For now.
Chapter 27
Singapore
In the trade, it was called an “ambush.” Simply put, it meant approaching a subject without his or her prior knowledge and asking them pointed questions about their involvement in a crime, scandal, incident, fill in the blank—whatever story the journalist was covering. One saw it most often on television, the intrepid investigative journalist staking out a suspected criminal, waiting for him to leave the safety of his home or office, then pouncing, lights blazing, camera crew in tow, microphone at the ready.
“Sir, can you comment on…?” “When did you know about…?” “Did you have anything to do with…?”
But London Li was a print journalist working for a respected publication. When she had questions, she called the subject, identified herself, and politely asked away. If she wanted an interview, she arranged it days or even weeks ahead of time. There were rules to follow. Professional etiquette was to be respected. London didn’t do ambushes.
Until today.
Leaving the hotel, she took up position in the doorway of a leather goods store diagonally across the street from PetroSaud. The position was ideal, as she could look through the shop’s window and view who was entering and exiting the building without being noticed herself. She held her phone at the ready, camera app activated and set to video. It was only a matter of waiting for her quarry to emerge.
Several times the guards turned their attention to the lobby. Convinced Minister Sukarno was on her way, she nearly dashed across the street, instinct stopping her at the last instant. One time it was a UPS man. The next, an elderly executive in the care of his nurse.
After forty minutes, a limousine pulled up in front of the building. London recognized it as the vehicle that had deposited Nadya Sukarno earlier. She left the storefront as the Indonesian minister of finance waltzed out the revolving glass door. London removed her hat and sunglasses and closed the last few steps in a rush.
“Minister Sukarno,” London said, then giving her name and affiliation. “How long have you been stealing from your own sovereign wealth fund by investing in nonexistent oil leases created by PetroSaud and pocketing the proceeds?”
She held her phone high, sure she was capturing the woman’s face.
“Out of my way,” said Sukarno. “I’m not speaking to reporters.”
London repeated the question. Then: “Why are you visiting Petro—?”
Before she could finish, a guard wrapped a hand around her wrist and forced the phone to her side. London protested, stating she was a journalist. The guard’s response was to use his free hand to wrestle the phone from her grip. London resisted, having the presence of mind to keep up her line of questioning. “Why are you devoting so much of the fund to oil properties? Do you have an account with the Bank of Liechtenstein?”
Nadya Sukarno froze, a deer in the headlights.
It was then that a second security guard tackled London to the pavement. She fell awkwardly, turning her ankle, and, in the fall, relinquished her grasp on the phone. She heard, not saw, the door of the limo slam, the vehicle pull away from the curb at speed.
She pushed herself up slowly, gingerly assessing her ankle. The guard did not help her to her feet. With a victorious smile, he returned her phone. She noted that he had erased the footage of the confrontation. As far as all were concerned, the incident had not taken place.
But London didn’t need the video to confirm that something spectacular had happened. Grimacing, she made her way up the street with a pronounced limp. She had gotten far more than she’d bargained for. The ambush was an unmitigated success, ankle or no.
Indonesian minister of finance Nadya Sukarno had confessed to her crimes. It was all there on her face. Plain as day.
Guilty.
Chapter 28
Ratchaburi Province, Thailand
Beneath a leaden sky, Simon continued across the flats of Ratchaburi Province. Buildings lined the highway. Warehouses, car dealerships, garages, supermarkets, brand-new mini-malls next to worn-out mom-and-pop stores, and every few miles a KFC and a Subway. Behind the structures stretched open fields, some planted with rice, others fallow.
He kept one eye on the road, the other behind him. Each mile from Bangkok was a mile farther from danger. He knew better than to add “and closer to safety.” Two hours and a hundred miles later, he allowed himself to believe that he was alone. Shaka was gone.
He steered the bike off the highway and onto a parallel feeder road. His first stop was at a convenience store to buy an ice-cold Coca-Cola and a burner phone. He paused long enough to drink the soda, unpack the phone, and slip it into his pocket. Afterward, he continued until seeing a sign that readGAMING CENTER FORTNITE, MINECRAFT, CALL OF DUTY / INTERNET. The building was sparkling new, two stories, all tinted glass. Inside, row upon row of tables occupied a cavernous, dimly lit room, nearly every space taken by a young man, console in hand, hypnotized by the video game on his laptop. A sea of zombies. Giant screens in each corner of the room broadcast the play.
Simon asked if he could access the Internet. For a fee of one hundred baht an hour, he was handed a laptop with a card listing instructions. He paid and found an empty spot at the rear of the room. No one averted their eyes from their screen as the tallfarangjoined their ranks. Fortnite was important business.
After logging on, he pulled up the website for theBangkok Post,Thailand’s paper of record. The bloodbath at the Spanish embassy was headline news. The story read:
At least nine persons were killed today during a diplomatic exchange when a gunman opened fire inside the embassy. Among the dead are Colonel Albert Tan, chief of the Royal Thai Police, Spanish ambassador Felipe López-Calderón, Spanish naval attaché Captain Juan Llado, Spanish national Rafael de Bourbon, and an American, George Adamson. Police are searching for a survivor and possible suspect, an American national recorded as present at the time of the attack. The man’s name is being withheld currently.
Simon felt sick to his stomach. Dead. All of them. He took the four not listed to be Tan’s adjutants and Warden Charlie.
