Page 32 of The Big Fix

“I’ll take care of it, and I’ll be there as soon as I—”

“No,” I stressed to him. “I have everyone I need here. Really. Dante’s coming back shortly, and George Hunt showed up to watch my back.”

“I heard he’s excellent. Very capable. When I looked him up and found out he’s a reservist and works for Miguel—it was a no-brainer.”

“Yeah. I got a good feeling right away, plus Chris knows and likes him.”

“Finally, a bright spot.”

“Just call Sutter for me. That’s what I really need.”

“Will do.”

Dante arrived midmorning, bringing in what was needed from a firearm standpoint. He’d rented a van to put everything in and was reading the list out loud.

“Really?” Chris asked, interrupting him. “An RPG? What were you thinking?”

“That more is better,” he said, smiling at Jing and Arden, who were both a bit overwhelmed to see him again. I understood. Compared to Dante’s service to his country, mine was a bit light. He was a legend, and both Jing and Arden were aware and stared at him in awe.

Dante, Jing, Arden, and I spent the day watching Nam. Hasana did a deep dive into his life from where she was in Paris, and Chris and George kept an eye on the men watching Nam. There were a lot of them, which surprised me.

After the first twenty-four hours of surveilling Charkrit Nam, we were all in agreement that we weren’t dealing with a spy. Routine could get you killed really quick, so changing it was one of the most basic elements of being any kind of operative. Nam visited the same coffee shop, the same restaurant—the famous Jib Kee—and took the same train route every day without showing any particular caution despite the inherent danger.

Jib Kee was among Bangkok’s best culinary havens. The old-school eatery occupied three shop houses in the old quarter of Ratankosin. Away from the bustling, neon-soaked Sukhumvit, it was a different world. The restaurant’s building was about a hundred years old and showing its age. Instead of neon, a weather-beaten sign hung above the front doors, and the edge of the restaurant jutted right up close to the street.

I arrived early to surprise Nam. I circled the area twice, out of long-engrained habit, to ensure I had not been followed. I approached the bustling restaurant, eventually finding a spot where I could watch the comings and goings without being seen. I had fifteen minutes to wait for Nam. I ordered a cha manao—Thai lime tea—and set the timer on my watch.

The time was almost up when Dante said in my earpiece, “He just got off the train. Heading your way.”

“How about his company? Anything?”

“No obvious tail.”

Even if Nam’s shadow wasn’t visible, I knew the man must be skulking somewhere in the wings. With how many Chris and George had counted the day before, there was no way that had suddenly changed. Switching to a chair at my table to face the door, I waited for Nam to come inside.

When the man arrived, he was shown to a table by the window. He ordered the same meal as the day before: the roast duck served over bitter greens in a light red-curry sauce.

When I saw Nam’s food arrive, I walked over and sat down.

“I’d ask you what’s good here, but you had the same thing yesterday.”

Nam’s dark eyes met mine, and I saw something in his face I shouldn’t have. Recognition. The man knew who I was.

“Mr. Colter. Good day.”

“And to you, Mr. Nam,” I returned the greeting.

“Please call me Krit. Are you eating? I find the duck here rather enjoyable.”

“I know you do. You order it every day, don’t you?”

He nodded. “My mother and I were regulars here. I suppose I’ve missed her more this week than usual. She died very recently. But you didn’t come here to discuss that.”

“No, I didn’t. I came to discuss Owen Moss,” I said flatly.

“Yes.”

“Tell me, how did you meet him?”