Black Tiger Read Free Page A

with sacks of money and opium and dumped the car keys on his desk. They left sapphire rings absentmindedly in his ashtray. They came to the interview room accompanied by nubile nieces and beautiful nephews; they brought title deeds to villas and apartment blocks, silver snuffboxes packed with snowy powder, and cufflinks set with rubies as big as pigeons’ eggs.
    Sya never gave in to temptation. The petitioners were rich and important; most were vindictive and all were ruthless. During the years of his temptation in the outposts, Sya Dam made many enemies. He remained invincible in his righteousness, pure as gold, hard as diamond. People began to call him The Incorruptible.
    June 18, 1965
    My dear Queen Benjawan is dead now. She died producing our only child, our Crown Prince, Vajah. Before our marriage, I had never thought much about ladies. I was slightly in awe of these fragile, volatile beings, complex as myths. As a young king I had been immersed in my pet projects—dams, nature reserves, literacy programmes and the like, and in my music and the life of the mind.
    But it eventually dawned on me that an unmarried monarch is a disappointment. Benjawan was gentle and kindly, not terrifyingly beautiful or alarmingly haughty. Her death paralyzed me with guilt. All those sad attempts to produce an heir, all those false starts and dashed hopes—and her own life finally the price for our only son.
    I miss her quiet good sense, her undemanding company. I wish she had been around longer for the boy’s sake, too; while his servants and tutors are all excellent in their duties, they often display excessive adulation. I fear the boy will grow wilful and arrogant.
    I also fear what might happen if I died, if the kingship were laid too soon upon his shoulders. My younger brother would be a conscientious regent. Still, I need to ensure, in the event of my demise, that my son has a stronger man at his side, one who will have the courage to make the hard decisions. My legacy to my son will be Sya Dam.
    March 5, 1967
    Sya’s star continued to rise. He won promotion ahead of more experienced, and even better connected, contenders. There was resentment, but no one protested. His rivals never mounted a coup. His luck and his karma were good.
    Even when promoted and recalled to Bangkok, he did not fall prey to its dubious attractions. (I fear our beautiful capital does not enjoy an entirely unblemished reputation.) He gave his enemies no opportunity to condemn him as a man given to perversity and excess. My faith in his ability increased. He became the youngest full colonel in our country’s history, outside of our royal family.
    My chancellor was clearly nervous when I told him of my plans for Sya, that I was creating a new post for him. I decided to give him the title of Director of Tribal Training Schemes and Information Dissemination. He would liaise with tribal headmen and promote centralization and a sense of nationhood.
    The Chancellor disagreed with me, thinking it a mistake to give Sya carte blanche and worried at what his methods might be. It took some convincing to remind him that while Sya’s carte blanche would certainly include and accept bribery and intimidation, they would be in our favour—in Sya’s unquestioning loyalty, he would shun no means to further our goals. Any terror he inflicted would be in our interests. I was in no doubt that he possessed the fanatical ruthlessness of the terrorist. But he was my terrorist.
    From Bangkok’s military transmitter he broadcast in tribal languages. In the deepest jungles of the Northern Hills, his guttural tones pounded the message home to the communities within earshot of every Border Patrol post. During my official visits to outlying districts, I heard that familiar roar; the passion with which he thundered out those strange sounds was oddly unsettling. Since the Akha are the most savage of the tribes, moral recruitment of the Akha will make dealing with the Meo and the Yao