The Olive Tree Assignment

Bangkok. Last week, it was Delhi, before that Tokyo. Matthew plonked his traveller’s case onto the hotel bed and opened the envelope given to him at the reception counter. 

Just two words. Charon Bangkok. Enough to tell him the specific details of his next assignment. 

Matthew sighed and sat down. Reaching for his laptop, he swiftly searched for some details. There it was. Somchai Sahapat, the CEO of the Charon Bangkok company, Thailand’s largest producer of olive oil. Thippawan, his wife. His children and a home address in Bangkok. A powerful magnate, but a family man, nonetheless.

A quick look at Somchai’s social media told him that he was on holiday in Koh Chang, a popular island on the east coast. A few keystrokes later and Matthew found out where he was staying.

Matthew sat back and pondered his next move. A smart look was called for; something not too ostentatious but a definite statement needed to be made.

Matthew booked a flight to Trat airport for the next day and made his way to the local barber’s for a quick spruce. On his way back, he popped into a 24-hour tailor’s shop and ordered two suits and five shirts. Satisfied with his preparations, he went for dinner and an early night.

The next day, Matthew collected his new suits and hailed a taxi for the airport. An hour later he was on a minibus to Koh Chang. 

Somchai was staying at the Turtle Bay Hotel, a luxurious, five-star resort for the rich and fabulous, comprising 250 hectares of prime real estate next to the beach, with all the toys ultra-rich money could buy. For Matthew, and his employers, cost was not a real issue, so he had a room there as well. It was all part of the plan. 

That evening, Matthew, elegantly clad in a dark suit, made his way to the hotel’s restaurant. Sitting at the bar, he kept his eye open for Somchai to make an appearance. His patience was soon rewarded. Somchai, accompanied by a small entourage, walked through to a table in the restaurant. He sat, and started perusing the menu. 

Target in sight, Matthew made his move. Holding his G&T, he ambled towards Somchai’s table. As he approached, he stumbled, spilling some of the drink onto Somchai's shoulder. 

“Oh god, I'm so sorry!” Matthew exclaimed. Grabbing a napkin, he started dabbing ineffectually on Somchai's dampened jacket. 

“I shouldn't worry about it,” said Somchai. “Accidents happen.”

“Let me make it up to you,” Matthew responded. “Drink on me?” 

Somchai smiled, recognising a pick-up line when he heard it. And Matthew was the type he liked: young, tall, lovely brown hair and well-built.

“Sure, why not? Have a seat.”

Matthew sat down opposite Somchai. “Two gin and tonics please,” he said. A waiting server nodded and went to fetch the order. “I'm Matthew by the way.”

“Somchai. So what brings you here?”

“Oh, pleasure. Just completed some PR business in Bangkok and thought I could do with a break.”

Somchai nodded. The double gins soon became three, or was it four? The conversation touched all sorts of topics and Somchai could feel a thrill, a frisson building. But had Somchai read Matthew correctly? 

“Matthew, how long were you planning on staying?”

“Oh, just over the weekend.”

“Well look. I'm in the Penthouse Suite. There's two bedrooms. Why don't you make it a week? I’d love the company.”

Matthew smiled. The plan was working beautifully. Now that the fish was hooked, he'd spend a bit of time reeling it in. A week?

“Sounds great.” 

Somchai beckoned one of his entourage over. A brief whisper, and the entire team melted away, leaving the two of them at the table. “Matthew, do you fancy a night out? There's a club not far from here…”

“Sure.”

They walked out of the hotel towards Somchai's Bentley Continental GT. They got in and Somchai gently steered the car out onto the main road before flooring the accelerator, the roar of the V8 engine sending a thrill through Matthew's body. The tyres squealed briefly before biting into the tarmac and thrusting the car forward. 

“Where are we going?” 

“You'll see. Somewhere where we can be ourselves. Not executives or business people, just two guys out for fun. You game?”

“Definitely.”

The music was pounding, loud. People were dancing close, bodies slick with sweat. The nightclub was a cacophony of sound, light and movement.

“All good?” asked Somchai.

Matthew nodded. A superb dancer, his moves were smooth and erotic. Somchai's heart was beating fast and hard. But then the next song slowed down the pace. Matthew moved in closer, his arms reaching towards his partner. Somchai came in towards his embrace as they danced slower, closer.

And then...Matthew leaned in, his lips close to Somchai's ear, and whispered:

"You're under arrest."

Somchai froze, his body stiffening in Matthew's arms. Before he could react, a pair of handcuffs glinted in the strobe lights as Matthew expertly locked them around Somchai's wrists.

The music continued pounding as chaos erupted around them. Matthew flashed his badge to the stunned onlookers and signaled to a team of plainclothes officers who had been watching from the shadows.

"You really should be more careful about who you invite to the penthouse," Matthew said, his voice now cold and professional. "Interpol's been after you for years. Charon Bangkok is a front for money laundering, and you're the kingpin."

Somchai's face twisted with shock and rage as he was led away, his luxurious lifestyle and criminal empire unraveling in the blink of an eye.

Matthew stepped outside into the humid night air, pulling out his phone to make a call.

"Target secured," he said. "Tell HQ the mission's complete. Oh, and cancel my flight—I think I’ll take that penthouse suite after all."

“Well done, Matthew. Negative on the stay, I'm afraid. Come back to Bangkok, we've a new assignment for you.”

He shrugged, smiled, pocketed his phone, and walked back into the night, already planning his next move.