Colin Cotterill - Grandad, Thereэ's head on the beach

"I think it's doable," I said.

"How?" asked Grandad, turning to give me a prolonged Grandad Jah glare, even though he was driving.

The Mighty X really shouldn't have had a back seat. The expression "4-Seater" was only a selling point. I suppose if you had two mine-victim passengers, it would be the perfect vehicle. But anyone with legs had to wrap them around the seat in front. With Arny taking up half the cab all by himself, we were an intimate foursome in that small space. You could smell the lack of confidence.

"I don't know what it is yet," I said. "But I know there has to be a way."

When we got back to the resort, the sea had retreated somewhat, but the Neo-Mekhong river out back was wide enough for paddle steamers to ply their trade. Only the side walls of the bridge were visible above the surface. A hundred years ago all this water would have found its way unimpeded to the sea, but idiots like our predecessors had built for sea views and filled the land and limited the runoff from the hills to ninety-centimeter pipe segments that burrowed under driveways and palm plantations and houses. Monsoon water didn't have that type of patience. If you've gotta go…

We parked the truck on the hump in the road fifty meters from the resort, and I splashed down to the kitchen. I was on dinner duty, of course. With the tide at its lowest, I no longer had to wade from the larder to the stove. The power had been off all day, so the menu was decided on what smelled best in the dark refrigerator. I was just one step ahead of putrefaction. The day's events had caused me to be absent for the Noys' return on the postal motorcycle earlier. I'd called Mair from the truck, and she told me the two had eaten sparingly and were sorry they'd tried to escape. So I decided to create an evening meal that was both nutritious and welcoming. Thankfully, gas was not subject to the whims of nature. I was halfway through my famous spicy ginger chicken when Sissi phoned.

"What's happening?" I asked.

"I'm into the semi-finals of the table tennis tournament. It appears it's one of those skills you never lose."

"I thought all your muscles had atrophied from years seated in front of a computer."

"You're so yesterday. For six months I've been seated in front of the computer on a stationary cycle. I've probably been to Shanghai and back since May. I had to get in shape for Seoul."

"You bored?"

"It isn't quite as intense as I'd hoped."

"Is your flight canceled?"

"Everybody's flight's canceled."

"Are you allowed to leave the airport?"

"They have a fleet of yellow-shirt shuttle buses. You can go anywhere you choose in Bangkok free of charge."

"So, why are you still there?"

"Where would I go in Bangkok? It's an awful place."

"You're still banking on having something to tell the grandchildren, aren't you?"

"I'm keeping a notebook diary. So far, the only excitement has been the barging and yelling from the disgruntled passengers and my table tennis victories. I might have to embellish."

"So, are you free now?"

"I have another match in twenty minutes. A baggage handler. Strong wrists. Lovely smile."

"All right. Never mind the table tennis. You remember the coverage of the Iraq war? A journalist a million miles inside the desert. Not a communication tower in sight. And he charges up his laptop computer and files a live report. And it's all wobbly and the words don't all connect up, but there he is, live in the middle of nowhere."

"Technology's come a long way since then."

"So, would it work if you were, say, in the middle of the ocean?"

"Same principle. As long as you're on the BGAN network with multiple voice and data interfaces, including WLAN connectivity."

"All right. I have no idea what you just said. I don't actually need the serial numbers and stock codes. Where do I get hold of one?"

"Can't you just video it?"

"No. It has to be live."

"Then you'd need a multi-user satellite phone with extensive functionality. Thane and Thane do a really top-"

"All right. Where do I find one?"

"You don't just stroll into an appliance store and pick one up. You certainly won't find one on the shelf at Tesco Lang Suan. They usually have to be ordered. When do you need it?"

"Tomorrow. Maybe sooner."

"I sense another menopausal, heterosexual mad rush to the head. Take a deep breath and tell your old sister exactly what you have in mind here."

Dinner was served with a very fine cardboard cask of Chilean red in the room of our friends from Bangkok. Because I didn't want to overwhelm them with too many annoying visitors, I told the rest of my family they weren't invited. This was my game. Beneath the shuddering light of an oil lamp, with the rain still pattering against the glass of the windows, the Noys looked drained of their natural beauty. Since there was no electricity, they hadn't showered or blow-dried or freshened up from the day's ordeals. They'd assumed an unmistakably helpless demeanor, like the last two polar bears on the last block of glacier. They didn't attack their ginger chicken with the enthusiasm I thought it deserved. I felt like I was eating for the three of us.

Between bites, I asked, "So where did you think you'd go from here?"

Neither answered.

"You realize how insulting today's little drama was, I suppose?" I added. "It was a bit late to stop trusting us. If we'd been likely to turn you in, you'd have been busted long ago."

"That wasn't the reason," said Noy. "We did. We do trust you. We love you, even. We feel safe here. We didn't want to leave."

"Then…why?"

"We were afraid for you," said Mamanoy. "We were afraid they'd find us, and harm would come to you because you'd been sheltering us."

I so desperately wanted to know who "they" were, but I was supposed to know the whole story already. If I admitted ignorance now, they'd clam up.

"They're not as powerful as you think," I guessed.

"How would you know?" asked Mamanoy.

Good question.

"Because power is an illusion. Most people who act tough are just…acting."

"Not these. They have people looking for us. Professionals."

"How could you know that for sure?"

"It's the way powerful people work. You lose face, so you have to let your associates know you've 'fixed' the problem. Not doing so would be a sign of weakness."

"So you think running and hiding is the answer? When would it all end?"

"When somebody's dead," said Noy, calmly.

None of us was eating.

"You really think…?"

"Yes. I know what they want me to do. When I refuse, they'll have no choice."

Whatever happened over there in the States had followed them back home and traumatized them.

"They've already sent a message," said Mamanoy.

"What sort?"

"We left two cats behind. Before we fled, we asked the neighbors to take them in. We thought they'd be safe. But som-somebody went to the neighbors' house and killed our cats."

"What? But that could have been some random psychopath," I said.

I knew no end of people who would gladly torture cats.

"The neighbors had three cats of their own. They weren't touched. The next day some people went to their house claiming to be local police officers investigating the cat killings. But the neighbors hadn't reported it to anyone. They told the men they didn't know us. They said they just noticed the cats weren't being fed and took them in. The officers left a phone number and told them to get in touch if they had any contact from us."

"How do you know this?"

"The neighbors are actually close to us. The husband is in e-mail contact with my husband. He writes from his office."

"And what machine does your husband write from?"

"He uses Internet cafes," said Noy. "We all have notebooks, but we've agreed not to use them with cell-phone dongles. Neither do we use our cell phones. Once every two days we call him from a pay phone. Here we used the one at the end of the lane. It's underwater now. We usually call him at a land number in-"