Black Tiger (58 page)

I went back to the restroom and dressed myself in the uniform of the dead stewardess. The clothes fitted me fairly well, except that I was eight inches taller. The lilac skirt stopped above my knees, at a point officially declared immodest by government decree. I tugged the skirt down, feeling relieved that I was bound for a destination outside Thailand. My legs were my best features.

The shoes were tight, though. Nothing to be done about that. Fortunately, aboard the aircraft, stewardesses changed into traditional Thai costume, so with any luck I should be able to go barefoot beneath the floor-length
pasin
, with the added advantage of disguising my height. I rummaged in the stewardess’s shoulder bag and discovered a hairbrush, a hand mirror, and some cosmetics. I squatted on the toilet seat as best I could in the tight lilac skirt and applied lipstick and eye make-up, and brushed rouge beneath my cheekbones. The stewardess’s tastes were unsophisticated. I smeared baby-blue shadow on my eyelids and applied a vile pastel-pink lipstick. I certainly didn’t look myself when I’d finished. Barbie goes to Bangkok! I was almost as well disguised as when I was a coolie, and equally repulsive.

I left the cubicle and was about to leave the restroom when another Thai Orchid stewardess marched into the toilet and stared around crossly. ‘Why is that sign there? These toilets are not due to be cleaned now. Really, these coolies! Half of them can’t read, the others just hang the sign up when they want to smoke!’ She looked at me. ‘Are you on flight 355, sister?’ I nodded. ‘Then these are for you.’ The stewardess handed me a sheaf of papers. ‘Better get a move-on, then. No more time for titivating!’

‘Sorry, sister. It’s my first flight—I’m so nervous, I’ve forgotten all my training!’ I looked pleadingly at her. She had a sympathetic, round-cheeked face. ‘You will help me, sister, won’t you? So I don’t make a mess of things?’

‘Oh, gods, a rookie! That’s all I need!’ she exclaimed, rolling her eyes heavenward. ‘Okay, come on, I’ll show you. First off, just stand where I say and collect the boarding passes. Remember, if there are any babies, help to carry them. Anyone out of the VIP lounge, make a fuss of them, okay? Simple!’

As we left the restroom side by side, I doing my best to match her spirited steps in my pinching shoes, I suddenly threw a hand up to my head. ‘This stupid little hat really doesn’t feel secure. It’s going to fall off at any minute!’

‘Your hair’s too thick,’ the other hostess said impatiently. ‘It’s too long, too. Here, you can borrow this hatpin. I want it back, mind. It’s my secret weapon.’ She giggled. ‘I use it to dissuade Chinese businessmen who’ve pigged out on the free drinks!’ Pulling the jewelled hatpin out of her lapel, she handed it to me carefully. ‘Be careful! It’s very sharp!’

I skewered the hatpin into my lilac hat, running my finger over its point. It was very sharp indeed.

‘Place hand luggage in rack, madame?’

I bent solicitously over the foreign woman, contriving an obsequious grimace. I noticed Chee Laan Lee’s foreign lover sitting at the far end of the aircraft, in monkey class. For the moment I intended to devote my attention to the first-class cabin. It was first class all the way for me!

Mrs van Hooten hugged her small case, the twin of my own, to her scrawny bosom as though she feared I might snatch it—which I did, ignoring her furious glare and slamming it into the overhead locker, simpering, ‘So sorry, regulations!’

She’d already kicked up a fuss, demanding to exchange her seat between two other passengers for one next the window. The adjacent seat was vacant. The aisle seat was occupied by a dozing Buddhist monk, his shaven head nodding over a holy text.

Once we were safely airborne, I slid into the vacant central seat and fumbled busily with the tray table. ‘Madame permit I fix this table?’

Mrs van Hooten sighed. ‘Oh, very well. If you must.’ She shifted her weight to the other armrest, distancing herself from my endeavours, and stared out the window. I fiddled with the catch on the collapsible table, glancing around to make sure the monk still slept and I was unobserved. I slid the borrowed hatpin out in readiness.

Leaning toward Mrs van Hooten, I pointed out of the window. ‘Madame see Golden Chedi, very famous temple!’

She passed a hand over her eyes and snapped, ‘I’ve seen a surfeit of chedis! Haven’t you fixed that table yet, girl?’ She added, almost to herself, ‘Fuss! Typical! Nothing functions correctly in this country. Such
laissez-faire
! They’ll starve to death out of sheer inertia. One can only hope the
pilot’s
awake!’

I’d had quite enough of Mrs van Hooten. I struck at once, two-handed, right thumb and forefinger pinching her nostrils shut. Forcing her head sideways, I aimed my hatpin. But she struggled like a devil, scratching, biting, and kicking.

It was a bad moment. Then help came from an unexpected quarter. I was shouldered aside. Two powerful hands seized her throat. Mrs van Hooten gurgled, turned purple, twitched convulsively, and died. I looked up from her dead face and encountered the monk’s lazy yellow eyes, and I shuddered, thinking I was staring into the face of a ghost. He laid a finger to his lips.

‘Sya Dam! But you’re dead!’

He grinned. ‘Not entirely. I have some unfinished business, but that’ll keep until later.’ He grinned more broadly. ‘British immigration is slack, and its cops go unarmed. Now, Salikaa, my dear, clearly we think alike. Madame’s precious haul? Fifty-fifty split!’

‘Why should I share with you? If I sound the alarm, they’ll arrest you!’ I protested.

He grinned. ‘I think not. Besides, you couldn’t have managed alone. She would still be alive. Still a problem.’

‘You win.’ I feigned acquiescence, my mind racing.

‘Good girl,’ he said. ‘I have already disappointed one lady today. I saw an old friend board this flight and decided to give him a surprise. Madame Lee will have to do her parachuting alone.’

I knew he must mean Raven—but parachuting? I had no idea what he was raving about, and I told him so, but he ignored me, just barked:

‘Now, stewardess, tuck the rug round our friend’s throat so she can sleep undisturbed, and fetch me whisky!’

‘A monk, drinking?’ I snarled.

He sighed. ‘It’s for the
farang
woman, stupid bitch! Salikaa, I think we understand each other. Should you get any ideas about alerting Raven, you can forget about fifty-fifty. I will kill both of you.’

I had no doubt he meant every word. I nodded.

Fortunately, passengers travelling on to Europe were not required to leave the aircraft at Singapore. I made sure the rug was tucked comfortably about Mrs van Hooten’s neck, and the American lady dozed on, as far as anyone knew. The pilot was slotted in appropriately and his report quickly filed, and then the flight was permitted to continue.

I waited until the approach to Zurich before contacting Raven. He was as shocked to see me as I had been to see Sya Dam, but understood the situation quickly when I explained how Sya had murdered poor Mrs van Hooten despite my best efforts to save her, and that I was too terrified to tell anyone else. Dr Raven was stunned. He, like everyone else, had believed Sya was dead, but a peek into the first-class cabin persuaded him otherwise. While I plied Sya with whisky, Raven managed to contact the pilot and convince him to wire ahead and alert the Swiss authorities to prepare a reception committee. I didn’t intend to share my spoils. Let the Tiger and the Raven slug it out!

Raven

The last person I expected to see again was the Black Tiger. It seemed he’d followed me out of the grave to enact some measure of vengeance. I could not afford to arouse his suspicions, so I summoned the stewardess—the real one, not Salikaa. Another mystery! She had not explained; there’d been no time. I told the stewardess I had vital information I needed to communicate personally to the American co-pilot, not the Thai captain, concerning safety of the aircraft. I shamelessly threw out Ambassador Morgan’s name.

The pilot left the cockpit while the co-pilot and I talked. He was a clean-cut lad, clearly bemused by my tale of intrigue and murder, but agreed to alert the Swiss police. I warned him not to check out the victim. If we alarmed Sya, he was quite capable of going amok, endangering the aircraft and all of us. There was time enough for a showdown when we landed.

Meanwhile, as I speculated on these latest developments, my eyes lingered on the television screen above my seat. It was tuned to World News. With dawning understanding, I stared, fascinated, as the camera dwelt on the spectacle at Beijing’s Forbidden City: the big Westerner posing with his hosts. Pockmarked and smiling, Kissinger dominated the scene, towering over the small, stocky figures of Zhou Enlai and the other Chinese leaders in their regulation grey tunics, their beaming faces awash with a misleading air of innocence. In a flash of insight, I foresaw that soon the Nixons would stand on that same spot to celebrate the prospect of exploiting China’s vast potential as ally and trading partner, and I realised, with a sense of shock, that I had been instrumental in saving the life of Kissinger, the peacebroker. Knowing I had played a part in so momentous an event suffused me with relief and a heady sense of freedom, spurred on by a new resolve. Yes, I would burn my boats and return to Bangkok to claim Chee Laan before the Lee Family enclosed her, like the Great Wall of China, and I lost her forever. But first, I would see the Black Tiger to hell.

The Swiss police surrounded the aircraft. Salikaa swiftly removed Mrs van Hooten’s case, along with luggage belonging to other passengers, from the overhead locker and kept a tight hold of it. She dropped her own identical case into the central seat beside Sya Dam. ‘Here’s her case,’ she whispered. ‘Take care of it!’ She scurried off with a wink.

The passengers were ushered into the building and isolated in a separate lounge. Airport police began examining their papers. Looking behind her, Salikaa saw police swarm aboard the jet. An ambulance drew up in readiness. Raven was called aside. He pointed out Sya, strolling modestly in his saffron robe, carrying his small case.

The two officers approached him. Without warning, Sya swung the case. The brass corner put out the eye of one of the officers, who dropped to his knees, howling, blood pouring down his face. The other rushed forward, shouting, drawing his firearm, and then everyone was screaming and taking cover. Sya grabbed the policeman’s arm, twisted it so the shots struck the ceiling, seized the gun, and smashed the man’s arm with a crunch that echoed through the lounge. He wrenched the injured man in front of him.

‘Back off!’ he shouted, holding the gun to the policeman’s head.

At that moment, the aircrew entered through the glass door. The American co-pilot ran forward, yelling. Perhaps he had not seen the gun, or perhaps he was recklessly brave. Sya shot him in the middle of the chest.

Raven had been edging ever closer round the edge of the room. He saw his chance. In the second Sya’s gun was pointing away from the hostage, Raven launched himself at Sya’s legs in a flying tackle that brought all three men crashing to the stone floor beside the dying co-pilot. Raven, struggling to his feet while the hostage and Sya were still entangled, stomped hard on Sya’s outstretched wrist. The gun clattered out of his hand. Raven snatched it up.

At his feet, Sya crouched, glaring savagely, a tiger at bay. Raven kept the gun trained on him as officers dragged the Black Tiger to his feet and slammed him into handcuffs.

Paramedics rushed to tend the wounded. In the scuffle, Sya’s small case had fallen open. A woman’s gown tumbled out in a cascade of flame silk—the only item it contained. As he was led away, Sya caught sight of the splay of red; he threw back his head and roared with laughter. His eyes roamed the lounge wildly, but Salikaa had slipped away in the confusion. Sya’s eyes snapped back to Raven, the fire in those yellow depths burning down to molten embers.

‘This isn’t the end, Black Bird!’ he shouted, his shoulders hunched in menace. He raised his cuffed hands in a grotesque salute.

Raven met his gaze unflinchingly. ‘No, Tiger,’ he returned, ‘but it is almost certainly the end of the beginning.’

Salikaa boarded a bus for Zurich’s centre. It was raining; people with upturned coat collars, bustling under dark umbrellas, turned to stare at the slim, exotic figure in the pastel-coloured uniform striding through the drizzle, heels painfully protruding over the backs of her high shoes.

Salikaa made her way to a jeweller’s, then to a bank. The grey financial gnomes were disconcerted by their newest client, but they concealed their discomfiture and treated her professionally. Salikaa possessed the only necessary credential: vast wealth, in cash and kind. After her business transactions were satisfactorily concluded, Salikaa entered a luxury department store where, in prettily accented French, she purchased and immediately donned a pair of black boots. She dropped the stewardess’s shoes in the nearest trash bin. Then she pulled outfit after outfit from the racks, and bore them off to an unoccupied changing cubicle. The new black silk shirt felt cool and yet warm. The tight black jeans encased Salikaa’s lean thighs; the lizard-skin belt exaggerated a slender waist. The Italian boots were soft as butter. Jewellery completed the new look: bulky silver bracelets, rings, and neck chains. The young man who eventually emerged from the cubicle was lean and dark and deadly.

He made for a barber’s, where he marched in and sat down in a vacant chair, scorning to queue with other customers. ‘
Couper!
’ he commanded, with a wave of his hand. He indicated his ponytail. ‘
Tout court ici, ici en brosse!
’

The black mane was shorn. There was so much of it that two apprentices were required to sweep the floor when the barber had finished his work. Salikaa peered admiringly at himself in the mirror. He pulled the long coxcomb he had insisted on through his fingers and demanded gel to maintain its dynamism. He had never before seen himself with cropped hair. It looked dangerous and seriously sexy, and it showed off his cheekbones and that marvellous carved jawline.