“Could be,” Arthit says, nodding. “Keep going.”

“So with Porthip about to vanish from the scene, Pan wants to redefine the relationship. He tells Ton he’s going to announce-”

“And Ton says no,” Arthit says. “And Pan doesn’t like to be told no. So let’s say he decides to announce anyway. The announcement is a demonstration that he’s going to be more independent now, that it’s going to be a collaboration or nothing.”

Rafferty says, “Works for me.”

“One thing I can tell you,” Arthit says. “This is bigger than Ton. He’s rich and nice-looking and he married well, but he’s not in charge of anything this big. There’s someone else, someone up in the nosebleed echelons of society. Military or conservative for a dozen generations. And what that means…” He looks at Kosit, who’s been shifting eagerly on his chair, practically raising his hand to speak. “What does that mean?”

“That Ton’s on the spot,” Kosit says. “He’s sitting on a burner.”

For the first time, Arthit looks like himself. He leans over and swats Kosit lightly on the head. “That’s exactly right.”

Rafferty says, “Hold on,” and opens his phone. “What?”

“Pan and the little guy,” Boo says on the other end of the line. “Dr. something, the one with the big nose and the slacks with all those pleats?”

“Another player on the move,” Rafferty says to Arthit. To Boo he says, “What are they doing?”

“They pulled out of Pan’s right after I talked to you, about ten minutes ago. Big black car, not the gold one. They’re heading away from town, on some nowhere road.”

“What direction? Where are you?”

“North, sort of. Out toward Chatuchak. Bunch of factories.”

Rafferty says, “Factories.”

“The guy with the nose is driving,” Boo says. “Pan’s in the back.”

“How far behind are you?”

“A few blocks. We’re on three motos, no lights. You’re going to have to pay these guys extra for that.”

“Who’s ‘we’?” Rafferty realizes he’s standing, and a sudden stab of pain tells him that he’s tried to reach into his trouser pocket with the bandaged hand, looking for small bills to pay for their meal. Kosit gets up and drops a few fifty-baht notes on the table.

“Just kids,” Boo says.

“Which kids?”

“Nobody you know.”

Something in his tone rings wrong, but Rafferty dismisses it, since there’s nothing he can do about it anyway. “Stay far back. I’m pretty sure we know where he’s going. We’re way the hell on the other side of town, but we’ll be there as soon as we can. And listen to me. When they stop, you call to tell us where it is. And that’s it. You do not go in until we get there. Not you, not any of your kids. You wait outside and out of sight until we arrive.”

“You worry too much,” Boo says. He disconnects.

“I worry too much,” Rafferty says to no one.

“We’ll be where?” Arthit asks. Kosit is already out on the street, hailing a cab.

“The famous factory. Dr. Ravi’s taking Pan out there as we speak.” A taxi flashes its headlights and cuts through traffic at an acute angle to reach them. “And I think the time has come to get their attention.” Rafferty climbs into the back, beside Arthit, as Kosit slips into the front seat and pushes his badge at the startled driver.

“Right now,” Kosit says, “it is impossible for you to drive too fast.”

47

Boo waves the motorcycle taxis past the gate that Dr. Ravi’s car pulled through. The gate is high and rusted, twisted as though someone drove straight through it, and it sags disconsolately to the right, like it’s hoping for something to lean on. There are no lights visible on the other side, just tall, spiky weeds and the looming hulk of a building.

Not until the bikes are almost a quarter of a mile down the road, with the gate behind them, does Boo wave the convoy to a stop. The road is just heavily oiled dirt, spotted with patches of asphalt to fill in holes. On either side, vertical screens of foliage climb chain-link fences to mask the squat industrial buildings they surround. Razor wire spirals its silver teeth along the tops of some of the fences. Except for a weak wash of moonlight diffused through ragged, gauzy clouds and a single spotlight shining uselessly on an empty parking lot across the street, the area is dark. Two feral-looking older boys climb off the bike behind Boo’s, but when the person on the third bike begins to dismount, Boo waves her to stay put.

“You’re going back to the shack,” he says.

“No, I’m not,” Da says. “I’m going where you go.” She has made a sling of Rose’s cashmere shawl, and Peep peers over the edge of it, curious now that the movement of the motorbike has stopped.

“This isn’t the same as watching a house,” Boo says. “We don’t even know what’s in there.”

“You should have said that before we all got on the bikes,” Da says. “And there are four of us, and Khun Poke is bringing all his police, right?”

“You’re not coming.”

“You don’t understand, do you?” She looks at him as though he’s slow and she’s grown impatient with waiting for the idea to drop. “I’m going where you’re going.” She steps toward him, and he backs up. “What’s your problem? I’m a girl?”

Boo licks his lips, looks away, and then his eyes come back to her and he says, “The baby.” The boys are watching, and to Boo’s irritation they look amused.

“Peep?” Da says, her eyes wide and innocent. She puts a hand, open-fingered, against her heart. “Peep, in danger? Peep’s been in danger ever since he got stolen. He’s used to it. If he wasn’t in danger, he’d probably start to cry. His karma has kept him safe until now, and either it’ll keep him safe tonight or it won’t. Just like yours. He’ll be fine or not. Just like you.”

One of the boys laughs, and Boo rounds on him, fists clenched.

“See?” Da says. “Even your friends aren’t afraid of you. I’m not letting you go in there without me.”

The night’s silence breaks open as something mechanical sputters, coughs, and gradually works its way up to an irregular chug. A motor of some kind. The half-moon emerges from behind a scrap of cloud to reveal an area that looks post-human. The world is a narrow oiled road, fences, weeds, and empty black buildings like giant boxes dropped to earth at random.

“Generator,” says one of the boys. “Must be back there.”

Boo has wheeled around to face the sound. While his back is turned, Da hops off the bike and taps the driver on the shoulder. He glances at her, takes the money in her hand, and pops the clutch. By the time Boo’s head snaps around, the bike is ten meters away, accelerating into the night.

Boo glares at Da. Da reaches into the shawl, brings up Peep’s hand, and waves it from side to side at Boo. The other boys start to laugh, then cover their mouths to muffle the sound. Da is grinning, too, but Boo’s lips are a tight line. He stands perfectly still, waiting for silence.

“We’re doing this my way, and anybody who thinks I don’t mean that can find a new bunch of friends and a new way to buy food tomorrow.” His voice is a sharp-edged whisper. “Everybody understand that?” He looks at Da. “Everybody?”

Nods all around. The boys study their feet. Da busies herself with Peep, but she makes a syllable of assent.

“I’m going through the gate first. You all”-he focuses on Da again-“all of you, you wait until I wave you in. Once we’re all in, you do what I say unless I’m dead, and then it’s up to you. Anything there you don’t understand?”

“Yes,” Da says, for all of them. “You’re not supposed to go in. Rafferty said we were just supposed to watch.”

“And that’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to watch. And if I see anything I don’t like, I’ll come back out and we’ll wait.”

“You will not,” Da says. “You’ll show off, do something brave. And stupid.”