30

Thailand

Nothing was moving out of Bangkok airport: the place was overrun by anti-government protesters. The prime minister was in hiding up near the old capital of Thailand, Chiang Rai, just a few hours north of Chiang Mai. Mann knew he was likely to remain there for a while until his safety could be guaranteed. The Thai military would have to do their best to see to it that the northern airports remain open the longest.

Mann flew direct to Chiang Mai. For one nasty moment, he was kept waiting for his luggage by airport security and he thought they had discovered his shuriken concealed in the lining of his case. He didn’t dare risk losing his entire armoury to a nervous customs officer so this time he had hidden it. He also didn’t want them to look him up and thus announce that he was coming. He was lucky, it was just a random security check and they let him through without a thorough search. The whole airport had turned into a protest centre with people camping everywhere. Their eyes were not focused on foreign threats, they were on the brink of civil war.

‘First time in Thailand, sir?’

The taxi driver turned and grinned at Mann. He handed Mann a mock leather folder full of glossy photos: elephant treks, river rafting, snake farms—details of unmissable trips. Mann idly flipped the pages as they drove away from the airport and then set the book down beside him on the battered leather seat of the old Saab.

‘No, it isn’t.’ Mann settled back to survey the scenery. There were no seatbelts but he was used to that. Hong Kong taxis never had them either. Mann would have said that he’d been there before, even if it had been his first time. He’d learned a long time ago never to tell taxi drivers this was your first time anywhere unless you wanted to see how long they could take to drive you the shortest distance and charge you double for it. But he wasn’t lying, in any case. It was seven years since Mann had visited Thailand. Last time he came it was on vacation with Helen. It was there she had cured him of his fear of talking and had undone the legacy of a childhood spent in a boarding school.

‘You here on business, sir? You come far?’

‘Yes, business. I came from Hong Kong.’

‘Ah…Hong Kong…great place, lovely city. No time for relax here, sir, take a trip? Buy umbrella to take home?’

Mann shook his head wordlessly.

‘Please, take a card, sir,’ the taxi driver said when they reached the hotel. He fumbled in the dashboard and extracted a business card. ‘Maybe you find time for a trip. Relax.’ He turned and presented the card by holding it between the tips of his fingers and giving a small bow as if it were made of gold. Mann thanked him and took it with both hands—just the way he would have done in Hong Kong.

‘See the orchids. Touch the sleeping tigers, I will take you.’

‘I don’t need a trip, but I might need to take a taxi to Mae Sot.’

‘Mae Sot, Tak province, sir?’ He studied Mann in the mirror. ‘Very far, sir, over mountains. Take maybe six hours. I cannot go there. This car is too old for those roads. What you make there? That place not for tourists. Mae Sot very dangerous place right now.’ He looked at Mann; he wasn’t smiling. ‘All bad things come to Mae Sot, sir.’

‘How much would it cost?’ Mann asked but the taxi driver was already out of the car, Mann’s luggage in his hand, bowing low.

‘To get to Mae Sot? Many miles to Mae Sot. Cannot go. Apologies. Mae Sot is not good place for me.’

Mann walked inside the hotel and across the expansive airy foyer, which was decorated with tropical planters and now eerily quiet. He was checked in by three bowing receptionists wearing matching cheongsams, all very eager to make themselves indispensable as they floated gracefully back and forth behind the desk. Nice room, he thought, as he tipped the porter. He left his case locked for now, whilst he studied the five’s itinerary.

The first thing on their list was to meet up with an American, Louis King, the official tour guide:…where they will get acquainted with the spiritual aspects of their trip and spend an afternoon at the Enlightenment Centre, meeting the monks and learning about Buddhism, one of the three main religions in the camps.

Mann had already emailed Louis and he was going to be waiting for him inside the yoga centre where he worked.

Mann checked his email. One from Ng updating him on the situation.

Your father seems to have documents scattered all over Hong Kong. He had more than one accountant, and what appears to be several solicitors, still holding personal and business documents. It’s not going to be possible for me to access those, you will have to do that when you come home. I will pursue the Amsterdam connection and hope it will be more transparent. Good luck, Genghis.

He had another from Shrimp to say that he had been on the last flight allowed into Phuket before it was shut down and that he’d get back to Mann in a couple of days once he had the situation sussed. Now the shut-down had begun in the south. They were all marooned until it was settled one way or another. He left his room and went out in search of a tuktuk. He didn’t have to look far, there were several parked at the entrance to the hotel.

‘Drop me off near the temple…and the Enlightenment Centre.’

The tuk-tuk belched smoke and shot off into the traffic. The pollution snatched at the back of Mann’s throat. Tuk-tuks weren’t equipped with suspensions: they bumped and grated and jolted their passengers and the fumes choked them as they sat in the traffic. They were the biggest death traps imaginable. If they were hit it would be like squishing a pea between fingers, but it was the fastest way to get up any alley or down busy main roads and, besides, it provided a few thrills. It wasn’t long before they pulled up at the side of the high wall of the temple.

The tuk-tuk driver dropped him off and Mann walked through the crumbling entrance. Inside the courtyard everything was gold and beautifully ornate. What was referred to as ‘the temple’ was actually three temples of various designs, a small park, and a golden obelisk pointing towards the azure blue sky. At the far end of the park was the Enlightenment Centre where he was due to meet Louis in ten minutes.

Mann stopped outside the first temple and took off his shoes. He placed them on the steps next to a flailing Buddha who was being eaten by a goggleeyed dragon. Mann had been brought up with the teachings of Buddha. His mum was a Catholic, his Dad a Taoist. Often in Hong Kong, Taoist and Buddhist worshipped at the same temple. Sometimes he had accompanied his father to the temple. Mann had never found comfort in religion, though it was a fascinating obsession for others. But he loved the peace, the tranquillity and the beauty of religious buildings. Ahead, the altar gleamed golden and red and around the walls were carvings and tablets and open, glassless windows. The stone floor was cool underfoot. Mann approached the altar.

An old monk was sitting to his right, his legs tucked beneath him on a bench. He was writing in a notebook. His head was shaved. His orange robes were wrapped around him and caught over one shoulder, then tucked between the legs to give him trousers. He looked up and studied Mann as he entered. The monk remained still as Mann went to the altar and stood in reflective contemplation.

‘What is it you are seeking?’ The monk spoke in good English.

Mann turned towards him and inclined his head in deference as he answered: ‘Five young people came to this temple six weeks ago. They came to learn about Buddhism, to learn about the culture.’

The old monk did not answer for a few minutes; he remained passively staring out and Mann turned back to the opulent altar with its young-faced, slim Buddha smiling almost smugly back at him. Then came the noise of a shower of sticks falling onto the stone floor. Mann turned back to see the monk studying the formation of the fortune sticks that he had dropped.