Tombstone and Pamela had been returned to the room where he had been held earlier. Mercifully, the bodies of the three seamen were gone, though the coppery stink of fresh blood lingered. Traces of red gore still streaked the concrete floor and pooled about the rusty drain in the center of the room.
Their clothes had been returned to them, though wallets, watches, money, and IDs were missing. Their captors had collected everything they could find back in the hotel room, searching for useful information. That he and Pamela were being allowed to dress was in itself encouraging. Possibly the worst of the ordeal was over.
They were going to be moved, Tombstone guessed. He didn't think Hsiao was going to dispose of his captives, not yet at least. Their Chinese interrogator was planning… something, something very big. He and Pamela would have hostage value for negotiations if nothing else, and Hsiao did not seem to Tombstone to be the sort of man who would throw away any advantage, however small.
His mind turned to Bayerly. An initial surge of anger died before it more than ruffled his thoughts. It was hard to blame Made It for breaking the way he had; Tombstone himself didn't know if he could have sat there and done nothing while they tortured Pamela. The question for the moment was not Bayerly's cracking, but what could be done about the situation now.
As he sat down on the edge of the cot next to Pamela, she reached over and took his arm. He was surprised by the strength of her grasp as she leaned close and echoed his own thoughts. 'Matt? What are we going to do?'
He glanced around the room without answering, looking at the walls. They might have been put together for eavesdropping purposes, Mikes could be invisibly buried inside the concrete walls. Pamela watched him studying their cell and silently touched her ear, her eyebrows questioningly arched.
She understood. Smart girl.
'I… don't know,' he said, more for the benefit of any microphones than anything else. Damn it, they needed a plan. 'All we can do is go along with them. Maybe they're planning to use us as hostages.'
Pamela leaned closer, until her matted blond hair brushed his cheek.
'Matt?' Her whisper was so low, Tombstone had to strain to hear it. 'Matt… I know they may be listening. What do they want?'
The question ignited memories… waking nightmares of Hsiao demanding answers. Details on Jefferson's defense posture in port. Details of approach procedures by friendly aircraft. The pattern was frighteningly clear.
He turned his head, nuzzling the blond riot of Pamela's hair. 'They must be planning an attack on the boat,' he whispered.
She shifted position, making Tombstone wince as she rekindled the flame of several injuries. 'That's what I thought,' she said. 'Listen, one of us has got to get away and warn the Jefferson!'
'Agreed,' he said. 'And it's got to be soon. Tonight.'
The situation looked helpless. If their captors were planning to move them soon, though, there was a chance, slim but real, for escape.
The hard part would be getting Pamela and Bayerly out. Bayerly might already be beyond his reach, since they hadn't seen the other aviator since Hsiao had led him away.
How to do it, and when? Jumping Hsiao's henchmen when they came to get them here in this room was out. Tombstone still ached in every muscle, and the burns all over his body were small, separate patches of agony where his clothing rubbed them. He would be no match for several opponents, all armed and watchful.
Or rather, he would be a match for them only if he was able to pick the time, the circumstances of his escape. When he moved, he would be able to ignore the pain.
But there would be no second chance.
He turned and let his lips touch Pamela's ear again. 'I think they're going to move us soon,' he whispered. 'We'll try to make a break then. Watch me, follow my cues, and run like hell when I tell you.'
She pulled back, shaking her head.
Silently he mouthed the words, 'What's the matter?'
Pamela leaned close again. 'Matt, we may not be able to choose. They may not take us together. Look, what I want to say is… if you see a chance, take it. Okay? Even if I'm not around. Even if you have to leave me behind.'
The idea filled him with fresh horror, with denial, with memories of her stretched out on the table. He started to pull away from her.
Gently, she pulled him back. 'Think, Matt! You've been through the wringer, and you look like hell! If they believe you're badly hurt, they may not watch you as closely as they will me. If you can get away without me, do it… please! Please!'
Numbly, Tombstone looked into her eyes for a moment, then nodded. There was no other choice, nothing to be said. He turned his eyes to the locked wooden door, and waited.
Colonel Kriangsak pounded up the steps to the Government Building, flashed his ID to the soldiers standing guard inside the doorway, then hurried through empty corridors toward his office. The building was almost deserted, save for a few staff personnel working late. That was just as well. He didn't want to have to stop and explain his actions.
It was time… time! His earlier doubts about Hsiao's ability to pull off Sheng li were gone now. Somehow, the former Chinese intelligence officer had extracted the information he needed from his prisoners. And the time to strike was now, before the Americans realized that they were in danger.
According to Hsiao, two helicopters were already on their way south from U Feng, would be over Sattahip Bay within two hours. And his part in the plan had to begin now, before those machines reached their destination.
Hurrying through the empty outer office, he went to his desk and picked up the telephone. 'Savahtdi!' he said as the switchboard operator came on line. 'Colonel Kriangsak Vajiravudh speaking, Give me a line to Sattahip.
Major Chani Silapakom, Army Air Operations. Quickly!'
After a few moments, a voice came over the line. 'Colonel Kriangsak?
This is Major Chani. What can I-'
'Listen carefully, Major. The sun sets on two hundred years!'
'The sun sets…' There was a moment's hesitation from the other end of the line. 'Yes, Colonel, I understand.'
'Commence operations as planned. Your pilots have received the orders sent over this afternoon?'
'Yes, sir. Everything is ready.'
'Excellent. Carry out your instructions, Major.'
He hung up the phone. The sun sets on two hundred years. A nonsense phrase, actually, one made up by Hsiao as a code signaling the final phase of Sheng li. It was apt, however, and Kriangsak wondered whether Hsiao had chosen it deliberately.
Bangkok had become the capital of Thailand in 1782, a little more than two centuries ago, when the first of the Chakri kings, the founder of the current dynasty, had established his seat of power in what was then a fishing village on the Chao Phraya River. And when this night was over, the sun would indeed have set on two centuries of Chakri rule. If King Bhumibol still ruled, it would be at the sufferance of the leaders of the coup under Kriangsak's command.
And Hsiao, of course… though Kriangsak thought it should soon be possible to ease the Chinese general aside from the halls of power in Bangkok… or eliminate him entirely. Hsiao Kuoping was more interested in dealing with the drug lords of the Golden Triangle than with controlling Thailand.
Many options were open, and soon Kriangsak would only have to choose among them.
There was a delicious irony about the situation. In 1981, Kriangsak's father had died leading the attempted coup which had come to be known as the Young Turks' Rebellion. That rising had failed because the plotters had been unable to enlist the support of the King.
This time, though, it would be different. The King would support the coup, or…
