The Windup Girl(44)

He tosses back another shot of whiskey, grimaces and slaps it down on the bar. "We should all send flowers to that Jaidee white shirt bastard. He's done his job perfectly. With half the city's coal pumps offline…" He shrugs. "The nice thing about dealing with the Thais is that they're really a very sensitive people. I won't even have to make a threat. They'll figure it out all on their own, and make things right."

"Quite a gamble."

"Isn't everything?" Carlyle favors Anderson with a cynical smile. "Maybe we're all dead tomorrow from a blister rust rewrite. Or maybe we're the richest men in the Kingdom. It's all a gamble. The Thais play for keeps. So should we."

"I'd just put a spring gun to your head and trade your brains for the pumps."

"That's the spirit!" Carlyle laughs. "Now you're thinking like a Thai. But I've got myself covered there, too."

"What? With the Trade Ministry?" Anderson makes a face. "Akkarat doesn't have the muscle to protect you."

"Better than that. He's got generals."

"You're drunk. General Pracha's friends run every part of the military. The only reason the white shirts don't run the entire country already is because the old King stepped in before Pracha could squash Akkarat the last time."

"Times change. Pracha's white shirts and his payoffs have made a lot of people angry. People want a change."

"You're talking revolution, now?"

"Is it revolution if the palace asks for it?" Carlyle reaches nonchalantly across the bar for the bottle of whiskey and pours. He upends it and gets less than half a shot from the bottle. He raises an eyebrow to Anderson. "Ah. Now you're paying attention." He points to Anderson's tumbler. "Are you going to drink that?"

"How far does this go?"

"You want in on the deal?"

"Why would you offer?"

"You have to ask?" Carlyle shrugs. "When Yates set up your factory, he tripled the Megodont Union's fees for joules. Threw money everywhere. Hard not to notice that kind of funding."

He nods at the other expatriates, now playing a listless game of poker and waiting for the heat of the day to abate so that they can go on with their work or their whoring or their passive wait for the next day. "Everyone else, they're children. Little kids wearing adult clothes. You're different."

"You think we're rich?"

"Oh stop the theatrics. My dirigibles haul your cargo." Carlyle regards him. "I've seen where your supply shipments originate from," he looks at Anderson significantly, "before they arrive in Kolkata."

Anderson pretends nonchalance. "So?"

"An awful lot of material coming from Des Moines."

"You think I'm worth talking to because I've got Midwestern investors? Doesn't everyone get their investors where the money is? So what if a rich widow wants to experiment with kink-springs. You read too much into small things."

"Do I?" Carlyle looks around the bar and leans close. "People are talking about you."

"How so?"

"They say you're quite interested in seeds." He looks significantly at the rind of the ngaw between them. "We're all genespotters, these days. But you're the only one who pays for your intelligence. The only one who asks about white shirts and generippers. "

Anderson smiles coldly. "You've been talking to Raleigh."

Carlyle inclines his head. "If it's any consolation, it wasn't easy. He didn't want to talk about you. Not at all."

"He should have thought a little harder."

"He can't get his aging treatments without me." Carlyle shrugs. "We have shipping representatives in Japan. You weren't offering him another decade of easy living."

Anderson forces a laugh. "Of course." He smiles, but inside he is seething. He'll have to deal with Raleigh. And now perhaps Carlyle as well. He's been sloppy. He eyes the ngaw with disgust. He's been waving his latest interest in front of everyone. Grahamites, even, and now this. It's too easy to get comfortable. To forget all the lines of exposure. And then one day in a bar, someone slaps you in the face.

Carlyle is saying, "If I could just speak with certain people. Discuss certain propositions…" he trails off, brown eyes hunting for a sign of agreement in Anderson's expression. "I don't care which company you're working for. If I understand your interests correctly, then we might find our goals lie in similar directions."

Anderson drums his fingers on the bar, thoughtful. If Carlyle were to disappear, would it rouse any interest at all? He might even be able to blame it on overzealous white shirts…

"You think you've got a chance?" Anderson asks.

"It wouldn't be the first time the Thais have reformed their government with force. The Victory Hotel wouldn't exist if Prime Minister Surawong hadn't lost his head and his mansion in the December 12 coup. Thai history is littered with changes in administration."

"I'm a little concerned that if you're talking to me, you're talking to others. Maybe too many others."

"Who else would I talk to?" Carlyle jerks his head toward the rest of the Farang Phalanx. "They're nothing. Wouldn't consider them for a second. Your people though…" Carlyle trails off, considering his words, then leans forward.