One
Bangkok, Thailand – Present Time
“SO, RUAN, YOU bought this tuk-tuk just so you could let your dog ride with you? Why not just get a small car?” Sunstra Chevapravatgumrong, Rex Dalton’s Thai language teacher asked.
“A car in this crazy traffic? Nah, that I’ll never do to myself,” Rex answered with a smile.
It was their first outing, not a date, because of the language school’s policy against fraternization between students and teachers. Rex, always a bit of a rebel, especially when it came to red tape, neatly circumvented the policy by not asking her out on a date, but asking her to give him a guided tour of Bangkok, so he could improve his knowledge of the Thai language and culture—two birds with one stone, or in this case, three, because the outing gave him the chance to also get to know her better, which had been his main objective from the outset.
Using his Ruan Daniel nom de guerre, Rex had been in Thailand for a little over a month. His trip to Thailand had a twofold purpose. The first was to investigate cosmetic surgery options, and the second was part of his new life-goal to explore historical sites across the world and soak up cultures new to him, as well as adding new languages to his already impressive repertoire.
However, getting around Bangkok with his big Dutch shepherd dog, Digger, had been more problematical than he’d expected.
Even getting into the country with him had been a hassle. Digger had been given a clean bill of health by his vet in India, but for reasons of anonymity, Rex had skipped the step of getting a government seal on the paperwork, leery of having his own papers examined too closely or questions about how Digger had been brought into India in the first place. The honest answer to that question, if asked, would have been illegally, not to mention that Rex had also entered India illegally. So, Rex thought it best to just let the seal slide, and thus far he’d gotten away with it.
Except then, upon arrival in Thailand, he’d found himself in a lengthy argument with a Thai official over the lack of a seal on Digger’s papers. The back and forth between Rex and the official went on for so long, had Digger been a four-year-old boy instead of a dog, he would have been dancing around with both hands on his privates, anxious to find a bathroom before he had an embarrassing accident right there on the carpet of the official’s office. Rex had paid a ‘fine’ of one-thousand bhat, about thirty US dollars, to have the matter dealt with expediently. That was Rex’s first palm-greasing experience in Thailand, but there were going to be many more.
Further hassles were that no means of public transportation would allow Digger to board, notwithstanding his palm-greasing offers, so he’d been spending a fortune on taxis and tuk-tuks. Naturally, every driver had seen him coming and used the opportunity to charge him double, even after fierce negotiation, because of Digger. Without Digger, they’d have had less leverage. Even though he was clearly farang, a foreigner, Rex’s experience in bargaining gained in the Middle East was strong enough to overcome their initial attempts to scam him. But they’d apparently banded together over the question of taking dogs onboard, and after he’d waved three or four off, he still couldn’t get a lower price.
It wasn’t the money so much as his knowledge that foreigners paying more inconvenienced locals, who couldn’t get needed transportation when more lucrative tourists were around, willing to pay the higher price either through ignorance or because it was still cheaper than at home. The whole concept went against his grain and he didn’t want to contribute to that.
Neither did he want to be scammed. After the third time it happened in the first couple of days, he’d had enough. There was only one answer – buy his own tuk-tuk. That hadn’t proved easy either, as tuk-tuks were classed as work vehicles, and his visa didn’t permit him to work. Another round of negotiations with government officials, a few one-thousand-bhat incentives, and a few inquiries later, he was the proud owner of a used tuk-tuk, licensed for private use only. So now he and Digger had their own hassle-free ride, and there was even enough space for a passenger, maybe two if they were prepared to squash themselves a bit.
He’d taken a month-to-month lease on an apartment in an older building for the same reason. He could have afforded a modern building with all sorts of modern amenities, but most of them weren’t dog-friendly, even though the people in general were. Those who would usually allow dogs were horrified at Digger’s size. They preferred dogs that could be taken through the lobby in carriers, or preferably peeking cutely out of a lady’s oversized handbag. Not sixty-five-pound black Dutch shepherds.
Nevertheless, because Rex intended to spend several weeks in Thailand, he’d finally found one that had a pleasant view and a few amenities, like a gym and swimming pool, which were well-kept, though not very modern.
If Digger had anything to say about the accommodations, he kept it to himself. At the moment, he was smiling widely, his tongue lolling out of one side of his broad open mouth, looking around as if he thought he was being chauffeured around the city on his own sightseeing tour. He occupied most of the back seat of the tuk-tuk, with Sunstra next to Rex in front.
Rex only cared about his growing attraction to the beautiful Thai woman. He was listening closely to her explanation, in Thai as he’d requested, about the long, unpronounceable Thai surnames. Unlike Western cultures, where surnames often referred to long-forgotten relatives, an occupation, or a region from which the family originated, Thai culture had not commonly used surnames before 1913, when the Surname Act came into effect and dictated that surnames must be adopted.
“But why did they adopt such long ones?” he asked. “Wouldn’t that have been the ideal opportunity to choose an easy short surname such as Ng or Ling, or Smith or…”
“Wait, I’m not finished. In the original Surname Act, there was also a provision that Thais of Chinese descent would use their original Chinese names, with the prefix Sae. But later, nationalism meant that some of them felt discrimination. Does that make sense?”
“Sure. Like times in the US when various nationalities were unpopular. Irish in the mid-eighteen-hundreds. Germans and Japanese after World War II, and so on.”
“Mexicans now?” she inquired with a wry smile.
“Well, we call them Latinos or Hispanics, but yeah. Not only those from Mexico, but anyone with a Spanish last name sometimes. But that doesn’t explain your long names.”
“Well, what happened was they began to translate the Chinese name into Thai, but by that time, someone creating a new Thai name because they couldn’t duplicate any had to add decorative words to the meaning. The names got longer and longer until 1965, when the Persons Act came into effect and put a limit of ten Thai letters, excluding vowels and diacritical marks. But that still allows for quite long names. And the ability to change one’s surname with permission from the head of the family exacerbates the situation.”
“Why would anyone do that? Change their surname, I mean,” Rex asked, rather disingenuously, since he personally had several identities.
“Mostly because of separation or divorce, but oftentimes people do it to change bad luck,” she said.
Rex had a near-eidetic memory, but he had to make a special effort to remember the mouthful of eighteen characters in Sunstra’s surname. Remembering his Thai lessons, he carefully pronounced it when he said, “Khun Chevapravatgumrong, would you care to stop and get a bite to eat?”
Sunstra, he’d learned, meant ‘girl with beautiful eyes’. He’d never heard a more apt name, as her almond-shaped eyes were expressive and large, but only large enough to perfectly balance her oval-shaped face. Long, dark-brown hair framed her porcelain skin, and her eyes were a color between brown and gray that fascinated him. He’d seen them change from warm brown to stormy gray depending on what she was wearing or her mood. She lined them with dark pencil and thickened the lashes with mascara. Though he’d never preferred make-up to a woman’s natural look, he was happy to make an exception in Sunstra’s case as he had to admit it added to the mystery of those profound eyes.
A thin, straight nose and full lips, today wearing a bright scarlet lipstick completed her appearance and added up to exquisite beauty.
Her beautiful eyes sparkled as her silvery laugh delighted his ears. “You don’t need to address me so formally, Ruan. We prefer first names, and even if you call me khun, you don’t need to add my surname. It’s like your ‘miss’ or ‘mister’,” she continued, pronouncing the English words with an accent that made them sound like mees and meester. “Except that you may address anyone of either sex with just the one word.”
“Then in that case, Khun Sunstra, would you care for something to eat?”
She laughed and shook her head again, which he interpreted to mean no, until she said, “I can see you will need much more tutoring before I can turn you loose in this country. Yes, I would love to have a meal with you.”
Rex grinned. Much more tutoring is exactly what I have in mind.
After a pleasant evening of conversation and exquisite Thai cuisine, Rex delivered Sunstra to her small home near the language school where they’d met. He kissed her goodnight on the cheek, receiving another knee-buckling smile for his efforts. But just then, when he kissed her, Digger moved between them and nudged Rex away. He yawned, letting out a squeak that Rex had never heard before. He glanced at the dog, noticed he didn’t seem happy, and decided to ignore the signal, since there didn’t seem to be any immediate danger or any other reason to be unhappy.
He was tempted to immediately set up the next outing with her, but mindful of the school’s policy, he refrained. It didn’t have to do with the power exchange between a teen and an authority figure, as it would have in the US. As nearly as he could figure, it was about favoritism.
Only two more weeks and I don’t have to worry about the policy anymore. Maybe I can hire her as my personal tutor then.
Walking back to the street after seeing her safely inside, he turned to Digger. “What was that about, buddy?”
Digger uttered a soft woof that Rex couldn’t interpret, but that didn’t keep him from ending the conversation on his terms.
“Well, don’t do it again. Those are important moments in any relationship between a man and a woman. Something I’m sure dogs know nothing about.”
Digger ignored him and looked away without answering.
Two
Agra, India - Five weeks ago
REX AND DIGGER were strolling on the grounds of the Taj Mahal after Rex paid an exorbitant sum to an official to have a large “Service Dog” sandwich board attached to Digger’s harness. Rex suspected it was unofficial, but so far no one had hassled them. Digger didn’t mind being on leash. He was used to it.
Of course, Digger wasn’t a service dog, but that was the ruse Rex had used ever since inheriting the dog from his friend, Trevor Madigan, a former SAS operative from Australia, who’d been killed in an ambush in Afghanistan. Digger, an Australian military dog, had been his companion since Trevor asked Rex to take care of him with his dying breath. Rex, mortally scared of dogs since he’d been attacked by one as a small child, had agreed. There was no way he was going to deny his friend’s deathbed request.
The two of them, Rex and Digger, at best had what could be called a strained relationship while Trevor was still alive. That was mainly due to Rex’s fear of dogs, which he never told anyone about, but was obviously sensed by Digger who badgered him about it.
But since Rex was a man of his word, he and Digger worked through their issues, and as it turned out, Digger had trained him to relax around dogs, had acknowledged him as his alpha in their pack of two, and was incredibly useful in a scrape. He also did a great impersonation of a service dog. Over time they’d become inseparable mates.
It had been a month since the interruption of his new life as a globe-trotting student of history had ended with Rex acquiring an Indian IT specialist as his personal assistant. He’d then indulged his desire to see more of the historical sites of India, with the knowledge that his former life as a black ops government sanctioned assassin was no longer open to him since the ambush that led to the deaths of his entire team, including Trevor Madigan. Afterward, with Digger’s help, he’d pursued the people responsible for the ambush and discovered who’d betrayed him. He dealt with some of them, but there were some still on his blacklist, to be dealt with at a time of his choosing. He’d escaped Afghanistan with Digger, a bundle of cash, a small fortune in diamonds, and a stack of computer hard drives containing valuable information about the main players involved in the drug trade of Afghanistan, including those in the US ultimately responsible for the betrayal and killing of Rex’s men. He was convinced the latter also contained enough information about the drug lord’s secret bank accounts to allow him to help himself to a major fortune.
The Taj Mahal was one of the last sites on his list to visit in India. One of the seven wonders of the modern world, meaning "Crown of the Palace", the elegant edifice is an ivory-white marble mausoleum on the south bank of the Yamuna river in the Indian city of Agra. The Mughal emperor Shah Jahan, who reigned from 1628 to 1658, erected it to house the tomb of his favorite wife. Centered in formal gardens, the majesty of the white marble structure was breathtaking. So much so that Rex’s carefully-constructed identity had a near-miss in the next moment.
All Rex’s appearance at the time needed to simulate being blind was a white stick. He was wearing a big hat against the mid-day sun and sunglasses to protect him from the brightness of the sparkling white marble of the palace. Digger on a leash beside him, with the prominent Service Dog sign, completed the subterfuge, though that hadn’t been on Rex’s mind when he set out that morning.
Nonetheless, it quickly became very much on his mind when he almost bumped right into someone from his past. Josh Farley. And with him was a woman Rex didn’t know. Not surprising that he didn’t know her, as when he and Josh had been acquainted there were no women in the picture. All this flashed through his mind as he surreptitiously backed off and tried to calm his jangled nerves.
That could have been a disaster!
As he let Josh and the woman gain ground while he dropped back, Rex’s mind raced even as he tried to regulate his heart rate and breathing.
What the hell is Josh doing here? Holiday? Who is the woman with him? Maybe his girlfriend? Wife? Nah can’t be.
He knew Josh well enough – Josh had been recruited into CRC, a highly secret black ops paramilitary organization for whom Rex had been a top agent, a few years after Rex. Rex had given him some training, and he was good. One tough, lean, mean bastard. CRC agents didn’t have time for a wife, not while they were still young enough to be in the field. Last time he saw Josh he didn’t even have a girlfriend.
But most important of all, what was he doing here, and who was that woman with him? Rex had the perturbation that it might have something to do with him.
Were they looking for him, or were they on some other mission? Or were they on holiday? From what he’d observed in the short time since recognizing Josh, there was nothing in their behavior that gave Rex any indication they weren’t simply tourists, just like the thousands of others there. But then, posing as a couple was a typical cover story for agents working together.
And since when did CRC have female agents, if indeed that’s who that woman is?
He didn’t have a good feeling about it. He dropped further behind. Nobody with something to hide likes coincidence. Cops, spooks, soldiers, military analysts, and many others don’t believe in it, and neither did Rex. No wonder one of his favorite quotes about it immediately came to mind.
Coincidence is the word we use when we can't see the levers and pulleys- Emma Bull
Rex knew intellectually that coincidence did happen—on occasion. Even so, the last thing he wanted was to be coincidentally or deliberately or in any other manner recognized by anyone he knew before his ‘death’.
In the aftermath of the explosion that killed his team, wracked with grief and rage over the senseless deaths of Trevor and the rest of the team, Rex had gone on a vengeful spree, killing those he discovered were immediately responsible. He’d left a swath of death and destruction that would have pointed straight to him, if he hadn’t decided to disappear and be ‘dead’ in order to stay alive.
Another consideration was that although he knew who the US kingpin was, he still wasn’t sure if John Brandt, known as the ‘Old Man’, the CEO of CRC was one of those responsible. But his order to raid the house where the tragedy occurred had come from Brandt. Rex couldn’t discount the possibility. Knowing he needed time and space to get his head back on straight, he’d decided that, since he was no doubt assumed dead, he’d just stay that way, use the resources he’d gained in punishing the local perpetrators, and for the foreseeable future follow the interests he’d had as a kid and later in college.
Accordingly, he’d sneaked over Afghanistan’s border into Pakistan, over Pakistan’s into India, and begun to use those financial resources to build a cover and a new life. The threat to that new life represented by Josh Farley and whoever the woman was could throw a monkey wrench in the works, which he would not allow to happen.
Overcoming the initial adrenaline rush, Rex sped up to within a couple yards of Josh and his friend to observe them more closely. He now felt there was no worry that they’d detect his presence for a couple of reasons. The first was that there were thousands of tourists around them. Seeing someone more than once was almost guaranteed by the press of the crowds, since it would be difficult to go against the flow.
The other was that Digger was with him. Josh would have no reason to look for Rex in the company of a dog. Even though he’d never shared his fear of dogs with anyone, no one from CRC had ever seen him in the company of one. Digger’s presence was the perfect cover, despite standing out as a rarity in the complex.
Rex and Digger followed the two for an hour or so, wending their way slowly up to the entrance of the tomb with the rest of the crowd, who were staying more or less in the same order as when they’d entered the grounds. Despite his official service dog status, Digger wouldn’t be allowed inside, and Rex would not leave him on his own outside. He needed to try to figure out what Josh and the woman were doing here before they reached the entrance.
Within half an hour, he’d decided they weren’t a couple, well, at least not a new one. They didn’t hold hands, steal a kiss, or appear keen for each other like new couples would. And this woman was eye-candy. Josh would have every reason to not keep his hands off her if they were a couple. No, from his perspective, they looked and interacted more like partners.
So, then they must be on a mission. What else could it be? They did obviously know each other, as they spoke back and forth. To Rex the most logical and safest conclusion was that they were looking for him, though he couldn’t imagine how they’d determined he’d be in India.
Am I just being paranoid?
No sooner had he asked himself the question when the mental retort came. Better to be paranoid and alive than not paranoid and dead.
The only reason for CRC to send agents to find him would be to apprehend or kill him.
Probably the latter, since it had already been tried once.
And if he was right that they were looking for him, then it meant that ‘they’, in the person of John Brandt, knew he was alive and even where he’d gone.
How could he have found out?
It occurred to him, not for the first time, that a thorough forensic search of the explosion site would find his DNA lacking. He could only hope that they didn’t know about Digger. Neither Josh nor the woman gave any indication while Rex followed them that they particularly noticed the big, black dog.
Rex was still ruminating on the probability that Josh and the woman were looking for him when they reached the front of the line and disappeared into the mausoleum. He’d get no further opportunity for observation without the risk of coming face-to-face with them, so he turned back, wading against the flow of foot traffic, toward the exit where he could wait and hope to pick up their trail again later.
While he waited, partially concealed, he analyzed his situation. Rex was fully aware that his training with CRC would be with him forever. Even though it had been more than a month since he’d been involved in an operation, he certainly hadn’t lost his edge. He still had all the sharpness of a highly intelligent paramilitary operator with field craft prowess second to none, making him worthy of the names his enemies gave him—El Gato, the cat, Alshaytan, The Devil, or the Ghost—though they never knew his real identity.
He still had his hatred for terrorists and any activity that fueled their agenda, including illicit drug and arms dealers. And he didn’t know whether Josh, or anyone else at CRC, or just John Brandt had been instrumental in the ambush that severed him from his former life. But he intended to find out when he could assure his own survival.
So, what to do now?
He had no doubt he could take Josh, the woman, or both and interrogate them. But then what? Whether they were there to find him, or he’d been mistaken, he’d have to kill them to protect his anonymity. But Rex was not a ruthless killer. The people he’d killed before had given ample reason to meet such a fate. Killing one or both Josh and the woman would go against his grain, and it would be a sure way to let Brandt know he was alive—as surely as if he let them live and allowed them to report back. Not only that, it would unleash the wrath of all CRC agents, and who knew how many agents from other security agencies? After all, the woman could be Mossad, or MI6 or another intelligence agency for all he knew. Rex was confident about his abilities, and that meant he knew his own limits.
Rex had trained Josh himself in hand-to-hand combat and in street craft and knew what he was capable of. He hadn’t worried about Josh or the woman noticing Digger in the queue for entrance to the Taj Mahal, but if either had and then saw him again in a different context, they’d be instantly alerted they were being followed. He’d have to ‘park’ Digger somewhere, and then he’d be at a disadvantage in a fight, with two of them to subdue without killing them before he could question them.
After thinking it all through, it seemed bugging out was the better part of valor after all.
“Come on, Digger. This country has become unsafe for the two of us. We need to get out of here and find somewhere we can go to change my appearance."
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