When Karsarkis glanced up and saw us, he apparently excused himself from the man with whom he was talking because soon he was giving my hand the kind of vigorous, two-fisted pump that left the impression we were the oldest of friends.
“So happy you could come, Jack. Or should I call you Professor?”
“It was nice of you to ask us,” I said, ignoring Karsarkis’ question.
“Mrs. Shepherd, I’m Plato Karsarkis.”
“Of course you are.”
Anita shook Karsarkis’ hand as well, although I noticed that with her he restricted himself to a one-hander.
Another uniformed maid appeared beside us so silently I wondered if she had grown out of the marble like the two fig trees. She carried a silver tray with a half-dozen champagne flutes and Karsarkis distributed glasses to both of us. Then he took one for himself.
“This is quite a house,” I said to K Njuswases to barsarkis, mostly just to be saying something.
Naturally the real question on my mind was how a notorious international fugitive had gone about acquiring such an extravagant house in a world-famous resort like Phuket, and more to the point, how he had done it without anyone apparently noticing. Karsarkis obviously realized what I was thinking because he benevolently offered an explanation without forcing me to make my curiosity explicit.
“One of our local companies built this place about five years ago. It was supposed to be for entertaining or to loan to clients. I never stayed here myself until now, but…” Karsarkis trailed off with a shrug that looked genuinely rueful. “I’m sure you understand.”
I smiled tightly without saying anything. I also drank some of the champagne, which I wasn’t surprised to discover was pretty good stuff.
Karsarkis watched me, his face a mask.
“Maybe I’m wrong, Jack, but my guess is you’re not too happy to be here tonight. Am I right about that?”
I responded quickly, too quickly for my better judgment to have any chance to grab my elbow and warn me to keep my big mouth shut.
“The only reason we’re here tonight is because Anita wanted to come,” I said, “and I didn’t think it was worth arguing about. I don’t know how much of what they say about you is true and how much is made up, but I think enough of it probably is true to make me certain I wouldn’t be in your house tonight if Anita hadn’t insisted. I’m sorry if you think I’m rude, but you did ask.”
Karsarkis lowered his head and something resembling a repentant smile slid over his face.
“You are married to a very straightforward man, Mrs. Shepherd.”
“That’s one of the things I’ve heard Jack called,” Anita said. I noticed she didn’t look at me when she spoke. “But most of the other things are considerably more colorful.”
Karsarkis laughed, but somewhat automatically, I thought. Then he lifted his eyes to mine again. “What is it you don’t like about me, Professor?”
“I don’t know you,” I said. “It’s what I’ve heard about you that I don’t like.”
The abrupt change in the way Karsarkis had addressed me caught my attention. At least calling me professor was less pally than calling me Jack, and less pally was just fine with me. Maybe our relationship was moving in the right direction after all.
“Jack,” Anita murmured, obviously more than a little uncomfortable, “I don’t think-”
“No, let me finish. I’m sure Mr. Karsarkis would prefer it if I spoke my mind.”
Karsarkis tilted his head slightly and gave a little wave with his champagne glass, a gesture I took to be an invitation for me to continue. So I did.
“Coming here has put me in an impossible position. What am I supposed to do now? You’re a fugitive, Mr. Karsarkis. You jumped bail and fled the US.”
“Are you done, Jack?” Anita’s voice was crisp now.
“No, Anita, thank you for asking, I’m not done. I am a lawyer, as you may recall, a member in good standing of the Bar of the Supreme Court of the United States, and although I admit my personal connection with the concept of justice may sometime S mahe Bs be a touch tenuous, I still have at least a degree of concern for the ideal. So what do I do now? Have dinner at this man’s home and then turn him in? And what if I do nothing? Am I helping to harbor a fugitive? Shouldn’t I just call Bangkok right now and tell the American Embassy where they can find this guy?”
“They know where they can find me,” Karsarkis said. He spoke so softly I wasn’t absolutely sure I had heard him right.
“Pardon me?”
“I said the American Embassy knows where they can find me,” Karsarkis repeated. “A lot of people have known about this house since the day it was built, and anybody who has the slightest interest in me knows I’m here now.”
“Then why don’t they send somebody down here and arrest you?”
“This is Thailand, Professor. The United States government has no jurisdiction to arrest anyone here.”
That was true, of course, but Thai authorities could certainly arrest Karsarkis if the American Embassy requested it. I wasn’t an expert on such things, but I was pretty certain there was an extradition treaty in effect between the United States and Thailand. I knew I’d heard of people being extradited in drug cases to face American courts, at least a few, and if the embassy requested Karsarkis’ arrest and extradition, I couldn’t imagine why he wouldn’t get the same treatment.
Again, Karsarkis seemed to sense the question that was in my mind before I asked it.
“The Thais’ view of my presence here is rather different from the American view,” he said. “Nothing I have been charged with is a crime under Thai law, my lawyers tell me, so happily I am not subject to the terms of the extradition treaty. The Thais are pleased to have me in their country.”
I’ll bet, I thought to myself. And I wonder exactly how much that is costing him.
“Please excuse my husband, Mr. Karsarkis.” Anita tossed a hard look in my direction. “He’s a terrible bore sometimes.”
“Please, Anita. It’s Plato.”
Anita fidgeted. She shot me another hard look and I thought I saw unease in her eyes.
“Fine. Plato then.”
“I don’t mind the professor here saying whatever he wants to, Anita. He’s a smart guy. Smart guys think a lot.”
Karsarkis shifted his eyes back to mine and reached out and tapped me on the forearm with one finger.
“But don’t believe everything you’ve heard about me, Professor. You just keep asking questions and listening to the answers and maybe you’ll learn some things that will surprise you.”
After that Karsarkis led us around and introduced us to the rest of his guests as if we’d just had a brief conversation no more awkward than a chat about the weather. The man had self-confidence out the butt, I’d give him that.
The distinguished Thai in the dark suit turned out to be a former prime minister, a man named Sakda who had resigned suddenly a few years back under somewhat cloudy circumstances. He was now married to a blonde Australian at least six inches taller than he was, a woman who looked to me like she must have played the trombone in her high school band. I wondered if she was part of the punishment meted out to Sakda for whatever he was supposed to have done. Regardless, I figured him SI f if for the dark Mercedes.
Next there was a short, middle-aged Englishman with bad teeth and a bad complexion who was accompanied by an attractive Thai woman with good everything. She didn’t appear to like him all that much, it seemed to me, but perhaps that was just my imagination. I made the Englishman for the four-wheel drive.
And then there was a bland, pear-shaped man who I thought looked generically European. He was wearing a rumpled suit without a tie and had a Russian-sounding nickname. Karsarkis called him Yuri, which seemed about right when I looked at him closely, but he also had an American accent, which didn’t. Like the Englishman he was accompanied by an Asian woman, although after a brief inspection I decided Yuri’s companion was probably Chinese rather than Thai. That left them as the white Suzuki.
“And this is my wife,” Karsarkis finally said, leading us over to a tall woman with long, dark hair. She had her back to us and was talking animatedly with Mike O’Connell, the man Karsarkis had sent into the Boathouse the night before to invite us to dinner.
“Baby,” he said putting his hand on her shoulder. “I’d like you to meet Jack and Anita Shepherd.”
The woman turned with a smile that startled me with its unexpected warmth. While she may not have been a blonde, other than that I had nailed her cold. I tried to catch Anita’s eye, but she wouldn’t look at me.
“I’m Mia,” Karsarkis’ wife said, shaking hands with Anita first, and then me. “We’re so glad you could come. It’s nice to see some other Americans for a change.”
“Actually, I’m not American.” Anita said.
“You’re not?” Mia looked a little puzzled.
“No, I’m Italian.”
“You don’t look Italian,” Karsarkis observed, although I wasn’t absolutely sure what he meant by that. Maybe he thought if Anita was really Italian that she ought to be wearing a long black dress with a white apron over it, black stockings, and a pair of little black shoes.
“My mother was Italian,” Anita said. “My father was English, but mi considero Italiano.”
“Most people who marry Americans seem to want to become American citizens,” Mia said.
She was replying to Anita, but I noticed she was looking at me when she spoke, almost as if it was somehow my fault Anita was still Italian.
“Not me,” Anita said cheerfully. “Sono fiero di essere Italiano!”
“E bello essere fiere di cio che si e,” Karsarkis responded.
Anita inclined her head appreciatively at his apparent fluency in the language.
“E meglio di essere Francese,” she said.
“Could we get back to a language I speak?” I asked.
“Why?” Anita asked. “Is there someone here you haven’t insulted yet?”
Karsarkis laughed loudly, but Mia sensed something unpleasant might be happening and quickly changed the subject.
Turning toward me and conjuring up a pleasantly inconsequential tone of voice, she asked, “Are all those things I’ve been hearing about you true, Mr. Shepherd?”
“I wouldn’ SwouAre t doubt it a bit,” I replied, looking straight at Anita.
I knew it was an ungracious response to a woman who was only trying to keep the conversation light, but I was still smarting from Anita’s dig and Karsarkis’ appreciative response to it so to hell with them all.
Showing the reflexes of a battle-hardened hostess, Mia realized she needed to do something to defuse whatever that burning smell in the air might be.
“Now that everyone is here,” she asked the room at large, “shall we go in to dinner?” She phrased it as a question, but her tone said it wasn’t a question at all.
Then, just to make sure than no one had missed her point, Mia started walking toward the dining room without bothering to wait for anyone to answer her.