The Customs men hang back, watching.

Jaidee inspects the line of sorted contents. Kanya follows close behind. Jaidee asks, "What do we have, Lieutenant?"

"Agar solutions. Nutrient cultures. Some kind of breeding tanks. PurCal cinnamon. A papaya seedstock we don't recognize. A new iteration of U-Tex that probably sterilizes any rice varietal it meets." She shrugs. "About what we expected."

Jaidee flips open a shipping container's lid and peers inside. Checks the address. A company in the farang manufacturing district. He tries sounding out the foreign letters, then gives up. He tries to remember if he's seen the logo before, but doesn't think so. He fingers through the materials inside, sacks of some sort of protein powder. "Nothing of wonderful interest, then. No new version of blister rust leaping out of a box from AgriGen or PurCal."

"No."

"It's a pity we couldn't catch that last dirigible. They ran quite quickly. I would have liked to search the cargo of Khun Carlyle."

Kanya shrugs. "They will return."

"They always do."

"Like dogs to a carcass," she says.

Jaidee follows Kanya's gaze to the Customs men, watching from their safe distance. He is saddened that they see the world so similarly. Does he influence Kanya? Or does she influence him? He used to have much more fun at this work. But then, work used to be so much more clear-cut. He's not accustomed to stalking the gray landscapes that Kanya walks. But at least he has more fun.

His reverie is broken by the arrival of one of his men. Somchai, sauntering over, his machete swinging casually. He's a fast one, as old as Jaidee but hard-edged from losses when blister rust swept the North for the third time in a single growing season. A good man, and loyal. And clever.

"There's a man watching us," Somchai mumbles as he draws close to the two of them.

"Where?"

Somchai jerks his head subtly. Jaidee lets his eyes roam the bustle of the landing fields. Beside him, Kanya stiffens.

Somchai nods. "You see him, then?"

"Kha." She nods affirmative.

Jaidee finally catches sight of the man, standing a good distance away, watching both the white shirts and the Customs men. He has on a simple orange sarong and purple linen shirt, as if he might be a laborer, and yet he carries nothing. He does nothing. And he seems well-fed. Not showing ribs and hollow cheeks the way most laborers do. He watches, casually leaning against an anchor hook. "Trade?" Jaidee asks.

"Army?" Kanya guesses. "He's a confident one."

As though he senses Jaidee's eyes, the man turns. His eyes lock with Jaidee for moment.

"Shit." Somchai frowns. "He's seen us." He and Kanya join Jaidee in an open study of the man. The man is unperturbed. He spits a stream of red betel and turns and saunters away, disappearing into the bustle of freight movements.

Somchai asks, "Should I go after him? Question him?"

Jaidee cranes his neck, trying to catch another glimpse of the man where he has been swallowed by the bustle. "What do you think, Kanya?"

She hesitates. "Haven't we prodded enough cobras for one night?"

Jaidee smiles slightly. "The voice of wisdom and restraint speaks."

Somchai nods agreement. "Trade will be furious as it is."

"One hopes so." Jaidee motions to Somchai to return to his inspections. As they watch him go, Kanya says, "We may have overstepped this time."

"You mean I may have overstepped." Jaidee grins. "You're losing your nerve?"

"Not my nerve." Her gaze travels back to where their observer disappeared. "There are bigger fish than us, Khun Jaidee. The anchor pads…" Kanya trails off. Finally, after visibly working to choose her words, she says, "It's an aggressive move."

"You're sure you're not afraid?" he teases her.

"No!" She stops short, swallows her outburst, masters her composure.

Privately, Jaidee admires her ability to speak with a cool heart. He was never so careful with his words, or his actions. He was always the sort to charge in like a megodont and try to right the trampled rice shoots after. Jai rawn, rather than jai yen. A hot heart, rather than a cool one. Kanya, though…

Finally she says, "This may not have been the best place to strike."

"Don't be a pessimist. The anchor pads are the best of all possible places. Those two weevils over there coughed up 200,000 baht, no trouble at all. Too much money to be involved in anything honest." Jaidee grins. "I should have come here a long time ago and taught these heeya a lesson. Better than wandering the river with a kink-spring skiff, arresting children for generip smuggling. At least this is honest work."

"But it will get Trade involved for certain. By law, it's their turf. "

"By any sane law, none of this should be imported at all." Jaidee waves a hand, dismissive. "Laws are confusing documents. They get in the way of justice."

"Justice is always lost where Trade is concerned."

"We're both more than aware of that. In any case, it's my head. You won't be touched a bit. You couldn't have stopped me, even if you had known where we were going tonight."

"I wouldn't-" Kanya starts.

"Don't worry about it. It's time that Trade and its pet farang felt a sting here. They were complacent, and needed a reminder that they still must perform the occasional khrab to the idea of our laws." Jaidee pauses, surveying the wreckage again. "There's truly nothing else on the black lists?"

Kanya shrugs. "Just the rice. Everything else is innocuous enough, on paper. No breeding specimens. No genetics in suspension."

"But?"

"Much of it will be misused. Nutrient cultures can't have any good purpose." Kanya is back to her blank and depressed expression. "Should we pack it all back up?"

Jaidee grimaces, finally shakes his head. "No. Burn it."

"I'm sorry?"

"Burn it. We both know what is happening here. Give the farang something to claim against their insurance companies. Let them know that their activity is not free." Jaidee grins. "Burn it all. Every last crate."

And for the second time that night, as shipping crates crackle with fire and WeatherAll oils rush and ignite and kick sparks into the air like prayers going up to heaven, Jaidee has the satisfaction of seeing Kanya smile again.

It is nearly morning by the time Jaidee returns home. The ji ji ji of jingjok lizards punctuates the creak of cicadas and the high whine of mosquitoes. He slips off his shoes and climbs the steps, teak creaking under his feet as he steals into his stilt-house, feeling the smooth wood under his soles, soft and polished against his skin.

He opens the screened door and slips inside, closing the door quickly behind him. They're close to the khlong, only meters away, and the water is brackish and thick. The mosquitoes swarm close.

Inside, a single candle burns, illuminating Chaya where she lies on a floor couch, asleep, waiting. He smiles tenderly and slips into the bathroom to quickly disrobe and pour water over his shoulders. He tries to be quick and quiet about his bath, but water spatters flatly on the wood. He dips water again and spills it over his back. Even in the dead of night the air is warm enough that he doesn't mind the water's slight chill. In the hot season, everything is a relief.

When he comes out of his bath with a sarong wrapped around his waist, Chaya is awake, looking up at him with thoughtful brown eyes. "You're very late," she says. "I was worried."

Jaidee grins. "You should know better than to worry. I'm a tiger." He nuzzles close to her. Kisses her gently.

Chaya grimaces and pushes him away. "Don't believe everything the newspapers say. A tiger." She makes a face. "You smell like smoke."