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

CREW 2: No. It ain't a trick, boss.

CREW 1: And it ain't a radio. It's live.

CREW 2: And it's more than one voice.

SONG: Where dey play the righ music,

gettin in de swing.

You cummin to loo for king.

BOSS: Who is it?

CREW 2: It's Abba, boss.

BOSS: No, I mean, where's it coming from?

CREW 2: Sweden.

BOSS: Look, idiot. I-

SONG: Anybody cou be dat guy

Nigh is young and de music high

CREW 1: Look, boss. There's another light over there.

BOSS: So? Three boats. No big deal.

CREW 2: Make that four. Look.

SONG: Wiv a bidda rock music, everytin is fai

You in de moo for dan

CREW 2: They're really terrible.

CREW 1: More lights, boss.

BOSS: My God. They're everywhere.

SONG: And when you get de chan

CREW 1: There must be twenty…thirty of 'em. We're surrounded.

BOSS: Stuff it. All right. Put down your weapons, boys. We'll sort this out tomorrow. Couple of phone calls and we'll be back out here on the next tide.

SONG: You are de dancin guee

Young an swee, only sewentee

Dancin guee, feel de bea

From de tambolee

BOSS: Nothing to worry about.

SONG: Oh yeah

"But they were arrested?"

"Every last one of them. The ministry police task force was there waiting for them at the dock in Pak Nam. TV crews. Interviews. Helicopter. Media frenzy. They were whisked off to Bangkok."

"And you think, in spite of all that, they'll get off?"

"I don't want them to, of course. But as hot news, it's relegated to page three by the airport takeover. And public memories are short. In a week it'll all be forgotten."

I was sitting with Noy and Mamanoy in their simple but comfortable granny flat at the back of Somjit's house. They'd been well looked after, and nobody had seen a sign of the Special Branch people since Mair sent them on a wild goose chase. Elain seemed to have taken a shine to the Noys. She was hiding shyly behind Noy's legs.

"Plus the fact they knew some important figures," said Mamanoy.

"Well, at this point it's looking like we might have got them too," I said.

"How?"

"We had the link to the Rescue Foundation, evidence, sound recordings. There was a raid, and they found documents that tied them to the slavery. Or, at least, to the slave ships. The foundation godfather is the older brother of the current shadow minister of education. A lifetime Democrat from an old southern family. He's registered as the owner of the slaver boats. Our present prime minister and his cabinet would be only too delighted to make all this public and put pressure on the police ministry to rush the case through the courts. That reduces the time our southern MP has to bribe witnesses and make the Burmese slaves go away. But you know how these things work. A change of government tomorrow and suddenly there was never a charge to answer. On the positive side, all the foreign attention might make a difference. There's pressure on the police to get convictions on this case. And as all the work was done for them…by us…the Royal Thai Police force could look good on the world stage without having to do very much. At the very least they'll get convictions against the villains that don't have family connections: the slave boss and his crew, all the people involved on dry land."

"Your Lieutenant Egg?" asked Mamanoy.

"Facing charges. The rat brothers are prepared to give evidence against him. Say they were just hired help. Everything was his idea. And there was the cloned truck in his garage. His physical attack on Chompu. I think this might be one police case that doesn't get lost in the system."

"Did it really make any difference?" Noy asked.

"What?"

"The coverage. The Internet. Isn't it temporary entertainment? A fad? Then tomorrow the cyber world moves on to the next burst of excitement."

Our Noy was short on optimism. It was time to reveal my secret identity.

"The Internet isn't all Tweeters and mindless surfers and Facebookers," I said, even though it pretty much was. "What happened out there in the Gulf has been picked up by a lot of international press. I was the deputy head of the crime desk at the Chiang Mai Mail before I moved down here." All I picked up was a look of disbelief. "I was online as often as I could be, looking for stories to follow up on. The newspapers get a lot of their content from the Web. You wouldn't know where to start if it was just you and the Internet. The newspapers are like your dinner ladies. They give you your lunchbox all packaged, apple and all. You can get through the content in your canteen break."

"And be as knowledgeable as the newspaper allows you to be," said Mamanoy.

"You can choose your newspaper," I said. "Find one you trust."

"I'm not sure I trust any of them," she said.

"Then you'll have an opportunity to discuss your fears with The New York Times," I told her.

"The New York Times?"

"They're coming for an interview this afternoon…with you. Just a Bangkok-based journalist and his photographer. I imagine they're getting bored with strolling around the airport asking people their feelings. As we still haven't completely rid the Lovely Resort of its Special Branch threat, Somjit has kindly agreed for us to conduct the interview in her garden gazebo."

The Noys exchanged a glance, then laughed. This was all some fantasy. Their lack of faith was starting to annoy me.

"Listen," I said, "I've lost half a tooth, which won't do my modeling career much good. I've thrown up a dozen times…which might. I haven't slept for forty-eight hours and my nervous system is ragged. I would have had a very successful day today if only I could find the energy to type up this whole trafficking drama and send it off to the newspapers. I've had every daily in Thailand contact me. I could be the flavor of the week. All I need to do is put in the time…type, type, type. My career is standing on the runway waiting for permission to take off. And where am I? I'm here with you. And why am I here? Because you aren't concluded."

"I don't understand," said Noy.

"I have to put your story to bed before I can get some rest myself. I could have had a few hours' sleep when I got back from the media circus at five this morning, but I lay

on my lumpy mattress and all I could think about was you two.

"I'm sorry we gave you insomnia," said Noy. "But this is one story that won't be put to sleep."

"Yeah, I'm sorry too. But it's what I do. I can't stop until I get you two off the hook."

I'd been trying to keep the bed/sleeping analogy going, but it was exhausting.

"You know, I think it might be a good idea for us to move out before the reporter gets here," said Noy.

"Well, that would be a terrible shame," I told her, "considering the guy didn't drive all this way just to photograph me. He's got an even better story. An exclusive, in fact. I've told him all about you and what happened in America."

Both Noys stood as if they'd heard a silent rendition of the national anthem.

"You've what?" said Mamanoy. Her face was flushed with anger.

"They think it's a great story," I went on. "You're going to tell your story to The New York Times."

Noy's jaw dropped and almost banged the monkey on the head.

"You are out of your mind, you know?" said Noy.

"Some people tell me that. But why? What's wrong?"

"What's…? I'll tell you what's wrong. Apart from the fact there's no way on the planet Earth I'd do it, you're mad if you think a newspaper with an office in Bangkok would even think about running it. There would be implications far beyond the political."