comes to Thailand and finds out that with enough money in his pocket he can be George fucking Clooney. That’s Antonelli. He thinks he’s George Clooney — George Clooney with some ugly twists. He started out with bar girls; some of those evenings ended badly because after fucking them he took to beating them. Charges were filed twice and then withdrawn when the Mama-Sans were paid enough. The fat man then switched over to boys for a while, and that was even worse. He hit one so hard he almost killed him. It must have cost a ton of money to get those charges dropped.”
The Grand Hyatt came into view. Arthon put on his turn signal. “Read the report — it’s all in there,” he said.
A ramp from the street led up to the Hyatt entrance. Arthon had to get in line. Security was tight. All the cars were being searched and their underbellies examined using mirrors on long poles.
“We had some terrorist scares last week,” Arthon said. “They mainly stick to the south, but the word was that they were targeting Bangkok. Five-star hotels are always popular.”
As they approached the security checkpoint he rolled down his window and yelled something in Thai at a man in a black suit. They were waved through. He parked in front of the hotel and made a move to exit the car.
“No, that isn’t necessary,” Ava said. “I’m just going to check in and head for bed.”
He shrugged. “Tomorrow?”
“Let’s just play it by ear. I have to figure out how to handle Antonelli. I’ll probably walk over to the Water Hotel in the morning as a starter. How about I phone you if I need you?”
“I live more than an hour away from this area,” he said.
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
He passed her a business card. “My office number is on the front, my mobile is on the back. Mobile is best.”
She took a quick glance at the card. He was a lieutenant. Ava was impressed.
(10)
Her room had all the asian five-star bells and whistles: teak floors, Chinese black lacquer console and dresser, stylish modern beige leather chairs with expansive footrests, a desk with a leather captain’s chair, and a king-size bed with a brilliant white duvet so plush it looked as if it could swallow her whole. The bathroom was all mirror and glass and marble, the walk-in shower large enough for six people. All the room lacked was the quiet dignity of the Mandarin.
Ava showered and climbed into bed in a T-shirt and panties. She extracted from her wallet the paper with Frank Seto’s U.K. phone numbers and called his cellphone. It was late afternoon in London.
“Frank Seto,” he said on the second ring.
“Ava Lee.”
“I was told to expect a call from you.”
“Thanks for taking it.”
“My father-in-law and your father have been friends for many years.”
“So I’m told. I’m calling about your brother.”
“I have three brothers.”
“Jackson.”
“He is one of them.”
Ava knew then that whatever cooperation she got would be grudging. “I’m trying to locate him,” she said.
“Why?”
“I have a client who has a business relationship with Jackson. There are some outstanding issues that need to be resolved and he hasn’t been able to reach him. He hired me to help.”
“And what makes you think I would have any interest in Jackson’s business dealings?”
“I haven’t made that assumption.”
“And what makes you think I would have any idea how to reach him?”
“He is your brother.”
“In name only,” he said sharply. “We have nothing in common. He’s been a problem for our family for many years.”
“Yet you introduced him to Andrew Tam?”
“Shit, that was completely incidental. Andrew and I were having lunch when Jackson came into the same restaurant. Believe me, I’m not in the habit of hooking up Jackson with my friends or business associates.”
“He’s burned some of them?”
“He burns everyone, sooner or later. He can’t help himself.”
“I’m really sorry to hear that,” she said. “It must be difficult for someone in your position.” He didn’t respond, and she knew she had gone off mark. “Anyway, Frank, I would be grateful if you could help me find him.”
“Weren’t you listening? I have no idea where he is or how to get in touch with him.”
“Would your brothers?”
“No, and neither would my mother, so your enquiries should end with me.”
“I had a Seattle address for him, but the place is vacant,” she said.
“The last address I had for him was in Boston, not Seattle.”
“How many years ago was that?”
“At least five.”
“I also had a Hong Kong address for him, in the Wanchai district. Again it came up empty.”
“We were all born and raised in Wanchai, but the rest of us escaped. He keeps going back. He likes grunge, I guess. But I’ve only known him to stay in hotels there.”
“Any particular one?”
“No. He’s strictly a two- or three-star-hotel kind of guy, and you know how many of them there are in Wanchai.”
“Do you have a phone number for him?”
“This is the number I have,” he said, and gave her the same cellphone number she had been trying to reach for days.
“Well, I guess I’ve run into another dead end,” she said.
“There isn’t much I can do about that.”
“Evidently not. Well, anyway, thanks for taking my call.”
“Make sure you tell your father that I did,” he said.
“Are you always this rude?” she shot back.
“My brother brings out the worst out in me,” he said, and cut off the connection.
Ava turned her attention to the Antonelli file and began to read it in detail. He was now her primary interest. She had hoped she would be able to work her way around him, to avoid alerting Seto that they were coming after him and the money. Now she would have to go after him directly.
The file was quite detailed. Given the short notice, Uncle’s Thai friends had done a remarkable job of using his passport to track his movements. The first official sighting of Antonelli in Thailand had been six years before. He had landed at the old Bangkok airport, got a six-month tourist visa, and then gone to southern Thailand, to the city of Hat Yai, in Songkhla Province near the Malaysian border, and checked into the Novotel Hotel. The visa was renewed six months later in Malaysia. A note in the file said that Antonelli probably drove there from Hat Yai — about an hour away — crossed the border, and then re-entered Thailand. It was all legal. Over the next eighteen months he renewed the visa three more times, flying back to Atlanta each time. On each trip to the U.S. he didn’t stay more than a week.
The Novotel had his passport on file for two years. It appeared that he had been involved in business with a fish processing plant in Hat Yai, but when the Muslim terrorists in southern Thailand targeted the city — the largest in the area, with a population of about a million people — and began blowing up hotels and shopping malls, Antonelli moved north to Bangkok. He stayed at an apartment hotel on Petchburi Road for the first three months
