Jake Needham - Killing Plato

“Yes,” he finally nodded. “I do.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me at the beginning?”

“I assumed it would scare you off, that you wouldn’t be willing to help me if you knew.”

He had me there. He was probably right.

“Some very bad things have happened, Jack. Some things no one wants anyone to know about, ever. Your country has a greater intere1emst in keeping them buried than anyone.”

“My country? Not your country?”

To that, Karsarkis offered the smallest smile I had ever seen.

“I don’t have a country,” he said.

“Maybe you should get one. A little loyalty to something might be just the ticket for you.”

“Oh, I had a country once, and I was loyal as hell. I risked everything for it. Then they fucked me. Flat out fucked me. That’s why I don’t have one anymore.”

I remained silent, waiting for the rest of it. I did not have to wait very long.

“They came to me , Jack. They came to me and asked me to do a dirty job because they thought I was a hard enough man to do it. There are always a lot of those jobs around, but most of them go begging because there aren’t a hell of a lot of people to do them. I agreed, of course. Agreed without conditions. My adopted country was asking for my help. And besides, I thought it was right .”

“Agreed to do what?”

“I put my ass right out there and risked everything,” Karsarkis continued, ignoring my question. “I asked other people to do the same thing, and then the bastards walked away and left me twisting in the wind when they decided I didn’t matter any longer. I learned a real lesson there, I did. I could teach a course on loyalty. Maybe I could lecture to some of your classes on the subject. What do you think?”

A minute or two passed in silence after Karsarkis’ outburst. I studied the pattern in the vinyl upholstery on the chair at the foot of my bed. It wasn’t a very interesting pattern.

“You still haven’t told me why you’re here,” I said after a while. “I don’t believe you came just to say how sorry you are that you got me involved.”

Karsarkis straightened slightly, shifting his weight back onto his heels.

“No,” he said, “you’re right. I didn’t.”

Karsarkis unfolded his arms, then folded them back again and fixed his eyes on mine.

“I’m leaving Thailand.”

“When?”

“This morning.” Karsarkis glanced at his watch. “I have a plane waiting at the airport,” he said. “I’ll be gone in an hour.”

“To where?”

“Paris.”

“Paris? Why Paris?”

Karsarkis shrugged slightly. “At least maybe I can get a decent meal before they shoot me.”

Abruptly Karsarkis turned away and strode to the windows. Putting his hands on the drapes he paused and then, as if in an afterthought, he glanced back at me.

“Do you mind?” he asked.

I shook my head. He pushed the drapes open and shoved them as far apart as they would go.

It was almost sunrise. I could see the faded disk of a three-quarter moon fighting an unpromising battle against the rising light. Moisture glowing with an otherworldly intensity ringed the moon in a halo. I knew Phuket would be wet with rain before the morning was out.

“They’re going to get me, Jack. The bastards can get anybody they want, even me. Once I thought I was bigger than theidty are. But I’m not. And they can.”

Karsarkis spoke without turning around. He just kept staring out the window, his eyes seeing visions I could not even imagine.

“What are you going to do?” I asked.

When Karsarkis turned back toward me his face was perfectly still. Then he put both his hands in his pockets and tilted his head slightly to one side.

“An hour before I land in Paris, the press will be told where I am and what I’m about to do. Half the fucking television cameras in the world will show up to meet me. I’ll walk off the plane and-”

“They’ll grab you and turn you over to the FBI. Even the French don’t have the balls to let you just wander around loose. You can’t buy them like you did the Thais.”

“Yes, I can,” Karsarkis smiled tightly. “They just cost a lot more.”

“What I’m trying to say,” I began, “is that if you-”

“Look, it doesn’t matter,” Karsarkis interrupted. “The French Minister of Justice has agreed to let me have my say to the press when I arrive. He assumes I’m going to stick a big one up some American asses and the little froggie bastard is wetting himself waiting for that.”

“And then what?”

“After that they can arrest me if they want to, but my guess is they won’t bother. Not after I’ve already told everything I know.”

“What do you know?”

“Ah, well. That’s always the problem isn’t it, Jack. Yes, what do I know indeed?”

I struggled to sit upright on the bed. The bandages pulled at my side and pinched my skin and I winced.

“You’re right, of course,” Karsarkis said when I was still again. “I didn’t come here this morning just to tell you I was sorry. I came here for a far more important reason.”

“Look, I’m not sure-”

“You are close to something very big, Jack. Closer than you know. Before I leave, I want to tell you what it is.”

Well, here we are, I thought to myself.

Plato Karsarkis is about to tell me whatever it is that he knows, whatever it is that somebody wants to kill him for knowing.

I closed my eyes and tilted my head back against the pillow. I should have stopped Karsarkis right then without hearing anymore. I should have just told him to get the hell out and leave me alone and that would have been that.

But, of course, I didn’t.

Sometimes the desire to know-just to know -turns into a feeling like the one you get when a beautiful woman catches your eye and doesn’t look away. You see her, and you want her, and you know perfectly well that you shouldn’t chase after her, that it will cost you, but you do it anyway. In the end, you chase after her anyway.

And then you pay for it, exactly the way you knew you would.

Plato Karsarkis stood quietly in front of the windows, his hands in his pockets. It seemed to me that he stood that way for a very long time. Finally he turned around and examined metly small hospital room as if he were seeing it for the first time.

I said nothing. I just waited.

“Let’s start at the beginning, Jack,” Karsarkis said after a few moments passed like that. “Eventually maybe we’ll even come to the end.”

“It’s your story,” I shrugged, at least I shrugged as well as a guy lying in a hospital bed wrapped in bandages can shrug. “I’m hardly in any position to throw you out.”

Karsarkis walked over to the couch and sat down, slouching back as if he was settling in comfortably for a long chat. Outside the windows, the dawn looked as if it was further away than I had thought it was a few minutes before, but probably that was only my imagination.

“About eight years ago, a man I knew very well…” Karsarkis paused and cleared his throat. “His name doesn’t really matter. Anyway, I had just bought control of a Hong Kong company that had shipping interests in the South Pacific and he asked me to allow some American intelligence officers to operate a small freighter under the cover of this company. He told me its purpose was to supply some people in the region with whom the Americans had a covert relationship, and he readily admitted the supply process would include weapons. I didn’t really understand what was going on, but I gathered it was a CIA operation and they probably wouldn’t tell me the truth even if I asked. So I kept things simple. I agreed. I didn’t ask for the truth.”