Chapter 4

LThe room had no windows.

That was the first thing Freen noticed. The second was that there was no recording equipment. No cameras in the corners, no microphones on the table, no blinking lights anywhere. Just four walls, a table, three chairs, and a whiteboard that had been wiped clean recently enough that she could still smell the solvent.

Off the books then.

She had done off the books before. She didn’t love it. Off the books meant no official backup, no paper trail to follow if things went wrong, and no one to answer to except the person sitting across the table from you. It also meant that whatever this was, it was serious enough that Engfa didn’t want it on record.

Engfa was already in the room when Freen arrived. Sitting straight, hands flat on the table, expression exactly as it always was — composed and unreadable and giving nothing away for free. Nam was beside her, leaning back in her chair with her arms crossed, which was Nam’s default position everywhere including, probably, her own living room.

Freen sat down.

“Close the door,” Engfa said.

Freen closed the door.

Engfa looked at them both for a moment. Then she began.

“What I’m about to tell you doesn’t leave this room,” she said. “It isn’t filed anywhere. It isn’t discussed with anyone outside the three of us. When this assignment is over there will be no official record that it happened.” She paused. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, Commander,” Freen said.

Nam raised one hand slightly. “Quick question before we agree to things.”

Engfa looked at her.

“Is this dangerous?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” Nam lowered her hand. “Just wanted to know what I was agreeing to. Understood, Commander.”

Engfa held her gaze for a moment longer than necessary. Then she turned back to the whiteboard and picked up a marker.

She wrote one name.

Rebecca Armstrong.

“Human rights lawyer,” Engfa said. “Currently leading the prosecution of Khun Viroj. Three weeks to closing arguments.” She turned back to face them. “Viroj’s network has connections inside the Royal Thai Army. Senior connections. Officers who have been facilitating weapons smuggling through official procurement channels for years.” She paused. “Becky Armstrong’s evidence exposes them.”

Freen looked at the name on the board.

“She’s been receiving threats,” Engfa continued. “Anonymous, escalating. The civilian authorities are aware and have done nothing useful. The firm has basic security measures that are insufficient for the level of threat we’re looking at.” She set the marker down. “Three nights ago someone sent a message to the firm’s general inbox. One line. Your sister won’t finish this trial.”

The room was quiet.

“Her sister,” Freen said.

“Charlotte Armstrong. Managing partner of Armstrong and Associates. She contacted me directly.” Engfa’s expression didn’t change but something in it shifted slightly in a way that Freen noted and filed away. “She wants someone inside. Close to Becky. Someone who can actually respond if the threat becomes physical.”

“What’s the cover?” Freen asked.

Engfa looked at her. “Junior associate. New transfer, recommended personally by Charlotte. You’ll be placed at the firm as a lawyer.”

Freen waited.

“You’ll be working under Becky Armstrong directly. Charlotte is going to tell her to train you.”

Freen nodded slowly. “Alright.”

“Freen.” Engfa’s voice was level. “You have no legal background.”

“I know.”

“You will be working alongside lawyers. In a law firm. On an active trial.”

“I understand.”

“You’ll need to learn enough to pass. Quickly. Charlotte will provide you with case files and background. But you’ll be in rooms with people who have spent years doing this and they will notice immediately if you don’t know what you’re doing.”

“Then I’ll make sure I know what I’m doing.”

Engfa looked at her for a long moment. This was the thing about Engfa. She never pushed. She stated a problem clearly, gave you the full weight of it, and then waited to see what you did with it. Freen had worked under her for four years and she still wasn’t entirely sure whether it was a leadership strategy or just how Engfa was built.

“Nam,” Engfa said, turning. “You’ll handle surveillance and communications. Charlotte is arranging a cover position for you at a firm in the adjacent building. You’ll have direct sight lines to Armstrong and Associates from the fourth floor.”

Nam uncrossed her arms and sat forward. “What’s my cover?”

“Legal clerk.”

Nam stared at her. “I’m also not a lawyer.”

“You’re a clerk. You file things and answer phones.”

“I can file things,” Nam said, with the air of someone making a significant concession.

“The objective is simple,” Engfa said, looking at them both. “Keep Becky Armstrong alive long enough to finish this trial. She cannot know you’re there. She cannot know she’s being protected. If she finds out the cover is blown and the threat becomes significantly more difficult to manage.” She paused. “Charlotte has agreed to tell her nothing.”

“What about the threat itself?” Freen asked. “Do we have anything on who specifically is moving against her?”

“Working on it. There is a man we believe is operating as an inside contact — someone placed close to the firm or the courthouse feeding information to Viroj’s people. We don’t have a name yet. Part of your job is to identify him.”

Freen nodded.

“One more thing.” Engfa’s voice didn’t change but Freen straightened slightly anyway. She knew that tone. It was the tone that preceded the part of the briefing that was the most important. “The corrupt faction inside the army. We don’t know yet how far it reaches or who is involved. Which means you tell no one. Not colleagues. Not friends. You run any communications through me directly and only me.” She looked at Freen. “This includes people you trust.”

“Understood.”

Engfa held her gaze. “I mean it, Freen.”

“I know you mean it.”

Another moment. Then Engfa gave a single nod. “Good.”

She picked up two folders from the chair beside her and placed one in front of each of them. Freen opened hers. Photographs on top — a woman in a courtroom, mid-argument, caught in profile. Sharp features. Dark hair. An expression on her face that was completely focused, completely in control.

Freen looked at the photograph for a moment.

Then she turned to the next page. Case summary. Threat log. Firm layout. Schedule.

“You start Monday,” Engfa said. “Charlotte will introduce you. Your cover name is your real name — it’s cleaner, less to manage. Your background is a legal career in Chiang Mai, two firms in six years, looking for a position in Bangkok.” She paused. “It’s verifiable enough to hold up under a surface check. Don’t let anyone dig deeper.”

“What if they do dig deeper?”

“Then redirect.” Engfa’s expression was even. “You’re good at that.”

Freen closed the folder. Across the table Nam had already flipped to the back pages and was reading something with her head tilted to one side.

“Nam,” Engfa said.

“Mm.”

“Questions?”

Nam looked up. “The adjacent building. Fourth floor. Do I have an actual desk or am I just standing at a window with binoculars?”

Engfa looked at her for a very long time.

“You’ll have a desk,” she said finally.

“Great.” Nam went back to her folder. “Just checking.”

Freen almost smiled. She caught it before it became visible. This was a briefing room and Engfa was sitting across from her and now was not the time. She looked back down at her own folder and turned to the photograph again.

Rebecca Armstrong. Lawyer. Three weeks from closing the biggest case of her career. No idea that someone had already decided she wouldn’t make it.

Freen studied the photograph properly this time. The way she was standing. The set of her shoulders. The quality of her focus — like nothing in that courtroom existed except what she was looking at.

She looked like someone who would be very difficult to protect without her knowing.

Freen closed the folder.

“One question,” she said.

Engfa looked at her.

“The corruption inside the army. The officers involved.” She kept her voice completely neutral. “Is there any possibility this briefing has already been compromised?”

The room was quiet.

“Yes,” Engfa said.

“So the three of us.”

“The three of us.”

Freen nodded. She picked up the folder. “Monday,” she said.

“Monday.”

She stood up. Nam stood up beside her, tucking her folder under her arm, already moving toward the door.

“Freen.”

She stopped. Turned.

Engfa was looking at her from across the table. Her expression hadn’t changed. It never really did. But there was something in her eyes that was different from the briefing voice. Something quieter.

“Don’t let anything happen to her,” she said.

It wasn’t an order. Not exactly. It was something else. Something with more weight in it than an order.

Freen held her gaze.

“I won’t,” she said.

She meant it the way she meant most things — completely, and without drama.

She walked out.

In the corridor Nam fell into step beside her. They walked in silence for a moment. Then Nam said, without looking at her, “A lawyer.”

“Yes.”

“You’re going to pretend to be a lawyer.”

“Yes.”

“For three weeks.”

“At least three weeks.”

Nam was quiet for another few steps. Then: “You know absolutely nothing about law.”

“I’ll learn.”

“In how many days?”

“However many I have.”

Nam made a sound. It wasn’t quite a laugh. More like the noise of someone accepting something they found deeply unreasonable. “Okay,” she said. “Okay. We’ll figure it out.”

They pushed through the building’s front door and out into the Bangkok afternoon. Bright and loud and hot the way it always was. Freen put on her sunglasses and stood for a moment on the pavement.

Monday.

Four days away.

She had four days to learn enough law to convince a room full of lawyers that she belonged there. Four days to build a cover that would hold up under the scrutiny of a woman who, judging by that photograph, scrutinised everything.

She started walking.

She had things to read.