Black Tiger Read Free Page B

and the Karen tribes mere child’s play. If we win over the Akha, we will win everything.
    March 5, 1968
    Eventually it came to my attention that Sya Dam was perhaps going too far. I was told that he had made a brutal remark, something about burning down Chinatown and killing all the Chinese if any member of the Royal Family were assassinated.
    Whims are the divine inspirations of monarchs. I happened to know that Sya Dam was inspecting the palace guard. I sent for him at once.
    Under my questioning, Sya was unabashed. While he had no proof of any attempted assassination, he did comment openly on his desire to torch Chinatown.
    ‘Somewhat drastic, Sya?’ I murmured.
    ‘Majesty.’ He bowed low. ‘Behind any attempt to overthrow the blessed Chakri dynasty, one would detect the hand of the murderous, unassimilated, bloodsucking Chinese!’
    It might be true, but this kind of incautious and intemperate pronouncement contributed to the climate of hatred that was gathering around Sya. Jealousy festered. None but myself dared question him. People were afraid of who else he might blame.
    I mulled it over for a couple of days and eventually decided it would be better for Sya to leave the country for a while. I sent my uncle General Worawong to approach the American director of the Southeast Asia Treaty Organization. Together we chose California.
    June 24, 1969
    It seems that Sya has studied obsessively, played certain Western sports with bravado, and dated intellectual sluts, my spies inform me. This year he returned, armed with an MBA and a racy vocabulary.
    I am so happy with his return. Now educated and an expert in English, he is more useful than ever.
    Sya quickly achieved yet another promotion. He was now a full colonel in the Border Patrol Police. He was too young, in reality, but I did not care about that. And because I did not care, nobody else dared raise objections. He now spends much time at court, yet pays no respect to anyone, except myself.
    It is good to have my faithful Tiger back home. Sya is my talisman and my shield. I truly believe no ill will befall me on his watch.

Udon Thani, North of the Korat Plain, Eastern Thailand
January 1969
    ‘Come!’ Colonel Sya Dam stood with his back to the room, staring out at the cheerless compound. He did not turn, even at the staccato thud of three pairs of military boots on the wooden floor behind him, scraping to an abrupt halt.
    ‘Prisoner, sir!’
    He turned then, at the sergeant’s bark, listening for any hint of resentment in the sergeant’s voice, any rift in the unquestioning acceptance of his absolute authority. His hard gaze raked the face of the young soldier who stood between the two guards. On the youth’s head, thrown back defiantly, Sya noted the black spikes where the cropped hair was starting to grow back. The chin was firm, the eyes steady. Only the clenched fists and unnaturally taut jawline betrayed his terror.
    The boy’s face expressed incredulity and indignation. His expression proclaimed that, had he dared, he would have yelled in protest that he had only been obeying orders, the incontestable commands of Colonel Sya himself, his fearsome, charismatic commanding officer, to whom the young man had demonstrated his doglike devotion over and above the call of duty. All this despite the fact that the commanding officer was not of his own people, not even a Black Thai or a Plains Thai, but an Akha.
    One week ago, he’d been a trusted professional soldier at the start of a promising career. Or, rather, almost trusted. For it was well known that Colonel Sya Dam trusted nobody; his circumspection forestalled complications of just this unwelcome kind. Sya ensured that sensitive information, the kind that could too easily sow seeds of speculation and doubt, was withheld. He regarded the young prisoner with irritation tinged with regret.
    ‘Read the charge, Sergeant,’ Sya commanded tiredly.
    ‘Boonchua, Corporal. Border Patrol Police number 10035.