an irritation until he was unexpectedly given the chance to do
a three-day puff piece on Sophie Deans, in an exotic locale, and staying in the same hotel. Now that
was an offer too good to pass up, and was probably thrown at him because of his new profile. So,
luckily, it hadn't been too hard to convince the SEAL, or whatever he was, that the only country
Alan could go to outside Australia at the moment was Thailand.
Actually it was his assistant Berenice who'd done the convincing. She explained to the guy that
because Alan's passport was still on Laui then the best he could manage was some basic travel
documents, from his contact in Foreign Affairs, which would allow him to accompany a Ministerial
working party to Thailand. Part of that was even true-ish.
After the first call from the mystery man, Alan had rung Mick Fleming in Canberra to beg the
favour of an emergency passport. The fact that three people from Aaron Danby's department happened
to be going to Thailand, Malaysia and South Korea, was neither here nor there, it was simply a
believable reason why Alan couldn't meet the SEAL guy in Singapore, but could go to Chiang Mai. And,
as Berenice had put it so convincingly, it was great cover for them both.
Alan stumbled into the seats of the al fresco Kalipot Bar before realising he'd arrived at his
destination. He rubbed his shins. The interior of the place was only half full but shrouded in
cigarette smoke, so he opted for an empty table out the front but against the window away from
passing traffic. He was early. Given the SEAL-guy would recognise him, he figured that plain sight
was the best place to wait. A young Thai appeared, offered him a menu and was then sucked back into
a small crowd of loud German backpackers who'd just invaded the limited outdoor space. The waiter
re-emerged, took Alan's order for a Heineken and left again.
It took Alan three minutes to discover he was not comfortable in the midst of so many alien
languages, especially while sitting solo in a city that was foreign in so many more ways than just
not being Australian. The whole city, but especially this nightlife precinct, was full of drunken
Germans, loud Americans, obnoxious Poms, feral Aussies, and Thais who all looked the same. How the
hell was he supposed to tell the difference between a bar hostess and someone's sister? Alan
realised he should've brought Bob as back-up - without his camera - for company and safety. Yep. In
future he'd actually stipulate that - the need for a sidekick - in his request for more
correspondent type stories.
When the waiter brought his beer, Alan's attention was drawn away from the baffling Chiang Mai
street-life to the Kalipot bar, and hence to the man just two tables away. It was the American
journalist he'd seen earlier from the
tuk-tuk
. While checking their emails at the hotel, Alan
had recalled the title of the guy's best-selling book on the war on drugs. He and Bob had then
Googled the author of
Drugs R US-of-A
. and there was his name: Scott Dreher.
And now, here he was: Scott Dreher, ex-
New York Times
, now a freelancer for a host of
magazines and newspapers, including
Time, USA
Today
, and even
The Daily Telegraph
in the UK. His book on the drug trade had come after 18 months research and a series of stories
for the
Washington Post
.
Alan was working up the nerve to go chat with the Yank about their shared profession, when it
occurred to him to wonder why the crack investigative reporter was sitting where he was. Why was the
Yank in the same bar in Thailand where he was due to meet a US Navy SEAL for his story on the
bungled hostage rescue? Coincidence? Not bloody likely.
Fuck this for a joke; this is not fair
. He got up, weaved his way around three drunk
Germans who hadn't worked out what their chairs were for yet, and stood arms akimbo in front of the
American interloper. When Dreher looked up, and raised his eyebrows questioningly, Alan completely
forgot how he was going to berate him. 'Hi,' he said instead.
'Hi,' Scott shrugged.
'Are you Scott Dreher?'
'Yes. Are you an Aussie?'
Alan frowned. 'Yes.'
Scott laughed. 'Well, what else could I say, mate? You know who I am, but your identity remains a
mystery.'
'Sorry. I'm one of your lot, a fellow journalist. Alan Wagner.' Scott shook the offered hand and
waved at one of the empty chairs.
Alan sat down.
'Which paper do you write for?' Scott asked
'I don't. I host a current affairs show on Sydney television.'
'Good for you,' Scott said. 'Are you here for work then?'
'Sort of,' Alan said, not wanting to show his cards until he had an idea of his opponent's hand.
'We're doing an environmental piece with Sophie Deans and the Thai elephants.' Alan tried to read
something, anything, from the American's responses or body language. He really wished that Berenice
was here, she was great at this stuff. Even Bob would've done at a pinch.
Scott raised his eyebrows, again. 'Sophie Deans? Should I know her?'
'Oh, no, probably not, Scott. You don't mind if I call you Scott? Sophie's one of our biggest TV
stars. And she's a singer. But she's not really known in America.'
Scott nodded. 'Even if she was, I'm not really big on pop stars.'
'Of course not,' Alan said, as if that was a given, for some reason. 'So are you on the trail of
another big story?'
'Always,' Scott grinned.
'Is it the whole Golden Triangle drug thing this time?'
'No. Not drugs at all this time.'
Come on: elaborate, Alan thought. 'Right, I guess you have to keep a lid on things while you're
still researching.'
'Something like that,' Scott said. 'But my story's not really based in this region at all, if
that's what you're worried about.'
'Me?'
'Yeah, if you're onto something bigger than elephants yourself; here, I mean.'
'Me? No,' Alan shook his head. 'I
am
here, in this bar, to meet someone, a contact; so I
will have to nip off any second, but it's no biggy. You're not here,' he pointed to the table, 'to
meet a source?'
Scott stared at the Australian.
Man, this guy is as subtle as a hand grenade.
'No I'm
having a drink with a friend. Ah, here she comes,' Scott said with relief. He never thought he'd
have a reason to be glad to see Kaisha.
'Who's your new friend?' Kaisha asked Scott, as she sat in the empty chair and waved for the
waiter. She was dressed quite bizarrely - even for her - but then she had done nothing but shop, at
every opportunity, since they'd been in Thailand. Right now it looked like she was wearing every
item of clothing she'd bought, all at once.
'Alan, um Wagner was it?' Scott said.
Alan nodded and cast his eyes over the incredibly attractive young woman, who was obviously not
Thai, but was Asian-ish.
'Alan, Kaisha, Kaisha Alan. And we just met.'
'It's a pleasure to meet you,' Alan gushed.
Kaisha's gaze yo-yoed between Scott and Alan, finally settling on Scott. 'Don't tell me you're a
gay boy too.'
'No,' Scott shrugged. 'Why?'
Kaisha waved her hand between the two. 'I leave you on your own for half an hour and you're
already being picked up by strange men.'
'Picking up? Who me? No, I wasn't picking up anybody,' Alan over-reacted. 'And I'm not strange, I
mean I'm not gay.'
'It's okay Alan. It's me she's making fun of, not you,' Scott said, deciding it was time to be
anywhere else.
'Oh. I have to be going now, anyway,' Alan said, standing. 'Nice to meet you both.' He returned
to his table only to find it occupied by two geriatric men in toupees. And, as they both looked more
like Dad's Army than anyone's commandoes, Alan chose another table and ordered a fresh beer. He kept
an eye on Scott Dreher though, and his delicious girlfriend or 'date', while he waited; just in case
Scott was meeting someone else.
Chiang Mai, Thailand
Sunday 9.30 pm