Noble Lies (24 page)

Mark slid along the bulkhead, stopping at the edge of the second hall of passenger cabins. He risked a quick look around the open doorway. There were four doors on both sides of the short hall with no communal bath at the far end, just a spiral staircase that led up somewhere in the direction of the bridge. According to Andy, Shawn and Pim were in the first cabin on the right. But was it the first cabin from this end of the hall—the door he stood in front of now—or was it the first cabin from the spiral staircase end, making it the last door on the left? He could blow off the lock and kick in this door, a fifty-fifty chance he'd have the right room, catching Shawn off guard and ending it quick. The same odds that he'd be warning Shawn and dooming Pim.

Keeping his eyes trained down the hall, he leaned in and pressed an ear against the door. He could hear muffled noises but those could be ambient sounds resonating through the ship.

Fifty-fifty.

The same odds that the door would be unlocked.

Mark slung his MP5 across his back and drew the Beretta from his shoulder holster. He pushed down on the door handle and he felt it turn, pulling the door toward him to keep it from creaking open before he was ready, inching the door open until the latch was clear. He took a deep, silent breath and in one move, swung the door open and swept the barrel across the empty room just as a scream echoed down the hall behind him.

Shawn was stepping backwards out of the far cabin, his left hand coming up to the four deep scratches that raked his face, his right arm aiming a pistol back into the cabin. “You fucking bitch,” he shouted, firing once before Mark emptied the automatic, the first two shots slamming into the side of Shawn's head, Shawn's lifeless body crumpling sideways as Mark sprinted down the hall. Mark dropped the Beretta and swung the MP5 down into his hands as he ran, the gun hip-level as he came in the room. Pim was on the floor, leaning up on one hand, staring down at the blood that flowed from the hole in Robin's shoulder.

He threw the gun on a bed and lifted Robin off Pim's lap. She was unconscious but her breathing was steady, her shirt already soaked in blood. He propped her up on her side and ran a hand along her back. “Good. The round went straight through.”

Pim stripped off a pair of pillowcases and knelt down beside Robin. “Hold this tight please,” she said, wadding up the white cotton cover and placing it over the exit wound, high on Robin shoulder; placing the other over the hole in the front of Robin's shirt. “If it did not cut an artery,” she said, hitting every syllable, “she will be all right. When I worked in my father's pharmacy on Phi Phi, we saw many stab wounds, much worse than this. Now hold here as well.”

“I got it,” Mark said, shifting his position so he could press the bandages between his hands. He looked at Pim and saw her glance out the door to where Shawn's body lay, the pistol still in his hand, his head blown open. “What happened?”

“Shawn made Miss Robin and me come to this cabin. He heard the shots. Then he…he was going to…” she stopped—her breath coming in short gulps—then looked into Mark's eyes, and through clenched teeth she said, “I scratched his face.”

“Why did he shoot her?”

Pim shook her head. “No. He was going to shoot me. Miss Robin, she jumped in the way and knocked me over. Then Shawn fell and you were here.”

She stood and pulled a sheet from a bed, tearing it in half then rolling it lengthwise into a long bandage. Together they wrapped the sheet tight around Robin's chest, a mix of Marine Corp first aid and makeshift clinic practicality.

“Where's Ngern?” Mark said, looking around the room.

Pim's eyes widened. “He is not with you?”

“No. But I think I know where he is,” Mark lied. Robin stirred and gave a low moan. “We need to get moving. She going to be able to get out of here soon?”

“Yes. She needs to be taken to a real doctor, before she is infected.”

“Don't worry,” Robin said, blinking her eyes open. “I've had my shots.”

“Miss Robin,” Pim said, the tears coming now, bending down and hugging her neck. “You are so brave. You should not have saved me.”

“Tell me about it.” Robin winced as they helped her sit up. She looked at Mark. “Did you kill Shawn?”

Mark nodded and Robin looked past him, out the door and into the hall. She breathed a long sigh. “Oh shit no.”

“Robin, he killed Pim's grandfather, he tried to kill Pim, and he almost killed you. If I didn't shoot him he would have killed me, too. I'm not sorry I shot him.”

“I'm not sorry either,” she said, tilting her head to the door, “but they look kind of pissed.”

Five men in black tee shirts and matching black pants stood at the open door, their weapons all pointed at Mark.

 

Chapter Thirty four

   

Jarin grunted and flipped his phone shut. “Bring us in,” he said, and the pilot spun the wheel, maneuvering the cabin cruiser back to the empty fantail deck.

It had only taken ten minutes for his men to secure the ship. Pirates, he knew from experience, were not disciplined fighters and they lacked even the basic organizational skills. According to Laang, the operation had gone as planned, just one man killed and two wounded. They had done well and he was proud of them, but he certainly wouldn't tell them that—that's what he paid them for. He also paid them to get information and they were doing that, too. The few pirates still alive were eager to talk, assuming foolishly that it would matter. And apparently they had something interesting to tell.

The boat crept alongside the fantail and two men jumped out, this time tying the ropes off, locking the cruiser's gangplank in place before signaling to Jarin that it was ready. Jarin took the pilot's nine millimeter from the man's holster. In the old days he would have tucked the gun into the front of his pants but his overhanging gut made that impossible now. Instead he used it as a pointer, directing the three remaining gunmen off the cruiser and through the fantail door. A moment later, one of the men gave the all clear and Jarin stepped down the gangplank, across the open grating and into the Morning Star.

It had been years since he had been in this part of a ship, but it still seemed familiar. The steady hum of the auxiliary engine, the smell of oil, that strange lighting and how the rows of pipes seemed to run on forever. Ships were different now, all that computer crap making it impossible for a ship to disappear. He had had some good years in the eighties, before every ship worth stealing installed a GPS system. The best was that freighter out of Oman. That had set it all up for him, allowed him to move into Phuket, take over, even allowing him to get out of the piracy game altogether. Just in time, too.

His men were moving ahead, two checking the stairwell, the third on his phone, getting directions to the bridge, when Jarin saw the boy. He was squeezed in between a pair of standpipes, pulled back into the shadows, and Jarin would have missed him if the yellow cap of a stun gun hadn't given him away. Jarin stopped and the guards moved back toward him, but he waved them off. Still, they kept their weapons trained on the gap. Jarin bent down and looked at the boy. “Sawatdee krup,” he said, bringing his palms together around the butt of his pistol, giving his head a slight nod. He felt himself smiling, and it surprised him.

“Sawatdee krup,” Ngern said. He bowed his head but kept his eyes and the stun gun on Jarin.

“You're what, ten years old?” Jarin said. “I have a daughter your age. Her name is Jaa.”

“I am Ngern and I am eight and a half years old.”

“Really? You look older. Tell me, Ngern, why do you have that gun?”

The boy wet his lips but didn't say anything.

“If you are going to carry a gun like that you should learn how to use it. You have the safety on so it won't shoot. There, just above your thumb,” Jarin tapped the spot on his own pistol to show him. “You need to flick that little lever up.”

Ngern tilted the gun to look. “This?”

“Yes, just push it up. There, it is armed,” Jarin said, not knowing if it was or it wasn't, just knowing that the boy now trusted him. “If we see any pirates, you will need to zap them, all right? Come on, get out of there before you get stuck.”

Ngern turned his shoulders and stepped out, lowering his arms. Jarin patted his shoulder. He let him keep the gun. “Are you a member of the crew?” Jarin said, and off to the side he could see that that made one of his men smile.

“No, uncle. I am on a trip with my aunt and her friends. They are from America.”

Jarin's eyes narrowed. “From America? What are their names?”

“My aunt's name is Prisana but we call her Pim. There is also Mr. Mark and Miss Robin. They are the Americans.”

“You are Pim's nephew,” Jarin said, and grunted once. “I did not know you were so young.”

“My great-grandfather was with us too, but my aunt's husband, Mr. Shawn, he killed him.” Ngern looked down at the gun in his hand, then back up at Jarin. “I don't like Mr. Shawn.”

“Me either,” Jarin said.

“Can we go see my aunt now? Please?”

He looked at the boy—at his big puppy dog eyes—and sighed. “Yes,” he said, standing, “it's time we get this over.”

 

***

 

“Stop looking at me like that,” Robin said.

Smiling, Pim reached over and brushed a stray hair out of Robin's face, Robin slapping her hand away.

“What do you expect? You saved her life,” Mark said.

“Yeah, keep reminding me.”

They were on the floor of the dining hall, Robin lying down, her feet up on a chair to keep from going into shock, Pim sitting on one side, Mark on the other. Two men leaned against the wall on either side of the door, their weapons lowered but their fingers still on the triggers, a third pacing the room, a cell phone held to his ear. The man had a deep voice for a Thai, and by the way he waved his free hand—angling up flights of stairs and hooking left and right at each turn—it was obvious he was giving directions. In a dark corner of the dining hall, under an overturned table riddled with bullet holes, one of the pirates stared out at Mark, a look of surprise frozen on his lifeless face.

“How you feeling?” Mark asked Robin.

“Like I want to puke. And a little cold.”

Pim slid her hand under Robin's shoulder, holding her fingers behind Robin's head to show Mark the blood.

“I will get you a blanket,” Pim said and stood, the two guards snapping their weapons up to their shoulders, shouting at her in Thai as Jarin entered the room. He raised his hand and they fell silent, lowering their weapons.

“Excuse me, sir,” Ngern said in Thai, squeezing around Jarin's legs, pushing the stun gun into the man's fat hand before running into Pim's outstretched arms. For a moment no one said a word.

Jarin cleared his throat. “Congratulations, Mr. Mark Rohr. Your UN mission is a success.”

“UN mission?” Robin said, leaning up on her good arm.

“I'll explain later,” Mark said to her as he slowly rose, the guards' guns rising with him.

“Oh, I suppose that any minute your men will be swarming over the ship, helicopters in the air. Perhaps even a submarine?”

“Everything I told you about Shawn's plan was true. Ask your men about the pirates or get one of the crew members up here, they'll confirm what I said.”

“All of this,” Jarin waved his pistol as he spoke, “it all started when Mr. Shawn lied to me. His lies cost me one hundred and eighty thousand US dollars. Now you lie to me. What new problems will this bring for me?”

“None,” Mark said. “It's over. Shawn is dead.”

Jarin stepped closer, the guards stepping in with him. “And I am still owed the money. Who will pay for that? You?”

“The terrorists will pay you. They're coming at daybreak, just a small group of them. And they're bringing the money. More than enough to cover the debt.”

Jarin's smile disappeared. “You are a proven liar, Mr. Mark Rohr,” he said, wagging the barrel of the pistol like an accusing finger. “But you picked a good time to tell the truth. My men learned about the payment from some of the pirates they…questioned. We do not have much time to prepare, but I am certain we can give them a warm reception when they arrive.”

Mark nodded. “We can put a few men—”

“We will do nothing. You are leaving.”

“I'm not going anywhere without my friends.”

Jarin glanced down at Robin, Pim, and Ngern. “They are your problem now,” he said, walking away, the guards backing out with him. He stopped at the door, turned back and pointed the pistol at Mark's chest, the guards stepping aside. “I will ask you a question. You will tell me the truth.”

Here it comes, thought Mark.

“Do you follow any rules?”

Mark stepped forward, moving away from the others, Jarin's pistol following him, a clear shot now if that's what he wanted. “What kind of rules?”

“Rules to live by. Do you have any?”

He was ten feet away from the end of the barrel, impossible to miss. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, clearing his mind. Ready now, he looked at Jarin. “I have a couple left.”

“Then allow me to give you one more. It is called Rule Number Ten,” he said, lowering the gun. “Every dog has its day. This is your day, Mr. Mark Rohr. Make the most of it.”