CHAPTER 57
We were allowed to follow the convoy of police cars and trucks into Surat Thani. Jimmy rode his bike, while I sat with Mark Dobson in his rented Toyota.
I think he wanted to chat without Jimmy listening, but I learned nothing much I didn’t already know. Anyway, as it turned out, we weren’t far from Surat Thani.
Yes, Jimmy was ex US army. Yes, they’d met in Vietnam, and yes, Jimmy had a loose sort of arrangement with the US Embassy if they were asked for help by the Thai immigration department. And yes, Jimmy did occasional jobs for Mark’s private company, Asher & Asher.
As far as Mark knew—and he was far from certain—Jimmy had had a tip off about a black guy from North London flying into Phuket and not staying around the flesh pots but heading south to where the separatist groups hung out. As it was, I’d turned out to be a rare sort, more interested in looking for toucans and a bit of peace and tranquillity than causing mayhem with a Kalashnikov.
At the police station, with one last look back at me, as if he was being taken to the gallows, Cass was led away. All I could do was give him a long-distance high five before he disappeared from view. Then Jimmy, Mark, and I were invited to give our views on what was going on across a table from a row of police officers with even more badges than the one before.
I did my best. I explained how I’d known Cass at school, and that he was the most un-Moslem Moslem I’d ever met. It didn’t seem to make much difference. There were no smiles, but slowly we got our message across. It really was up to Cass to explain his side of the story.
He didn’t appear again that night, so Jimmy, Mark, and I checked in at a two-star hotel down the road. The next morning, we were back, and by then, Mark had images of Cass’s replacement passport, which he handed over to the police.
We sat around again until Cass reappeared around midday. He’d showered and shaved and had been given a white tee shirt, a pair of shorts, and flip-flops. He didn’t exactly look beach ready and definitely needed to gain a few kilos, but he smiled at the three of us.
“My British passport is being couriered to the High Commission in Phuket,” he said. “Then I’m to be debriefed again in the company of someone from the embassy.”
Mark nodded, as if he already knew. I suspect much of this had been instigated by Colin Asher. “I’ll head up to Bangkok,” he said. “I’ll talk to the embassy and stick around for a day or so. Stuff is still coming in from Colin.”
I didn’t ask Mark what he meant by stuff because I didn’t know what was going on back home. My job, finding Cass, was sort of done, but before he was led away again, we managed a few more words.
“What can I do now?” I asked him, and he looked at me with those same eyes, but they already looked brighter.
“Just stay tuned, Kurt,” he said. “Bad boys must stick together, yeh? Maybe see you around Park Road with Kevin and Winston.”
“I live in London now,” I said. “Do you really want to return to Park Road and bump into Khan again? Don’t you know somewhere better?”
He seemed unsure at first, but then he said, “I dunno. I think I might come back here. I need some peace and quiet for a while.”
“That’s exactly what I came for,” I told him. “I got side-tracked.”
Cass then shook Jimmy’s hand and merely said, “Thank you.”
Jimmy nodded. “No problem. Everything will work out. Try and put some weight on.”
Cass was then led away again. Mark said “Cheerio” and left for Bangkok, and Jimmy and I returned to the car park to find his bike.
Naturally, he needed another fix, so I just stood around while he casually rolled another, lit it, and sucked on it a few times. Then he tossed the half-finished remains, mounted the bike, and patted the seat behind him, which was my cue to do likewise. What now, I thought. Where now?
I’d already noticed he was wearing a different tee shirt today, a black one printed with 304 West Virginia across the chest. During the overnight stay in the hotel, he’d also showered and washed his hair. He still wore the ridiculous yellow trousers, but his hair looked different. It moved more freely in the breeze rather than hanging like strands of greasy rope. If it had been blonde, I might have been tempted to say how nice he looked today just to annoy him.
I mounted the bike behind him, and he turned his head. “You keep saying you want to see a toucan, Kurt,” he said.
“Definitely,” I said.
He shook his head, and his hair wafted like a woman’s in a shampoo advert. “I haven’t wanted to destroy your enthusiasm,” he said, “but the problem is, Kurt, there ain’t any toucans in Thailand.”
I looked at him as if he was stupid. “There are. I saw a picture in a tourist brochure.”
He turned again. “Kurt, believe me. There are no toucans in Thailand. There are hornbills.”
“Hornbills?”
“Hornbills.”
“The brochure said toucans.”
“Then they were wrong. There are no toucans in Thailand.”
“I see,” I said somewhat deflated. “Might we see a hornbill?”