CHAPTER 29
At around the same time in Kuala Lumpur, Isobel emerged from the baggage hall pulling a big case on wheels.
“Eddie,” she said when he greeted her. “What a lovely surprise.”
“May I take your bag?”
“That’s very kind. You’re looking very - what shall I say? – tropical.”
In khaki shorts, thick grey socks and walking boots set off by uncombed grey hair Eddie looked as if he’d just emerged from the Malaysian jungle which, in terms of the fact that he’d forgotten to shower that morning, might have been evident if Isobel had got any closer.
Isobel, on the other hand, looked as fresh as if she’d just changed for a TV interview. She was wearing a red jacket with gold buttons that reminded Eddie of the uniform worn by guards outside Buckingham Palace. Her lipstick and nails matched the jacket. He introduced her to Jeffrey who was in the same grey trousers and sweaty white shirt he’d been wearing since breakfast. “Our man in Malaysia,” Eddie said as if he was the British ambassador.
Isobel announced she was booked at the Istana Hotel, a concrete and glass skyscraper in the middle of KL. Jeffrey raised an eyebrow but Eddie said nothing because he’d never heard of the Istana. Instead, he said, “Did you know Peter Lester’s here?”
She stopped walking. “Peter? Here? But he was at the board meeting less than forty-eight hours ago.”
Mark Dobson caught up with Sannan around 11pm. For more than five hours he’d been perched on a block of concrete in a dark recess beneath the sky-train flyover and alongside an Indian tailor’s shop. Beside him were plastic bags, cups, straws and melted ice from the Fanta that had been his only nourishment.
“Any movement?” Mark asked.
“A light on the second floor when Ritchie arrived with the others.”
“And you think that’s Ho’s room?”
Sannan nodded.
“If you want to go, I’ll take over,” Mark said.
“I like it here. You want a drink?”
By 1am, the amount of debris strewn around had doubled. They’d also stopped a sausage and meat balls seller on his way home so there were the remains of their dinner – a plastic bag of wooden barbeque sticks, chili sauce and raw cabbage. There wasn’t room for two on the concrete slab so they’d taken it in turns. When it was Sannan’s turn to sit Mark would take a stroll up Sukhumvit Road and back again. He was on his third stroll when his phone rang. “Action,” Sannan said.
Mark returned in time to see Olga and Ritchie standing inside the brightly lit lobby. Olga was carrying a bag and wearing a skirt that was too short for her build. Ritchie was waving his arms around in the way he always did when bullshitting.
“He’s like a boxer who’s losing a match,” Sannan said with a rare touch of Thai humour. “He’s been walking backwards since they came out of the lift,”
Olga took something from her bag and handed it to Ritchie. He had his back to them but when he turned, he was wearing a huge pair of dark glasses like a pop star who wants to be noticed but pretends otherwise. He walked to the door. Olga followed and Mark was sure she patted his backside. They came out and Olga looked up and down the road holding onto Ritchie’s arm. The white Toyota appeared, stopped and the rear door opened.
“We need to follow them,” Mark said and without saying another word, Sannan disappeared down the dark alleyway. There was a sound of a motorcycle starting and within seconds he weaved his way back along the alley, passed Mark and drove out into the road. The Toyota was only just moving away. He followed it east along Sukhumvit Road until it pulled up near On Nut station.
Ritchie got out without the dark glasses. The Toyota moved away and he stood watching its red lights disappearing. Skytrain services stopped at midnight but whether Ritchie knew that or not, he was immediately approached by a man riding a dirty old Honda motorcycle.
“Ritchie? I’m Sannan. Get on.”
Within ten minutes Sannan was back with Ritchie clinging on behind him. He drove passed Mark, went down the alleyway to return the motorcycle to where he’d found it and, a minute later they were all standing around the concrete block seat.
“Good evening,” Mark said to Ritchie.
“Good evening, boss. Sorry to keep you waiting.” He looked normal, a little hot and flushed perhaps, and he gave off a strong smell of stale cigarette smoke and beer. “Have you been spying on me?”
“Only for around six hours but any sign of serious sexual assault and Sannan would have moved in. We nearly moved in twenty minutes ago.”
“Thanks. She’s a crotch grabber. What now?”
“I’m desperate to know what happened but there’s an even greater priority,” Mark said. “We’ve got work to do and the night is young. Take a pew.”
Ritchie sat.
“The warehouse must be close by. You agree?”
Ritchie nodded. “On Nut seems to be the general area.”
“Describe to Sannan what you saw when you dropped the dark glasses and had a peek.”
“An old building at least three storeys high, an underground car park approached down a winding ramp with a hump in the middle. There’s a Kodak Express, a 7-Eleven and a sign that says On Nut Market.”
They waited while Sannan played with his phone.
“Too many 7-Elevens but only one with a Kodak Express and On Nut Market close by. I reckon it’s around there. He showed them the screen of his phone. Mark Dobson’s eyesight was getting worse in the dark but he didn’t want Ritchie to know that. Nevertheless, the conclusion was an area of older industrial type buildings and low-cost apartment blocks a kilometre or so to the north east of where they were.
“We need two motorcycles,” Mark said. “Can you fix that?”
Sannan nodded towards the alleyway. “There’s a good choice down there and no need for keys if you give me a minute or so.”
By 3am, after cruising the area, they’d agreed on a likely building. It was poorly lit and, to the casual observer, deserted but at the rear were signs of activity. There was a wide, metal sliding gate with a slope leading up to a big, metal up-and-over door – a loading bay. Outside the door was a small hut with a light on inside. They cut the lights from the two motorcycles and gathered for another conference outside the gate. “How much cash do we have?” Sannan asked. Mark had ten thousand baht, Ritchie six thousand and Sannan manged three. “OK, it’s enough. Wait here.”
He climbed over the gate and ran to the hut. Whatever happened next took five minutes but he returned to the gate followed by the night watchman who first unlocked the gate and then disappeared into the night.
“How did you do that?” Ritchie asked.
“I showed him a card and told him we were undercover police investigating Russian mafia and if he didn’t want to be arrested, he should go home and never come back here again. He was scared. I asked him if there was security inside. He said there are two cameras inside the warehouse but with a switch in the hut. He switched it off. I then gave him twenty thousand baht. That’s more than he earns here in two months. He said there’s no-one else but him here at night but two Thais work in the warehouse during the day. I’ve got both their names and phone numbers. Leave then to me. They won’t be turning up for work tomorrow.”
Security solved they returned to the front, left the motorcycles in the underground car park and took the lift to the third floor. Using the light from Mark’s phone they made their way along the corridor, hit the cooler air and then the door at the end with the security lock. Ritchie pressed the right buttons from memory and pushed the door open to a strong smell of stale cigarettes.
“That’s Yuri’s office,” he said turning on a bank of light switches. Everything lit up.
Sannan checked Yuri’s office while Ritchie and Mark moved into the warehouse. They photographed as much as they could - entire rows of bottles of Red Power, unlabelled plastic bottles of green, red and yellow shampoos, unlabelled hand creams, body lotions and thousands of small, unmarked bottles of red, black and white capsules.
Sannan joined them. “I’ve got the laptop’s IP address but do you want to take the machine itself?”
“Leave it. If they detect a break-in Ritchie would be the first suspect.”
They continued the warehouse search - small, pink and white plastic tubs with screw caps and labels that said: ‘Bio-Kal Natural Moisturiser’ and ‘Bio-Kal: Hands and Nails, pallets piled high with boxes that. simply said: ‘Malaysian Tea’, ‘Green Tea’, and ‘Super Blend Coffee’. They pulled samples out and stuffed them in their shirts and at 4.30am returned the motorcycles.
“I’ve got a lot to tell you,” Ritchie said as they walked back onto Sukhumvit road to find a taxi. onto the soon as they got in the taxi.
“You want to tell me everything tonight or wait till the morning?”
“It’s morning now. But I reckon the warehouse is Sara Enterprises,” he said.
“Was the name SCAZ mentioned?” Mark asked.
“SCAZ? No, but they want me to raise a letter of credit in the name of Scatto something.”
“Scatolifici Santo?”
“That’s it. How did you know?”
“Feedback from Pascale Perillo,” Mark replied. “You’ve got a lot to tell me but I’ve got a lot to tell you.”
“And there’s me thinking you’d taken the day off.”
Taxis were few and far between. Those that passed already had red lights. Those that stopped took one look at two suspicious-looking foreigners, one black and one white and a grubby-looking Thai and said they were not heading east towards the airport but west. It was 4.30am when, at last, one stopped.