His Nib’s New Tricks
Chapter 6
Kris had shaved his head and taken on the guise of a Buddhist monk. It was an extremely useful role in crossing the Mekong with a corpse or two. No one would pay any particular attention to a religious figure performing an expected and respected ritual for the dead. The saffron-colored robe covered him from his shoulders to his ankles and concealed the kris he wore on his waist beneath the garment. It was an item he’d brought from India during his own hajj, his flight to safety. He always wore it for protection of one kind or another. It was a family heirloom which had been handed down from father to son during the past hundred years and he would never willingly part with it.
However, Amar had no children he was aware of, so it seemed he would die with the knife and wanted it cremated along with his mortal remains. It was his lucky rabbit’s foot, talisman and fighting weapon all rolled into one. He believed in its juju as much as he believed in the righteousness and sanctity of Islam.
Amar arrived at the border control checkpoint at the end of the Thai-Lao Friendship Bridge at Nong Khai and presented the required paperwork that had been meticulously completed by a skilled forger on his payroll. No one so far had questioned the authenticity of the documents he presented for inspection. Fortunately, few of the border guards could read Thai or Lao beyond a third grade level, even though both languages were freely spoken on both sides of the river.
He dealt with his own difficulties with the languages by pretending he was a mute, doing a little pantomime. When necessary, he would stick out his tongue, point at it and babble a bit for desired effect. As a backup, he’d prepared several flashcards written in basic Thai and Lao. Yes, no, I am a mute. I can’t speak and the like. He kept them in his shoulder bag along with his strand of Buddhist prayer beads should either be needed. However, so far, he never had to use them and hoped he never would.
He added a pair of dark sunglasses to his face even though he knew the Thai authorities didn’t employ facial recognition equipment at this border checkpoint. However, he was warned not to pass through any of the major airports in the country since they all possessed it. It paid to have someone high-up in the Thai law enforcement community providing first-rate intelligence on police border operations and drug enforcement targets. He paid handsomely for the information and it was worth every Baht or dollar he spent. Equally important, his informant would also provide cover and protection for his scheme, if ever needed. The guy had amazing clout and access to information within Thailand and beyond.
Bodies of the deceased served as perfect vessels to smuggle slabs of raw opium into Thailand and Amar excelled at his craft. He bought the bodies from indigent families in Laos and promised relatives he’d make sure they received a proper Buddhist funeral in Thailand. He personally guaranteed it and actually delivered on the promise, but with a macabre twist. The grieving families believed the kind, generous monk and a deal was struck on the spot. The poor ended up providing their relative’s remains as ersatz shipping containers for his diabolical, smuggling enterprise.
Kris and his assistant made a large Y incision on the corpse, removing lungs, intestines and all other internal organs to create a large, single cavity. They molded the opium paste to the contours of the cavity utilizing every bit of space to maximum effect. The rectum and what remained of the large intestine were injected with the malleable opium as well. No space was wasted.
Of course, the bodies of fetuses, babies and young children were strictly avoided due to their limited storage capacity. Otherwise, everyone was fair game for serving as transport vessels. If a dead body couldn’t be obtained to meet his self-imposed schedule, he’d order one of his underlings to find a living candidate, one suitable for his bizarre needs. He had no qualms about such acts given the years he’d spent heading up a crematorium in Banaras where life was cheap and death plentiful. He was quite accustomed to the business of death in his native India.
Kris lit the opium pipe and reflected on his business model while the assistant sewed the incisions. The border guards had never inspected a body before. Superstition, coupled with Thai polite manners, made that act unlikely. The bodies would be delivered to his partner’s mortuary, the opium removed and the human remains cremated in Buddhist tradition. The opium went south with mules to Bangkok and then onward elsewhere. It was a straightforward, foolproof process that had worked well from the beginning. Amar was pleased with himself, but it wasn’t enough. More money was needed for the cause he fervently championed: Islamic fundamentalism and spreading Allah’s word to the infidels. Ignorance was no excuse for the heathens of this world!
Sure, business was good, but could be much better, he thought. Ten kilos of raw opium translated to one kilo of fine grade heroin. That’s where the real money was for an entrepreneur like him. Why let someone else process and refine the product and make the lion’s share of the money? Why not control the whole distribution chain? He already knew the answers to those questions. Of course, they were no-brainers, cerebrally speaking.
Hmm, no-brainers, more space to stash opium, he darkly thought, but quickly dismissed the empty-headed idea. That bit of skullduggery was far too labor intensive to suit him.