The Samui Conspiracy Read online

  Sophie had come into the world on a warm Parisian summer afternoon. Lily followed suit, barely eleven months later. Their genetic godmother had obviously played havoc on the two children, who could not have been any more different in looks or personalities. Lily was as fair as Sophie was dark, as mutinous as Sophie was serious. Where Lily was lanky, Sophie was curvaceous. Straight, thick black hair framed Sophie’s oval shaped face whereas supple, blonde curls fell on Lily’s freckled shoulders. Sophie was thought precocious, whereas Lily marched to her own beat, never the one to do anything just to please. While Sophie combed through her porcelain dolls’ hair under the Christmas tree, dreamily smoothing out the pleats of elaborate dresses, Lily had instead insisted on racing cars and noisy trucks, tall scary-looking dinosaurs and medieval castles with cantilevered bridges.

  As children, they had shared the same bedroom and followed the same schedule but had never shared neither friends nor foes. Whereas Sophie was feminine in the extreme, Lily exemplified the consummate tomboy, hating Sunday morning church attendance when gloves, smocked dresses and black patent shoes were the expected uniform for the occasion. They had attended the same primary school, albeit a year apart and then the same secondary private school, yet had made it a point of honour never to be seen together in the same spot, seemingly enjoying the same activity. They had fought their way through their early teenage years when they had agreed on nothing except to disagree. They had often played dangerous tricks on each other, and the emergency room personnel at the nearby hospital had come to know them by name. A big blackboard nailed to the inside of their bedroom’s closet door kept lists of scores in complicated games of cat and mouse of their own device. They were not so much jealous of each other than highly competitive towards one another, each vying for the attention of the grown-ups in their mist, who appeared to them as distant and unreachable adults, whose approval was, for some inexplicable reason, essential to their well-being. Truces were reached, albeit momentarily, only when the time came to present a united front to their parents’ wrath for a breach of protocol or another. Then and only then, did they seem happy to rely on each other and take their share of the punishment.

  As no self-respecting bourgeois family would be considered complete without a male heir, Louis was born four years later. Sophie and Lily welcomed this most enchanting child, blessed with enormous green eyes which magically turned a shade of blue or grey, depending either on the weather or his mood, and a full sensual mouth, always ready to laugh. The child happily blended the features of both parents, neither dark nor fair. The girls played house at every opportunity, marvelling at his infallible good disposition, never tiring of dressing him up and undressing him, just like a doll, whenever their nanny had her back turned. The good-natured child rarely cried and seemingly enjoyed the constant attention showered upon him, following them around wherever they went. As Louis grew up, he raced Lily’s trucks and pushed Sophie’s prams with equanimity, sticking to them like glue. His drollery and irresistible looks had also earned him the reluctant tolerance of both girls’ school friends, who rarely shooed him away when he hung onto their every word.

  No sooner had Louis turned six, he started begging his mother for a playmate of his own. Stephanie soon turned up, one Labour Day weekend. More than ten years separated the oldest child from the new arrival, too far apart to share the same childhood memories but close enough to create indelible bonds. Louis looked upon the fragile baby as his personal property and guarded her with such jealousy that his other two siblings were rarely able to get near her. Stephanie was as fair-headed as Lily, yet sported Sophie’s olive skin. The same green eyes and the same mischievous smile as her brother’s lighted her face. She shared, however, none of her older siblings’ larger-than-life personalities and none of their parental conflicts. As the youngest, most of her trespasses were quickly forgiven, since there was little she could do that had not been done before. For a few years, she grew up fending her siblings’ harmless taunts and constant teases, secure and happy in the warmth of their love for her. She was only eight though, when they began to leave home, one after the other.

  The children’s upbringing was considered strict by most standards, yet they were never denied material comforts nor ever lacked in opportunities. Indeed, their parents’ credo was that holidays were a time better served by expanding their knowledge of that which could not be learned through books nor by sitting in front of a chalky blackboard. Thus, they rapidly excelled in sports such as skiing, golfing, horseback riding and sailing, which they all embraced as an excellent opportunity to escape parental vigilance. Every other holidays, they were dragged from museums to galleries, from porticoes to mossy walls, while a guide droned on the history of ancient civilisations and exalted the merits of the Dutch school or the freedom of Abstract Expressionism. While other kids played and wiled away the summer months, exhibiting tans and new boyfriends on the first day of school every September, they instead told stories of studying architecture in Renaissance castles, learning wine-making techniques in Burgundy, or attending star-studded openings at the Venice Film festival.

  As a result, Sophie and Lily dreamed of summer romances, of dancing with abandon under the stars, of long lazy mornings in bed, which in their life never seemed to exist, except in the romance novels they devoured under their sheets at every occasion. Since at the best of time children were to be seen and not heard, the occasions to retreat into their make believe world were plentiful. By the time they reached their eighteenth birthday, the Cluny children were undoubtedly well-travelled, well-read and well-educated and could have also tried their hand professionally at any of the sports they spent their formative years perfecting. But by the time they reached eighteen, all they wanted was freedom. They spent their last year of high school plotting and scheming on how best to achieve it by presenting their parents with choices which would be looked upon as acceptable. Thus, a month after graduating, Sophie sailed away to the United States to follow courses at the University of New York, majoring both in business and economics studies. Six months later, she flew back to Paris to become the matron of honour at Lily’s wedding; her sister, daunted by the idea of studying abroad and learning yet another language, had opted for marriage as the most suitable option for leaving home. Neither siblings had spared a thought for the brother still in his teens nor for the quiet and academically accomplished Stephanie, whom they had left behind.

  The epitome of the original golden boy, thanks to his quick smile, sharp wit, undeniable good looks, lazy charm and sunny charisma, Louis was impossible to resist. To his latter detriment, he quickly learned that thanks to his natural assets, he could obtain almost anything from anyone at any time, whenever he set his mind to it. However, the uncanny ability to make the world his playground and turn those who struck his fancy into willing participants in his games, would eventually lead him to his demise. Indeed, he became a master at charming his teachers out of passing grades and bribing the nanny in covering for him, over and over again. He soon spent most of his waking hours figuring out how best to break the rules and get away with it. His antics became the subject of many adult dinner conversations, yet assessments of his risky behaviour and daring pranks were, in the end, invariably accompanied by indulgent smiles and concluded with ‘boys will be boys’ comments.

  Like his older sisters, Louis excelled at every sport he practised, yet unlike them, lacked the competitive spirit to pursue any of them. Gifted but undisciplined, he promptly became bored with academic life, which in his mind held few challenges, denying his parents’ high expectations for a male heir to walk into his father’s footsteps. Living on the edge is what Louis held most dear and so, early in his teens, he began to explore the other side of the beaten track. Progressively, his golden boy image turned into the even more appealing bad boy image. His circle of friends widened overnight. At first, no one had suspected that drugs were largely responsible for the teenager’s erratic sleeping patterns, his violent mood swings, his
inconsistent story lines and obvious lack of motivation. For a couple of years, his behaviour had been blamed on a difficult adolescent stage; the mandatory round of visits to trusted psychologists had revealed nothing more, since the boy had become a master at dissimulation. Moreover, Stephanie never dared adding to the already tense family dinner discussions whenever his infractions were mentioned by revealing the unusual smells drifting up from his bedroom late in the evening, nor the late night phone calls, or her constantly missing pocket money. How could she have betrayed her favourite sibling, when she did not even know how to piece together the jigsaw puzzle sleeping in the bedroom next to hers?

  As a teenager, the boy had begun to introduce into the house artists, musicians and people, whose background could not be easily checked, bringing an element of edginess that had not been there before. Flaunting his parents’ threats, he started breaking curfew, often tiptoeing home as the sun rose. When the late nights, the never-ending parties and the disappearing acts all became too much for the family to bear, it was finally decided that Louis would benefit from travelling abroad, thereby effectively cutting him loose from a circle of friends, who were seen as an essentially bad influence. Left with no choice, Louis had reluctantly agreed. When a family friend informed him he was soon leaving for Thailand to film a documentary on the indomitable snakes, which had become a huge nuisance in recent years, Louis had been urged to tag along.

  When Louis packed his bags, Stephanie had refused to see him off: it was as if the sunshine had gone out of the house, despite the warmth of the early September day. Breakfast had been a subdued affair and the bags were hauled silently into the trunk of the chauffeur-driven black 4-wheel drive, which would take him to the airport. Sophie though had called that very morning to wish him luck, extracting promises to keep in touch regularly, while Lily and her husband had stopped by to see him off, stuffing a couple of large bills in his back jeans pocket for ‘emergencies’. Louis had a kind word for everyone and hugged particularly tightly the nanny he knew he was unlikely to ever see again: with his departure, her services were no longer required since Stephanie was a model child who did not require supervision. He swore to everyone he’d be back in the spring, as soon as the six months’ shoot was over, promising to have sown his wild oats by then, ready to sit exams and finally apply to the Sorbonne, as was his parents’ wish.

  Louis greeted his friend Jacques at Charles de Gaulle Airport with great trepidation; this was a new adventure and he was certainly looking forward to it. He was likewise eager to put behind him the family fights and tensions of the past few months. Registration, however, was painfully slow, thanks to the careful check-in of the half-dozen oversized stainless steel cases filled with filming equipment. Once all the travel documents were finally completed, both friends embraced their respective fathers, who had come to see them off. As they climbed the tunnel-like escalator, which would see them through customs, they waved back at the solemn figures who stood there until they disappeared.

  Prior to boarding, mindful of what a friend had once told him about cigarettes tasting different in every country, Louis quickly scanned the duty free shops, purchasing a carton of his favourite Marlboro. When the ‘now boarding’ sign flashed on the giant monitors, the two friends walked towards the embarkation door with an air of excitement. Their adventure had just begun and their spirits were high. Once Louis reached his seat – happily observing that the two seats next to him were indeed vacant – he buckled his seat belt, took off his Nike, spread out the thin blanket over his legs, reclined the seat and closed his eyes. The emotive morning had depleted him, yet not nearly as much as the last 120 days. Vivid and unpleasant recollections flashed before his eyes, not exactly what he had had in mind to drift off to sleep for the long voyage ahead.

  The clinic he had attended, just a couple months prior, had been one of those small, non-descript pavilions, lacking both in charm and architectural flair. Flanked on either side by two smaller buildings, which housed the patients, the La Fontaine rehab centre was one of Switzerland’s most prestigious detox clinics, known for its high success rate, its unorthodox techniques and the high social-economic profile of its clients. It had not been his first stint either, but his parents, desperate for a solution, had given him an ultimatum. If truth be told, he did not know why they had waited so long; indeed, he had become so thin as to become a mere shadow of his former self, having lost most of his muscle mass. Deep blue circles underscored his eyes and his skin had turned blotchy. He could neither eat nor sleep and his moods swung dangerously from elation to depression from one minute to the next. He felt anxiously adrift and had no idea what to hang onto, only looking forward to the next fix, which would make him forget his inability to live like everyone else.

  The centre had come with the full advantages of its very expensive tuition: it boasted a fully equipped gym and an Olympic-sized pool. It offered yoga classes and meditation sessions, acupuncture and reiki. After the first five days, when he had been unable to leave his room, so painful were the initial withdrawals, Louis had taken to spend a couple of hours in the gym every morning and swim a few laps thereafter to cool down. Thanks to yoga, he could now stand on his head with his legs forming a perfect triangle and remain motionless for minutes at the time. When he had returned home, a picture of health, girls had once again stolen a second look when he walked down the street and he was now proud of his muscular legs, broad shoulders and six-pack abs. After a few dentist visits where he had his teeth capped and bleached, a brilliant smile once again illuminated his angelic face. He now wore his hair short and layered and there was no mistaken that he was a very good-looking young man indeed. With his 6’2" frame, he left a dashing impression and was hard to forget. He was now sure that the trip ahead would be the fresh start he needed.

  “What can I get you, sir?” asked the perky stewardess in the brightly coloured shimmering silk skirt, tight shirt and sash which were the standard uniform on all Thai Airlines flights. “Any refreshment before dinner?” she repeated.

  Louis opened his eyes, yawned and looked up.

  “A Coke, please.”

  He put on his headphones, waited for the glass to be poured, smiled in lieu of a thank you and tried to watch the screen in front of him. The images though kept blurring; he could not concentrate. Every step he had taken and every decision he had made, which had brought him to be seated on this particular flight heading to Bangkok, were impossible to forget. Forgiving himself was even harder. When the meal was served, he ate his Pad Thai noodles dish, while listening absentmindedly to a tourist information video. He fell asleep soon after his tray was carried away. Jacques sitting in the row behind him did likewise. Both of them managed somehow to sleep undisturbed for the following ten hours, waking just an hour before landing.

  Nothing prepared Louis for the heat, which blasted him as soon as he descended the plane. Taken aback, he sharply held his breath for a split second. His shirt immediately stuck to his skin, despite the late hour and the air conditioning cranked on high throughout the airport. He wondered what it would be like at noon. After the 12-hour flight, he was before all else, stinging for a cigarette and wondered whether the Bangkok International Airport had also turned into a smoke-free zone, like most major airports. He looked around and soon enough saw a sign pointing to a smoking room, 100 metres down the hall, past the orchid flowers shops, the fresh juice stalls and the still incredibly busy duty-free shops. However, what he had at first mistaken for frosted glass walls turned out to be no other than the sticky residue of hundreds of cigarettes which formed a layer so thick as to cloud the floor-to-ceilings windows. As he cracked open the door, the opaque smoke was so dense that the purposefully built ventilators seemed to make no dent at all in vacuuming it out. Disgusted, he decided to wait and walked instead through passport control to the luggage area. There the crowd was thick and noisy with people everywhere screaming and gesturing, giving the overall impression of utter mayhem. With their cases off the
conveyor belts, Jacques and Louis looked around nervously, eyeing the queue of young men brandishing signs, hastily written in thick magic markers, the names barely recognisable.

  After a few minutes, they gratefully identified the ‘FROG LEAP PRODUCTIONS’ cardboard sign they had been searching for. Jacques motioned the young man over, pointing frantically to the four heavy steel cases piled up against a pillar in the arrival lounge. Quickly hiding his surprise at the unexpected number of luggage, the young man whistled to attract the attention of two other men of similar age – who had appeared to do nothing more than loiter aimlessly around the luggage area – to help him out. For a split second, Louis worried that their equipment would be spirited out of sight, never to be seen again, yet, minutes later, comfortably seated in the back of a long black limousine, they watched as their cases were jammed into the trunk while their personal luggage laid across from them. Tired and out of their element, the two young men welcomed the car’s freezing air conditioning, which nonetheless smelled vaguely of sweat and spices mixed with a hint of gasoline. However, considering the heat and humidity outside, the two boys decided to keep their olfactory objections to themselves, lest the driver proposed to roll down the windows instead, subjecting them to a heat and humidity for which they had no tolerance.

  Jacques having requested an English-speaking driver, attempted conversation while Louis was content to stare outside the window at the sprawling city in front of him. The suspensions of the luxurious car did not temper the abrupt stops and lurches of traffic, nor tone down the incessant oink of the motorcycles, or soften the overall sensation of diving head first into a giant ant’s nest, ready to be swallowed live by millions of crawling insects. Fascinated but unsettled, Louis laid back in his seat and began chatting with Jacques, whom he had virtually ignored during the flight over, lost as he had been in his own thoughts.