The Joe Brennan Spy Thrillers Page 3

  “Mr. Volkker, I’m not sure who gave you my name….”

  “We do extensive human resources scouting before making any offers, Mr. Brennan, so that we can be sure someone being recruited for such a… sensitive role will be a perfect fit. We believe you are without peer in your field. Such respect accords a certain level of reward.”

  Brennan looked at the slip of paper. A few years of that kind of money and he’d never have to work again. Or his kids, if he ever met the right person. Just to keep doing what he’d effectively been doing for more than two years.

  He needed to stop thinking about it before he did something stupid. He pushed the slip of paper back across the table. “Respect to your taste in talent… but I’m not your man.”

  Volkker took on a pained expression. “That is… truly unfortunate. My employer…”

  “Mr. Stoneman.”

  “Ah… I suppose I should not at all be surprised that you know his identity…”

  “I wouldn’t work for him if you added two more zeroes to that number.”

  Was that a quick smirk, as if the German liked the answer. “He will be most unhappy. Still, the suite is paid for. Would you mind if I attempted to change your mind at some point in the next ten days? We have also substituted a first-class plane ticket for the economy one you were issued…”

  Brennan shrugged. “Knock yourself out, Herb. But I hope you’re just justifying the expense account, because it’s not happening.”

  Volkker smiled. “Perhaps so. We shall see.”

  Brennan rose. “Maybe it would be better if I moved back to my hotel…”

  His host waved a hand, dismissing the notion “I wouldn’t. To a man of Stoneman’s wealth, this isn’t even a rounding error.”

  Brennan had already looked up how much the room cost. A couple of nights would pay a month’s mortgage back home, easily. “Well, there’s a bar in the room with some hilariously expensive booze in it. I may see if I can make him take notice. But I’m not going to take the job. Goodnight, Mr. Volkker.”

  “Goodnight, Mr. Brennan. Be cautious out there; for all of its fun and games, Pattaya is not without risk.”

  “I’d noticed.”

  “You’ve run into trouble here?”

  “Well… it’s not Bangkok deadly,” he said as he turned to leave. “But it’s got a certain lawless charm.”

  The German watched him walk out before removing his flip phone and dialing a long series of numbers. “Yes, get me the boss. Yes, I know what time it is… just do it, okay?” Stoneman wasn’t going to be happy, which meant Werner wasn’t going to have a happy night, either.

  CHAPTER 2

  The week had gone by quickly, with Volkker not making another appearance, despite his stated intention of changing Brennan’s mind.

  Instead, the former SEAL spent each day at the beach, or fishing, or lounging in the hammock the hotel had been happy to string across the balcony. He wasn’t naïve enough to assume things would stay so quiet; the Germans had to be paying a small fortune for his lack of interest, and that wasn’t likely to continue.

  But until then, when in Rome…

  He reached down beside the hammock to where the ice bucket had been chilling his beers all day. But his hand dipped into tepid water, the ice mostly melted, the beer finished. He could’ve ordered another six-pack from room service; but he figured walking off the morning’s booze would do him some good. So instead, he rolled out of the hammock, slipped on his sandals and a t-shirt to go with his knee-length surf shorts, and headed downstairs.

  The big conference room adjacent to the lobby was packed, high rollers in cocktail dresses and suits heading inside, milling around by the doors. He caught a glimpse through to where it opened up, along the rear wall, into the hotel’s back garden. It looked like some sort of auction was going on, the local monied types assuaging their guilty consciences by tossing a few bucks the way of the poor.

  It wasn’t his speed. He kept going through the lobby to the vast driveway and parking area, then flagged down a baht bus. Before it had a chance to pull up, his ‘valet’, Josephine, ran out after him. “Mr. Brennan! Mr. Brennan! I saw you go past the front desk! Is there anything…”

  “How much?” Brennan asked the driver in his limited Thai, ignoring her.

  “Ten baht,” the driver answered.

  “Mr. Brennan, I can get a hotel limousine for you, so that you can travel properly…”

  “No thanks, I’m good,” he said, climbing into the back of the pickup. He nodded toward the bench next to him. “See? Empty. It’s like a limo, only open air.”

  The truck pulled away and he left her standing on the sidewalk, clipboard in one hand and a surprised look on her face.

  He jumped off along the beachfront, passing the beer parlors and the lady boys, eliciting hoots and whistles, offers and appreciation. He ignored it and popped into the small variety store he’d visited three or four times already since arriving, a chime ringing as he entered. The same kid was behind the counter. “Hey, Song, what’s happening, my fine Thai friend?”

  “Brennan! Good to see you still here, enjoying our fine Asian hospitality! You meet any nice lady boy yet?”

  “I’ve even heard rumors some of the women here are just good old-fashioned prostitutes,” Brennan replied dryly. “Get out of here with that stuff, Song; you know that’s not my speed.”

  “Uh huh. How come you not down on the beach no more? I look out for you today.”

  “Some German dude decided to upgrade me. I’m at the Royal Wing now.”

  “Wow! Primo spot, dude.” Song had made it clear how much he loved American culture, how he’d seen every episode of South Park, translated into Thai so that he got all the jokes. “You must have some friend with lots of money. I hear that place go for thirty thousand baht.”

  Brennan retrieved a twelve-pack of Carlsberg from the refrigerator unit. “Too fancy for my blood,” Brennan said. “Give me a frosty plastic cup at Ralph Wilson Stadium and I’m a happy hombre.”

  “Rapha Wilson What?”

  “The Bills. NFL. Never mind…”

  “Ah, the Bills! Jim Kelly! Doug Footie.”

  “Flutie. Same team, yeah…”

  “They never win Superbowl, huh?”

  “Not as of yet, no.” Probably not ever, Brennan had long decided, though he wasn’t going to say it aloud and jinx anything.

  “That kid I see you with a few days back: you should watch out for him, huh? He got a older brother, kind of guy like to hurt other people.”

  “Now you tell me.”

  He took the case of beer back to the resort, walking the two-and-a-half miles, enjoying the slightly less humid weather and the breeze off the ocean. When he arrived, the silent auction had spread outside to the brick-paved circular driveway, people drinking cocktails and chatting as they strolled the grounds. Brennan entered the front doors and kept a wary eye out for his ‘valet’, hoping she’d given up. There were still dozens of people in the ballroom, someone at a podium saying something in American-accented English, the crowd appreciating the joke, laughing in unison and clapping.

  A woman was leaning against the doorframe, looking like she needed it to keep her upright. The speech was just about knocking her out, it was so boring. Brennan stifled a chuckle as she drifted off and almost fell over, catching herself and taking a half-stumbling step, before remembering where she was. She looked around to see if anyone had noticed and, seeing his broad smile, gave him a look of sardonic disapproval.

  She was beautiful, Brennan thought, her cheekbones high and prominent, eyes dark sapphire pools set in almond lids, her skin bronzed by the sun. She looked half-Asian, half… something else, Caucasian or Latin, perhaps.

  “If you’re wondering, it’s Alexander McQueen, and it’s mine, and it’s fabulous. So, your opinion on the subject doesn’t really matter.”

  The accent was American, but slightly affected by Thai diction. She’d been educated in the States, that much
seemed obvious. Brennan walked the few feet over to her and offered a hand to shake. “Joe, and… I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Amanda. And I am, of course, referring to this dress.” She studied him, then added, “although in the moment, I’m rather glad you didn’t know that.”

  “It looks pretty smoking,” he admitted.

  She nodded at that. “Smoking? Yes… well, I’m sure that’s the aesthetic Mr. McQueen was going for. Still, probably a bit more to it than that…”

  Brennan shrugged. “It only drops two inches below your… it’s short,” he said, catching himself mid-sentence. “And the thigh high boots… are they part of the dress, or a separate accessory?”

  She looked at him with a puzzled expression, like she’d just seen a horse try to open a combination lock. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “You could take my knowledge of women’s stuff and file it away on the head of a pin, with room left over for a Steinbeck novel,” Brennan admitted.

  She seemed to find that amusing. “At least you’re honest.”

  In the background, someone at the head table in the ballroom said something else important and the crowd applauded again, some oohs and aahhs accompanying whatever it was. Brennan gave her a perplexed expression.

  “Probably someone announcing a large donation to save a rare sea sponge,” she said, sounding less than enthusiastic. “It’s the only kind of thing that seems to excite this bunch of stiffs, competing to see who can seem more charitable without really giving a shit about the general public.”

  “Where’d you go to school, anyway? A nice girl like you with a mealy mouth like that, I’d have to figure you were from my neck of the woods.”

  “Jersey?”

  “Ooh. Ouch. Buffalo, or thereabouts.”

  “I went to Princeton,” she said. “Go ahead, ask me the next obvious question. What’s a nice Ivy League girl like me doing in a town like this…”

  “You went there, not me.”

  “I’m from there. Or, here, anyway. That’s your cue to ask how a girl from a town like this ended up at Princeton.”

  “A long flight, followed by a short drive?”

  “Well, yeah, that… and my father donated an insane amount of money a year before that to Harvard, in an attempt to ensure my admission.”

  “So… you went to their biggest rival.”

  “Humph, arguably MIT, but anyway… yeah, I did exactly what he didn’t want me to do. I didn’t need his help getting into Harvard. I would’ve made it without him, and instead he ruined it. So, I went to Princeton. And I dated American boys.”

  “Your mom…”

  “Oh…tactful,” she said, crossing her bare arms and smirking. “The question is going to get around to whether she’s white at some point…”

  “Am I that transparent?”

  “I get to look at this face in the mirror every day,” she said. “I know what people are thinking.”

  “If you knew what guys were thinking, you’d blush.” He regretted the sexist, tactless joke the second it came out, pure college-level flirtation. He tried to avoid a pained expression.

  “Hey… if they knew what I was thinking…” She left it at that, smiling at him. Their eyes locked for a few moments, and they both felt it, that undeniable magnetism.

  Chemistry.

  She nodded toward the twelve-pack. “They have mini-bars in the rooms, you know.”

  “Sure, and in my suite, an actual bar. The kind with a bartender. Usually.”

  “Suite? Ooooh, well ain’t you the high roller!”

  “Hey: when a man pops the extra twenty baht for imported beer, you know he’s something special.”

  She chuckled gently at that, and for all her great beauty and obvious charm, she snorted a little through her palate. Then she grabbed her nose, embarrassed. “Oh shit! Don’t make me snort, that’s not cool.” Then she nodded toward the beer, before glancing over her shoulder at the room again. “You want some help with those? I have got to get the fuck out of this place, before I fall into a coma.”

  “So tell me about yourself, Joe Brennan. I told you about me.” They were sitting together in the hammock, their legs dangling over the edge, hips and shoulders tight together as they watched the moon glint off the waves.

  “Well… you told me a few things about you. You told me you run the family business and you hate rubber-chicken dinners. Not much.”

  “What else is there to tell? My life is… uninteresting,” she said. She took a swallow of lukewarm Carlsberg. “My family owns an import-export business. I spend most of my time trying to get suppliers to behave, to keep customers happy, to keep my employees happy. It can be tedious.”

  “And yet you persevere, step out into high society … hang out with strange Americans.”

  “What can I say? As little as I know about you, you still seem more interesting than that dreary crowd downstairs.”

  He turned to face her and their gaze locked again. “So…” he said.

  “So…”

  He leaned in and kissed her, and she reciprocated, her lips pushing back firmly against his. Then she broke away, eyes closed, then slowly opening. She smiled. “That was nice.”

  “Nice?”

  “Well… kind of hot, but not like you forced the issue or anything.”

  “Okay.”

  “We can get to that bit later. The force.”

  “Okay.” Twist my rubber arm, Brennan thought.

  “For now… tell me about you, Joe Brennan. What’s your deal? What is… ‘The Joe Brennan Story?’ What makes you tick?’ She added mock importance, for that TV Movie of the Week feel.

  “Potatoes. Any carbs, really. What? Ohhh. Tick. I thought you said ‘thick’.”

  She swatted at him with mock severity. “Let me guess: you’re a standup who hasn’t really worked out his routine yet.”

  “It’s been suggested before, but… no, not my speed.”

  “Hmmm…. What, then? What does a…” she looked him over again, “six-foot-tall, one-eighty-ish guy with lots of muscles do in his spare time? If this was New York, I’d be tempted to guess cop, or firefighter…”

  “Hah! As if. You’re not catching my ass running into any burning buildings. No… I am gainfully unattached at present. I was in the Navy for a long time.”

  “Gainfully unattached. You’re…”

  “Unemployed, yes. It’s kind of liberating, actually. First time in nine years.”

  She sucked on her tongue, like she was holding back a curt response.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. I just had the fantastic notion of letting my father know I’m dating a bum.”

  “Ohhh… so we’re dating now, are we?”

  “It depends. How much longer are you in town?”

  “Well… I guess that depends,” he said, leaning in close again, the warmth of her so near.

  “Yeah? On what?”

  “How much force you’re willing to apply to the situation.”

  She smiled and chewed her lip. “Tomorrow’s Sunday. My family’s going back to Bangkok, but there’s nothing to stop me from staying on here. It would drive them around the bend and back again.”

  She turned, the hammock tipping awkwardly as she tried to straddle his lap, the braided string twisting until they’d both lost their balance, tumbling backwards out of it to the cool marble patio.

  “Ow!” she said. “I think I bruised my pelvis.”

  “Ouch,” he said. “As long as your ego’s fine. That was smooth, Catwoman.”

  She rolled over on top of him and pinned him to the ground. “You think you’re funny, but you’re not.”

  “Try me,” he said.

  She leaned in, still holding his arms down, until the tips of their noses were just barely touching. “Okay,” she said. “You asked for it.”

  The hammock continued its gentle swaying above them, untwisting itself and swinging back and forth as their bodies came together. />
  ***

  He woke the next morning with a start, his dreams giving way to the realization, after a split-second, that he hadn’t gone to bed alone. He looked around, feeling the other side of the bed as he did so.

  It was still warm. But she was nowhere in sight.

  “Mandy?’ he called out. She said she preferred it to Amanda, regardless of what Daddy thought. “Are you still here?”

  But there was no answer.

  Damn.

  He thought she’d stay, that they’d had a connection. The chemistry, the ease they felt around each other… he’d never experienced that with someone else before.

  Not that he had a ton of experience with the opposite sex. Brennan was a jock in high school, but also seriously studious and, for a period, intensely Catholic. It had taken until a drunken shore leave, right after enlisting at age twenty, before he’d lost his virginity, and he didn’t even remember it.

  But he’d dated enough women since then, casually and otherwise, to know none of them had been like Mandy Sakdi… Sakdisi…Sak…

  He gave up, realizing he hadn’t managed to learn her last name, which was unlike any he’d heard before. She’d laughed and explained that it was due to an old Thai law making unique surnames mandatory for each family. Hers meant “Divine One”. “When I’m in the States, I just use Garneau, which was my mother’s maiden name.”

  Her mother had died when she was a small girl, and they’d returned to live in Pattaya full-time, then Bangkok, where they’d remained until she was old enough to go to private school in New Hampshire and live with her stepmother. Her father had recalled her from her graduate studies to join the family business, his health failing. He was all-but-retired now, she said, and no longer regretted having a daughter. “I’m better at the business than he was, and he’s pretty rich,” she’d said matter-of-factly. “I don’t know, maybe I just inherited the ruthlessness only an American prep school princess can display.”

  He’d laughed at that. They’d had sex twice, both times prolonged and near-ferocious, their passion intense. Then she’d fallen asleep next to him, her arm draped across his chest, her head on his shoulder.