He stopped and looked up at her. “You say something?”
She sighed. “I asked what the matter is.”
“Huh?”
She took a deep breath and tried to center herself. This was like dealing with a petulant child. “Why are you talking to yourself like a madman?”
“Oh… can’t find the approach plate for Suvarnabhumi.”
“I see, and perhaps now you can tell me in English?”
The former US Marine pilot continued his search. “Approach plate — instrument approach procedure chart… it’s a printed chart of all the different approaches that pilots need if they’re going fly an instrument approach.”
Clouds ripped past the window as the aircraft flew into the edge of a tropical storm and began heaving up and down in the turbulence.
“And an instrument approach is…?”
Decker turned to face her sharply and narrowed his eyes. “If you looked outside you might have noticed we have about a hundred meters visibility. How do you think we get a plane down in weather like this — magic?”
“You’re so very rude, aren’t you?”
“And you’re asking stupid questions.”
“I take it from your frustration that your filing system has failed you and you cannot find the appropriate chart?”
“You’re sharper than you look.”
“Thanks to your excellent explanation of what these approach plates are, I can see how important they are. Are you sure you’re not using any of them to bung up the leaking toilet at the rear of this aircraft?”
“Very sure.”
“Aren’t you supposed to keep things like that safe?”
“I do keep them safe, only you might remember we were in kind of a rush to get this thing in the air… and someone kicked over my flight case.”
“Ah…”
“Yeah — ah… and I need the chart for the DME.”
“And what is… oh, never mind.”
Decker ignored her and when he had everything he wanted he turned to her. “Go wake Skippy up. We’re landing.”
“Fine.” She got up out of the seat and then leaned toward his ear. “Unless you want a phenomenal arse-kicking, please don’t let him hear you call him that.”
Decker gave her a crooked grin and tightened his safety harness.
When they were all in the cockpit and strapped in, the American gently pulled back on the overhead throttles and reduced power to the two radial engines. The roar of the turboprops lowered to a quieter spluttering sound as they slowed to idle and he carefully turned the aircraft to line up with the runway. Landing on land was much easier than bringing the plane home on water, and he took a few seconds to glance out across the endless smoggy sprawl of Bangkok stretching out either side of them as far as the eye could see.
Closer now and his concentration was focussed exclusively on the runway and his instruments. Seconds later the tires were screeching on the runway and they were down in a very muggy, very wet Bangkok.
Steering the plane on the water required pushing one of the throttles up to the ceiling and reversing the desired engine, but on land he used the rudders like any other aircraft. Moments later they left the runway and ATC were directing him to a parking area on the south side of the airport.
As usual, the handful of guns Decker kept on board took several minutes of form-filling and had to be checked into customs, but then they were free, and he could smell the twenty-five big ones getting closer as they stepped out of the airport.
Outside the Englishwoman scanned the crowd for someone.
“There he is,” she said and waved above her head for a moment.
A man in a tropical shirt half-unbuttoned and with a straw hat perched on his head at a rakish angle returned the greeting with a casual two-finger salute and sauntered over to them.
“Charlie!” Selena said. “It’s so good to see you.”
“Hey, when Lena Moore needs a taxi who better to call?”
She laughed and turned to Decker. “This is my old friend Charlie.”
Charlie leaned forward and extended his hand. One brief shake later he said, “Charlie Valentine.”
“I’m Decker… Friends call me Mitch.”
“Mr Decker here very kindly flew us all the way from Hong Kong.”
“Very kindly,” Riley said, “and it only cost us twenty-five thousand dollars, too.”
Charlie Valentine led them to a black Toyota Aurion and after he had paid for parking they were racing west along the motorway toward the city.
Selena glanced at her watch and for a few seconds she thought they were going to reach their destination quicker than they had planned, but then they hit the Sirat Expressway and the quieter sprawl of the eastern districts gradually turned into the rising tower blocks and hotels of Ratchathewi.
The traffic got heavier to match it and Charlie cranked up the aircon to keep everyone cool while he weaved the Aurion south through Thrung Phaya Thai and then west along the Lan Luang Road. This was the Bangkok Selena had seen on the TVs and in the magazines — beautiful buildings with ornate balconies, separated from the busy street by tacamahac and bullet wood trees.
“I love these buildings,” she said. “They look colonial, which is odd because…”
“Because Thailand was never colonized,” Decker said. “Just about the only country in the entire region that escaped colonization, in fact.”
“You’re forgetting Bhutan,” Selena said.
“Am I?”
“Yes.”
“Well, let me thank you for pointing out my omission.”
“Omissions,” Selena said. “You also forgot Nepal.”
“Whatever,” Decker mumbled, and turned away to look out his window.
They pulled up at some lights beside a restaurant and Selena unwound the window. The car was suddenly filled with a strong smell. “Oh my,” she said. “Has someone opened a drain?”
“That’s Pad Sa Tor,” Decker said casually.
“What’s that?” Selena asked. “The drains company?”
Decker sighed. “No, it’s not a drains company,” he said patiently. “It’s stir-fried stink beans, and it’s coming from that restaurant right beside you. The Thais love it.”
“But it smells like…”
“Where’s this damned nightclub?” Riley said.
“Coming up,” Charlie said, pushing down on the throttle as the lights turned green. “It’s just west of the Wat Saket.”
“The what?” Selena said.
“The Golden Mount,” he replied, and tapped on his window. “That thing.” She followed his pointing finger to an enormous building rising up from carefully manicured parklands. Its golden rooftop pagoda flashed bright golden in the subtropical sun.
“That’s amazing.”
“It’s a Buddhist temple,” Charlie said. “Goes back to the Ayutthaya period. Kunchai’s nightclub is just beyond it — and there’s a restaurant-bar place opposite we can hang out and case the joint from too.”
“Let’s hope he’s got what we’re looking for,” Riley said, tipping his head back on the rest and closing his eyes. “And can we find it fast? I could murder a cold beer and some chillout time.”
Charlie took another look at the address Selena had given him at the airport and pulled up moments later on a busy street lined with cafés and bars. Thai flags flapped in the hot breeze and a young couple zoomed past on mopeds, shouting at each other as they drove down the road.
“This is your place,” Charlie said, switching off the engine and cranking his seat back for some extra leg room. “Just over there.” He pointed out a three storey neo-colonial building on the other side of the street a hundred yards away. Opposite it was a small bar. This was the Phra Nakhon district of Bangkok, in between the famous Wat Pho Buddhist temple complex and the Chao Phraya River. A handful of Westerners sipping beer here would draw no interest from anyone. “And we have this if things get out of hand.”