Thailand pattaya

Friends, this is the beginning of the story of Ben and Joanna.
THE GRAND PATTAYA – A NEW BEGINNING THAT ISN’T ONE
Bangkok, 38 degrees Celsius.
The first step out of the air-conditioned airport building feels as though Ben is walking straight into a wall of hot, heavy air.

He stops for a moment and breathes in the scent of the city — exhaust fumes, street food, the distant damp smell of the river.

He is still alive.

Sometimes even he finds that hard to believe.

Jungle. Blood. His unit. The trap.

The images come and go, flickering like reflections of light on the surface of water. He remembers the radio, the screams, the feeling as he fell. The moment when he knew it was over.

But then — shadows. Hands. A voice.

They pulled him out.

Why?

He should have stayed there. He should have died with them.

But his body had decided otherwise.

And now he is standing here.

He raises a hand and hails a taxi.

“Pattaya,” he says.

The driver gives him a brief glance.

Ben leans back into the seat.

That is exactly why.

Suvarnabhumi Airport, Bangkok
Joanna steps off the plane, takes her sunglasses from her bag and puts them on.
London had been cold, grey as always.

But here — the heat hits her in the face like an open hand.

She does not waste any time.

One suitcase, one shoulder bag. She does not need more.

A name, a lead, a destination.

Ben is in Thailand.

But who is Ben?

The source who gave her the tip had been vague. No details, only a name and a location.

Thailand is a big country — but not big enough to hide someone forever.

Joanna gets into a taxi.

“Pattaya,” she says.

The driver studies her in the rear-view mirror.

“Tourist?”

She shakes her head.

Not exactly.

Arrival at the Hotel
Ben gets out of the taxi.
The neon lights of Pattaya cast distorted reflections across the car’s paintwork.

He stands in front of the Grand Pacific Hotel, one of those Western luxury hotels that promise to keep the dirt and chaos of the streets outside.

A bellboy opens the door.

Air-conditioned cold hits him immediately — artificial, almost sterile, a sharp contrast to the humid heat outside.

The man at reception looks him over briefly.

“Welcome, sir. Name?”

“Ben.”

Nothing more.

A nod, a few clicks on the keyboard.

“Room 1107. With balcony.”

Ben takes the key card, gives a short nod and walks towards the elevator.

He does not want to think.

He only wants a drink.

Maybe a shower.

Maybe one night without dreams.

Joanna pays the driver, takes her bag and enters the lobby.
One quick glance tells her everything.

The hotel is exactly what she expected.

American standards, cool marble floors, too many mirrors.

At reception, a young woman gives her a professional smile.

“Welcome to the Grand Pacific Hotel. How may I help you?”

“I have a reservation. Joanna Miller.”

The tapping of keys.

A confirming nod.

“Room 1109. Sea view.”

Joanna takes the key card.

The elevator is already waiting.

The doors close.

A quiet hum, and she begins to rise —

one wall away from a man whose name she has only just heard.

The Elevator – Their First Encounter
The numbers above the door light up.
11th floor.

Ben steps into the elevator, tired, his movements heavy.

He holds a half-empty bottle of water in one hand. His shirt is slightly wrinkled.

He does not look like a tourist — but neither does he look like someone who belongs here.

He presses the button for the lobby.

The elevator begins to descend.

Then —

a quiet ding.

The doors open again.

Joanna steps inside.

A brief hesitation, then she walks past him and stops on the opposite side.

Distance. Unfamiliar closeness.

She is wearing a light jacket over her dress, her hair loosely tied back.

She does not look directly at him, but she is aware of him.

The doors close.

The descent begins.

A moment of silence.

Ben takes a sip from his bottle.

Joanna taps at her phone — or at least pretends to.

Then —

the elevator suddenly jerks.

A sharp jolt.

The floor indicator flickers.

And then:

Nothing.

Silence.

Ben looks up at the ceiling.

Waits.

Nothing happens.

Joanna lets out a quiet sigh.

“Of course.”

She raises a hand and presses the emergency button.

A soft signal sounds.

Then a voice comes through the speaker:

“We are experiencing a minor problem with the control system. Please remain calm. It may take a few minutes.”

Joanna rolls her eyes.

“Minutes. Sure.”

Ben leans against the wall and looks directly at her for the first time.

“You’re in a hurry?”

She studies him briefly.

Considers the question.

“Not particularly. But being trapped in an elevator wasn’t on my list for today.”

A short sound escapes Ben.

Almost a laugh.

“Wasn’t my first choice either.”

Then —

silence.

Seconds pass.

Joanna folds her arms.

She is curious.

But she does not ask.

Not yet.

Ben watches her from the corner of his eye.

He can feel it.

Not just the confined space of the elevator.

Not just the silent pressure between them.

He can feel her.

It has always been like that.

He could read people — their manner, their intentions, their objectives.

A survival instinct sharpened through years in the field.

And her?

She is not here because she wants to be here.

Not for the sun.

Not for the beach.

Not for exotic drinks.

She is hunting.

Hunting him.

Perhaps she does not know it yet.

Perhaps he is only a lead, a suspicion, a name on a list.

But he knows.

He holds her gaze for a moment longer.

No aggression.

No mistrust.

Only…

certainty.

“Hunter or collector?” he asks quietly.

Joanna blinks.

The question comes out of nowhere.

“Excuse me?”

Ben slowly raises an eyebrow.

“Nothing. Just a thought.”

He leans back against the wall.

The game has begun.

And she does not even know it yet.