The Tsunami File by Michael E. Rose Page A

opened the door. Becker stood swaying slightly in the corridor, an angry bulldog of a man— small, muscular despite his age and possibly dangerous when aroused. He held in one hand a bottle of Chivas Regal whisky and an unlit pipe. He had food crumbs in his tightly trimmed grey beard. A pair of wire spectacles was perched precariously on his shining bald pate.
    â€œAt last you open your fucking door to me, like a man,” Becker said. “I will come in now.”
    â€œNo, just a minute. No,” Smith said. “What’s all this about?”
    He stood firmly in the door frame, blocking Becker’s way.
    â€œI will come in to this apartment,” Becker shouted.
    â€œWho is it, Jonah?” Conchi called from the bedroom.
    â€œWhat do you want, Becker?” Smith said.
    â€œIt is what you want, that is what I have come to discuss man to man with you, you British scheissker bastard. It is what you want,” Becker said, swaying slightly.
    â€œWhat do you mean, for heaven’s sake,” Smith said.
    â€œYou know exactly well what I mean, scheissker bastard,” Becker said. “I am here to discuss your plot to discredit me and my team and my country. You want to make us all look like imbeciles.”
    â€œWhat are you talking about?” Smith said.
    â€œYou know, British bastard, what I am talking about,” Becker shouted. “You know you have spread lies, for what reason I cannot imagine, about me personally and my colleagues, with the commanders. And maybe now the press. Is that next, British bastard?”
    â€œBecker, be quiet, be quiet. It’s late, people are sleeping.”
    â€œToo bad, too bad, too bad. I will wake them all up to tell them what you the bastard have done.
    You are spreading lies about me and that file, you will stop this immediately. Immediately you must stop this campaign against me or I swear, Smith bastard, there will be trouble. I am accustomed to dealing with people like you; I have been a medical doctor for forty years now. Do you think some British bastard can ruin my reputation in a few days? Bastard, bastard.”
    â€œBecker, you’re drunk. Go home to bed.”
    â€œYou will stop this campaign immediately, do you hear me? We Germans do not lose files, we do not tamper with files, you will stop this campaign against me immediately or there will be trouble.” “You’re drunk,” Smith said. “Go home to bed.” He closed the door firmly and attached the burglar chain. Becker stayed for a while outside the door grumbling in German and hurling accusations. Eventually, Smith heard him moving away from the door and the corridor fell silent.
    Smith and his Spanish girlfriend watched from their balcony on the sixth floor as Becker came out of the hotel. Conchi had wrapped herself in a sheet. They watched as the aging pathologist strode purposefully out from under the driveway awning and straight to a white Toyota in the parking area. Few of the international DVI staff ever drove cars in Phuket. Almost everyone used local minibuses or taxis or they were ferried around in Thai police vehicles or walked or rode bikes.
    Becker did not look up. He strode quickly to the car, no longer swaying, no longer carrying a bottle. He reached into his pocket for car keys, opened the driver’s door and got in without hesitation or difficulty. He started the engine, waited a moment and drove off slowly, signalling a left turn as he exited the hotel grounds.
    â€œIs that him?” Conchi said.
    â€œYes,” Smith said.
    â€œAre you sure he was drunk?” Smith watched as Becker’s car lights disappeared in the darkness.
    â€œThe good doctor sobers up very quickly indeed,” he said.

Chapter 3
    I nto the belly of this beast came Frank Delaney, information gatherer. This is how he preferred to think of himself nowadays. A simple gatherer of information. How he eventually used the information gathered,