Chapter 39

She had slept eventually.

Not well. Not long. But enough to come in this morning knowing what she needed.

Not Charlotte’s version. Not the organised, professionally delivered summary with the edges smoothed. She needed to hear it from Freen. All of it. In Freen’s own words.

She had decided this at six in the morning standing at her kitchen window with a coffee she barely tasted.

—

She arrived at seven forty.

Freen was at her desk. She looked up when Becky came through the glass partition.

Becky stopped. “Courtyard. Ten minutes.”

Freen nodded.

Becky went to the kitchen. She made tea she didn’t want and gave Freen ten minutes and went down.

—

The courtyard was empty.

Becky sat on the bench against the far wall. A few minutes later the door opened and Freen came through and sat on the bench across from her.

They looked at each other.

“Tell me everything,” Becky said. “Not the version Charlotte approved. Not the summary. Everything.”

Freen looked at her.

“I mean it,” Becky said.

“I know,” Freen said. “Where do you want me to start.”

“The beginning.”

—

Freen was quiet for a moment. Then:

“Her name is Engfa. She’s my commanding officer. Royal Thai Army, special operations.” She looked at Becky. “She briefed me six weeks ago in a room with no windows and no recording equipment. Off the books. Three people knew about it – her, me and Nam.”

“Nam,” Becky said.

“She’s been running surveillance from the building across the street. The firm next door. She’s had eyes on the office since week one.”

Becky absorbed this. “The building across the street.”

“Fourth floor. Clear sight lines to this floor.”

“She’s been watching me.”

“She’s been watching everything. The street, the entrance, the office. Any threat that came near you.”

Becky looked at her. “Go on.”

“Charlotte called Engfa in February,” Freen said. “After the email arrived.”

“What email.”

“Anonymous. One line. Your sister won’t finish this trial.” Freen held her gaze. “Charlotte didn’t tell you because she knew you wouldn’t stop.”

“She was right,” Becky said. “I wouldn’t have.”

“I know.”

“Go on.”

—

Freen told her about Jeff.

“His name is Jeff Anant. Court clerk. He’s been at every hearing since the trial began. Same seat – third row from the back on the right. He has a notebook he never writes in.”

“I noticed him,” Becky said quietly. “I couldn’t place why.”

“He was tracking your movements. When you arrived, when you left, which side of the courtroom you used.” Freen paused. “He’s connected to Viroj’s network. Has been for two years.”

“He was feeding them my schedule.”

“Him and someone inside the firm.”

Becky looked at her. “Inside the firm.”

“Khun Malee. The senior secretary. She had access to Charlotte’s calendar.” Freen kept her eyes on Becky. “She forwarded your schedule every Sunday evening for four months. Jeff had your week before it started.”

The courtyard was very quiet.

“Khun Malee,” Becky said. “She left last week.”

“Yes.”

“That wasn’t a transfer opportunity.”

“No.”

Becky sat with this. “The tail three weeks ago,” she said. “The side street near the restaurant.”

“Yes.”

“That was you.”

“Yes.”

“And last night wasn’t the first time.”

Freen said nothing. Which was the answer.

“How many times,” Becky said.

“Three. Including last night.”

Becky looked at the plants in their pots along the wall. She looked at them for a moment. “You never said anything.”

“No.”

“Why.”

“Because you would have stopped the trial.”

Becky looked at her. “You don’t know that.”

“I know you,” Freen said simply. “You would have found a way to manage it yourself. You would have changed your routes and your patterns and you would have tried to make yourself a smaller target and it would have made you a more visible one.” A pause. “You’re very good at a lot of things. Being protected isn’t one of them.”

Becky opened her mouth. Closed it.

“You’re not wrong,” she said finally.

—

“Colonel Surat,” Freen said.

Becky looked at her sharply. “What about him.”

“You know the name.”

“He’s in the procurement chain. Fourth authorisation in the transfer sequence. I have his signature on three documents.” She paused. “What about him.”

“I know him,” Freen said. “Personally. I served under his command for fourteen months early in my career.” She held Becky’s gaze. “He’s the one coordinating the faction’s moves against you. He signed those documents and he knows you have them and he has decided that you’re not going to deliver the closing arguments.”

The courtyard was completely still.

“He sent the men last night,” Becky said.

“Yes.”

“A colonel.”

“Yes.”

“In the Royal Thai Army.”

“Yes.”

Becky looked at her. “And you work for the Royal Thai Army.”

“I work for Engfa,” Freen said. “Who is running this mission off the books because the corruption goes deep enough that we can’t trust the official channels. Three people know. If the wrong people find out-” She stopped. “The mission was already a risk. It’s more of one now.”

“Because I know.”

“Because you know,” Freen said.

Becky sat with all of it.

The bird above them somewhere. The distant city. The morning getting brighter over the courtyard walls.

“You’ve been carrying all of this,” Becky said. “For six weeks. By yourself.”

“With Nam and Engfa.”

“You’ve been sitting at that desk every day carrying all of this and training me and reading my closing argument back to me and-” She stopped.

“Yes,” Freen said.

“Why didn’t you tell me.”

“Because my job was to keep you safe and alive long enough to finish the trial. Telling you would have compromised both.”

Becky looked at her. “That’s the operational answer.”

Freen was quiet.

“What’s the other answer,” Becky said.

The courtyard held them both.

Freen looked at the space between the benches. At the small distance between them that had been getting smaller for six weeks.

“Somewhere between day one and now,” she said, “this stopped being just a mission.”

She said it plainly. It was true and Becky had asked for everything.

Becky was very still.

She looked at Freen for a long time.

“You lied to me every day,” she said.

“Yes.”

“From the first morning. The coffee. The late nights. All of it.”

“The cover was a lie,” Freen said. “What happened inside it wasn’t.”

“What does that mean.”

“It means the coffee was real. The late nights were real. Reading the closing argument back to you was real.” She held Becky’s gaze. “I wasn’t pretending to care about your case. I wasn’t pretending to-” She stopped.

“To what,” Becky said.

Freen said nothing.

Becky looked at her. “And you’d do it again,” she said. “If you had to. You’d lie to me again.”

Freen held her gaze.

She didn’t answer.

Not answering was its own answer and they both knew it.

Becky stood up.

She picked up her bag. She looked at Freen – all the way through, the way she had been looking at her since the car park – and Freen let herself be looked at because it was the least she could do.

“I need time,” Becky said.

“Okay.”

“I don’t know how much.”

“Okay.”

Becky held her gaze for one more second.

Then she turned and walked to the building door.

She didn’t tell Freen to leave.

—

The door closed.

Freen sat in the empty courtyard.

She looked at the bench across from her. The space where Becky had been. She looked at it for a while.

She thought about the cover was a lie. what happened inside it wasn’t. She thought about not answering and what not answering meant and whether Becky had understood what it meant.

She thought about I need time.

She sat there until she was ready to go back upstairs.

Then she went back upstairs and sat at her desk and opened the threat assessment.

Seven days.

She turned a page.

—

Becky was in her office with the door closed.

She had come up from the courtyard and gone straight in and closed the door and sat at her desk and opened the closing argument and looked at it.

She thought about everything Freen had said.

The mission. Engfa. Surat. Three interceptions she hadn’t known about. A colonel who had shaken her hand at a bar association dinner two years ago and had been coordinating an operation against her for three months.

All of it.

And then: somewhere between day one and now this stopped being just a mission.

She had known. She had put it in a box and managed it from a distance and been very professional about it for weeks.

The box was open.

She thought about the cover was a lie. what happened inside it wasn’t.

She thought about the coffee and the jacket and the stars. The rain and the shoulder in the cab. The Sunday on the conference room floor. The almost-said sentence. The turning around before the doors closed.

She thought about not answering.

She was angry. Still. Clean clear anger about two months of being managed.

She was also – other things.

The box was open and she was going to have to deal with what was in it.

Just not today.

She looked at the closing argument.

Seven days.

She turned to the last section.

She kept going.