“Which airport?” Spencer asked.
“Don Mueang. North side.”
Uncle Pete whistled and a bellman ran over with his cart. Spencer refused to let the man take the duffle, and followed them out to the waiting SUV with it in hand.
The drive took just over an hour, and they were pleasantly surprised to discover that the private jet terminal was sumptuous and quiet. Uncle Pete guided them to one of the windows overlooking the runways and pointed to a Hawker 800XP being fueled by two airport workers. “That plane. We pay now.”
“How much?” Drake asked.
“Dollars? ’Bout ten thousand.”
Drake looked at Allie. “I only brought ten cash. Didn’t want to have to declare anything.”
“Me too.”
“Split it with you?”
“I’m game.”
Uncle Pete counted the money and then disappeared for ten minutes. When he returned, he was all smiles. “I tip security. They not interested look at bags. Say your face trustworthy.”
“I get that a lot,” Drake said.
“Not you. Her.”
“Oh.”
“How big a tip?” Allie asked.
“Five hundred dollars. You give on plane, okay?”
Spencer winked at Allie. “I could learn a lot from Uncle Pete.”
“I have a feeling the lesson’s not over yet. And it will no doubt be pricey.”
They toted their bags to the plane, the security workers blissfully otherwise occupied with a judiciously timed cigarette break, and loaded onto the jet. After a smooth takeoff, Uncle Pete filled them in on the discussion he’d had with his control in the U.S., who had told him they would try to get someone to replace Alex as soon as possible, but that Uncle Pete should act as their liaison in the meantime. That made sense, given the amount of time that had already gone by and the sense of urgency implicit in finding the plane.
“And we get permits. So ready to go,” Uncle Pete finished from his position in the bulkhead seat.
“Then we can start the search tomorrow?”
“You betcha. We use airfield at Chiang Rai as base, yes? Close to border. Helicopter waiting, start tomorrow morning.”
“Perfect,” Spencer said. “Any word on Alex?”
“In hospital. Many broke bones. But look like will make it, for sure.”
“That’s good,” Allie said.
“Did headquarters have any thoughts on the incident?” Spencer asked.
Uncle Pete shook his head. “Say keep eyes open. Thailand dangerous place sometimes.”
“That’s helpful.”
“Don’t worry. I take good care of you.”
The flight was smooth and they touched down without fanfare, only to discover that their hotel, the best in town according to Uncle Pete, was a rattrap. He apologized but pointed out that the town was mainly frequented by backpackers and hippies, so their choice of accommodations was limited. After dropping their bags off, they met him outside the hotel and went as a group to dinner, Uncle Pete in the lead, marching in his baggy pants and sandals as though on a mission from God.
Jiao waited in the shade beneath a banyan tree across the street from the hotel until the Americans had made their way down the teeming road, motorcycles and tuk-tuks buzzing at breakneck speed in what passed for the backwater town’s evening rush hour. He drew a final drag on his cigarette, crushed it underfoot, and ambled toward the hotel, a black nylon backpack hanging from his shoulder, his clothes those of a casual tourist. He’d been alerted to their departure from Bangkok and on a charter flight of his own twenty minutes after they’d taken off.
The hotel was all one level, built around a parking lot, with the office at the front. He’d followed the group from the airport, but hadn’t had time to reconnoiter the grounds properly. A glance at the office told him he’d be spotted if he entered that way, so he continued walking until he rounded the block, and stopped at an overgrown field that backed against the hotel perimeter wall.
Twilight cast long shadows as the sun dropped behind the mountains. Jiao took his time, and when it was dark enough that he was confident he wouldn’t be spotted, he crossed the expanse until he was at the base of the wall.
A quick perusal convinced him that it was no good. There were no footholds he could use, and the razor wire coiled along the top would prevent him from climbing over, even if he contrived a way to scale the ten-foot-high wall. He cursed under his breath and moved back to the side street — he’d hoped to avoid his alternative plan, but would now have to implement it if he was to be successful before the farangs made it back.
The office door swung open with a creak and an attached bell tinkled. A short woman shaped like a brick emerged from the office and moved to the reception counter.
“Yes?” she asked, in a raspy voice seasoned by a lifetime of smoking.
“Do you have any rooms?” he asked in broken Thai.
“Yes. For how long?”
“Only one night. I’m off to see the temples tomorrow.”
She pointed to a board behind her with prices in baht and dollars. Jiao nodded, removed a thick wad of currency from his pocket, and peeled off several bills. “A quiet room, if that’s possible,” he requested. “No parties. I’m up early.”
“You want smoking or non?”
“Smoking.”
She nodded and handed him a key and a towel. “Check out at eleven. Soda machine outside by the pool.”
Jiao skirted the parking lot, pretending to look for his room. When he found it, he paused in front of the door and studied the lock. He was relieved to see that he could jimmy it in his sleep, the mechanism at least twenty years old.
Once in the room, he moved to the far window and pulled the dingy curtains aside, but it had corroding iron bars on the exterior, so using it to access the other rooms wasn’t viable. He quickly unpacked his bag and removed a set of picks and a flat metal slim jim that he slipped inside his windbreaker. The picks went into his jacket pocket, and then he was ready.
The parking lot was still. He’d already confirmed on his walk that he wouldn’t be visible to the office if he stuck close to the building. He pulled his door closed behind him and strolled unhurriedly to the closest of the Americans’ doors.
Ten seconds later he was inside the dark room. He hurried to the backpack sitting on the bed and extracted a small disk from his pocket — a tracking chip with a built-in battery supply good for at least thirty days. He felt along the bag until he found a small flapped compartment on the inside lining, and then pulled a pocketknife from his jacket and sliced the stitching above it. When he had created sufficient space, he forced the chip inside and shook the bag until the disk fell to the bottom, between the lining and the outer shell. If the stitching was noticed, the instinct would be to dismiss it as shoddy manufacturing.
He powered on his phone and saw the orange blinking icon on a satellite image that confirmed the chip was transmitting. Jiao smiled in the darkness. Would that all his tasks were so easily performed.
At the door, he listened intently for signs of life outside. When he was confident he was alone, he slipped from the room and locked the door behind him, and then headed for the office to get a restaurant recommendation, his time now reduced to waiting patiently until the group located the plane.
Once seated in the outdoor dining area of a family-style restaurant several blocks away, he placed a call to Xiaoping.
“It is done.”
“Very well.”
“Any progress on our project?”
“He claims he should be in within hours. But that’s what he said yesterday, so while promising, celebration would be premature.”