Читаем The 13th Tablet полностью

Jack wanted to hurl his phone against the wall.

‘I knew it,’ Jack said out loud. ‘I should’ve gone back to the bungalow.’

He looked at his mother and sister, and made up his mind in an instant.

‘Mum, Jen, I’m putting you on the first plane to Bangkok. I’ve also organised your connecting flight back home.’

‘But Jack, what are you going to do? Where’s Mina?’ asked Jen tearfully.

‘You have a two hour gap between the arrival in Bangkok and your departure for the US. I have to stay here until Mina arrives.’

‘We’ll wait with you Jack,’ she answered.

‘No Jen. You must go. It’s all arranged. You’ll land in Phili.

Uncle Frankie will pick you up. Mina and I will see you when we get back home. We’ll be fine.’

One look at her stubborn brother left her defeated. Jen took her mother’s arm and they walked briskly, passports in hand, to the departure zone. He stood there for a few more seconds, watching them go and then rushed out of the hall. On his way out he placed a few personal belongings, including his laptop, into a locker, but kept his small rucksack and the fake photograph of the tablet, which he placed in an envelope. He jumped into a cab and offered the driver triple the fare to get to Patong beach as fast as he could. He drove like a madman through the countryside and Jack arrived on Patong beach just before 8:00 a.m.

As he paid the driver the agreed fare, Jack heard his stomach growling. He realised he hadn’t eaten since dinner the day before. He noticed a Starbucks cafe on the beach and decided to grab coffee and some food, as he still had one hour to go. As Jack pushed the door open, he suddenly felt sick, as if all his insides had been turned upside down. A powerful tremor had shaken the cafe and the people sitting inside had felt the sharp rocking motion too.

They all looked at each other in surprise. Three American kids huddled around their parents, started screaming. The parents tried reassuring them, but they seemed as apprehensive as their children. They quickly ordered a few mango smoothies to distract their children, which seemed to work momentarily.

Two young Swedish men were having breakfast with an Israeli couple. The group’s diving gear was scattered all over the floor. Markus, one of the Swedes, a tall blond hulk with a bronze tan, turned to the others excitedly:

‘Did you feel that, guys?’

‘Yeah, that was a close one! Maybe we shouldn’t go diving after all?’ the Israeli girl wondered.

‘Don’t tell me you’re scared, Irit?’ her boyfriend asked her.

‘Irit? Scared of anything?’ Markus laughed.

‘What about you Stieg?’ she asked the Swede, ‘are you afraid?’

‘No, dude. I don’t feel anything anymore so it must’ve been pretty far away. Let’s go!’

Jack’s hands were trembling. He sat down, his hands on his thighs as he breathed in deeply. ‘It’s the earthquake!’ he thought. ‘It was true after all.’

But at least it meant that the earthquake was over now, and regardless of what it had caused in another country or island in the Indian Ocean, Thailand was now safe. ‘It’s over. Now I can focus on dealing with that Wheatley bastard.’

He thought about the restaurant, Chiang Mai. It was a swish restaurant on the sea front and not very far from where he was. It was a slightly elevated building, isolated from bungalows and guest houses by a dense row of coconut trees. It had a good view of the beach and the seafront. As Wheatley was obviously a megalomaniac, Jack guessed he’d probably have booked the entire restaurant to avoid any witnesses. He caught sight of a local boy he’d seen hanging around the hotel the other day. He called him over.

‘Hi! You remember me?’ asked Jack.

‘Yes Sir, I carried your luggage.’

‘Ah. Of course you did. What’s your name again?’

‘Noi, sir.’

‘Noi, I’m Jack. Could you do another small errand for me? I’ll pay you well.’

The boy’s eager eyes widened in anticipation, ‘Yes Sir, no problem, Sir!’

‘OK. I have a meeting at the Chiang Mai restaurant at nine, and I want you to wait for me here with this bag,’ Jack said, handing him his rucksack. ‘When I phone you, you come to the restaurant with the bag.’

‘That’s all sir?’

‘Yes. I’ll need your phone number and here’s half the cash,’ he said, giving him $40.

Patong Beach. Chiang Mai Restaurant

Oberon Wheatley and Natasha Mastrani were having tea on the outdoor terrace of the Chiang Mai restaurant. Oberon was reading a newspaper and Natasha was checking emails on her laptop when they felt the earthquake. Within minutes he had received fifteen emails on his blackberry from various researchers and his centre in Mumbai. But none of them satisfied his hunger for explanations.

‘Information,’ he thought, ‘I need accurate information.’