All the King's Men (Alex King Book 20), page 11
Greensboro steepled his fingers, elbows on the glass desktop. “In what way?”
“Just to get an idea of the man, what he’s like to work with, what makes him tick. Friends, relationships, sporting interests, whether he mixed well or if he was reclusive.”
Greensboro didn’t have to tell him anything. Rashid had appealed to the man’s better nature. Unless he went down the route of reading the FBI or CIA into the investigation - and that meant dealing with the US State Department and both the UK Home Office and the Foreign Office - then the man was not obliged to say anything. But Rashid had worded it carefully, and eager not to have anything stick to the world’s leading software company, Greensboro decided to have an initial meeting with him. Beside the man, an attractive blonde from ‘legal’ crossed her legs, then leaned in and whispered into Greensboro’s ear. Rashid smiled and the woman eyed him as she whispered.
“This is off the record?” Greensboro asked when she had finished advising him.
“Absolutely,” Rashid replied as if it went without question, but he promised nothing. He wasn’t a reporter going off the record, he was an intelligence officer and was prepared to do anything to find the truth. “I appreciate your time and assistance with my investigation.”
The woman from legal leaned into Greensboro again and whispered. When he had listened to what she had to say, he said, “What are we talking here? I mean, fraud, plagiarism?” He paused, glancing at the blonde woman. “Or something more sinister?”
“It’s classified, of course. However, we are more concerned with the company Hong Gil-dong has become associated with.”
“Apple?” Greensboro laughed, glancing at his attractive, but somewhat po-faced colleague at the inside joke.
“Not quite,” Rashid replied humourlessly. “More like the personal company he kept.”
“Are we talking terrorism here?”
Rashid narrowed his eyes. He wasn’t saying anything, but his expression said everything. “Was he a loner, Mr Greensboro?”
America had a big problem with loners. They walked into crowded places more than six-hundred times a year and shot innocent people. These were not bank robbers, drive-by gang shootings or road rage incidents, which happened daily. These were the school and shopping mall active shooters. Nobody wanted to be associated with these mal-adjusted murderers and the blonde woman from legal was whispering again, and Rashid could see this going one of two ways. They were going to go into clam mode. They were going to shut tight, or open wide. There was no in between. As it turned out, the legal from the software company wanted to be out in front.
“He was a quiet man when he worked for the company.” Greensboro paused. “But due to the nature of his work, he tended to work alone, or in small, dedicated specialist teams.”
“And what was the nature of his work?”
“He headed up our AI section. And for eight years before that, he was one of our most prominent cyber security specialists.”
“With somebody who had a record like that, I’m surprised that you let him go…”
Time for legal to whisper into the personnel director’s ear again. “While Hong Gil-dong’s work was extraordinary, and as much as it pained us at first, we were happy with the way it worked out. As a company, we provide valuable, some would say essential, products and operating systems and even though we are huge, we still feel as if we are a family. Hong Gil-dong was not a team player.” He paused. “He failed to make a single friend at Microsoft, and in a dozen years with what the company has to offer, that’s an unusual event. Frankly, once we covered his work, on a personnel level at least, it was like he was never here.”
“An on a technical level?” Rashid persisted.
Greensboro shrugged. “The man was a genius. He took us in directions that we barely believed possible. We have people who have followed his work and taken it to another level. That’s just how the technology industry works.”
“We don’t have to tell you that Hong Gil-dong does not represent the company in any way,” the woman from legal spoke for the first time without whispering. “In fact, such was Hong Gil-dong’s anonymity within the company, he sat under our radar for years.” She paused. “And because of this rare anomaly, the company has implemented plans for group interaction in the form of team building and social events, making at least two of these a year mandatory and part of the working week. All paid for at a rate of holiday plus one. We feel that social interaction, especially in the wake of the Covid lockdowns, is of the utmost importance of our organisation.”
Rashid nodded. He wasn’t interested in whether this had been implemented, or whether the woman from legal was making this up on the spot. He wasn’t a journalist. He had come to learn some background on the Korean. Ramsay had already ascertained that from the information they had already collated, they were dealing with a thirty-eight-year-old male on a South Korean passport and visa under the name Hong Gil-dong. Ramsay had almost broken character and laughed when he had the name translated as John Doe. Hong Gil-dong was a shadow. An enigma. But you would not get odds against better, that he was from the DPRK and now under the umbrella of Iron Fist.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Bangkok, Thailand
King awoke with a start, the hairs on the nape of his neck standing on end, gently touching the soft cotton of the pillowcase. His eyes were dry and bleary, and he was thick-headed, but it had nothing to do with the flight and the time difference and the effects it had had on his body-clock. It was as if he was coming round from an anaesthetic. Groggy, thirsty, and confused. But he did not have the luxury of drifting between sleep and consciousness. His instincts told him to wake and wake now. He felt the pressure upon his left ankle, something touching him – as softly, yet directly as any lover – teasing at his calf and knee. Suddenly, he had never felt so awake, so alert as he did right now in the humid void of the dead of night. The ceiling fan turned slowly, the open blind rippling in the faint breeze as the sticky night came out of the doldrums and started to offer brief respite to the tangible air.
King felt the weight of the snake, the movement of its smooth, great belly as it made its way higher up his leg, sliding easily over his damp skin. The tongue tested the air, occasionally tickling his flesh. Was it aware that he was another creature? The reptile would no doubt feel the blood surging through his veins, pumping through his arteries, his own core body temperature and the touch of his hot skin feeding information to its primeval brain. The snake made its way higher, to his pubic hair, its tongue tasting his skin, so gently, almost sensually. Its tail caught his ankle, such was the size of the creature, and with its head now sliding over King’s rippled stomach, his muscles tensed in both fear and anticipation. The reptile’s head was recognisable through the single cotton sheet, and it stopped and tasted his skin, the gentle tongue tickling the hairs on King’s chest. The tongue continued to probe, and King was sure that the creature was drinking his salty sweat, before it eased its head out under the sheet and finally stared into King’s face. King recognised it as a Malayan pit viper, its diamond pattern just about visible in the dim light, its square head and forward positioned eyes made it clear that it was a killing machine that could strike in fractions of a second and deliver deadly venom through its hypodermic fangs. King knew that these creatures could strike automatically, simply by detecting movement through infrared sensors and doing what nature had programmed it to do over millions of years. People had even been fatally bitten by the heads of decapitated vipers. King barely breathed, his lungs aching, his muscles screaming in protest having been clenched for so long. Slowly, the rest of its body caught up with its upper third, and the animal lay coiled on King’s chest, moving infinitesimally with the rise and fall of King’s thwarted breathing.
Perspiration seeped from every pore like mountain springs, and he could feel that he was drenched with sweat, the soft cotton sheet beneath him sticky and cool against his skin. On the bedside table beside him, the compact Ruger .380 pistol rested tantalisingly, yet somewhat depressingly out of reach. Just as useless was the lock knife underneath his pillow. Both could save his life, and both were equally as useless because he would never be able to reach them fast enough, nor slowly enough if he tried. King desperately needed to take a deep breath, his lungs aching, his body starting to shake. He knew that he was close to snatching a breath and had felt the same way several times before as he had swum from deep water to the surface, desperately trying to avoid inhaling mouthfuls of water. But striking for the surface drew one ever closer, but here, he was going nowhere. Just ever closer to moving involuntarily and being bitten by the deadly viper as a result. Slowly, carefully, he moved his right hand and gathered some sheet in his hand. The snake tensed, its head rising from King’s chest, and he could feel its tail stiffening against his leg. The weight of the snake shifted, too, and he was able to take in some air, but the snake moved its head back again, its tongue rapidly flicking in and out, tasting the humid air and King’s terrified scent. King eased his hand further down the bed, gathering more of the damp material in his hand. He now had what equated to a crumbled shirt in terms of size in his hand. The viper tensed, its head rising higher, and the area just below its head flattening significantly. Its soulless eyes, just about visible in the gloom, looked angrier now, if that was possible. King knew that he had barely seconds before the creature struck. With his hand gripped around the sheet, he thrust his arm in the air and spread his palm out flat. The viper struck the wad of sheet, and with his left hand, King snatched the snake’s tail and flung it with all the strength and speed he could muster away from the bed. He was up on his knees as the snake hit the far wall and dropped to the floor. Swinging himself over the bed, he landed softly on his feet and slammed his fist against the light switch. He could see the snake writhing on the floor, and he grabbed the knife from under his pillow and picked up a chair from beside the table. Stunned, but quickly coming to terms with its own mortality, the snake stopped writhing and spinning and twisting and slithered towards the bed, no doubt spotting a place to hide. King darted across the room and dropped the chair onto the snake, pinning it in place with the backrest of the chair. The snake fought to get free, sliding out towards the bed, but King lifted the chair slightly and pinned it down again, this time just leaving its head and two inches of body free. King whipped open the blade and pressed it down against the animal’s neck with the backrest between the snake’s head and the blade. He pressed harder and drew the knife backwards. The head separated and the body went into wild spasms as he lifted the chair and allowed it to play out its death throes. He wouldn’t be going near the head anytime soon, either.
King swapped the knife for the gun and pulled on a pair of boxer shorts. He checked the open window, but the flyscreen was in place and locked from the inside. So, however the snake had got in, it certainly hadn’t been through the window. The ceilings were high and vaulted, the ceiling fan anchored in the centre on a wooden beam. No, he was in the tropics, these things happened. The snake must have got inside of its own volition. Hunting a rat or mouse from the grounds. He was feeling paranoid. But paranoia had kept him alive. How could housekeeping have missed the snake? The room was uncluttered so there were not many places, bar underneath the bed, where it could have hidden. King thought back to when he had gone back to his room. Recently cleaned, fresh towels and soap in the bathroom. The Thai housekeeper had… Had she been Thai? He frowned at the notion. He had travelled enough to know how different people across the Asian continent could look – the woman had looked distinctly Korean. Certainly not Thai. The Japanese had a longer and wider face, easy to differentiate from Koreans as their faces tended to have higher more prominent cheekbones, and a stronger jaw line. Thais had rounder faces with less prominent jaws and eyelids that were softer in appearance. Could she had been an agent of the RGB or Iron Fist? As he pondered upon this, he was suddenly utterly convinced. The build, the movement. She had been the same woman who had bundled the hacker into the back of the Toyota outside The Rana Gardens Hotel.
King checked the door. The security chain wasn’t in place, but he remembered putting the chain on after the man from room service had left with his tip. He ran a hand down the edge of the door, then allowed the tips of his fingers to glide over the surface six inches above the security chain and over the area six to eight inches from the edge of the door. There was a slight stickiness on the wood. So that’s how they had done it. A simple break in and entry technique using a hairband and a rectangle of duct tape. King had used the method many times. Place the rectangle through the hairband, reach around the door and hook the hairband on the bolt of the chain. Stretch your arm as far as it would go and press the duct tape firmly on the door. All you needed to do then was close the door and the bolt and chain would pull clear. Slim arms worked best, but the woman was lithe and with practice, the technique could be done in the first few attempts. Now it made sense. It wasn’t the travel and the toils of Three Men in a Boat that had sent him to sleep. He had been drugged. Room service. A stupid mistake on his part, and he had underestimated the opposition a second time. There were certainly easier ways to have tried to kill him, but accidental death was cautious on their side, and it showed a professionalism that was quite haunting.
King pulled on his trousers and loose cotton shirt and padded barefoot down the stairs to reception. He pocketed the compact Ruger pistol almost as an afterthought when he reached the bottom of the staircases. The man at the reception desk looked bored and tired and stood warily as King walked towards him. He did not look like he wanted to open the bar or rustle up a bowl of noodles or a club sandwich for the man who looked like a boxer readying for a fight.
“Good evening, sir…” he said expectantly.
“Evening… Your housekeeping staff… do you have any Korean women working for you?”
“No, sir,” the man replied, puzzled at such a question at three-thirty in the morning. “But Thai ladies are very good in bed, you want me to make a call?”
“No,” King replied tersely. “She was working when I went up to my room after dinner. She almost certainly had Korean features.”
The man shook his head. “No sir. Housekeeping finish at six. If a guest requires something after that time, then reception staff will see to it.” He paused. “What would you like me to get you, sir?”
“Nothing,” King replied gruffly. “So, if she wasn’t from housekeeping, then who was she?”
“We have no Koreans working here, sir. Just Thai ladies and Filipino workers do housekeeping duties.” He frowned. “And nobody from housekeeping was on duty at dinner service, sir.”
“She had a trolley with housekeeping supplies on it…” King paused irritably, looking around the foyer where he spotted a camera. “Can I see your CCTV?”
The man looked perplexed. “Hotel policy would not…”
King dropped four US fifty-dollar-bills on the desk. Around a month to a month and a half’s salary for a hotel front of house worker. It was enough to do the trick. This man wasn’t a manager, and he knew that tips like this did not come along often. If at all. The man beckoned King into the rear office, checking his watch and looking around him, suddenly feeling guilty and nervous, and now expecting someone to catch him in the act, but at this time in the morning he was going to be ok.
“Which floor, sir?”
“The third.”
“And the time?”
“Eight.”
The receptionist typed in the time and King saw himself on the screen. As he walked past her the ‘housekeeper’ turned away from him, but in doing so she exposed her face to the camera. The receptionist paused the screen, still looking around him a good two hours before the next member of staff came on shift. King took a picture of the woman’s image with his phone, then maximised the image and took a screenshot.
“Where did she go after this?” King asked.
The receptionist tracked her down the corridor and to the lift then using another camera found her on the ground floor. He tracked her with different cameras, and she had lost the housekeeping trolley on the way. In the lift, no doubt. He then found the woman again outside, stepping into a white Toyota. King could see that the vehicle was undamaged, so they had changed their vehicle, but white Toyota Corollas were the standard hire car in Thailand.
“Pause it!” King told him. “Back a frame. There!” King took another photo, maximised the image again and took another screenshot. It was the man with the mini-Uzi. He was certain of it. He would never forget him, never forget the casual, confident way he had flipped him off, then sprayed a hail of lead all around him. King thanked the receptionist and made his way back to his room, sending a message and both images to Ramsay before he reached his door.
Chapter Twenty-Six
London
“One facial recognition ping. The Thai authorities don’t have a thorough CCTV traffic system. Not a great deal of point with tuk-tuks and horse-drawn carts riding alongside tour buses, and a ten-to-one-ratio of mopeds to cars, but they’re getting there.” She paused. “It’s chaos times ten. Remember, I did a tour of the Golden Triangle, temples, canals and beaches a few years ago with Kerry from personnel?”
“No.”
“I brought you back a wooden elephant…”
“Still no.” He shrugged, then asked, “Was this ping on one of the main highways?” asked Ramsay.
Charlotte nodded. “The software picked him up again, but we’ve lost him heading towards the airport.” She paused. “You really don’t remember the wooden elephant?”
