'As you know, I was naughty as a kid, but although being wayward, not a bad person. I discovered I had a skill: mixing things to make other things. I told you most of this the other night. In Wales, we have magic mushrooms, and we also have plenty of cannabis plants. I started mixing them. The kids loved it. I moved on to more powerful drugs. Coke mixed with heroin and other mixtures. Then I was caught by my dad, and shipped out. All of this, you know. Sadly, the pattern continued. I was in Laos with a few backpackers. We were all experimenting.'

  'Go on. You told me all that. What is on the paper?'

  'Have you ever heard of Kompot or Koknar?'

  'No, sounds like a communist dinner.'

  'No, it is not. They are both made from opium or, should I say, poppy seeds and other parts of the poppy stalk. Cheap heroin is used in Poland and other Balkan places. Plus, in the east of Europe, they mass produce amphetamines, so a heady mix. While in Laos, a man turned up one day and gave me a sack full of Eastern Europe’s finest exports.'

  Mike could not hold an embarrassed laugh.

  'Please pass me the fax again, let me show you. That is the chemical formula for Kompot.' Mike was warming to his specialist subject. 'That is hashish; there is opium. This is the amphetamine mix. And that my friend makes the potion special - Mandrake!'

  He pointed out the quantity of each part.

  The chemist carried on. 'Mandrake grows in hot countries. They have used it over the years for various things. As a painkiller, to encourage dreams, and as a poison, to name a few.

  Mike was in full flow. 'This, my friend, is what I named “Crazy Medicine”. In Thai, they call it “yaa baa”. They now sell it throughout the country, and I believe they have changed the formula from my original. I assume it will make it easier or cheaper to produce.'

  'Is it dangerous?'

  'That’s why I had to write the correct formula. Enough of it can be fun, but too much is very dangerous.'

  'But I still donʼt understand.'

  'I worked for an Asian man with a ferocious temper. I turned all these ingredients into pills, easy to buy, sell and take. People could not get enough of it. As you know, the ingredients all grow here or nearby. Thailand is great for marijuana, for example. The poppy for opium is excellent and plentiful in the North.'

  'Is marijuana in southern Thailand better than here?'

  'Iʼm not sure, but the stuff I had to use came from somewhere else.'

  'That’s it, Pu Yai was on shopping trips. Kaeng Krachan, for example, was where he got marijuana. The East German connection must have supplied the kompot and amphetamines. They must have shipped over a new batch. Swapping it for rubies. It’s all adding up.'

  'You never thought I was selling the bar, did you?'

  'I was unsure what it was about, but it did not look kosher.'

  'Why are they interested in me now?'

  'Because, my friend, they lost your formula! No! I know what it is. They need you to go back to producing pills. With the original formula, maybe they failed themselves.'

  'And they got you here to hand over another or to change the old one,' said Pat.

  'They are producing amphetamines and need you to change the formula to use independently. Cheaper to produce, plus more addictive, equals more sales!'

  'Kev, you have got to ring Black,' suggested Skylab.

  They decided Mike and Pat would go ahead with the meeting. Arrange it for tomorrow and see what the Londoner has to say. Carry on as if they suspect nothing. Kev and Skylab would stay close but out of sight. They would have to keep calm until Black and his mate Skip could get here.

  Chapter 40 MEETING WITH JOE

  'TELL THE GIRL I will be at her hotel in one hour.'

  'Yes, Joe, I’ll be at the meeting, I hope?' said the hopeful policeman.

  Ajaan went to Camilla’s room and told her to expect Joe. At exactly 4 pm, Joe tapped on the door.

  'Okay Camilla, I take it you are familiar with Oicho-Kabu?'

  'Er, no, should I be?' said the reporter, trying to keep her nerves under control.

  'It’s a Japanese card game. The worst hand they can deal you is called Yakuza. Hence the name of the world’s most respected group of villains.'

  'Are we about to play cards or get on with business?'

  'We will see in a few minutes.'

  The hotel phone rang.

  'Hello Mickey, I haven’t seen you since you were a toddler. How’s the old man?'

  'He is fine, thanks, he said to say hi. I don’t remember you, but Dad speaks highly of your skills. What can I do for you?'

  Camilla looked for an escape route—no such luck. There was nowhere to go.

  Ajaan picked up on the fear emanating from the now terrified girl. He moved to block the door. She had nowhere to run, door blocked, window locked.

  Joe calmly replaced the receiver. He looked up and addressed Ajaan.

  'You are a stupid Pratt. You got me chasing all the way here to meet this girl. You can be of no use to us. The tourist officer policewoman will take over your job.'

  The silenced weapon was drawn silently and swiftly. The bullet left a small red dot in the centre of Ajaan’s forehead. The already dead man slid down the door and sat on the floor. Joe picked up the phone once again.

  'I have a small job for you.'

  'Yes, Khun Joe! Anything!'

  The lady officer was keen to start her new job.

  The intelligent tourist police lady was proving useful already. Good looking, well-presented, and unlike her predecessor, she is not greedy. She would get rid of the body, with no questions asked.

  'Camilla, Camilla, the easy thing would be to shoot you now. But I think my boss would enjoy having fun with you first.'

  The handgun was pointed at her chest as Joe’s arm was placed in a friendly manner around her shoulder. He had placed his jacket over his upper limb, giving no clue to watchers what was under the cloth.

  Camilla was happy with the outcome, it was not what she had planned, but it could have been much worse. She glanced at Ajaan lying on the floor. Realised there could have been two dead bodies to be removed by Joe’s newest team member.

  Joe led her firmly to his pickup truck. Keeping the pistol aimed at her, he ordered her to drive. He sat behind her. The gun was poked through the headrest, giving her no chance to try something. Little did Joe know that she desperately wanted to see his boss. It might be her last article.

  Although Camilla passed her English driving test when she was eighteen, she was more used to driving powerful motorbikes. She took a little while to get used to the four-wheeled machine. Joe thought she was deliberately annoying him and gave her a warning jab in the neck with the gun’s barrel.

  'Get moving darling, next time you will find the weapon gets extremely hot.'

  The route directions were short but clear.

  'End of this road, turn right.'

  There was no need for, nor an attempt at, small talk. Camilla, oddly, enjoyed the ride. When they left the city, the roads were straight, and traffic was light.

  Camilla had always been a city girl, but she was getting a kick out of this trip. Even with a gun stuck in the small of her neck. The paddy fields, the occasional buffalo, and the country folk wandering along. All made her change her view about countryside living.

  The journey seemed to pass in no time.

  'Further, we turn right, it may look like we are about to drive straight into the lake, but there is a road. Drive up to the gates, then toot the horn. Someone will open up, drive through, and then wait for me to escort you to the house.'

  She was directed to walk straight ahead to the main doors. Then through a strange-looking entrance room, odd to her at least. It only had a solitary chair. They walked straight through that room. Then turned right to an open doorway into a luxurious sitting room. A log fire was burning. There were thick carpeting and velvet curtains. Air conditioning kept the room comfortable at nineteen degrees.

  'Shut the door and leave us, please, Joe. There is no need for a weapon. Meet my niece, Camilla.'

  The right-hand man knew better than to let his face show his feelings. He shook her hand and left the two together.

  'I hope you like my attempt at recreating my old room at the schoolhouse all those years ago. I sometimes miss England, not very much, and I won’t ever go back, so I make sure this house has memories installed. I will show you around, but first, sit and rest after your drive.'

  They spent an hour chit-chatting. For example, the weather, how much rain they have had this season, as English people do.

  Camilla had so many questions. She didn’t know where to start; she didn’t. She was in awe of this man; she knew so much about him, but none of the knowledge was first-hand. It was only what she had read. Her mother, Philip’s sister, did not have a good word to say about him. She remembered her mother saying, 'He does not have any friends. He buys them.' But to a young Camilla, he was a hero.

  Camilla started by telling Philip about the file she had compiled about him. How her editors, both in Hong Kong and here, were strung along, she would never print a bad word about him. She had given both editors bits and pieces of information. Enough to keep their interest and her job while she tracked him down.

  'Dear Camilla, who do you think sent the occasional telex from a Chinese news agency?'

  'No! It wasn’t you was it?'

  'There is no such agency. It is mine, all made up to give you bits of a story.'

  'You all along? My God, you are better than I ever imagined.'

  'Yes, some of it is true. I did rather upset the government of the UK a few years ago.'

  He took her by the hand and led her on a guided tour of his home and place of work.

  'Tonight, we shall have a private dinner. The two of us. A dinner the like of which you will have never sampled. Cooked by my staff, all the delights will have come from my farms.'

  'Your farms?'

  'Yes, you may be a little surprised by the extent of my enterprise. I want you to learn about the business. All of this will be yours one day. I am nearly ready to semi-retire. I want you to take over.'

  'But Joe could have shot me.'

  'Joe knows me and what I enjoy, so he would not have killed you. That is without my say-so.'

  Philip praised his man-management skills and how he controls such a large business for another hour.

  'You rest up for an hour and prepare yourself to learn. Get ready to open your mind.' He continued, 'You will find a wardrobe full of clothes which will fit you perfectly. Your room is next door to mine, just along the corridor. I’ll see you in one hour in the dining room.' He pointed across the corridor.

  Camilla had to stifle a gulp as she saw her room. It was huge, with a sunken bath and jacuzzi fitments. A giant tv screen fitted flush to the wall. Everything a girl could wish for. She jumped onto the bed; it was a waterbed warmed to blood temperature. She thought she would like it here.

  She glanced at her chunky diver’s watch; it was 59 minutes since she left Philip. Allowing a one-minute walk to the dining room. The watch did not match the outfit chosen for tonight’s meal, but she liked it. Anyway, it sounded like she could have any watch she chose. She had picked out a traditional Thai dress from the wardrobe—a long figure-hugging skirt made of silk in intricate patterns and a Chinese-style blouse buttoned to the neck also made of lustrous silk—this time with no pattern, a warm creamy colour, with delicate stitching.

  She wondered what was on the menu. Philip pulled out her chair as she gracefully slid across the leather to take her place.

  She didn’t want to laugh at him but had to fight a swiftly appearing grin. She disguised it with the comment.

  'Why, you look almost regal!'

  Philip was also happy with her choice of outfit. He wore dark blue “jong kra beng” trousers, baggy on the upper leg, becoming tight further down the leg and stopping short of the ankle: silk socks and buckle-fronted, highly polished patent leather shoes. Philip had a short-sleeved jacket of brilliant white for his top, with two-button-down breast pockets. The buttons were gold. The collar was also in the Chinese style. It looked like the pair were dressed for a traditional Thai wedding.

  Philip was pleased to see they think alike, at least in their dress sense.

  'I know you enjoy the odd glass of red wine I have chosen for you. I hope you don’t mind.'

  He gently poured from a crystal decanter.

  'I have a small share in a little-known vineyard in the Burgundy region. I hope you like it?'

  She left the glass where Philip had placed it. First, just look at the colour. Then she raised the glass, tilting it and spinning the contents to see how it settled. It helped the aroma on its way to her nostrils with further movement in a clockwise motion. Finally, the first taste left her speechless.

  Eventually, she whispered, 'It is fantastic. I have tasted nothing so wonderful.'

  Surely they would not have Thai food to accompany such fine wine?

  'They produce the pate in small quantities at the farmyard right next to the vineyard. I will buy their whole supply. And why not?'

  The small talk continued. As modest as ever, Philip was happy to explain about the beef. Sliced thinly from Australian and Japanese crossbreeding of the animal. Which lives and eats better than most people on his farm. The meat was succulent.

  As they cleared away the dishes, they finished with very strong cheddar. With Harrods own biscuits. Imported annually!

  Philip only ate two mouthfuls of each course. Camilla was ravenous, she wanted to act the little lady, but it was too good. She finished the whole meal without leaving a crumb.

  'Good to see you enjoy your food. I rarely have anyone to join me, especially someone I would share such fine food with.'

  'I’m sorry, I made such a pig of myself.'

  'Now, on to business. We have a lot of ground to cover. I’m assuming you will agree with everything I’ve laid out. That being so, I will have one request from you.'

  'I can’t wait to hear more.'

  Some hundred-year-old Port was offered while Philip continued with his lecture. Each takes a small glass three-quarters full.

  'I am the proud owner of one hundred and thirty-three companies. They all make good profits naturally. Some are Thai companies. Some are offshore. As you heard earlier, I own farms here and further afield. This property and a few other bits and pieces are scattered worldwide. So you will never have to search for a roof over your head. Bank accounts, all in company names. I’ll show you them in the next day or two, and I think you will be impressed with the numbers.'

  'Please go on.'

  'All of this will be yours when I die.'

  He handed the last will and testament document as if he didn’t want to let go into her trembling hand.

  She was speechless, if not the first time at this table, maybe the first time in her life away from her uncle.

  Eventually, she regained control of her vocal cords.

  'Now, Uncle, what is it you want from me?'

  'First, you are my right hand in all our business.'

  'I’d love that, anyway.'

  'Then you need to be a student of my methods, watch and learn.'

  'Again, I can’t wait to start.'

  There was then a long pause. Camilla was about to break the silence as Philip carried on with no sign of embarrassment.

  'I expect you to be the mother of my child.'

  For the third time in her life, not a sound was uttered by Camilla. She did not close her astonished mouth.

  Philip stood, grabbed the frozen girl’s hand, and pulled her out of her chair. He led her out of the dining room. She tried to stop quaking, to control herself, failing badly in both quests. He pushed open a door that slammed back against the wall. He pulled her in. She didn’t know what to expect, but it was not what she imagined. In front of her was not a bed or other contraption for lovemaking torture. She was in a lab. High stools, cabinets, and work surfaces. All the equipment you would see in a professional laboratory.

  He pulled her to a glass-fronted fridge. He pointed at several sealed jars.

  'You, my dear, will inject the contents of one jar a day into yourself until you become pregnant.'

  She wanted to slam her ears closed.

  'But you are my uncle.'

  'Maybe more than you know.'

  'What!'

  'Never mind that I want a genius to carry on the family business. You and I are the only ones who can provide that genius. I think you know I’m a thorough man, I’ve studied this, and there is nothing to go wrong.'

  'It may take me a while to think this through.'

  'You have five minutes, starting now.'

  Out of nowhere, Joe appeared, hands on hips.

  'Okay, uncle, you have yourself a student, a right hand, and you will have a new relation to continuing your work. And I am more than happy to get started.'

  She was handed a large plastic syringe, a glass jar, and a ‘How To’ video.

  Chapter 41 JUST THE MESSENGER BOY

  AT NOON ON THE dot, a four-door pickup truck pulled up at the guesthouse. The Cockney got out and looked all around before he moved ahead. He asked the ageless owner if she would be so kind as to call his guests.

  He chose a seat with his back to the wall. Another habit of trained special forces people. Pat came downstairs, closely followed by a very nervous Mike.

  Pat greeted the Londoner.

  He politely replied, 'And I wish you a perfect day, young lady. Well, after your long trip, I trust?'

  The Cockney was being overly polite.

  Mike’s fears were coming to the surface.

  'Have you brought cash? If it’s a cheque, you must wait for it to clear.'

  Mike was jumping the gun. Mike knew he must cool down, and it was difficult.

  'Hello Mike, I donʼt think you understand. I am just a messenger boy. My boss wants the bar. Iʼm here to give you and your delightful woman a lift to his place.'

  'I see. Sorry for being snappy. Where is his place? Is it nearby?'

  'It’s a fair distance, a place called Chiang Saen. Not to worry, the truck is comfortable.'

 

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