When I got back to the Cherokee, Plaid Shirt was gone. I put the key in the ignition and then just sat there leaning against the steering wheel trying to think clearly. It took only a few minutes for me to abandon the whole concept of thinking clearly as hopelessly unrealistic, at least right then, so I sat up straighter and turned the key.
Nothing happened.
I pulled the key out and stared stupidly at it. Then I pushed it back into the ignition, very deliberately this time, and tried the starter again.
Still nothing.
A grinding sound without the engine firing; an engine that started, then died; even a useless lurch or two from the starter motor. All of these seemed to be within the realm of the comprehension and would have at least provided some clue as to what the problem might be, but… nothing? What the hell did nothing tell me?
I fumbled under the dashboard. When I found a handle that felt right, I gave it a tug and felt an answering thunk as the hood release popped open. Getting out and walking around to the front of the Cherokee, I lifted the hood. That was when it occurred to me I didn’t have the slightest idea what I was looking for. Once I had confirmed the engine was still there and pretty much in its accustomed place, my skills as an automotive mechanic were exhausted.
“Car trouble?” a woman’s voice asked from behind me.
I turned around and found Karsarkis’ wife Mia smiling at me from a dozen feet or so away. Just behind her were Plaid Shirt and another man I didn’t recognize. I also noticed they were not smiling.
“It won’t start,” I said, demonstrating my flair for the obvious.
“Is it a rental?” Mia asked.
Why was it everybody had such a keen interest in my personal relationship with this vehicle?
“Yes,” I said. “Avis.”
“I could have one of the boys call them for you.”
She half turned toward Plaid Shirt, but then she stopped and looked back at me.
“I’ve got a better idea,” she said. “I’m going to Amanpuri to meet a friend for lunch. They have an Avis office there, don’t they?”
Amanpuri was the most exclusive resort on Phuket, one of those places where tourists from Europe paid thousands of dollars a night to stay in luxurious villas and avoid mingling with the locals. If they didn’t have an Avis office there, it would be the only thing they didn’t have.
“They could give you another car now,” Mia continued, “and then come get this one later.”
Amanpuri was perched on the tip of a heavily forested peninsula on the island’s west coast that separated the beaches at Bang Tao from those at Surin. I hadn’t had any intention of going in that direction, but sitting around Karsarkis’ place for a few hours hoping that a tow truck would eventually turn up was even less appealing.
“Okay, thanks,” I said. “I’ll take you up on that.”
I saw Plaid Shirt and the other man exchange a quick glance, but neither said anything. Plaid Shirt walked over to the silver Jaguar and opened one of the rear passenger doors. Mia got in. Then?Plaid Shirt took the front passenger seat and the other man got behind the wheel. Nobody seemed inclined to hold a door for me so I opened the other rear passenger door by myself and got in next to Mia.
All the way down the driveway I wondered about the marshals who were outside blocking the roads with their gray minivans and whether they would try to prevent Mia from passing, but when we drove out through the gate, the minivans were gone. The road was as still and empty as if they had never been there at all.
“You look as if you’re about to say something, Mr. Shepherd.”
Mia spoke as we passed the place York and Parker had pulled me over on my way in. She was no doubt wondering why I was swiveling my head around like an idiot right then.
“Not really,” I said. Then I added lamely, “It’s been a bad day.”
“Oh, my,” Mia laughed, “and it’s not even lunchtime yet.”
No one spoke again until we had turned onto the main highway and the Jag had settled into a high-speed cruise. The driver seemed skilled and Plaid Shirt sat forward scanning the roadway attentively. Whether these two guys were really IRA I had no earthly idea, but watching them now I had no doubt at all that they were a couple of pros wherever they came from.
“I want to thank you for coming to see Plato today, Mr. Shepherd.” Mia spoke suddenly, without looking at me. “Plato needs…he’s been a little depressed. Having someone he respects to talk to for a while was probably a great blessing for him.”
I wasn’t sure what that meant and I said nothing.
“Can you help him?” Mia asked, turning away from the window and examining me, her lips compressed to mask any expression.
“Help him?”
“With a pardon. He says the White House listens to you, that if you will represent him they might grant it.”
“If that what he says, Mrs. Karsarkis, I’m afraid your husband has far too high an opinion of me.”
Mia nodded absently, letting me off the hook without a fuss, for which I was grateful.
The highway was almost empty and we made good time. The silver Jag’s tires sang a steady, high-pitched whine over the asphalt as we passed little houses here and there, mostly simple structures of concrete blocks with a carport occasionally tacked onto one side like an afterthought. For most of the way there was little sign of habitation. The highway ran through thick groves of banana trees, ferns, and elephant ears, their leaves shiny with moisture from the air and flattening slightly in a feeble breeze.
We passed the entrance to the Sheraton Grande and a well-manicured golf course appeared on our right. A conga line of middle-aged Japanese in funny clothes was making its way down a gently rolling fairway with a crowd of young Thai women trailing behind them. Some of the women carried the golfers’ heavy bags, while others carried brightly striped umbrellas to shade the Japanese from the sun.
“He misses her more than he would ever admit to you.” Mia spoke to the window rather than to me. “Zoe, I mean. His daughter.”
I said nothing.
“He wants to go home, Mr. Shepherd.” Mia turned from the window and fixed me with a stare so desolate I could not return it. “All he wants to do is to go home.”
There were many things I could ings I chave said, but none of them seemed worth the hurt they would no doubt inflict on this woman. So I tried to come up with something innocuous.
“Your husband has asked me to lodge a pardon application on his behalf, Mrs. Karsarkis, and I am considering it. But please understand I have not yet made any commitment to him.”
That sounded ridiculously tight-assed, and almost as soon as I had spoken I wished I had said nothing at all. Regardless, Mia just nodded as if that was what she had expected me to say, and then she went back to staring out the window.