Akkarat speaks, "We accept the apologies of the Environment Ministry and the failures of General Pracha. We look forward to an improved working relationship in the future. Now that this snake has had its fangs pulled."

The Somdet Chaopraya motions to the two great powers of the government that they should show one another respect. Jaidee remains crouched. A sigh runs through the crowd. And then people are streaming out, to tell of what they have seen.

Only once the Somdet Chaopraya is gone is Jaidee invited to stand by a pair of monks. Their aspect is serious, their heads shaven, their saffron robes aged and faded. They indicate to him where they will take him next. He is theirs now. Nine years of penance, for doing the right thing.

Akkarat steps before him. "Well, Khun Jaidee. It seems that you have at last discovered limits. It's a pity you didn't listen to warnings. All of this was so unnecessary."

Jaidee forces himself to wai. "You have what you wanted," he mutters. "Now let Chaya go."

"So sorry. I don't know what you're talking about."

Jaidee searches the man's eyes, hunting for the lie, but he can't tell.

Are you my enemy? Or is it another? Is she dead already? Is she still alive, trapped in one of your friends' prison cells, an unnamed prisoner? Alive or dead?

He forces down his worries. "Bring her back, or I'll hunt you down and kill you like a mongoose killing a cobra."

Akkarat doesn't flinch. "Careful with the threats, Jaidee. I'd hate to see you lose anything else." His eyes stray toward Niwat and Surat.

A chill runs through Jaidee. "Stay away from my children."

"Your children?" Akkarat laughs. "You have no children now. You have nothing at all. You're lucky that General Pracha is your friend. If I were him, I would have turned those two boys of yours out into the street to beg for blister rust scraps. That would have been a true lesson."

Crushing the Tiger of Bangkok should be more satisfying. But frankly, without a cue card of the various names involved, the ceremony looks like any number of impenetrable Thai religious and social events. In fact, the man's actual demotion is surprisingly quick.

Within twenty minutes of being ushered into the Environment Ministry's temple, Anderson finds himself watching silently as the vaunted Jaidee Rojjanasukchai makes khrabs of humility to Trade Minister Akkarat. The golden statues of the Buddha and Seub Nakhasathien gleam dully, overseeing the solemn moment. None of the participants show any expression at all. Not even a smile of triumph from Akkarat. And then a few minutes, later the chanting monks end their droning, and everyone is standing to leave.

That's it.

And so now Anderson finds himself cooling his heels outside the Phra Seub Temple bot, waiting to be escorted out of the compound. After enduring the astonishing series of security checks and body searches to get into the Environment Ministry campus, he had begun to fantasize that he might glean some useful bit of intelligence about the place, perhaps get some better sense of where their lovely seedbank might be tucked away. It was foolish, and he knew it, but after the fourth patdown he was almost convinced that he was about to run into Gibbons himself, perhaps cradling a newly engineered ngaw like a proud father.

Instead, he encountered grim cordons of white shirts and was whisked by cycle rickshaw directly to the temple steps where he was required to remove his shoes and stand in bare feet under tight supervision before being led inside with all the other witnesses.

Around the temple, a thicket of rain trees prevents much view of the place at all. AgriGen-arranged "accidental" dirigible overflights have given him more information about the compound than he's got right now, standing dead in the heart of the thing.

"I see you got your shoes back."

Carlyle, sauntering over, grinning.

"The way they inspected," Anderson says, "I thought they were going to lock them in quarantine."

"They just don't like your farang smell." Carlyle pulls out a cigarette and offers Anderson one as well. Under the close gaze of their white shirt guards, they light up. "Enjoy the ceremony?" Carlyle asks.

"I thought there might be more pomp and circumstance."

"They don't need it. Everyone knows what this means. General Pracha has lost his face." Carlyle shakes his head. "For a second I was sure we were going to look up and see their Phra Seub statue crack in half with the shame. You can feel the Kingdom changing. It's in the air."

Anderson thinks of the few buildings he glimpsed as he was escorted to the temple. They were all dilapidated. Water stained and covered with vines. If the Tiger's fall isn't proof enough, the fallen trees and unkempt grounds are fine indicators. "You must be very proud of what you've accomplished."

Carlyle draws on his cigarette and exhales slowly. "Let's just say it's a satisfying step."

"You've impressed them." Anderson nods toward the Farang Phalanx, who seem to be already drunk on their reparation money. Lucy is trying to convince Otto to sing the Pacific Anthem under the stern gazes of the armed white shirts. The trader catches sight of Carlyle and lurches over. His breath stinks with laolao.

"Are you drunk?" Carlyle asks.

"Completely." Otto smiles dreamily. "I had to finish everything at the gate. Bastards wouldn't let me bring the celebration bottles inside. Took Lucy's opium, too."

He drapes an arm over Carlyle's shoulder. "You were right, you bastard. Right as rain. Look at all these damn white shirts' expressions. They've been eating bitter melon all day!" He gropes for Carlyle's hand, tries to shake it. "God damn it's good to see them taken down a notch. Them and their thieving 'gifts of goodwill.' You're a good man, Carlyle. Good man."

His grins blearily. "I'm going to be rich because of you. Rich!" He laughs and paws for Carlyle's hand again. "Good man," he says as he gets a grip. "Good man."

Lucy shouts for him to get back in line. "Rickshaw's here, you drunk bastard!"

Otto stumbles away and with Lucy's help tries to crawl into the rickshaw. The white shirts watch coldly. A woman in an officer's uniform studies them all from the top of the temple steps, her face expressionless.

Anderson watches her. "What do you think she's thinking?" he asks, nodding up at the woman officer. "All these drunk farang crawling through her compound? What does she see?"

Carlyle draws on his cigarette and lets out smoke in a slow stream. "The dawn of a new era."

"Back to the future," Anderson murmurs.

"Sorry?"

"Nothing." Anderson shakes his head. "Something Yates used to say. We're in the sweet spot, now. The world's shrinking."

Lucy and Otto finally manage to climb into the rickshaw. They roll out with Otto shouting blessings on all the honorable white shirts who have made him so rich with their reparation money. Carlyle quirks an eyebrow at Anderson, the question unspoken. Anderson draws on his cigarette, considering the branches of possibility that underlie Carlyle's question.

"I want to talk to Akkarat directly."

Carlyle snorts. "Children want all sorts of things."

"Children don't play this game."

"You think you can twist him around your finger? Turn him into a good little administrator, like in India?"

Anderson favors him with a cold eye. "More like Burma." He smiles at Carlyle's stricken expression. "Don't worry. We're not in the nation-breaking business anymore. All we're interested in is a free market. I'm sure we can work toward that common goal, at least. But I want the meet."

"So cautious." Carlyle drops his cigarette on the ground, grinds it out with his foot. "I would have thought you'd have a more adventurous spirit."