When Chuan stepped out of the shower, hearing his phone ring for the 10th time in the last hour, he knew they were serious. He knew they were after him. He knew they could get him any time. He had no defense, no weapons, no influential wealthy friends in high places. He lit a cigarette and let it ring.
His wife had left on the afternoon flight to Paris. They’d said he was a traitor to the country, a nation hater, because he was married to a foreigner. Half the country was married to a foreigner, one way or the other, but half the country didn’t speak out, didn’t complain, didn’t point out the nepotism, the political murders, the systemic corruption, the under-the-table back-room decisions that pushed thousands into destitution, generation after generation.
Chuan wrote. Sometimes he appeared on television. Twice they’d come, put a bag over his head, dragged him to a military camp, put him in a cell and questioned him for days on end. He’d written about that. He had nothing to hide. He was a writer. It was the job he’d been trained for. They could pick up a newspaper if they wanted to know what he was thinking, he told them. They had picked up the newspapers. Perhaps they just wanted him to confirm it in person, that they were all in service of tyranny.
He picked up the phone. He could hear someone at the other end. But no one was talking.
“What do you want? Read the paper tomorrow. Surely, you can wait that long to be confronted with your own venality?”
He hung up. They employed a guy, someone in the secret service, or perhaps in a private militia, to breathe. That was meant to scare him. He was scared. He was always scared. Scared of the unmarked police cars that parked, day and night underneath his apartment, scared of his boss who was under enormous pressure to fire him, scared of the lunatic right-wing fringe which might catch up with him one day and that would be the end.
Sophie, his wife understood. “Come to Paris for Christmas. I know you won’t. I know you need to be here. You can’t write about oppression from Paris. But be human, come and visit your wife.”
He loved hearing her voice, from Paris. He promised he would think about it. He wanted nothing more than to go and see her in Paris.
He sat at his desk and began to write.
The phone rang. He wasn’t in his story yet. It might be Sophie. He picked up.
“You must stop.”
“Who’s this?”
“We will stop you, if you don’t stop writing the lies and fake news you put out every day. Everyone knows you’re lying. So, you will stop. I am asking politely. For the last time.”
The voice, a man, sounded kind and agreeable. Chuan smiled bitterly.
“Who am I speaking to?”
“There is a flight to Paris tonight. Follow your wife. Enjoy your life. This is my best advice to you, Chuan. Please heed my advice.”
The conversation was like a dance on the edge of a cliff. They both knew their moves. The caller had been trained in blackmail, threats and realpolitik diplomacy. Chuan had been trained to write the truth as he saw it.
The previous evening he’d been in a private hospital. He’d interviewed a young woman a government thug had shot at a demonstration a couple of days earlier. The bullet had shattered her neck. She couldn’t speak. But she could type. She could be his last story. He could write it on the plane to Paris. He would see Sophie. The nightmare, the kidnappings, the stalking, the threats, the punches, the phone calls, it would all end.
“We’ll even spring the ticket for you. Come to the airport at 10pm, come with your supporters. It will be safe. We will let you go. So long as you don’t come back.”
Chuan searched his mind for something to say that wouldn’t sound outrageously impolite and painfully vapid. He was torn of course. He knew that they knew that he knew. He shrugged, hung up and started writing.
They kicked in the door before he’d finished the first draft.
by 
He is the author of four crime novels, including the Southeast Asia set Detective Maier trilogy. His first novel, The Devil’s Road to Kathmandu, has been translated into Spanish.
Tom is the co-owner and editor of Crime Wave Press, a Hong Kong based crime fiction imprint. He has also published non-fiction books, including the best-selling Sacred Skin with photographer Aroon Thaewchatturat. Tom is the co-author of several documentary screenplays, including the highly praised The Most Secret Place On Earth, a feature on the CIA’s secret war in Laos. His articles on Asian politics, tourism, the environment, minorities, youth culture and crime have been published in many publications including The Wall Street Journal, The Times, The Guardian and The Daily Telegraph, as well as crime fiction magazines like Noir Nation and Suspense.
www.tomvater.com
www.clippings.tomvater
www.crimewavepress.com
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