that her neatly pressed uniform shirt did nothing to hide.
Bulatt felt his own tanned cheeks flush as he snapped his eyes back up to the young woman’s face, and discovered, to his dismay, that she had observed the movement of his eyes; and that her dimpled smile was, if possible, even more enticing that before.
“It is not your fault, Agent Bulatt. I have been teasing you, and you are doing a very commendable job of being polite. I was just surprised by your surname,” the young woman explained as she reflexively stamped his passport. “It is such an interesting name for a law enforcement officer.”
Bulatt nodded, grateful to be back on what he hoped was neutral ground. “My family name is Bulattus — a traditional Lithuanian name. But when my grandfather immigrated to the United States, he had it changed to Bulatt.” He shrugged his muscular shoulders. “He probably didn’t think much about it at the time, but I do get a lot of kidding from my associates.”
“I’m sure you do. Well, I hope your stay in Thailand will not turn out to be all business,” she said as she handed back the credentials and passport.
“Don’t even think about enjoying yourself here, Special Agent Bulatt,” a firm and oddly-familiar voice said.
Bulatt turned and saw the familiar face of Colonel Prathun Kulawnit standing a few feet behind the customs booth, looking impressively official with his neatly-trimmed gray hair and crisply-ironed uniform.
“Prathun! You’re the reason I was sent here?” Bulatt grinned in delight. He started forward to greet his Interpol friend, but then remembered. “Excuse me,” he said, coming to a halt and bringing the palms of his hands together at his chest and bowing slightly. “Khun Prathun, it is good to see you again.”
Colonel Kulawnit acknowledged his friend’s politeness with a wai of his own, and then stepped forward and extended his hand. “Khun Ged, it is good to see you again, too, my friend,” he said, locking his gaze on Bulatt’s face for a brief moment. “Thank you most sincerely for coming.” The Colonel then turned to the young woman in the customs booth.
“And thank you, also, Officer Achara, for seeing to Agent Bulatt’s papers so efficiently. I will now assume responsibility for his stay in Thailand,” he said, giving the young customs officer what — to Bulatt — looked like a disapproving glare.
“It was my privilege, Colonel Kulawnit.” The young woman acknowledged her superior with a slight bow of her head, and then turned her attention back to Bulatt. In doing so, she brought her palms back together at her chest once more. “I do hope you’ll find time for some pleasure in Thailand, Khun Ged, as well as success in your business.”
Bulatt quickly wai-d and bowed his thanks, and then gratefully followed Kulawnit to the baggage area where he found his suitcase, and then was quickly escorted through the rest of the Customs formalities.
“That’s really unfair, you know,” Bulatt said when they were finally outside of the main terminal and walking to the curb where a uniformed Thai police officer was waiting beside new black Range Rover.
“What’s unfair?” Colonel Kulawnit asked as he gestured for the uniformed officer to take Bulatt’s bag, and then opened the rear door and motioned Bulatt inside.
Once they were out of the airport, Kulawnit had immediately reverted to his habit of treating Bulatt like some combination of younger brother and family friend. Kulawnit was older than Bulatt by a good fifteen years; but the two had met at an Interpol meeting in Lyon, France, three years earlier… and, in the course of three days, had managed to form a friendship based on mutual respect and a shared irreverence for bureaucracy, not to mention a genuine appreciation for each other’s sense of humor.
“Officer Achara. Putting a beautiful young woman like that in a Customs booth — the first Thai woman the average male tourist is going to meet — and expecting the poor fellow to act polite, and not to start drooling on the spot, is asking a bit much, don’t you think?”
Kulawnit laughed as the uniformed officer started up the engine and headed out of the airport. “Officer Achara, in my opinion, apart from occasional acts of questionable judgment and behavior, is an outstanding example of the young modern Thai woman. She is beautiful — as you certainly noticed — intelligent, thoughtful, polite, generally respectful of her elders; and, I should warn you, extremely lethal in the art of Thai kick-boxing. But then, as her father, I suppose I’m a bit biased.”
“That’s — ?” Bulatt’s mouth dropped open as he stared disbelieving at his Thai friend, “I mean, Officer Achara is your daughter? How can that be? That picture of your family you showed me in Lyon — ”
“Had been taken several years earlier, and the Lyon meeting was three years ago,” Kulawnit reminded. “Children will grow up. What can a father do?”
“I’d start by sending a daughter who looked and acted like that to the Thai equivalent of a nunnery,” Bulatt said seriously.
“You can tell her that tonight, when we meet for dinner.”
Bulatt blinked in sudden realization. “She knew I was coming to Thailand?”
“Oh yes, she most certainly did; and was quite put out when I informed her that you and I had business to attend to, and that she would have to wait a few hours for her introduction. I’m afraid I’ve probably exaggerated some of your adventures over the past years, and she’s been quite anxious to meet the infamous Khun Ged in person; which undoubtedly explains why she arranged to temporarily reassume one of her earlier jobs with our Department. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised; she’s always been a devious and persistent child.”
“But also innovative,” Bulatt pointed out.
“Yes, that too,” Kulawnit agreed. “It will make for an interesting topic of discussion over dinner, I think; assuming that we are still in Bangkok,” he added, his facial expression turning grim.
“Yes, you must have asked me here for a serious purpose, Khun Prathun. I didn’t mean to — ”
“No,” Kulawnit shook his head. “It is good we can share a few moments of good humor together. I am afraid the rest of our morning will not be so pleasant.”
CHAPTER 7
Inside the Bangkok International Airport
Wallis had gone on alert status the moment he’d exited the Thai Airlines 737, walked down the ramp, and stepped into the busy Bangkok Airport terminal — the most vulnerable point of his escape from Thailand.
Unarmed by necessity, and surrounded by security personnel both inside and outside the airport terminal, Wallis knew he’d have little chance of evading capture if an alarm were raised. But, as far as he could tell, no one was taking an undue interest in his arrival as he strode through the domestic arrival lounge and entered the main passenger hall.
Wallis smiled.
He’d been tempted to take a more covert escape route out of Thailand — by small boat and private aircraft, much like he’d arranged for Lanyard and Gavin — where his survival skills, combat expertise, and access to weapons would have given him a significant advantage in any confrontation with the Thai authorities.
But he also knew that using his real passport to travel openly from Surat Thani to Bangkok would provide a useful diversion for Lanyard and Gavin; and might make a crucial difference in timing once the Thai Forestry patrol teams began a hard search for the killers of their four Rangers.
It wasn’t likely that anyone had found the bodies yet; but the fact that they’d been reported missing was bound to make the Royal Thai Police and Ranger forces more alert and aggressive — which meant hundreds of new check-points and pervasive luggage and vehicle searches. But Wallis wasn’t about to put his men and Hateley’s expensively-produced Clouded Leopard trophy at additional risk of being seized just to make his own escape a little easier.
And besides, he had another very important reason for making a temporary stop in Bangkok.
He was walking toward the doors leading out to the taxi stand with his carry-on bag, looking exactly like almost all of the other Caucasians in the terminal neatly dressed in varying renditions of tropical khaki, when he spotted the familiar face of Colonel Prathun Kulawnit entering the main passenger hall from the international customs lounge with a younger Caucasian man with a scraggly white beard, white hair tied back in a short, neat ponytail and vaguely Slavic features, who looked and acted — to Wallis’ practiced eye — very much like a covert
