Hungry Ghosts by John Dolan

him?”
    “No.”
    I tell Vlad I need a day to think it over. After further stressing to me the importance of the deal to him, he leaves half in hope and half in anxiety.
    As soon as he’s gone I call Rattanakorn on his cell phone.
    He picks up straight away.
    “Ah, Mr . Braddock,” he intones in English in his relaxed, power-laden voice. “I wondered how long it would be before you called me.”
    “Mr . Rattanakorn,” I reply, endeavouring to sound unruffled. “I gather you have asked for me personally to translate at a meeting with some Russian businessman.”
    “Indeed,” he replies. He pauses a moment to issue commands to someone, and his voice becomes muffled.
    “Is this a bad time to talk?”
    “Not at all,” he says in a level, reassuring tone. “I was just instructing one of my henchmen here exactly how I wanted him to torture a gentleman I’m holding in my cellar. I’m free now.”
    He pauses again, then laughs.
    “Your silence betrays your continuing suspicion about my alleged gangster activities, Mr . Braddock.”
    This man renders me nervous. His self-control and deceptive languor make him one of the scariest people I’ve ever met. I’ve only previously had one interaction with Rattanakorn over a delicate matter of the heart, and at that meeting he’d promised (or threatened, depending on your viewpoint) that he might have some work for me. Perhaps this is it.
    “You have a question for me, perhaps?”
    “I do. I’m puzzled as to why you feel you need an interpreter, since you speak English perfectly well. As well as I do, in fact. I assume your prospective Russian partner is unaware of this.”
    “You assume correctly.”
    “So my role here will be what, exactly? To provide some kind of misdirection ?”
    “On the contrary. I think your presence will serve to keep us all honest. Moreover, I count on your invaluable discretion.”
    “Ah, yes, my discretion.”
    “I presume when our large Russian friend informed you of the arrangements, you didn’t tell him I spoke English?”
    “No, I didn’t.”
    I imagine him smiling at the other end of the phone while he delicately removes the eyeballs from a cute family pet.
    “Well, there you have it. I knew I could rely on you.”
    “What I don’t understand is why you would need any Russian money for expanded port facilities at Na Thon. I should imagine your company and contacts can easily put together the finance for a project like that.”
    “Perhaps you overestimate us,” he answers wr yly, “and we are simple island-dwelling Thais, after all.”
    “I think not, Mr . Rattanakorn.”
    “So what do your private detective instincts tell you then, Mr . Braddock? Please, share with me. I’m interested.”
    It’s not a request. I’m wishing I’d kept my big mouth shut.
    “I would guess it’s something to do with the airport.”
    “The airport?” His voice is non-committal.
    In for a penny, in for a pound.
    “It’s well known Samui’s current airport can’t be expanded, and that New Siam Airways who own it aren’t keen to see any competition. I understand they have been active in blocking any plans to develop a second airport in the south of the island.”
    “So?”
    “So the logical thing to do would be to build a new international airport at Surat Thani on the mainland and ferry people across. The existing airport there is too far out of town, so that would mean a brand new one; which in turn would signify a lot of political string-pulling, but also a large amount of investment. It would in addition require the upgrading of capacity at Na Thon port to receive faster boats.”
    Rattanakorn laughs.
    “I do believe you are already half-Thai, Mr. Braddock. You seem to have it all worked out.”
    “Not quite. I don’t know how political leverage works on the mainland, but I do know all Samui infrastructure budgets are controlled from Bangkok. So I don’t actually see how you’d get the port project through.”
    “Simple