"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
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
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
"Look, Akkarat has some experience with these matters. The white shirts have created a number of enemies. And not just farang. All our project requires is a bit of help gathering momentum." He takes a sip of his whiskey, considers the taste for a moment before setting the glass down. "The consequences would be quite favorable for us if it succeeds." He locks eyes with Anderson. "Quite favorable for you. For your friends in the Midwest."
"What do you get out of it?"
