Deadly Memory (Living Memory Book 2), page 7
Kit's mind flew back to the CIA agent's visit. Had the Americans done this? They had sent special forces to take the chemical before. Balked in their attempts to strike a deal, they might have resorted to violence instead. Kit remembered the way he'd shouted at the American, perhaps not a wise approach when treating with a vastly superior power. Had he caused this? Should he have accepted American help instead of angering them?
It might not be the Americans, of course. General Wattana certainly knew that Mai was a threat to his power. She was all over social media and gave interviews to journalists, decrying his illegal coup and brutal murder of the royal family, accusing him of working for China, and calling all loyal Thai to flock to her banner. Even before the coup, she had been hugely popular for her activism and celebrity status as a young and beautiful princess. Now, as the only surviving heir of the Chakri dynasty who had upended the largest sex trafficking organization in Asia, she was beloved. Millions followed her online, and to the young women of Thailand, she was a national heroine. If Wattana could have assassinated her without turning her into a martyr, he probably would have done it.
Gradually, the room cleared, with instructions given to search the labs for evidence of who had perpetrated the attack, interview the guards (if any had survived), and above all, determine if any of the chemical remained. Only Arinya, Kit, and a doubled contingent of bodyguards remained behind.
“Come with me,” Mai said. Arinya and Kit followed her into one of the hotel’s conference rooms. “No one comes in,” she told her bodyguards. Then she shut the door, leaving the three of them alone.
In a moment, the fiery activist disappeared and a frightened young woman appeared in her place. She collapsed into one of the faux leather swivel chairs, looking small and lost. As long as Kit had known Mai, her shell had never cracked. She was the Queen of Thailand, heir to a centuries-old dynasty, empowered by the will of her people and the righteousness of her cause. No one who met her doubted her confidence for a moment. Now she looked defeated. It rattled Kit to the bone.
“Your Majesty,” he said.
Mai shook her head. “It’s over. When you brought me that chemical, I knew we could use it to make a difference. And we did, at least for a short while.” She laughed sadly. “We took over the largest crime syndicate in Asia in a matter of months! But it was already crumbling. We couldn’t keep the men in line, not without a lot more of it. And now we have nothing.”
“You are the queen,” Kit protested. “The throne is yours by right.”
“History is littered with the graves of rightful rulers who didn’t have the power to hold their thrones,” Mai said. “We didn’t get this far because people believed in me. We got this far because we gave them no choice.”
“The people love you,” Kit said. “They want you, not Wattana.”
Mai smiled wistfully. “Some vocal people on social media do, anyway,” she said. “But our army doesn’t. And that’s what matters.”
“What will you do?” Arinya asked.
“Exile is the best we can hope for. Cross back into Myanmar, then head for Europe, perhaps. There’s nothing more we can do here.”
Kit punched the table. “I won’t accept that!”
Arinya glared at him, but Mai reached out and touched his hand. “Thank you for your loyalty,” she said. “I release you from my service. Go to America, become a professor of paleontology. Follow your own dream, not mine.”
Kit felt his eyes watering and angrily wiped away the tears. “Thailand is my dream. A strong Thailand without slavery or corruption where science can thrive. You can’t give up. You can’t.”
“The world is afflicted by death and decay. But the wise do not grieve, having realized the nature of the world,” Mai said. It was a Buddhist proverb.
Kit took her hands and held them tight, his gaze intent, and responded with a Buddhist proverb of his own. “Do today what must be done. Who knows? Tomorrow, death comes.”
She smiled at him, radiant. “What would you have me do?”
Kit’s mind raced. “March on Bangkok.”
“Kit.” He felt Arinya’s hand on his shoulder, but he didn’t look away from Mai.
“We can’t,” Arinya said. “Mai’s right. The drug lords only follow her because of the chemical. The soldiers in our army are criminals; they might raid a town for money or the opportunity for violence, but they’re not going to march against the army.”
“Then leave them behind,” Kit said. “Walk to Bangkok. Thailand will follow you.”
“It’s 800 kilometers to Bangkok,” Arinya said. “It would take a month to walk there. Probably more.”
“Start at Ayutthaya,” Kit said, getting more excited. “The ancestral seat of the kings of Siam. Invite reporters. Tell them you’re going home to reclaim your throne. Tell them you are following the way of peace. That you know your cause is right and you trust in the people of Thailand. Then actually start your walk at Wongwian Yai, by the statue of your great ancestor, across the Phra Phuttayotfa Bridge to the Grand Palace.”
“Hey,” Arinya grabbed his chin, forcing him to look at her. “Wattana killed her entire family. What makes you think he won’t just kill her too?”
Kit turned back to Mai. It was easy to forget that behind the royal presence she generally displayed, she was a young woman whose family had been brutally murdered. “Conquer anger with non-anger,” he said. “Conquer dishonesty with truth.”
He saw the moment the spark relit in Mai’s eyes. She nodded imperceptibly, then with growing enthusiasm.
“No,” Arinya said. “Mai, this is crazy.”
Mai stood, her back straight, and the old fire burned in her gaze. “Maybe crazy is all I have left.”
The drive from Chiang Rai to Ayutthaya took ten hours. Halfway there, his back aching and his head pounding, the grand vision of that morning felt hard to hold onto. Kit hadn’t considered all the practical obstacles to be overcome. It was easy to forget how big a place Thailand was.
The power base Mai had built for herself was mostly in the northern part of the country. It was there and across the border in Myanmar that the Red Wa primarily operated. The thousands of women Mai had freed, the organization she’d formed to help them reintegrate into society, the former drug runners that comprised her fragile army: all of that was in the Lanna region in the north. Moving even a fraction of those people to the south would be a huge operation involving an enormous number of vehicles, arrangements for food and housing, and a tremendous amount of money. It couldn’t be done, not without Wattana knowing about it and interfering before they could even start.
As they had brought more of Mai’s staff in on the plan and discussed the details, the whole scheme had started to unravel. Instead of a grand gesture of defiance, it had started to sound like a traveling circus. Wattana wouldn’t even need to interfere; the whole plan would collapse under the weight of its own logistics.
So they just left. Mai selected three of her top aides and told them to do what they could to pave the way, then she walked out. Mongkut, a bodyguard who’d been with Mai since she was a little girl, joined them, and he, Mai, Arinya, and Kit set off in a Honda Civic, driving south on Route 1 toward the capital.
By the time they arrived, Mai’s people had booked a hotel, and several reporters were waiting for them outside. Even though she had to be as exhausted from the drive as Kit, Mai didn’t push past them, but stopped and spoke with them as energetically as if she’d just woken from a nap. She accused Wattana of murder and regicide and treason, called on all loyal Thais to throw off his rule, and told the reporters exactly what she planned to do.
“Aren’t you afraid Wattana will kill you, too?” one of the reporters asked.
“If he wants to, let him do it,” she said defiantly. “But he’ll have to do it in the sunlight, with the eyes of every citizen on him. Tomorrow, we march.”
Before she finished, several more cars of Red Wa bodyguards arrived and took up places around the hotel. “Get some sleep,” Mai said to Kit and Arinya.
Kit couldn’t sleep. This had been his idea, but it was insane. She could be taken out by a sniper’s bullet five minutes into the march. They could all be arrested and thrown into a dark hole, never to see the sun again. Wattana had the support of China; what did he care if he got some bad press?
Besides, he might not have to do anything. The whole scheme revolved around the assumption of Mai’s popularity, that she would draw crowds and media coverage. What if no one came? Her grand march would be laughable, nothing more than a disaffected girl shouting insults at the palace from the street.
He lay in the unfamiliar bed, his fears running circles in his brain, keeping him from rest. He stared into the darkness, lit only by the thin red glow of the digital clock on the bedside table. He must have slept eventually, because morning came too fast, and with it a kind of resignation. Whatever came would come. Either they would die or be captured or… he couldn’t quite imagine what it would look like if they succeeded. That probably wasn’t a good sign.
He pulled on his clothes—the same ones he’d worn the day before—and went to join the others outside. More soldiers had arrived during the night, along with many of Mai’s aides, advisors, and secretaries. They formed a caravan and drove toward Wongwian Yai.
At first, the early morning roads were clear, but as they approached the square—one of the busiest intersections in Bangkok—traffic snarled. Mai didn’t wait. She climbed out of the car and started walking down the busy street.
“Wait,” Kit said. “Princess!” But Mai didn’t hear him or didn’t choose to listen. Her coterie scrambled out of the other vehicles, abandoning them in the road, and rushed to catch up with her. Mongkut and the guards moved ahead, carving a path, and soon people started to recognize her. By the time they could see the statue of King Taksin up ahead, an excited crowd of people surged along behind them.
As they reached the square, they discovered the reason for the traffic jam. Wongwian Yai, usually a busy thoroughfare, was packed with people, completely blocking all the adjoining roads. The news of Mai’s arrival lit through them like wildfire, drawing cheers and shouts. Many waved Mai’s personal royal flag—purple for the day of her birth and emblazoned with the royal cypher and crown.
Mai herself wore a purple dress with a white sash and a pair of white sneakers. She spoke softly to Mongkut, who touched his ear and said something on his radio.
Mai walked alone toward the crowd. The guards stepped back, and at first, Kit feared the crowd would mob her. As she approached, though, they quieted and made room for her. Head high, she walked serenely into a corridor of people. Kit bit his lip. She was going to get herself killed.
Mai’s coterie followed her through the gap. The guards, led by Mongkut, pushed in along the edges of the crowd, trying to widen the passage. Realizing he was about to be left behind, Kit dashed forward, just in time to stay with the group before the crowd closed around behind them. He pushed his way forward until he could at least see her. She walked with her eyes forward, barely acknowledging the people as they cheered and waved their flags and called her name. She was no pop star or beauty pageant contestant, to bask in their adulation. She was a queen, marching to reclaim her throne.
After several blocks, they managed to push through the gathered crowd and started up Prajadhipok Road toward downtown Bangkok. People thronged the overpass above them and threw down flowers. Cameras flashed and reporters scampered backwards, holding microphones at Mai, but she ignored them. It was a canny move, Kit thought. By not playing the game, she put herself above the fray. By not pushing her agenda, she drew the fascination of the country.
The crowd grew as they walked down the center of the multi-lane highway. The other roads into Wongwian Yai had been crammed with cars, but the way here was clear, kept that way by the sheer mass of people blocking the on-ramps, filling the road, and hanging from every overpass and building.
Helicopters roared overhead. Two news copters had already been covering the action from high in the air, but these new ones were military, and they dropped low enough that Kit could see their mounted guns and the soldiers on board. “You will clear the street,” a man’s voice boomed from a loudspeaker. “This is an unsanctioned gathering.”
Mai kept walking, not even looking up.
“Clear the street, or you will be fired upon,” the loudspeaker boomed.
Some of the crowd fell back, looking for cover, but many more pressed forward, gathering around Mai to protect her. The helicopters hovered menacingly, but did not actually open fire. The holiday mood in the crowd was gone, though, replaced with a sense of menace. This was no longer a victory parade.
That became more obvious when the march took the lower road toward the Memorial Bridge. The army was waiting for them. Military trucks barricaded the way ahead, filling the bridge, while rows of soldiers in riot gear stood across the road.
For the first time since leaving Wongwian Yai, Mai stopped. The crowd stopped with her, filling the space between the tall concrete barriers on both sides. Even if some of them had wanted to leave, they were hemmed in. There was nowhere to go. The soldiers held batons and shields and had rifles slung over their backs. Kit wondered if the guns were loaded with rubber bullets or live rounds.
Kit, standing right next to Arinya, saw her slip a vial from her pocket and empty it onto Mai’s collar. “That’s the last drop we have,” she said quietly. “This had better work.”
As the smell reached him, Kit felt his awe for Mai surge into deep loyalty and love. It didn’t matter that he knew it was chemically induced. It didn’t matter that he was already devoted to her. The chemical entered his mind, and he knew he would die for her, if she asked it.
Mai’s voice rang clearly across the gap. “I am Somdet Phra Rajini Srinagarindra Chakri Sirindhorn. I am the rightful ruler of Thailand, heir to the Chakri Dynasty and your Queen.” She walked forward, crossing the distance alone. The soldiers raised their shields, though what they thought they had to fear from an unarmed young woman, Kit had no idea.
Except, of course, that they did have something to fear.
She stopped six meters from their line. She looked from one man to the next, waiting, Kit knew, for the smell of the domination chemical she wore to reach them. The Chinese had apparently not thought it worthwhile to share knowledge of the chemical with General Wattana, because the soldiers wore no gas masks.
Mai raised her voice again. “I command you to stand aside.”
For a moment, Kit thought it wouldn’t work. Then the soldiers lowered their shields and backed away to either side, making a path. Mai walked through.
With a shout of triumph, the crowd surged forward. Kit ran ahead, heedless of the danger, shouting, “Sirindhorn! Thailand!”
The soldiers threw down their weapons and joined the crowd, which surged across the bridge, scrambling over the barricades and vehicles. They danced past Wat Pho and through the Palace Park, their numbers growing as more and more people joined the march. In front of it all, Mai walked with calm purpose, almost as if she didn’t notice that half of Bangkok had turned up to support her.
When they reached the palace complex, a crowd of a different kind waited for them. A tank blocked the street, and ranks of soldiers stood at attention. This is where it happens, Kit thought. This is where the fantasy I sold her on shatters in blood and death.
But he was wrong. On the steps a cluster of high-ranked officers stepped forward, their shirt fronts covered with ribbons and symbols of rank. They clasped their hands in a wai and held them high over their heads, bowing in the manner of respect for a monarch. Two soldiers stepped forward pushing a third man whose hands were cuffed behind his back. They forced him to his knees in front of the officers. It was General Wattana.
The general in the front of the group of officers drew his pistol and held it to Wattana’s head. The crowd went quiet. “Your Royal Majesty,” the general called. “Say the word, and the traitor dies.”
Mai took ten slow steps across the street, standing alone with the crowd at her back and the soldiers still ahead. A sergeant shouted something, and the ranks of soldiers saluted, hands snapping to their foreheads, followed by the rapid flick of the head to the left that was unique to the Thai military.
“The traitor dies,” she said, in a voice that rang through the square.
A tiny part of Kit objected. This revolution had been entirely peaceful; why end it with blood now? But that part of himself was quickly overwhelmed by his feelings of devotion. The general fired, the noise a tiny pop over the noise of the crowd, and Wattana fell lifeless to the steps.
Mai turned and faced the crowd. “Today the people have spoken! Together we will cleanse the evil from our nation and build a strong and independent Thailand!”
The cheers of the crowd were deafening. He felt the surging force of the mass of people behind him, the energy that wanted to break out, thousands pushing to get closer to Mai and be a part of this momentous day. If they stampeded, the day could end in much more blood and death.
“Bow before your Queen!” Kit shouted. His voice was lost in the tumult. “Bow before your Queen!” he shouted again, and Arinya took up the cry. Kit threw himself to his knees and bent to the street, pressing his clasped hands to the pavement and his forehead to his hands. “Bow before your Queen!” he shouted again.
He thought he might just be trampled, but those near him saw and imitated his example. Thais knew to bow before royalty; the impulse was deep in their history and tradition. As soon as those behind saw the people in front of them fall to the ground, they dropped to their knees as well, until the entire square and those in the park and streets beyond were prostrate before Mai.
They had done it. She was queen.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Charlie learned to speak with incredible speed.
Hundreds of bird species—distant relatives of maniraptors like Charlie—could mimic sounds with excellent precision, and not just other bird sounds, but slamming doors, car horns, water sprinklers, and, of course, human voices. The skill had independently evolved multiple times. The evolution of mimicry had always been driven by sexual selection, the female bird preferring the males with the most varied repertoire of songs.
