Boom had traded handguns and rifles from his house, and when customers had asked where he sourced his weapons, Cole remembered that the man had mentioned a place in Cambodia. He also remembered that Boom had been especially proud that his Cambodian dealer also provided weapons to several notorious criminal and terrorist groups.
Liang Kebangkitan was one of them.
Four hours later, Cole was sat overlooking the rail lines of the Bangkok Mass Transport System from a table at the Skytrain Jazz Club.
He’d wanted some fresh air, but had also wanted to keep on drinking. It was better than psychotherapy; or cheaper, at any rate. He was onto whisky now, nursing a glass of Bell’s Special Reserve at his table for one.
As rooftop bars went, this was decidedly low-key; the walls of the winding staircase were covered in graffiti, and the whole thing was like a Bohemian speakeasy. And contrary to its name, it seemed to offer no jazz whatsoever; instead, there was more Euro pop.
Cole’s eyes took in one of the city’s Skytrains as it shot past on the elevated tracks in front of him; there was nothing like that in the northern towns and villages of Thailand, that was for sure. After spending so much time in the backwoods, the sight was like something from an alien world.
And yet it was a familiar world, one that beckoned to him with a welcoming finger.
Come back to us, it seemed to be saying. Come back to us.
Slowly, Cole’s mind drifted back to the same subject that had been consuming him all evening.
What should I do?
The fact was, Cole was tired. He was tired of punishing himself, tired of wasting his days in pain and misery, tired of the life he had made for himself. The incident in Pattaya had affected him, shown him for what he truly was, illustrated for him his essential nature, a nature he was trying hard to deny, but no longer could.
The adrenalin spike when he had fought back was like an old friend, the return of something infinitely familiar to him, infinitely appealing.
He was a predator; a hunter.
He was not a prey animal, and never could be.
Watching a lion chasing a gazelle, he never sided with the gazelle; he always wanted the lion to take down its prey. Always.
He was a predator, and whereas some people with that drive turned to crime, he had turned to the military; he had been trained and honed over the years, and his hunter’s instincts had been refined.
He was a predator, but he wasn’t a wolf attacking sheep; he was the guard dog who protected the sheep from the wolves.
It was all he knew how to do, all he could do, all he wanted to do.
He saw the hijack situation for what it was; an opportunity, a shot at redemption.
He had a lead, something he could use to get him into the game. Why shouldn’t he use it?
The CNN television report came back to him then, and he understood that it was a TV news report that had thrown him into his last official mission. He had watched it at his home in the Caribbean; his wife cooking in the kitchen, Ben and Amy with him in the living room. It had shown a terrorist attack on the day of the Mutual Defense Treaty signing — originally to be between the US and Russia, but which ultimately included China too — an act which had drawn him into the worst weeks and months of his life.
A single tear appeared in his eye as he saw that scene back in the living room of his Cayman Brac beach house. Ben, Amy and Sarah; happy for probably the last time before their violent deaths just one week later.
He wiped the tear away and downed the last of his Bell’s, staring down into the thick-bottomed glass.
You remember what happened last time.
But it was different now, he told himself — he had no family, nobody he cared about who could be hurt by what he did.
And didn’t he have a responsibility to his fellow countrymen, to help them if he could? There were three Americans who were right now being held captive somewhere; men with wives and children of their own, perhaps. Certainly men with someone who cared for them, someone who would miss them if they never returned home.
Yes.
He had a responsibility.
He remembered the oath of office he had sworn, back when he had been known as Mark Kowalski, back when he had been little more than a kid.
I, Mark Antoni Kowalski, do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion; and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office on which I am about to enter. So help me God.
And he had discharged those duties to the best of his abilities — in SEAL Team Two, SEAL Team Six, in the covert squad known as the Systems Research Group, and then — after being rescued from prison in Pakistan and being declared Killed In Action — as Mark Cole, a contract operator for the US government codenamed ‘the Asset’.
He had killed dozens — perhaps even hundreds — of ‘enemies, foreign and domestic’ for his country; hadn’t he killed enough? Hadn’t he done enough?
And yet, at the end of the day, what was there left for him to do?
He was a guard dog.
And although he’d been out of action for more than a year, he could admit now that he had always known — deep down — that it was not the end of his calling in life, just a brief hiatus.
He was what he was, and he’d never had any real choice at all.
3
Zhang Peng sat facing the President of the People’s Republic of China, Tsang Feng.
Zhang was the CEO of the Tsing Tao Shipping Line, a multi-billion dollar company which built some of the nation’s finest ships, which were then leased out at huge daily rates to commercial shipping companies who operated them worldwide.
So although another company, Fung Chow Merchant Marine Services, were currently operating the Fu Yu Shan and therefore responsible for her cargo, Zhang still had overall responsibility for the ship and her crew.
And it was therefore Zhang who had received the demands from the pirates who had recently hijacked the Fu Yu Shan.
‘So tell me,’ came another voice, off to one side of Zhang and Tsang, ‘what is it that these pirates want?’
The voice belonged to Kang Xing, the aged Defense Minister of the People’s Republic and Tsang’s right-hand man. From his corner seat, he regarded the CEO through dark, hooded eyes.
Zhang cleared his throat. ‘They say that they will release the ship and crew unharmed for fifty million US dollars.’
‘Fifty million?’ Tsang asked in amazement. ‘The gall of these people! I have heard the ship is only worth forty!’
‘You forget the men, sir,’ Zhang said gently. ‘And don’t forget, three of them are American citizens.’
Tsang grunted. ‘They must be living in dreamland if they think they can treat us in this way. We will have to teach them a lesson they won’t soon forget. They —’
‘Sir,’ Zhang interrupted nervously, ‘Lloyds Insurance classify the Strait of Malacca as a warzone, and make an extra charge. Now, most companies don’t pay it and take the risk, but Tsing Tao is all paid up.’ He smiled. ‘We can claim on our insurance, pay the money, and everything will settle right down.’
Tsang Feng’s face turned cold. Hard. ‘You must be under enormous stress,’ he said at last, the words coming out slowly. ‘I will pretend I did not hear you say that. Pay off these pirates? These simple criminals? Give fifty million dollars to the scum of the earth, with the consent of the Chinese government?’ He shook his head. ‘Not if you want to keep control of the company, Zhang my friend.’ He waggled a finger in Zhang’s direction. ‘And I tell you this — if you try and pay them off yourself, you’ll find yourself with a lifetime prison sentence for treason. Do I make myself clear?’