Suriyothai watched her lover’s face light up and was content. He’s got the message.
An hour later, she entered the room where Igrat was reading a fashion magazine. She’d done so as quietly as she could, but Igrat had still heard her and risen to her feet.
“Snake, words from my father. Congratulations are in order. A wellexecuted war.”
“Thank you. Iggie, please, sit down. You and I have never stood on formality. Yes, the war went well, although taking down the Japanese unit was much more costly than we thought. Phillip should know that we lost 214 killed and 374 wounded fighting the French but twenty times that number fighting a much smaller number of Japanese. We killed 499 Frenchmen and wounded over two thousand, but took twelve thousand prisoner. By the time the fighting was over, we had killed over eleven thousand Japanese and took five prisoners. We were still running into resistance on the battlefield three days after the main bulk of the fighting was over. There is much to think upon there.”
Igrat nodded while the courier part of her brain memorized the numbers. An unspoken part of her work was to keep her eyes and ears open. A street girl saw things and heard words that the diplomats and professional agents overlooked. Igrat had sensed wide acclaim among the Thai people; they looked on the victory of their Army over the French as something of a national rebirth. For the first time, Thailand had been able to extract concessions from a European power by force of arms.
She had also sensed shock and fear as realization of the terrible casualties suffered fighting the Japanese had sunk in. She had seen the huddles of men and women gathered around the news stands looking at the lists of dead and missing. When fighting the French, the lists had been barely a column long; usually less than that. The same lists for the battles against the Japanese had gone on for pages. The Hong Kong and Shanghai Bank had just moved its headquarters to Bangkok. To introduce themselves, the bank had paid the Thai Rath newspaper to produce a special supplement with the names of the dead and wounded, then to distribute it free of charge. Igrat had noted that she hadn’t seen a single copy of that supplement dropped on the street or thrown away.
Suriyothai looked at her and knew what she was thinking. “I have some documents for you to take back to Phillip. Reports on the operations here. The originals are going via the American consulate here to the War Office but I want him to have his own copy. It is essential that your military authorities know what fighting the Japanese will be like. I’ve had them microfilmed so the weight won’t break your arm.”
Igrat relaxed slightly. “Thanks, Snake. I’ve got some paperwork for you as well. My father wants to set up a business here, a cement company. We’re in partnership with an Australian, Essington Lewis. He’s one of us, by the way, although he doesn’t know it yet. We’re putting up the money; he’s supplying the expertise. He wants to set up a steel company as well. Between the two, we’ll be well placed to support rebuilding the city. We supply the cement; his company, the rebars.”
“We already have a Siam Cement Company. Phillip can buy that. We’ll sell him 70 percent of the shares, with the Crown retaining the rest. I’ll have the documents prepared for you to take back. You are going straight back to the USA?”
“Sure. Then out to Britain to see some of our friends there.” Despite the friendly conversation, Igrat was careful not to say whom. “Going to Britain needs caution these days. Every time I go there, the number of Auxiliary Police increases and they get more aggressive. Always good to take care when visiting countries where the number of people’s police exceeds the number of people’s people.”
Suriyothai snorted slightly. “It’s not taking long, is it? Phillip always said that the first steps to tyranny are the hardest and going downhill from there is easy. By the way, that reminds me. Did you get the stuff I asked for?”
“I did.” Igrat pushed a box over. “A dozen bottles. Excuse my asking, but what do you want it for? It’s not a problem you have.”
The Ambassador produced a very conspiratorial smile. “It’s just a gift for somebody.”
“God, this chicken is good. Makes the wait worthwhile.”
Sergeant Dirk Klaas looked at the African woman running the roadside food stand. “Look, we really are sorry about that kid. We’d have stopped if we could, but a big truck like that, towing a gun….”
It had been a simple road accident, almost mundane. The column of South African trucks had been heading south, on their way to an embarkation port, when a young child had run right out in front of the convoy. The lead vehicle had absolutely no chance to stop. It had run him over. The vehicle behind had done the same and so had the one behind that. By the time the convoy had stopped, the child was very obviously very, very dead. The local police had arrived and started to take statements, but Klaas had noted nobody seemed to care very much. One woman was weeping quietly, but that was all. From her age, she was probably the child’s mother.
“Don’t you distress yourself, Sergeant.”
Klaas noted she had his rank right and spoke good English. Missiontaught, no doubt. “Nobody liked that little monster. Uppity child, always telling everybody what to do. More chicken? I can do you a special price if all your men buy from me.”
The South Africans were milling around the market place while the accident report was finished. The chicken stand was, in Klaas’s opinion, by far the best food there. “I’ll tell you what, Mother. You give us a right price, and we’ll buy enough to eat now and also for our meal this evening.”
The woman beamed at the polite address and named a price. Klaas called his men over. She had a plate of samples waiting. They were enough to convince the platoon that this was indeed a deal that should not be missed. A few minutes later, the stand was the scene of frenzied activity as her family got to work making up the biggest order for cooked chicken her business had ever seen.
“Sergeant?” A painfully young South African officer was calling him. “The police have finished interviewing the truck drivers. They are reporting this as a sad accident caused by a child not being taught to respect traffic properly. Between you and me, most of the village does not seem too sympathetic to the family and the child was very unpopular with the others
here. Anyway, the division has made a compensation payment to the mother and that has closed the affair. You organized all this chicken for your men? Good move; spending money like this will soothe any hurt feelings in the village.”
“It’s really good chicken, sir. Try a piece.”
The officer did so. a look of sheer delight spread across his face. “My God, man; you’re not joking. Mother, when this order is done, can you make up another for me? The divisional headquarters will have a feast tonight.”
“It will be done, sir.” The woman watched her children redouble their efforts to increase grilled chicken production while making sure they didn’t take short cuts that would affect the quality of her product.
Around the back of the hut, the execution of chickens was reaching holocaust proportions. The family head was ecstatic at the sheer volume of business. He was already working out how to build his family a new home on the profits. He suddenly realized this could be the start of something big. He called out to his wife, “Nyarai, look after our guests well and they will bring many more back. And give the sergeant and his officer some free bottles of beer. You see, that horrible little boy was of some use to the village after all.”