The 38 Million Dollar Smile - Stevenson Richard (бесплатные книги полный формат .txt) 📗
but Bill was just some annoying Bushophile Gary put up with
for business and peace-in-the-family reasons.”
“Plus,” I said, “the appeal of Buddhism for Griswold is its
adherence to nonviolence. He hates militarism and talks up
peaceful solutions. Is that a guy who arranges to have his
former sister-in-law fed to the sharks?”
“It’s not a particularly Buddhist type of offering.”
We were approaching Khlong Toei, the Bangkok waterfront
area with its docks and warehouses and light industry. The sun
was setting and the light was splashing flame all over everything: ships, fishing boats, docks, cranes, us. Everyone was on deck
now and alert. Pugh had arranged for us to be picked up in
three cars and driven to a house not far from Griswold’s condo
owned by a sometime client of Pugh’s in Sathorn. Timmy and I
were about to come full circle in our five-day Gulf of Thailand
odyssey.
Griswold was feeling better now, and he was sitting on a
bamboo mat under a canopy with Mango, Egg and Nitrate
watching Khlong Toei glide by. Griswold didn’t seem to be
232 Richard Stevenson
mad at Mango anymore, maybe because these days he had so
much else on his mind.
Pugh and I had decided not to confront Griswold with the
Duane Hubbard revelation until we had him safely locked away.
In case my knowing more about them could turn out to be
useful, I had phoned Bob Chicarelli in Albany — it was six a.m.
there — and left a message asking him to track down Duane
Hubbard and Matthew Mertz, who presumably were living in
the Albany area. Or at least had been living there six months
earlier when Griswold wired two million dollars to Hubbard’s
Albany account. I asked Bob not to spook the two in any way
but to find out what they were up to lately, and did they appear to be living off the fat of the land? I was beginning to wonder, in fact, if bozos such as these two might not be acting as agents for someone else, and Hubbard’s bank account was merely a
conduit.
Pugh had been on the phone up in the wheelhouse, and
when we pulled up to a dock just as the last flecks of gold faded from the soot black Bangkok night, he said, “Mr. Don, we’re
going to dine this evening with a celebrity. Do you have a streak of star-fuckery in you, or will you be unimpressed if I tell you that soothsayer Pongsak has agreed to grant us an audience?”
“Audience? I thought these Bangkok seer guys were humble
Buddhists.”
Pugh laughed. “Sure. Like Jimmy Swaggart was a humble
Christian.”
The three cars carrying our group of renegades each took
different routes to Sathorn. I rode with Pugh, Egg, Ek,
Griswold and a physician, a woman named Sukchaiboworn,
who had examined Griswold on the boat when we landed and
pronounced him fit enough not to be rehospitalized. Griswold
said, in fact, that his headache was gone and he was eager to get to a phone and a computer to work on his business transaction
— i.e., the takeover of Algonquin Steel.
The safe house Pugh had arranged for was on Soi Nantha,
not far from Griswold’s condo and only a few hundred yards
from Paradisio. The place had a high wall around it draped with
THE 38 MILLION DOLLAR SMILE 233
pink bougainvillea and a lighted pool in the back. We got
Griswold inside the house and locked into an upstairs room
with Ek on the small balcony outside it and Egg guarding the
door. Griswold had his computer and phones now, and he at
least feigned being satisfied. He promised us he would not try
to bolt.
Miss Nongnat went to her room to redo her toenails, while
Kawee and Mango decided to drop in at Paradisio and relax
there for a few hours. Mango said there was a Bulgarian
diplomat who often showed up on Wednesdays, and he hoped
to run into him and perhaps add to the Chonburi house fund.
Two of Pugh’s crew had gone out to bring food back for the
household, and while they were gone, Pugh and I went up to
Griswold’s room to lay out a plan we had come up with during
a confab out by the pool.
Pugh was seated at a teak desk with a PC in the middle of it,
and he had phones on either side of him. A Buddha figure
rested on a nearby shelf, and Griswold had lit nine candles just below it.
“Khun Gary,” Pugh said to him, “we are attempting to
sketch out a program for keeping you alive until General
Yodying has been relieved of his duties or even his present life
— we’re not sure what your associates have in mind for him. At
the rate events are hurtling forward, however, we fear we might
not be able to last another eleven days, short of getting you out of Thailand. Maybe to Sihanoukville or even darkest Rangoon.
Would you be able to conduct your business from either of
those two locations?”
“Of course not. I absolutely must be on top of things here.”
“Why is that? You can operate by computer or phone from
just about anywhere nowadays.”
“I must have access to funds. Not all of my funds are in
banks.”
“Oh?”
Griswold shrugged. “I have twelve million dollars in sacks
under the spirit house platform in my condo. There are people I
234 Richard Stevenson
am dealing with who — for reasons that will be obvious to any
Thai — will conduct transactions only in cash. Former Prime
Minister Thaksin is believed to have left the country with tens
of millions of dollars and euros stuffed into a dozen pieces of
luggage. I appreciate that all the untaxed money floating around Thailand represents an economic injustice for the ordinary Thai.
But as I have pointed out, there are larger and more profound
issues involved here.”
I said, “Griswold, you are so full of it.”
“Am I? That’s a rather sweeping statement about a situation
that is financially, socially and morally quite complex.”
“You’re in bed with crooks. There’s nothing overly
complicated about that.”
“Oh, is former Finance Minister Anant na Ayudhaya a
crook?”
Pugh said, “Khun Gary, being a crook is in the finance
minister’s job description in Thailand. For goodness’ sake,
haven’t you read it?”
Griswold sighed and said, “Look, I have already admitted
that this deal is morally complicated.”
“Anyway,” I said, “if this guy Anant is dealing in cash, how
do you know you can trust him? If he’s the chief Thai backer
for the Sayadaw U Buddhism center, what makes you think he
won’t pocket your cash for the project and have it shipped to
Singapore? Or to his old pal Thaksin in the UK?”
This got Griswold’s attention. “I can’t imagine that a
genuine Buddhist would do such a thing.”
Pugh looked at him sadly and said, “Oh, Mr. Gary.”
“Here’s the test,” I said. “You get Anant to speed up
preparations for the coup or whatever it is that’s supposed to
happen on April twenty-seventh. Instead of the end of the
month, they do it the day after tomorrow, the eighteenth,
another auspicious date. And you tell Anant, too, that the
money for the project — and the controlling shares in
Algonquin Steel — will be turned over to his group only after
General Yodying is out of commission and all the transactions THE 38 MILLION DOLLAR SMILE 235
go through the Bangkok Bank, with you as one of two
signatories on any disbursements on the Sayadaw U project.”
Griswold shook his head. “No chance. Khun Anant would
never agree to any of that. He is a proud man, I can assure you.
And a bit of an egomaniac, I think.”
Pugh said, “What if Khun Anant’s very own soothsayer,