The Godfather of Kathmandu Read Online Free PDF Page A

will be detained. You are to watch and be there, that’s all.” I wait for the revelation. After a minute he reaches into his desk drawer and takes out a piece of paper with a photo on it. “He asked for my private Internet address and sent this.”
    Vikorn passed over the paper. On one side was a color photograph of an exceptionally attractive young blond woman in her mid-to late twenties. “He says her name is Rosie McCoy. She’s Australian. A mule who works for Zinna.”
    “I don’t understand. What does this prove, even if it’s true?”
    “It proves he’s got the guts and the know-how to hurt Zinna—as longas we accept his offer.” Vikorn stared at me until I lowered my eyes. He had successfully transferred the full emotional force of the words
hurt Zinna;
could there be a better justification?
    I took the paper and started to leave. When I reached the door, Vikorn said, “If this is the real deal, we’ll need you to take a trip to Kathmandu.”

5
    We are a hub. Flights to Los Angeles and other American destinations leave early in the morning, flights to Laos, Cambodia, Vietnam, China, and all points north and south leave every few minutes during the day, and flights to Europe mostly happen late in the evening. So why are there so few toilets in our brand-new airport? The
farang
design team and the Thai approval committee obviously didn’t feel comfortable with too many comfort rooms. I had three iced lemon teas on my way and now I needed to take a leak pretty bad. (Iced lemon tea: full of sugar and polluted ice; in this heat it’s like heroin. Don’t try it, so you’ll never know how good it is.) I took my place in line.
    One thing I had to admit, the designers were democratic in their incompetence: there were plenty of first-class-looking types with perfectly coordinated monogrammed luggage sets waiting, all of them doing the
mustafapee
dance according to their programming, along with grassroots types like me, everyone of us under the sway of the equality Buddha. We all watched with unnerving intensity while one guy shook hard and looked like he was about to zip up and let someone else at the relief trough—then an agonizing change of mind as he found more water to drain. Another shake, so vigorous I feared the thing might fly off—surely he was feeling the collective psychic pressure behind him?—then finally we moved forward by one man. By the time I got to the Immigration Police offices it was nearly ten-thirty, which was the moment when passengers for Europe hit passport control.
    The police colonel in charge of Immigration was not as unhappy to see me as I expected. A woman and a devout Buddhist, she took the view that all help in stemming the evil tide of drug trafficking was welcome, and anyway her officers were pretty busy and could do with some backup. She hinted that she didn’t really understand this particular tip-off, which seemed to originate somewhere in the Himalayas, so maybe I could be of some real help. In addition to being devout, conscientious, and good-looking, she was also single and about my age. I’m not bragging here, but she really did look as if she could eat me, before directing me to an obscure corner of the airport with a good view of passport control, where a couple of her “girls,” in smart white shirts with epaulettes, navy skirts, and fierce mugs, were standing. They didn’t mind my company, but wondered aloud how a man could help with this particular case. I said I was just there to observe, because Colonel Vikorn had gotten the same tip-off.
    Basically, there wasn’t anything much to do but flirt. I loyally told them how happily married I was, with a son I was totally crazy about, and they told me about their families, which left the way clear for plenty of hints, nudges, and winks before the perp arrived. Suddenly we were all in combat-ready professional mode.
    I took out the picture, just to make sure, but there was really no doubt about it: the girl