Into the Light: Iain Doyle Thriller Series, #0

By Shaun Ross

KIDNAPPING.

TERROR PLOT.

TYPICAL FAMILY REUNION.

 

After enduring a harrowing abduction, journalist Iain Doyle sought refuge in the bustling streets of Thailand, far from his troubled past in Ireland. His quest for anonymity, however, is shattered when a high-profile kidnapping thrusts his enigmatic aunt Judy - a woman with a rebellious streak and a mysterious past - back into his life.

 

In the shadows of Bangkok, Iain finds himself entangled in a sinister plot that's more than just a kidnapping: it's the first move in a terrorist organisation's master plan. With stakes higher than ever, Iain must confront the demons of his past and rediscover himself to thwart a threat that could change the entire political landscape.

 

But as he delves deeper and the lines between friend and foe blur, can Iain outsmart a cunning enemy and save countless lives, or will his own shadows lead to his downfall?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Shaun Ross
• Release date: Apr 15, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224590568

Book preview

PART ONE

THE WAY-BACK BLUES

1

The moist night air was thick with sweat and anticipation as the large crowd of tourists crammed into the dimly lit establishment. The ones willing to pay the extra cost were seated ringside at plastic outdoor tables fitted with tablecloths stained in blood and sweat. This was to be expected when you were in such close proximity to the fighting. The remaining bulk of the spectators stood close together, encircling the ring. A sea of laughing, mostly drunken, heads bobbing up and down, occasionally turning to yell in the ear of its neighbour.

Up in the ring, perched on a stool in the corner, patiently waiting as the emcee introduced his opponent, was Iain Doyle.

He stared, eyes fixed straight ahead, taking in everything and, at the same time, nothing at all. His opponent entered the ring and began acknowledging the crowd. Iain shifted his gaze to take in the man he would soon be fighting. He was a Thai local, short and thin but leanly muscular, no doubt with years of Muay Thai training behind him. The four months Iain had spent under instruction didn't stack up by comparison. But he had an eagerness to test himself and a hidden ferocity that convinced his trainers he would survive a bout in the ring. They had urged Iain to participate in one of the many staged fights with pre-determined winners that had become common in Thailand's tourist spots. He had refused and, as a result, found himself in a less glamorous venue beyond the walled ruins of Chiang Mai's inner city.

The referee beckoned both men to the centre of the ring. The pre-fight formalities were played out, and the restless crowd grew louder, the more boisterous screaming out jeers laced with encouragement.

Kill that Irish bastard!

Come on, Paddy; you can take the runt!

The two men circled as they anxiously awaited the starting bell. Iain inhaled deeply, lifting his brows and widening his eyes to focus his attention. He regarded his opponent one last time and tightly clenched his fists.

The bell struck, and he let it all out.

***

Morning trade was grinding to a halt as Iain entered The Jasmine Cup, a cafe on Moon Muang Road, one of Chiang Mai's busy thoroughfares. He had been coming here most mornings, mainly because it was one of the few places where you could get a whiskey on the rocks with your breakfast order and not raise any eyebrows.

On this particular morning, Iain donned reading glasses and a cap in addition to his regular attire of rugby shorts and a polo shirt. A futile attempt to cover up his split lip, bruised face and partially swollen left eye. But an attempt, nonetheless.

He sat at a table in the far, shadowed corner of the indoor service area and rested the laptop he had brought on the place setting to his left. Pakpao, the morning waitress, wandered over to the table and gasped when she caught a full view of Iain's battered face.

Oh, Mr. Doyle, what happened to your face?

Pakpao's basic English always led to very direct and somewhat amusing questions.

It's fine. I just had a fight.

A fight? Did they want your money?

No, no. A proper fight. Muay Thai.

Muay Thai? You a nice man Mr. Doyle. Why you wanting to fight Muay Thai?

I want to be able to protect myself.

You just train. No more fights. You want your usual breakfast?

Yes, please.

Okay. I'll get it for you.

She returned a short while later with his meal. As Iain ate, he took in the news bulletin on the plasma screen crookedly fixed to the wall opposite. This was more of a force of habit than a desire to be up to date with current affairs. It had been seven months since he'd even entertained the idea of writing a story. He was fortunate enough to have a nest egg of savings to tide him over and was presently on an extended hiatus from the world of freelance journalism.

A news story flashed on screen about the growing activities in Thailand of a terrorist initiative known as The Hand of Light. They opposed the ever-increasing exploitation and moral corruption of the Thai people at the hands of the Western world and had taken to attacking many first-world establishments to get their message across. Their targets had ranged from McDonald's chains to foreign embassies and everything in between. This was the kind of story that would have ordinarily piqued Iain's interest, but as he sipped on his third glass of whiskey, it was the furthest thing from his mind.

Glancing at his watch, he opened his laptop and placed it in front of him. It was time for another obligatory video call with his sister. He reached into his pocket, pulled out earphones, placed the buds in his ears, and inserted the cord into the laptop. He didn't wish to subject the rest of the cafe to the nagging overtures of his sister; he could barely tolerate them himself. Switching on the webcam, Iain sat back and positioned himself so that the poor lighting shadowed the finer details of his face.

A few moments later, the stern, overly concerned face of Leanne Doyle filled up the screen. The dark circles under her eyes were a tell-tale sign of another forty-eight-hour shift at the hospital. She squinted at the camera and tapped a button on her keyboard.

The picture's not very good. I can barely see you.

Third world country, Leanne.

Are you wearing your glasses?

Yeah.

So, you don't wear them when you spend hours writing stories in front of a computer. But as soon as you have some leisure time, you think they're a good idea?

Something like that.

Leanne sighed and rubbed her left eye with the palm of her hand.

Iain, I think it's time you came home.

I disagree.

You can't stay out there forever.

You'd be surprised what I'm capable of these days.

What about your flat?

Sid's got it covered.

You sure about that? He hasn't pawned all your stuff?

I doubt it. But I'm not overly concerned if he has.

"Iain. You need to start seeing sense. I know what happened must have been horrible, but you can't run for the rest of your life."

You look tired. Maybe you should get some rest before you say something you'll regret. We can talk in a couple of days.

Mark my words, Iain Doyle. I'll have you back in Ireland...

Iain closed the laptop before his sister could finish, nudged it to the far corner of the table, and signalled to Pakpao that he was ready for another whiskey.

2

Judy Doyle dabbed at her brow and opened her parasol. It was another beautiful day in Thailand, with a searing thirty-four-degree temperature beaming down onto the city. She eyed the many red-faced European tourists clutching giant bottles of water and fanning themselves to drop their body temperatures and gave a smug chuckle. Judy was more than capable of enduring this heat and humidity, but at her age, the sun had become more foe than friend, so she stuck with her portable shade and factor-fifty sunscreen.

It was the third day of scouring the inner city, hoping to discover her nephew's whereabouts. She had been to Chiang Mai many times throughout her enduring journalism career and spent up to eight months of the calendar year reporting from the Asia Pacific. She even took up permanent residence for several years in the nineties, forced into hiding after getting on the wrong side of the Yakuza.

It so happened that she was knee-deep in the slums of Chennai chasing a promising lead when she received Leanne's plea for help.

It's probably just heatstroke. I'm sure he's fine, Judy had informed her niece but nevertheless gave a solemn vow to locate Iain and give her first-hand guarantee that all was well.

Judy paused amidst a cluster of portable food stalls and subtly referred to her map. She hated looking like a tourist and was convinced that her inherent sense of direction was second to none.

I don't recall any of this being here last time. I should be just up from the night bazaar, she muttered as she took in the several high-rise hotels looming down on her, trying to fix their location on the map.

That was when she saw it.

It looked to her like someone had just thrown a large piece of furniture, maybe luggage, out of one of the windows. But she knew better. She trailed it with her eyes until it disappeared behind a cluster of fern trees.

Moments later, shrill cries could be heard coming from the direction of the hotel. Judy untidily folded her map and closed her parasol, tucking both items under her arm as she hurried toward the commotion.

***

A crowd had gathered in the courtyard outside the Dowager Hotel. Forcing his way through, Iain was confronted with a man's body lying face down in a pool of blood. From the chattering of the people around him, Iain ascertained that the body came plummeting into the pavement via one of the hotel windows.

Just clear of the tragedy, Iain spied a shining piece of plastic. He bent down and picked it up. It was a name badge bearing the hotel's insignia and a name. Van.

A hotel employee. Clearly, intoxication isn't a contributing factor, Iain thought. He retrieved his smartphone from his shorts and took a photo of the body. He was operating on autopilot. Old habits of the job he was trying to escape taking control. Swiping his fingers across the screen, he hesitated as the phone asked the question -

Are you sure you want to delete?

Before he could respond, Iain noticed something out of the corner of his eye. Someone in the crowd opposite the casualty was watching him. There was a crushed body not two feet away, but they were watching him. He turned his head to meet their gaze, and after a few moments, his brain acknowledged the familiar face before him. It was the last face he had expected to find here. But where there's a story, Judy Doyle is never that far away.

Judy stared at the man who had now turned his attention to her. He didn't react, almost like he was waiting for her to make the first move. For a moment, she didn't think it was him. The glasses and cap threw her off, not to mention the bruises and swelling around his upper lip and left eye. But she was now sure it was him.

It was Iain.

Judy raised her hand and gave a wave. After a few moments, he nodded and lifted his hand in return. She took her queue and somewhat disrespectfully leapt over the body to stand face-to-face with her nephew.

Thought I'd take a shortcut.

How decent of you.

Well, I didn't want you running off.

Iain gave a slight smirk and shook his head.

Need I ask why you're here?

I was in the area following up on an assignment.

And?

And your sister may have asked me to look in on you.

"How long have you been trying to look in on me?"

Three days. You didn't leave a lot to go off.

That was kind of the point.

Now, you don't mean that, Judy said as she turned her attention back to the corpse.

So, body thrown from the window?

Looks that way.

Accident?

I'd say not. He was a hotel employee. Went by the name of Van.

How did you get that piece of info?

Name badge. Iain held out the plastic name tag he had retrieved from the ground. Judy took it and looked it over.

Well done you.

Judy opened her handbag and pulled out a pair of binoculars, which she held before her eyes as she turned to take in the hotel's upper levels.

I'd say he fell from the ninth-floor window. There's one open. Third from the right.

Iain looked up to consider Judy's theory.

Twelfth floor. Second from the end. It fits better with the trajectory of the body. Even with one bad eye, I can make that out.

Yes, well, I expect you to fill me in on the story of your battered face later, Judy said as she lowered her binoculars.

Twelfth floor, you say. Care to place a wager on that?

What kind of wager? Iain asked warily.

Nothing too serious. Dinner and a good bottle of wine? It's the least you could do, given I've come all this way.

Judy hoped that Iain's competitive spirit was still intact and wouldn't let him pass up the opportunity to prove her wrong. She knew exactly from where the body had fallen and had given a false observation purely to spur a response out of her nephew.

Fine, Iain conceded as the distant sound of sirens from approaching emergency vehicles punctured the air. But we'd better be quick about it.

Excellent. Let's go then. But first, Judy reached up and took the glasses and cap off Iain's head, placing both items in her handbag along with her binoculars. That's better.

Turning on her heel, Judy once more leapt over the body before beginning to make her way through the shocked onlookers towards the entrance of the Hotel. Iain skirted the edges of the crowd until he was around the body and followed Judy in close pursuit.

The Dowager Hotel was a fifteen-storey, four-star establishment popular with Western tourists. The lobby was a marble-tiled space with period-piece furniture meticulously arranged to create an atmosphere of elegance. The walls adorned traditional Asian works of art and were lined with the occasional vase or small fern. Judy entered the lobby to see frantic employees moving about, attempting to reassure guests who demanded to know what was happening.

The reception desk was fully manned, with staff dialling every suite to discover the source of their colleague's deadly fall. Judy had made it to the lifts by the time Iain caught up.

What took you so long?

A chime sounded as the lift doors opened. A distraught couple vacated the lift as both Judy and Iain entered.

I was trying to display some courtesy for the recently departed. A habit you might like to take up.

Iain thumbed the button for the twelfth floor, and the lift doors glided to a close.

I've jumped over too many dead bodies in my time to stop now. And besides, he's dead; I doubt he would mind.

But if he had a problem with it, he isn't exactly going to be able to let you know.

Exactly. Now you're getting it.

That wasn't what I was saying.

Oh look, I think this is us.

The lift doors opened to reveal a mood-lit corridor with six doors on either side. Between each door was an identical wooden oriental mantlepiece topped with matching vases and flower arrangements. Iain and Judy exited the lift and began down the corridor. When they'd reached the first mantlepiece, Judy leant in towards the flower arrangement and inhaled deeply.

Plastic. That's a little low-class. Which room do you think it was?

That one, Iain said, gesturing towards the second last door on the left.

***

Suite 1205 had seen better days. The ripped upholstery and overturned chairs in the living area were just the beginning. The smashed flat-screen television, overturned cabinet, and blood-splattered carpet and walls were other notable sights. Then there was the open window—the portal to Van's demise. The entrance door had been left slightly ajar, giving both Iain and Judy the perfect opportunity to look inside. Making sure to stay clear of the window and not to touch anything that could be regarded as evidence, the two did a quick sweep of the main living area.

Well, clearly, there was a struggle of some kind resulting in poor old Van being chucked out the window, Judy said as she began to closely examine the blood splatters on the carpet while Iain took photographs of the scene on his phone.

Whose blood do you think this is? Judy asked as she stood up and knocked into the room service cart.

Could be anyone's. My real concern is the location of the occupants of the room.

They could be out.

Then explain the room service trolley you nearly just fell over.

Judy held her hand over the plates that sat on top of the trolley.

Still warm.

In unison, both their eyes fell onto the bedroom entrance.

You don't suppose, Judy had lowered her voice to a whisper and gestured towards the bedroom with her head.

Only one way to find out.

Iain made his way over to the bedroom. Judy followed closely behind, clutching her parasol tightly with some vague idea of using it as a weapon.

The room displayed no signs of the chaos that unfolded in the living area and looked completely deserted. Judy relaxed a little and placed her parasol on one of the two beds that occupied the room, looking underneath both for any sign of life before checking behind the curtains and in the wardrobe. She was stalling, hoping that Iain would notice the closed bathroom door, which she had spotted immediately, and would take the initiative to look inside. When he continued to stand quite uselessly in the centre of the room, Judy finally spoke up.

Perhaps Iain, you could check the bathroom?

Iain moved over to the door and unsuccessfully tried the handle.

It's locked from the inside.

Iain rapped the door with the back of his knuckles.

Hello, is anybody in there?

Judy moved over to the door and placed her ear against it.

I can hear movement.

We should get this door open, Iain suggested. Someone might be injured. Or worse.

Judy began to rummage through her bag.

I should have a lock-pick in here somewhere.

Don't worry about it.

Iain gripped the handle firmly and positioned his shoulder against the door. He pushed his weight against the wood and, after the fourth attempt, had managed to force the lock open. Iain slowly opened the door and stepped inside. At first glance, the bathroom appeared empty. Only when he turned his attention to the mirror did Iain see the young man in a towel, gripping a drawer he had removed from the vanity, standing behind the door. As their eyes met in the reflection, the man jumped out, swinging the drawer at Iain, who ducked out of the way as it sailed past his head and into the tiled wall.

Whoa, whoa, whoa! I'm not going to hurt you.

Iain kept low and held his hands up in surrender whilst the young man firmly gripped the drawer over his shoulder, ready to take another swing at a moment's notice.

Who are you?

I'm Iain. I can assure you, I'm a friend. Who are you?

Alex. What are you doing in our room?

We came past and saw the door ajar. Just thought we would check that everything was okay. The living area was a bit of a mess.

I... I came out of the bathroom and could hear fighting in the living area... I saw a man with a gun. I'm not sure if they saw me. I ran back in here and locked myself in.

Alex dropped the drawer to the ground and leaned against the vanity. Iain moved close and placed a comforting hand on Alex's shoulder.

It's okay, Alex. You're safe now.

Judy, listening from the doorway, swept into the bathroom. Alex's body stiffened as she entered.

This is Judy, don't mind her.

Hello, my poor dear. I grabbed one of the bathrobes out of the closet for you.

Judy handed Alex a white robe, which he began putting on. Judy turned and stepped back into the bedroom to give the young man some privacy. She continued speaking.

"I couldn't help but overhear. You said our room. Who else is staying here?"

My friend Harry.

And was he the one who ordered the room service? she asked.

He was going to wait for it while I showered.

And you're both... Australian?

Yeah.

That's enough with the questions, Judy. We should probably go.

It might be best if you both stay in there.

What are you on about you mad woman?

Iain walked out into the bedroom, where Judy stood with her back to him. Facing her was a Thai man holding a pistol. Iain raised his hands and carefully moved until he was beside his aunt.

Who's your friend?

Iain, since when have you known me to have friends.

In unison, the two began to back away from the Thai man, who matched their every backward step with a forward one of his own. They continued this hostile dance until Iain and Judy's path was halted by the edge of the bed. Finally, Judy addressed the man.

What do you want?

A crash rang out from the bathroom as Alex tumbled through the doorway and fell flat onto the bedroom floor. The Thai man turned towards the noise, and that was when Judy seized her opportunity. She quickly retrieved her parasol from the bed and swung it at the Thai man. It connected with his outstretched hand and knocked the gun from his grip. The man fumbled to retain the weapon as it fell to the floor.

As he attempted to retrieve it, Iain stepped forward and swung his fist, connecting with the side of the man's jaw. The man fell sideways whilst Iain lunged for the gun now lying unattended beside the bed. He got his hand to it before the Thai man recovered and threw himself at Iain.

The two men struggled until, finally, Iain was able to throw the man out of range. He got onto his knees and raised the gun at the Thai man.

Get up, Iain ordered as the man wriggled towards the door and yelled in his native tongue, repeating the words, Tam Ruat.

What is he saying?

It sounds familiar, Judy said. "Tam Ruat..."

She turned the words over in her mind before arriving at a suitable translation and immediately adopted a more serious tone.

Iain... it means police.

As if on cue, three uniformed police officers came rushing into the bedroom brandishing their firearms. Iain obediently relinquished the gun and placed his hands over his head.

3

The overhead fan creaked as it struggled to maintain its grip on the ceiling above, blowing specks of dust and small pieces of rust about the upper regions of the Chiang Mai Provincial Police Department's interview room.

Iain's state of mind was anything but relaxed. Handcuffed to the table, he struggled to retain his grip on reality. He ran his tongue over the gaps where his missing molars once existed and tensed his body as though another tooth extraction were imminent.

Flinching at the sound of the door handle, Iain focused his eyes on the floor as the footsteps approached the table and caught a view of navy pinstriped trousers. No. Khaki. Or was it pinstripe? Iain shut his eyes and tried to push the image of James Maguire far from his consciousness.

The viciously ambitious Inspector Montri was the youngest officer of his rank. He had black overly gelled hair parted to one side, uneven stubble, and was decked out in khaki pants and a white linen shirt. Montri stared intently at the European man seated across from him. His head was angled downward, and his eyes were closed. If not for the rapid breathing, one could almost be convinced that he had nodded off to sleep. Drops of sweat formed on his forehead and trickled along his angular facial features.

The Inspector opened a cardboard folder, shuffled the papers inside and let out a small series of coughs to inform the interviewee that he was ready to ask his questions. Still, his eyes remained tightly shut. Montri gave up and began speaking.

Mr Doyle, I understand that you are an Irish reporter. Correct?

Iain responded through gritted teeth.

Not anymore. Can I please go now?

The Inspector leaned back in his chair and nearly toppled backwards when Iain suddenly opened his eyes. The piercing blue colour, intent with fury, stared straight through him. Iain repeated his request. This time, it was firm, loud and very clear.

I said, can I please go now?

The Inspector straightened up and attempted to regain his composure. Iain's unexpected outburst had rattled him.

You can leave once you've answered my questions satisfyingly.

***

Judy powered down the hallway of the police station, flanked on either side by the Chief Inspector and one of his subordinates. This wasn't the first time she had wrangled her way out of police custody; however, it would go down as one of the fastest turnarounds in her extensive arrest history. But it had to be, for Iain's sake. God knows what being locked up was doing to him, and Judy couldn't help but fear the worst. Fortunately, Barry Holland, a former dalliance and current British Ambassador stationed in Bangkok, was able to make a few quick calls, resulting in her immediate release.

She could hear shouting as she and her entourage approached Interview Room Two and made out the all too familiar sound of her nephew's anguished cries. It didn't feel like all that long ago that she had last sprung Iain from unnecessary incarceration. She took refuge in the thought that this time, he was being held by the force that upheld the law instead of the ones that broke it.

***

Iain pulled hard on the handcuffs that restrained him. The Inspector's heavy-handed interrogation style had an undesired effect on his European captive. At present, he was standing behind a seated Iain, attempting to obtain a reasonable excuse for why he was present in suite 1205 upon the police's arrival at the scene and also for why he had such a battered face.

I keep telling you I was in a Muay Thai match.

The Inspector clutched Iain's shoulders with both his hands. Iain instinctively attempted to sink lower in the chair to escape his grasp. He crouched over Iain and whispered in his ear.

I don't believe you. I think maybe it was you who threw the hotel attendant out of the window.

Iain had had enough. He gripped the table's edge, leaned his head forward and quickly flung it back with all his might. An ever so slight snap was heard as the back of his head impacted squarely with the Inspector's face. Montri stumbled backwards and cupped his nose as blood began to slowly pour out of his nostrils.

Screaming in Thai, Inspector Montri removed his handgun from its holster and swung it crossways, whipping the back of Iain's head.

Iain cried out in pain. Acting on pure instinct, he stood out of the chair and knocked it to the floor with his feet. His restrained hands left him with limited upper body movement, forcing him into a slightly leant position over the table. Iain realised his predicament still afforded him the complete freedom of his legs.

Clutching the pistol, Montri swung it once more in Iain's direction; this time, it was his back that felt the brunt of the weapon. Iain pushed out his right leg in a somewhat pseudo sidekick, connecting with the Inspector's torso. The Inspector hunched over from the impact as Iain adjusted to make another strike. This time, he kicked down hard on the Inspector's kneecaps. The result of this blow dropped Montri to his knees, giving Iain the opening for one final move. He swung his leg around and pounded it with all the force he could muster into the side of Inspector Montri's head.

The Inspector staggered sideways, his head suffering a secondary impact as it collided with the interview room wall before he eventually collapsed into a heap on the concrete floor. Iain panted heavily as he took in the sight of the now unconscious Inspector.

Never again would he be the victim.

He turned his head at the sound of the door opening and was surprised to see his aunt bursting through, followed by two uniformed officers. Judy was at Iain's side in an instant, yelling for the lower-ranked officer to hurry up and unlock the handcuffs. Iain flexed his wrists as the cuffs were removed and gently rubbed the back of his head. He could feel a clear gash where the blow had broken the skin. The Chief Inspector and Judy were taking in the sight of Montri whilst the subordinate attempted to revive him.

What happened here? Judy questioned.

He tripped over my chair when I stood up. Hit his face on the wall.

Iain looked at his hand, which was now covered in blood stains from the back of his head and proceeded to wipe it on his shorts.

Are we free to go? he asked.

Yes, I sorted it all out.

Then why are we still standing around here? Let's leave.

Iain and Judy moved towards the entrance to the room when a voice called out.

"Stop!"

They both turned to find Inspector Montri sitting upright against the wall with his pistol aimed at Iain. Judy stepped in the line of fire.

Don't you dare, she said, immediately turning to the Chief Inspector, who was speaking to Montri in Thai.

Would you like me to contact the embassy again and inform them of this police brutality being inflicted on two good, honest British citizens? I know where they'll be taking the matter. Straight to the King, that's where.

For an instant, everyone seemed frozen, as though one were looking at a photograph, whilst they waited to see who would react first. Finally, the Inspector relented and lowered his pistol. Iain gave a sigh of relief and hastily left the interview room with Judy hot on his heels.

***

The late afternoon sun struck the back of Iain's head as they moved away from the station entrance, allowing Judy a full view of the patch of hair covering his recent wound, which was now matted with a coating of drying blood and flecks of dust.

Iain raised his hand and patted the affected spot before quickly whirling around to face his aunt.

Can I have my cap back, please?

Of course, Judy said, opening her bag.

So what actually happened in there? she asked, pulling out the cap and passing it to Iain.

Inspector Montri was trying to bully a confession out of me. I think he wanted an open and shut case. Crazy foreigner throws a hotel employee out the window. The usual story.

Well, it's lucky they didn't find this then.

Judy reached into her pocket and withdrew the name badge they had taken from the scene. She turned it over in her hand.

This could turn into quite the puzzle for us to solve.

I'm sorry, but count me out.

Iain carefully placed the cap over his wounded scalp and made to cross the street. Judy reached out and gripped his forearm.

"Iain, you aren't honestly giving me a story. I expected to give you at least a share of the byline."

I won't put my body on the line for a story anymore.

No one's asking you to do that.

Judy, I was just pistol-whipped.

And I broke my favourite parasol. These things happen sometimes.

Iain gave his aunt a look that made it clear he was not amused.

Fine. But it looked, at least from where I was standing, like you handled yourself quite adequately.

I got lucky.

The lower portion of the sun had drifted behind the surrounding buildings, and the sky began to turn a soft shade of crimson. Iain looked at his wristwatch and back to his aunt.

I've got to get going.

He leaned in and gave Judy a gentle kiss on the cheek.

The story is all yours. I'll be in touch about the dinner you owe me.

Iain had made it across the street before Judy began calling out his name. He swung around to see what she wanted.

Are you going to tell me where you're staying in case I need to find you?

The Temple House Inn. Just don't go telling Leanne.

Judy mimed, zipping her mouth closed. Iain gave a final wave of his hand before disappearing down a nearby side street. Judy watched after him for a few moments before once more rummaging through her bag. On this occasion, it was the map she was looking for. She whipped it out and unfolded it.

Now, how the hell do I get back to The Dowager Hotel?

4

The Jasmine Cup was experiencing a late morning rush when Iain arrived for his routine breakfast. Finding all his usual tables still occupied by breakfasting tourists from the surrounding hotels, Iain was forced to take a table in the centre of the service floor. As soon as he sat down, he could immediately feel the eyes of the other diners upon him, no doubt making quick judgements based upon his still battered face. After a few awkward moments of not knowing where to look, Iain was relieved when Pakpao made her way to the table, and he could focus on her.

Good morning, Mr Doyle. How's your face?

Much better, thank you.

Iain gave a slight chuckle, bemused, once again, at Pakpao's phrasing. She pulled a napkin from her apron and wiped her forehead.

You're a lot busier today than normal.

I know. I been working hard. No break since six o'clock! You want your usual?

Yes, please, take your time.

I put your order in as VIP. You a good customer. I want you to come back tomorrow. These people. Not really.

Okay then. Thank you.

Pakpao rushed off, leaving Iain once again awkwardly, pretending not to notice all the glances in his direction. Eventually, a nearby table rose and departed, leaving a newspaper behind. Iain reached over, picked it up, and opened it in front of his face to completely block his line of sight. It was a copy of South Africa's national broadsheet. As he scoured the headlines, he wondered whether yesterday's incident at the Dowager Hotel would make the international press.

The sound of a plate being placed on the table broke his train of thought.

Thank you.

You're very welcome.

Realising the voice was not that of Pakpao, Iain lowered the paper. Standing before him, decked out in a large, wide-brimmed, cream-coloured hat teamed with oversized sunglasses, a flowing dress, and sandals, was his aunt.

You're not my usual waitress. Although, I recall seeing someone dressed very similar to you in the reception at my hotel this morning. As I passed her, she seemed overly engrossed in a tour guide to the extent that it obscured her face.

How very odd, Judy said, settling into the seat opposite Iain, who looked down at his usual omelette and what appeared to be a cup of coffee.

I didn't order this.

I changed your order. It's Irish. Well, in the sense that I had them place your whiskey in the coffee. It's a bit more discreet this way.

Iain begrudgingly took a sip of the coffee as Pakpao approached and placed a Bloody Mary in front of Judy.

Thank you, my dear.

Pakpao gave a slight nod before turning her attention to Iain.

Your aunt is a very nice lady.

First impressions can be deceiving, Iain replied.

Pakpao smiled, not understanding what Iain meant, before moving off to clear a nearby table.

Judy stirred her cocktail and eyed the South African broadsheet.

Anything good in the news?

The Minister for Trade and Industry has resigned.

Desmond? Really?

You know him?

Just in passing. So, you haven't seen anything regarding the little mishap yesterday?

I'd call it more murder than mishap. But no, I know nothing new. I've already assumed something had surfaced that was important enough to bring you here.

Indeed, it has.

Judy pulled out a tablet and swiped her finger across the front a few times before passing it across the table to Iain. He picked it up and read the news item displayed on the screen.

MAN FALLS TO HIS DEATH

THAILAND: A Hotel employee of The Dowager Hotel in Chiang Mai, Thailand, was found dead in the front courtyard after reportedly falling out of one of the hotel's twelfth-floor windows... Police are treating the death as suspicious. Two British tourists were arrested at the scene; however, they were later released.

Well, aside from incorrectly listing me as British, they haven't written anything we couldn't have concluded ourselves, Iain stated as he passed the tablet back to Judy, who began moving her fingers over the screen again.

That's what I thought. All reports on the matter have been very alike. But then I came across this breaking news in the Australian press.

Judy slid the tablet back across the table, sipping her drink as Iain reviewed the second article.

PRIME MINISTER'S NEPHEW MISSING AFTER SUSPICIOUS HOTEL DEATH

Harry Ellis, the nephew of Prime Minister Ellis, has been reported to authorities as missing less than 12 hours after a hotel employee plunged to his death from the suite in which he had been staying with another friend, also an Australian citizen. Thai police are keen to speak with Mr Ellis regarding the incident and are calling for anyone with any information regarding his whereabouts to come forward. The Prime Minister was unavailable to comment on the matter.

Iain gulped the remainder of his coffee and took a moment to absorb the information before commenting.

What's your angle here? he finally asked.

Initially, I thought there may have been some altercation that led to Harry accidentally sending Van out the window, and he's now fled in a panic. But then I remembered Alex saying that he saw a man with a gun before he locked himself in the bathroom. If memory serves, Van wasn't found with a gun on him, and there certainly wasn't one in the hotel room when we arrived.

So now you're leaning toward what? Abduction? Iain asked.

It seems the likely scenario, based on the evidence so far, Judy replied. Wouldn't you agree?

Well, unless either Alex is lying or Harry took the gun with him, Iain said with a slight smirk.

I guess the real question is, he finally continued. Who did the abducting?

Judy finished the last of her drink and rose to depart.

That, my dear nephew, is what I intend to find out. You sure you don't want to tag along?

Positive. I've got errands to run.

Sounds exciting. I'll be at the Dowager Hotel if you want to find me.

Have they not caught onto you skulking around the place yet?

As of last night, I am a bonafide guest of the hotel. They suddenly had all these vacancies in rooms facing the front courtyard, and almost all the twelfth floor was free. Very odd.

Judy took her leave and soon disappeared amongst