The Agency man glanced around cautiously and then approached Jake with his hand extended. “Liam,” the man said. “Nice to meet you.” Then the guy looked at Alexandra and reached his hand to her. She ignored the man, her eyes searching for any danger.
Jake had gotten a photo of this man from Kurt about an hour ago. Kurt’s assessment of the man as ‘a tall ginger,’ was an apt description. “What do you have for us?” Jake asked.
“A ride,” Liam said. “Car is out front.”
The three of them walked together toward the front of the building. Jake checked his six in the reflection of the windows, but the two men had disappeared. He couldn’t help drawing comparisons on the half-dome structure to the Frankfurt, Germany main train station.
Before they piled into the new black KIA, Jake in the front seat and Alexandra in the back, both of them pulled their Glocks from their bags and prepared for easy access.
As they drove slowly through the downtown of Bangkok, Jake thought about the last time he had been in the city. Even though his last trip had been brief, not much seemed to have changed since then. The air was still dirty, leaving a dark residue on nearly every building. Other than the people and the food, there wasn’t much that Jake found appealing about the place. If Remington wanted to stay here in exile, Jake might have been inclined to let the guy do so.
“What can you tell me about your search for Bill Remington?” Jake asked the driver.
The young man bit his lower lip, his eyes concentrating on the heavy traffic. “Not much, sir. We’re a bit undermanned here. The whole staff underwent a lie detector. Anyone with any deception or possible favorable opinion toward Remington was sent back to Langley.”
Interesting, Jake thought. Kurt Jenkins hadn’t mentioned that. Maybe he didn’t know. “How many did you lose?”
Liam shook his head. “About half of our staff.”
“That’s understandable,” Jake reasoned. “Remington worked here and knows the city quite well. His first wife was from here, and her family was well connected.”
When they approached a large park, Liam slowed the car and nodded his head. The park was packed with protestors, who had set up makeshift tents and turned the place into their own radical city within a city. To Jake it looked like a damn landfill, with garbage piled up everywhere.
“This is getting much worse,” the driver said. “We’ve pretty much been taken off the search for Remington and are working our agents for insight as to what’s going down next with these radicals.”
“What do they want now?” Alexandra asked from the back seat.
“That’s hard to say, ma’am,” Liam said, his eyes checking out his passenger in the rearview mirror. “We think they eventually want a new government. One day they ask for a new prime minister, and the next they ask for the military to take control. Then they ask for a complete purge of the parliament. Not sure what they want today.”
“How far to the tailor?” Jake asked.
“A couple miles. But that could take us a while if the protestors close down some streets. What’s at the tailor?”
Jake glanced at the side mirror to make sure they were not being followed. But that was a problem, considering all this traffic. “I need a new leather jacket,” Jake said. Which was the truth. “My last one got sliced up in Taiwan.”
“Well, you’ve chosen wisely,” Liam said. “I’ve used this guy a couple times myself. I think he’s the best in Thailand. I also understand Remington has used the guy.” He hesitated for a beat and then nodded his head. “Oh, I see. That’s why you’re going there.”
“You’re a quick study. Let me guess. Harvard?”
“How’d you know.”
“First, your accent,” Jake said. “I’m guessing you were a local boy, but not a South Boston guy. With a name like Liam, I would guess you’re Irish Catholic from Winchester. Not old money, though. Probably more like Kennedy money.”
The Agency driver turned to Jake, a look of concern on his freckled face. “You read a briefing on me.”
Alexandra laughed from the back.
“Afraid not, Liam. I’m guessing you got into Harvard on scholarship in…lacrosse.”
“Fencing,” Liam admitted.
“Okay, I can see that. Epee, right. Long arms help there.”
Liam let out a breath of air and looked back into the rearview mirror. “Is he always like this?” he asked Alexandra.
She leaned forward. “No. He’s usually obnoxious. He happened to get good sleep last night. So, was epee correct?”
Liam reluctantly said, “Yes. But he only had three choices.”
The driver turned down a side street and pulled the car around a corner, ending up in a dead end. To the left was a two-story building with an inconspicuous sign saying a tailor worked there. The sign simply read, ‘Best Tailor House.’ Sitting outside the building was a line of tuk tuks, small carts attached to motorcycles. The little transports were ubiquitous in Bangkok.
Liam shut down the engine and turned to Jake. “I’ll wait out here for you.”
“Why?”
“Because if I go in there, I’ll come out much poorer. And my wife will be pissed that I bought another suit.”
“All right.” Jake got out and met Alexandra. As the two of them walked toward the front of the building, Jake whispered to her, “Let me ask the questions. Just stand back and look like you’re ready to kill all of them.”
“I can do that,” she said.
They walked in through an unimpressive first floor corridor and were escorted upstairs to an area that looked like a high-end bordello waiting room. From there they were showed into a back room with leather benches, a nice glass coffee table, and walls surrounded in samples of fabric and leather. One end had three mirrors with a platform, so customers could step up and see themselves from three sides.
The escort, who seemed to be English challenged, waved his hands for them to sit, but Jake simply stood. It was hard to pull a gun from the small of his back when he was damn near sitting on the Glock.
Alexandra backed up and stood in a corner, her best badass look on her face, and her hand inside her small purse coddling her gun.
Jake expected to see an old man who had been in the business since the Vietnam War come out to greet him, but instead the owner was a man in his mid-thirties, who was Asian, but might have had some other ethnic blend as well. On a good day the top of the man’s head would have hit Jake’s chin.
“How may I help you?” the owner asked. His English was perfect, and he went by the name Neville.
A man appeared from the back with a black leather jacket and he placed it in front of Jake. He felt the texture and had to admit it felt great. After that encounter in Taiwan he did need a new coat. But first he needed answers.
“I’m looking for a friend of yours,” Jake said, cutting right to the bone.
The owner looked disappointed.
“All right. I’ll buy a leather jacket. But first you tell me how to find Bill Remington.”
“Who?”
Jake took a step toward Neville and said, “He’s been a customer of yours for years.”
The owner smiled and reached inside his jacket.
Alexandra pulled her gun and aimed it right at the man’s head.
Neville looked like he might soil his custom-made wool pinstriped pants. “It’s only a note,” the owner explained. He handed Jake a piece of paper.
Alexandra lowered her gun, but she kept it at the side of her right leg.
Jake opened it and saw a hand-scribbled note that said ‘Wat Arun 1800.’ It could have been Remington’s own handwriting, but for some reason the script looked more feminine. He thought back on what had happened on the train, how the two men could have come for him, but had unexpectedly backed off and simply kept an eye on him. Either this was an elaborate trap, or Remington wanted to talk for some reason. If Jake had to guess, the former Agency man was going to make him an offer of some kind. Remington knew that Jake was like a pitbull — once he locked his teeth onto someone, he wouldn’t let go until the man was either dead or heading to jail.