Once inside with the doors closed, it rapidly grew hot in the cabin. Rivulets of sweat ran down Culler’s face and off his chin onto his Thai silk shirt. As the propeller caught, the engine revved and the cooling system cut in; they finally began to cool off.

The general maneuvered the howling Cessna 172 out onto the taxiway and then to the end of the runway, where he did a final check of his instruments and received permission from the control tower to take off. They raced down the runway and up into the air. 

Banking right he took the plane due east toward the Mekong River. They climbed to an altitude of fifteen hundred feet and leveled off over thick triple-canopy jungle interspersed with villages and farms. Soon the meandering, wide, brown swath of the mighty Mekong came into view. He banked left and they followed the river north toward the Golden Triangle.

The general kept up a steady stream of commentary on the landscape and history of the land below them, shouting over his shoulder to be heard above the wailing engine.

They reached the Golden Triangle, and Culler and Mac could see plainly how the place got its name. The Mekong flowed north to south, dividing Burma to the west and Laos to the east. The Ruak River flowed from the west to the east separating Burma from Thailand, its neighbor to the south, until it curved south and joined the Mekong in a perfect triangle, joining Burma, Laos and Thailand.

The general circled the Golden Triangle while continuing to enlighten them on the jaded history of the area over the roar of the plane. He banked south beyond Doi Mae Salong and headed back into the mountains of Northern Thailand until he reached the village of Ban Hin Taek, securely nestled deep in a long finger valley in the shadow of Doi Tung, the highest mountain in the region.

“There it is,” the general shouted. “The notorious Ban Hin Taek—easy to get to by air, but by land it is a very different story. See that road over there? It starts at Bap Basang on route 110 between Chiang Rai and Mae Sai, winding up that mountain to Doi Mae Salong. From there it continues as a dirt road heading north toward the Burmese border to Ban Hin Taek. It’s the same road the Thai Army took when they attacked Khun Sa. Many trucks loaded with men—armed with assault rifles, grenade launchers, recoilless rifles and rocket launchers—drove all night to surprise Khun Sa. And they succeeded. Khun Sa never thought they would do it. Or if they did, he figured he would have plenty of warning from his many paid informants. He never thought such a thing could happen with all the money he spread around the area.”

“I’m surprised no one warned him,” said Mac.

“Frankly, I would have warned him if I could have, but the raid was such a closely guarded secret that even the Thai Army and Border Patrol soldiers didn’t know where they were going until after they got there.

“It is not as small a village as you might think, either. Even during Khun Sa’s days, it was thriving. Khun Sa first came to Ban Hin Taek in the mid-sixties. He lived here for about a year and fell in love with the place. So, about ten years later he returned with his wife and children. He made the village his base of operations for his Shan United Army and for his associated drug trade. At its peak the SUA had twenty thousand heavily armed soldiers totally devoted to him, and seventy percent of the heroin consumed in the United States came from his organization.”

The general brought the Cessna lower and buzzed the village. “See that large villa there at the base of that mountain? That was Khun Sa’s home and headquarters. It was very modern, beautifully furnished with expensive furniture and artwork. It had a television in every room, an elaborate stereo system, an Olympic sized swimming pool and a tennis court that doubled as a helicopter landing pad.”

“Pretty nice digs,” said Mac.

“Yes, the officers and chemists in Khun Sa’s narcotics army also lived in spacious, modern villas with manicured lawns. You can see some of them over there, lining the base of the hill next to Khun Sa’s place.” 

Mac leaned forward and shouted a question at the general. “If that’s the only road leading to Ban Hin Taek, how did the Thai Army flush him out of there?”

“Yes, good question. Ban Hin Taek was a heavily fortified mountain stronghold. Khun Sa felt very secure there surrounded by two thousand soldiers. The actual battle was like a shootout in one of your cowboy movies: street by street and house by house. Vicious.

“The battle for the village, back in 1982, lasted three long days. The Thai soldiers and Border Patrol took up battle lines along the east side of the main street, over there. Ten meters away, on the other side of the street, stood the surprised drug traffickers, many of them rousted from their beds and still in their underwear, but heavily armed with automatic weapons and not afraid to use them.

“When asked to surrender, the bedraggled line of scruffy soldiers, many of them high on marijuana, just opened fire. The fighting was close quarters and bitter, but the Thais had them outgunned and the element of surprise in their favor. The Thai Army was supported by aircraft that strafed the dense surrounding jungle and the SUA positions.

“In the end, fifty-one of the SUA mercenaries, including Khun Sa’s natural son, lay dead alongside of sixteen Thai soldiers. The rest of the opium mercenaries fled with Khun Sa to safety over the border into Burma. Khun Sa never returned. Thailand had finally had enough of him.”

“What supports the village now?” asked MacMurphy. “The same old drug trade but with Khun Ut in charge?”

“No, although there are certainly similarities, the trade is much more disbursed under Khun Ut. It certainly continues to bring a lot of revenue to the village, but tourism actually brings in more.”

Mac leaned forward and shouted over the engine. “Tourism? You’ve got to be joking. People drive all the way up here on that little dirt road to tour the village?”

“Yes sir. Khun Sa’s old town villa, the one I told you about, is now a museum for the drug trade. People drive all the way up here to see how he lived. And we also get our share of trekkers who walk all the way up here just to sample the opium in one of the many native huts that will sell them a pipe or two.” 

The general paused to clear his throat, which was becoming sore from shouting over the engine. “But it’s not over. Far from it. The destruction of Khun Sa’s army disrupted the heroin flow for awhile, but the opium war is far from over. The syndicate is gaining momentum once again under the leadership of Khun Ut, who is, as I am sure you know, Khun Sa’s adopted son.

“See that mountain aerie about halfway up that hill over there?” He pointed to a sprawling lodge nestled in the woods directly across the village from the towering Doi Tung Mountain. “That villa was used by Khun Sa as a mountain retreat back in the old days and is now the headquarters and home of Khun Ut. I cannot take you too close to it, or they will shoot at us. It is very heavily guarded. Just like the good old days, or maybe not so good old days. No one can get close to Khun Ut’s house. It is a fortress.”

Mac leaned forward and shouted into the general’s ear. “Take us over Ban Mae Chan, will you? We would like to see Khun Ut’s warehouse.”

Startled, the general asked over his shoulder. “Mae Chan. What do you know about Mae Chan?”

“Why don’t you tell me?”

Turning in her seat, Noi regarded Mac and Culler in disbelief.

“Well, you already know Khun Ut has a warehouse there. Actually, it’s his main storage depot. But you can’t get close to it. He has got security tighter than a virgin’s twat. That’s a good one, eh? I learned that expression in California.”

Noi rolled her eyes and cuddled Ling Ling closer to her breast, as if to shield the dog’s ears from the general’s crude words.

“That warehouse is the last stop for the heroin before it is shipped out of Thailand. Most of it goes to Hong Kong where it is put through the final refining process by Chinese chemists. The mountain refineries in the hills around here are very primitive and have to be moved around constantly to avoid detection. The heroin bricks that are produced here cannot be used for very much the way they are.”

“Let’s go see it,” said Santos.

Noi gave the general a frightened look, but he seemed unconcerned. The general banked the small plane to the left and headed in a southeasterly direction away from Ban Hin Taek. “Okay, it’s off the normal tourist routes of the Golden Triangle, Ban Hin Taek and the Mekong, but I will take you as close as I can get without alerting Khun Ut’s security team. That is not something any of us would want to do, and they know me and my plane very well.”

 

 

Chapter Thirty-Three

 

 

MacMurphy had traveled to Ban Mae Chan when he was stationed in Udorn. The town was located on Route One at the end of a high plateau extending south into Thailand from the Burmese border. It was in the heart of the opium growing region twenty-two miles north of Chiang Rai, mid-way between Chiang Rai and Ban Mae Sai on the Burmese border. Traditionally the town was a trading post for the Akha and Yao hill tribes to sell their goods and purchase manufactured items. Now it was all about tourism and opium.  

They were flying at one thousand feet when they came upon the town from the north. “There it is,” said the general, pointing ahead and to the right of the plane. “It is not much to see. Just another little hill village turned into a tourist trap. In front of us to the south, you will see where the plateau comes to a point and falls into a deep jungle ravine. At the edge of that ravine in those woods you will see…there it is—see that shiny tin roof there in the woods? That is the warehouse.”

Both Culler and Mac strained to see, as the general banked the plane first to the right and then to the left for each of them to get a clear view of the terrain below.

Sawat said, “This is as close as we dare to get. We will have to fly around it and continue south towards Chiang Rai. But at least you know where it is. You certainly don’t want to go asking directions for it in the village.” The general laughed heartily at his joke while Noi stared at him with wide, disapproving eyes.

Culler and Mac settled back into their seats in the rear of the plane thinking the same thing. This was going to be a bitch! They had studied the casings Charly had provided, but actually seeing the facility from the air gave them an entirely new perspective.

They needed to break into the facility, inject the ricin into as many of the heroin bricks as possible, and get out without being detected, or—if they were detected—make it look like they were attempting to rob the place. Stealing a few kilos of heroin would be good cover for the operation as long as it allowed them to get in and out and do their thing.

The casings showed that the bales of marijuana were stacked around the perimeter of the warehouse’s ground floor, with the pallets of heroin bricks near the center. They could possibly get through a back door or a window, maybe even cut a hole in the wall.

It seemed unlikely they would be able to gain access to the interior any other way. Not with all the security around, and not without having to kill the guards they would inevitably encounter along the way.

Maybe they could quietly take out a few of the guards on the warehouse’s rear—the apparently less guarded side facing the ravine. That would be a possibility. But it would mean a steep climb from the jungle floor to the ridge of the plateau: a tough job, but not impossible.

 

Chapter Thirty-Four

 

 

While Santos and MacMurphy were flying over Ban Hin Taek and Ban Mae Chan, Khun Ut and Ung Chea were meeting in Khun Ut’s mountain lodge in Ban Hin Taek.

Impeccably dressed in a tan, starched safari suit, Khun Ut leaned back in his leather executive chair. His feet were propped up on the corner of an oversized, ornately carved antique teak desk that had once belonged to his father. He watched as the smoke wafted from his cheroot.

“What makes you think it was anything more than a mugging?” he asked. “After all, Chiang Rai is a rough neighborhood, and he was robbed of everything of any value he had on him.”

“Just a feeling,” said the Cambodian. He had plopped himself down in a chair across the desk from Khun Ut and was absentmindedly tracing the jagged scar on his cheek with a thumb. “Things don’t match up, boss.  She drives all the way to Chiang Rai, parks her car, walks straight to the Wangcome Hotel, through the lobby to the elevators and disappears upstairs for over an hour. Surely she was meeting someone in one of the rooms. A clandestine meeting of some sort, and I do not think it was about sex. She would not come all that way for a quickie.”

“But that is her job, right? She is a CIA officer. She was probably meeting one of her agents.”

“Of course she was. But why would she come to Chiang Rai for an agent meeting? She almost never comes here. And then the mugging...”

“I would understand it, Ung Chea, if she had counter-surveillance, but no CIA counter-surveillance team would ever be so bold as to do that to a surveillant. Not unless they thought her life was in danger.”

“Maybe they did. I mean, our attack on their consulate…well, maybe they finally decided to get revenge. It is possible, no? Considering what we just did to them.”

Khun Ut spun out of his chair and walked to the expanse of windows across the front of the room. He studied the village below and then lifted his gaze toward the towering Doi Tung Mountain on the other side.

He thought back to the first time he had played in this room as a small boy with Khun Sa’s son.

 

Khun Ut was born Duangdee Khemmawongse in Ban Hin Taek. His father was pure Akha, and his mother was half-Chinese, half-Akha. His family lived on the outskirts of the village, in a thatched roof hut with a dirt floor, among the pigs and chickens. As long as he could remember, they had worked in one capacity or another in the opium trade.

As is the custom in Thailand, he was given a nickname shortly after his birth. While most Thai nicknames reflect what the baby looked like at birth, his parents chose Ut, which had no particular meaning. They just liked the sound of the name.

Ut had a vague recollection of the time when Khun Sa first arrived in Ban Hin Taek. He remembered Khun Sa as a handsome, charismatic man who gave the dirt poor villagers hope of better times in the future: a future where opium would be more than just a remedy for their ills and an escape from their troubles, but one which would bring them heretofore unimaginable wealth and prosperity.

Khun Sa came to the village with his wife and three children, one of whom was a three-year-old boy, the same age as Ut. The boys quickly became inseparable, and they grew up as brothers while Khun Sa built up his opium empire and brought prosperity to the small village.

By the time the boys reached the age of thirteen, they were constantly at his side, collecting opium from farmers and delivering it to refineries deep in the jungle.

And as Khun Sa’s empire expanded, the boys took on ever increasing responsibility, and their power and wealth increased commensurately.

Ut, the smarter boy by far, reveled in his newfound status and soon began to overshadow Khun Sa’s natural son, much to the chagrin of Khun Sa at first, but soon with the resignation that the two boys complimented each other and would always be together at his side.

When the forces of the Thai army and border patrol attacked Khun Sa’s Ban Hin Taek stronghold, Khun Sa lost many of his men, including his son, in the fighting. He also lost guns and ammunition worth more than two million dollars.

Ut was badly wounded in the right leg by shrapnel, making it impossible for him to retreat with Khun Sa. The injury left him with a permanent limp and the resolve to recover his former lifestyle and climb back to the top of the heap, with or without Khun Sa.

By then Ut was twenty-one years, a seasoned veteran of the opium trade. While Khun Sa roamed the hills of Burma trying to avoid capture with the remnants of his SUA army, Ut remained in Ban Hin Taek and quietly began to rebuild Khun Sa’s empire.

He adopted the name Khun Ut and took up permanent residence in Khun Sa’s mountain retreat overlooking Ban Hin Taek. No one challenged his right to be there.

Khun Sa remained on the run, hounded by Burmese authorities, for the next ten years. He finally surrendered in 1996 and was held in house arrest in Rangoon until his death in 2001.

The drug trade under the direction of Khun Ut was by this time restored to the point where it was once again becoming a nuisance to the Thai and Burmese governments, and a particular menace to the U.S. government. It had reached a point where its production amounted to forty-five percent of the U.S. heroin supply, rivaled only by Afghanistan.

Under pressure from the U.S., the Burmese started shelling the border region around Ban Hin Taek and made preparations for an invasion to wipe out the drug trade. But the Thai government protested the invasion of its territory vigorously, forcing the Burmese to call it off and leaving Khun Ut to manage his revived drug empire with minimum resistance.

 

Ut shook himself out of his reverie and returned to the moment. That is the answer. She was meeting with some outside CIA people. That is why she didn’t meet with them at the consulate in Chiang Mai. It is an outside team. Maybe paramilitary.

He turned to face the Cambodian and gestured with his cheroot. “The filthy maggots sent a team in to get us. But the Thais will not help them this time, and they can not do anything without the consent of the Thai government. They must respect Thai sovereignty. Double up on the surveillance of Blackburn and the other suspected CIA officers at the consulate.” He pumped his cheroot at the Cambodian. “And get me a list of everyone registered at the Wangcome Hotel on the night of the incident. I will bet you a million Baht that if we concentrate on registrations of single, non-Thai farangs we will find our CIA team.”

The Cambodian smiled broadly, which only made him look more grotesque. He dug into his pocket and unfolded two sheets of paper. “I anticipated your request. Eleven rooms are occupied by single male farangs. Five of them are Americans.”

“Good work, Ung Chea. You know what to do next.”

 

 

Chapter Thirty-Five

 

 

Santos and MacMurphy returned to their hotel to consider their next move. They showered and changed out of their sweaty clothes and spent the remainder of the afternoon going over the maps and casings of Khun Ut’s warehouse and headquarters.

They discussed possible operational approaches and agreed that whatever approach they decided to take would, regrettably, have to exclude the use of Charly Blackburn and her Hmong asset, Vanquish.

Using Vanquish would clearly be the easiest and best route to take, but it risked exposing Charly and the CIA hand. Since Edwin Rothmann had made it clear that he did not want any connection to the CIA, they would have to do it without her.

Charly Blackburn could only be used as a conduit for information. No more personal meetings would be held, if they could be avoided. Their one face-to-face meeting had already demonstrated the risks involved in meeting with her.

They were up against a ruthless adversary, but one that was also astute and professional.

Efficiency gives way to security to some degree in clandestine tradecraft. It was like a child’s seesaw.When security was highest, efficiency was lowest and vice versa. They would err on the side of caution and security for the time being.

By six o’clock their brains were saturated with studying maps and photos and casings. Mac decided he needed a drink, so they made their way down to the bar before heading out to dinner. Both men wore short-sleeved, untucked shirts to conceal the .45 caliber H&K weapons they carried in the small of their backs.

Santos nursed a frosty Kloster beer while MacMurphy downed two vodka martinis on the rocks. Santos had decided he had had enough spicy Thai food for awhile and suggested they grab a steak someplace. He explained that he needed the fortification that only red meat would bring him for the day that lay ahead of them.

They got directions from the bartender to an American-style steakhouse on the south end of the city and headed down to the garage to retrieve their car. Culler drove and Mac, feeling relaxed with the effects of the two martinis, did not object.

On their way to the Texas Steakhouse, Culler asked Mac if tomorrow was too soon to launch their operation at the Mae Chan warehouse.

Mac replied, “Everything we need is in the back of this car and there’s nothing more we can do in Chiang Rai, so I guess tomorrow’s as good a day as any, unless you want to sleep in.”

“Yeah, right. I’m not the one who sleeps like a teenager.”

MacMurphy leaned back in his seat and massaged his temples. He gazed out the window as they sped past bicycles, Honda 50cc motorbikes with whole families aboard, and thatched roof shacks on bamboo stilts lining the side of the road. “Sleep is good for the soul, my friend. Perhaps you should get more of it. Maybe then you wouldn’t be so cranky.”

“There it is,” said Culler. “Up there on the right. The Texas Steakhouse. Finally we’re going to get some real sustenance.”

Aside from the exterior surroundings, the interior of the Texas Steakhouse looked like something you would find anywhere from Tysons Corner to SoHo—dark paneled walls lined with burgundy banquets under racks of wine bottles. A stuffed Angus bull guarded the entrance.

Culler Santos devoured a bloody, sixteen-ounce New York Strip steak and sipped on another bottle of the local Kloster beer while Mac picked on a six-ounce filet mignon with pepper sauce and quashed it down with most of a sixty dollar bottle of French Bordeaux wine.

Both shunned the desert cart, but Mac selected a chunk of ripe Camembert cheese from the cheese cart to accompany the remainder of the Bordeaux. Then he ordered a cognac to settle everything down. Santos topped off his meal with a sweet cappuccino coffee.

Mac was quite mellow by now, relaxed and talkative, while Culler mostly listened and observed his surroundings. When he responded to a question from Mac, he noticed that Mac seemed distracted, swirling the cognac in his glass.

“I can see you’re sorry you sent Charly back,” Culler said.

“That obvious?”

“Finish the drink and let’s head back before you talk me into chasing women.”

On the drive back to their hotel, they agreed to check out of the Wangcome in the morning, not too early so Mac could get his beauty sleep, and drive up Route One toward Ban Mae Chan and Khun Sa’s warehouse.

They had selected a spot on the map where they could drive in, cache the car and enter the jungle. The spot was at the edge of the ravine along an old logging trail about four miles south of Ban Mae Chan. From there they planned to make their way north on foot until they hit the bottom edge of the ravine. Then they would make the steep climb up to the warehouse.

After that they would have to wing it.

Chapter Thirty-Six

 

 

MacMurphy slept like the dead. The martinis, wine and cognac put him out as soon as his head touched the pillow. Santos was a different story. He tossed and turned and listened to the street noises and planned the next day in his mind. When he finally did fall asleep, he slept fitfully.

At one forty-seven in the morning, Santos heard loud pounding at the door of the room directly above him, then muffled voices, then louder voices and then the sounds of a struggle and then a thud. The thud brought him fully awake, and he reached for his pistol on the nightstand. The silencer was already attached.

The muffled sounds of a struggle and shouted commands continued overhead. It sounded like someone had been rousted from his bed and was being interrogated. He could not hear what was being said, but it was clearly in English.

Santos’s mind raced. He quietly slipped out of bed and padded across the room to the doors which separated his room from Mac’s. He opened the door on his side and knocked softly. He could hear Mac’s snoring coming from inside. He called to Mac in hushed tones through the door but the snoring continued.

Cellphone, he thought, and darted back across the room to the nightstand. He picked up his phone and punched Mac’s number on the speed dial. He heard the door to the room above him slam shut and the noises stopped. He returned to the adjoining door and listened for ringing, but heard nothing but Mac’s continued snoring.

 

Chapter Thirty-Seven

 

 

The Cambodian exited room 1150 with his two broad-shouldered cohorts, slamming the door in frustration behind him. The thugs were dressed alike in black slacks and tee-shirts with SECURITY written across the back. Both looked like weight lifters with bulging biceps, although one of them had gone to seed and wore his pot belly like a proud pregnancy.

The Cambodian whispered into his lapel microphone. “This is base. It is not Levine either, but he put up a struggle. He thought we were busting him. He is just another long-haired, hippy pot-head here to smoke our gunsha. Definitely not a CIA operative.”

He pulled a slip of paper from his shirt pocket and read from it. “There are two more Americans in rooms 1048 and 1050 below. We are heading down there to check them out now. You check out room 922. That will be the lot of them. Over.”

Ung Chea and his cohorts took the stairs down one flight to the tenth floor. The hall was quiet as they made their way down the carpeted hall. When they reached the rooms, the Cambodian stood back and motioned to the heavier of the two men with his 9mm pistol. “Udom, take the door on the right. Boon-Nam, you take the door on the left.”

The two thugs, each holding a .357 caliber Smith and Wesson revolver at the ready, listened at the two doors. Udom spoke first. “Someone is inside 1048; I can hear snoring.” 

The smaller man, ear pinned to the other door, said, “I cannot hear anything here. No sound.”

“Okay,” whispered Ung Chea, “Take the snorer first.”

The Cambodian joined Udom and Boon-Nam at the door of room 1048 and quietly inserted a key card into the lock. He pushed it all the way in carefully and then withdrew it. The lights on the lock beeped and signaled green, and he pushed down on the door handle, opening the door a crack. With the door partially open, he stepped back into the hallway to let Udom at the door.

Udom put his ear to the crack and, hearing the continued snoring, signaled okay to the others. He stuck his .357 in his ankle holster and inserted a wire tool into the opening, running it up the crack until it hit the security chain. He closed the door as far as it would go and manipulated the tool up against the security chain until the chain dropped free and clanged against the door.

Ung Chea and Boon-Nam stepped back, pistols at the ready, and leveled at the door as Udom unholstered his revolver, held it up at the ready position and pushed the door open with the back of his arm and shoulder.    

At that instant the three of them heard the muffled phifft of a silenced bullet exiting the suppressor of Santos’s .45 caliber H&K handgun.

The heavy round hit Udom under the right armpit, mushroomed through ribs and lungs, and exited through his chest on the other side, slamming him against the door. He fell dead halfway inside the room, but not before he reflexively fired off one booming .357 round into the floor.

That awakened the sleeping man inside.

Ung Chea and Boon-Nam stood frozen for a moment and then turned in shocked unison toward the direction of the shot. They saw with wide-eyed disbelief a huge farang dressed only in checkered boxer shorts in a crouched shooting position with a long pistol leveled at them.

Another phifft and the huge gun jumped in the farang’s hand. The round crashed into Boon-Nam’s chest just above the solar plexis, picked him up and sent him flying backwards down the hall. He hit the floor dead, arms flung wide.

The Cambodian brought his 9mm around and leveled it at the big farang.

 

 

Chapter Thirty-Eight

 

 

The booming report of the .357 magnum handgun finally blasted MacMurphy out of his drunken reverie. He swiped his silenced H&K off of the nightstand and rolled out of bed onto the floor, coming up with the gun at the ready.

The door to his room was wide open with a motionless man sprawled across the threshold halfway into the room. On the other side of the door in the hallway stood two more men holding pistols aimed down the hall.

MacMurphy’s mind spun. What was happening? Someone obviously tried to break into his room, but he was dead on the threshold. The other two must be his cohorts. They must be aiming at the shooter. Culler!

At that instant the closest gunman flew backwards, revealing the other man. Mac immediately recognized the scarred face and the nub of an ear of the Cambodian.

Ung Chea turned tward Mac and their eyes locked for an instant. The Cambodian had a shocked, wide-eyed expression of fear as he reflexively brought his gun around to meet this new threat through the open door.

Mac snapped off a quick shot from his rolling prone position on the floor, aiming for center mass, but pulling it low and to the right. Nevertheless, he saw his target spin from the impact of the heavy bullet, bounce off the wall behind him and take off running down the hall.

And then Santos was filling his doorway, standing over the dead man and wearing boxer shorts, his long, silenced H&K hanging loosely in his hand at his side.

“About time you woke up.” 

Mac got to his feet rubbing his eyes with his left hand and holding his own pistol in his right. He was naked and completely sober. “What the fuck is going on?”

 “Later. Let’s get these goons out of sight before anyone sees them. Get this guy inside while I get the other one. The sound of that shot will wake up the hotel.”

Mac, fully awake now, grabbed an arm of the thug in his doorway and pulled him all the way into the room. He grabbed his boxer shorts and pulled them on as he ran out into the hall to help Culler with the other one. Together they pulled him into Mac’s room, leaving a visible trail of blood, and laid him beside the other gunman.

A door opened down the hall and then another and another. Heads popped out of the rooms into the hallway. Culler leaned out of the doorway to Mac’s room, still in his underwear, and motioned to the people that everything was okay and that they should go back to bed. The heads retreated into the rooms and the doors closed.

Santos closed the door behind him, locked it and set the security chain. “Okay, we’ve bought some time, but we gotta get out of here fast. Grab your gear and bring it into my room. That blood trail will lead them right here.”

They worked swiftly and silently, moving all of Mac’s belongings into Culler’s adjourning room and locking the doors between the rooms.

While they were dressing and packing up their gear, a couple of the hotel’s security staff arrived and knocked loudly on the door of Mac’s room. When they got no response, they used the hotel master key card to open the door, but were denied entry by the privacy chain. They called into the room in Thai and English through the crack in the partially opened door. Finally, one of them was sent downstairs for a bolt cutter to cut the chain.

Culler and Mac were dressed, packed and ready to leave, but they waited until the man with the bolt cutter returned and had snipped the chain. The group had entered the room, chattering loudly at what they found, before they darted out of the room, ran down the hallway and into the stairway.

They hurried down the stairs all the way to the garage, tossed their bags into the back seat of the Toyota and drove rapidly out of Chiang Rai in the direction of Chiang Mai to the south.

They breathed a combined sigh of relief when they determined no one was following them. They were out of danger for the moment, but things were definitely heating up.

 

 

Chapter Thirty-Nine

 

 

Santos drove, maneuvering deftly through the dark city streets on the way to the four-lane highway that connected Chiang Mai to Chiang Rai. “Glad you finally woke up when you did. Do you always sleep like that? Like the dead? Which you almost were, I might add.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. Guess I drank a little too much.”

“A little? Yeah, I guess you could say that. You were snoring like a banshee too. You always snore like that? Must be a bitch for your girlfriends.”

“Yeah, I get that complaint a lot when I drink. Forces them right to the couch. It’s a bitch.”

“Well, I don’t want to preach to you, but it almost cost you your life tonight. I couldn’t wake you by knocking and calling through the door, so I called your cell phone and the bloody thing didn’t ring. Why’d you turn it off?”

“I didn’t…I…I had it on vibrate.”

“Vibrate! Why’d you have the fucking thing on vibrate for, for God’s sake?”

“I don’t like it ringing when I’m in public places, so I leave it on vibrate. I can feel it and hear it buzz when it’s in my pocket, and I can hear it vibrate against the wood of the nightstand when it’s next to my bed. Usually, that is.”

Santos rolled his eyes. “For God’s sake turn the bloody ringer on and leave it on from now on. Okay?”

MacMurphy took the phone out of his pocket and turned the ringer on. “Happy now?”

“Yes, very. I’m very happy now. Thank you…”

“So, how did you get behind them?”

“I left the room and ran down the hall, away from the elevator and stairs, and ducked into the ice vending machine room. The three of them came out of the stairs and went directly to our rooms and listened at the doors. I could see they were armed, and when it was clear they were going to break into your room, I shot them—well, two of them anyway.”

“Well, I’m damn glad you did. Sorry about the Cambodian getting away though.”

“Yeah, it would’ve been better if we’d killed him. But I’ll tell you one thing, Mac, you sure scared the shit out of him. You must have hit him in the side the way he spun and hit that wall. I should’ve shot him as he was running down the hall, but everything happened so fast.”

“So I’m not the only fuck-up on this team…”

“Yeah, you could say that. Never could shoot at a running deer either.”

They were quiet for several minutes when Mac straightened in his seat and turned to Santos. “Why are we heading to Chiang Mai?”

“I don’t know. Where else could we go? I didn’t give it any thought. Just wanted to get out of Dodge. We’ve got to regroup, right?”

MacMurphy was thoughful. “They know who we are by now. At least they know our aliases and what we look like. They must have been checking the rooms to find out who Charly was visiting. Now they know for certain.”

The wheels spun in Mac’s head. Looking straight ahead through the windshield at the landscape rushing by, he said. “We’re burned. No doubt about it. Our covers are blown. And this car was rented in the Humphrey alias. We’re going to have to get rid of it right away. But we’re going to need wheels.”

“It’s the middle of the night. Where are we going to get another car at this hour?”

“We’ll have to steal one or buy one. Another rental is out. But first we’re going to have to ditch this one. So…let’s…let’s continue on to Chiang Mai. It’s a big city, easier to get lost in. Maybe we can get a couple hours of shut-eye, pick up another vehicle, and then head back north to Ban Mae Chan to do what we set out to do.”

 

 

Chapter Forty

 

 

The Cambodian rendezvoused with the remaining two members of his team on the ninth floor. His white Thai shirt was stained with blood. He held his left side and was clearly in a great deal of pain. He spoke to them in excited, stuttering tones.

“This is bad. Very bad. Udom and Boon-Nam Are dead. Shot by those CIA guys. They almost killed me too. We got to get out of here fast. Khun Ut is going to be really pissed when he hears about this.”

He raised his bloodied shirt and looked down at his side. There was a deep, four-inch, ugly gash where the heavy slug had grazed him. The sight of it made him ill and he began to feel faint from the loss of blood. He leaned on one of his men, while the other called for the elevator, and the three of them rode down to the lobby. They exited the elevator, scurried across the lobby and out the front door, one black shirted security guard on each side of the Cambodian, holding him up like a drunk.

Outside they climbed into a white van and headed straight for Khun Ut’s warehouse in Ban Mae Chan. In the backseat one of the men used a first aid kit to bandage Ung Chea’s side, while the other drove and called ahead for medical assistance to meet them at the warehouse. The Cambodian dozed during the twenty minute drive and thought about what he was going to say to Khun Ut in the morning.

But he didn’t have to wait until morning.

The Cambodian and the two security guards were met by Khun Ut when they pulled into the warehouse compound. Although it was the middle of the night, Khun Ut was impeccably dressed in a dark blue safari suit and polished Wellington boots. His longish black hair was slicked back, and he was smoking a long, thin cigar. He smelled of liquor and was slurring his words, which indicated he had come directly to the warehouse from one of the local nightspots. 

Khun Ut took immediate command of the situation. “Get him upstairs to my office and put him on the couch.” Motioning with his cigar to a man in a white lab coat standing next to him, he added, “Dr. Vikorn, sew him up. He looks like he has lost a lot of blood.”

While the doctor was dressing his wound, Ung Chea nervously related the events of the evening. “Just as we pushed the door open this big farang came out of nowhere and started shooting. He blasted Udom and Boon-Nam before I could react, and then the guy in the room shot me and I had to get the hell out of there fast or I wouldn’t be here to tell you about it.

“Boss, believe me, those guys were good. Really good. They had silencers too. They are professionals. Definitely the guys we were looking for.”

Khun Ut pushed back in his chair and put his polished boots up on his desk. He thought for a moment and exhaled a long stream of smoke toward the ceiling. “So now we have their names and descriptions. You can give me a description of them, right?”

The Cambodian grimaced as the doctor went about cleaning and stitching up his side. It was clear that Khun Ut’s disapproval weighed heavier on him than the wound in his side. The welling tears were not just from the physical pain. “Well, er, I think so. I mean, it all happened very fast. They were farangs. One was a big guy. Heavy. Muscular. He came out of nowhere, dressed in his undershorts. He carried a long pistol—silenced, like the Japanese Yakuza use. And, and, so did the other guy.

“I didn’t get a good look at the other guy. He was lying on the floor in the room with his long gun aimed right at me. He looked me right in the eye. He was aiming right at me. Scared the shit out of me, boss. He is the one who shot me. The big guy shot Udom and Boon-Nam. Bang, bang, both gone. Just like that. I was lucky to get out of there alive. I did my best, boss, really I did…” 

“Calm down Ung Chea, calm down.” Although Khun Ut hated that the operation had gone terribly awry, he enjoyed being in charge—in control when everyone else was panicking. “Let us figure out where we are and what we are going to do next. We lost a battle but we did not lose the war. Those guys will pay for what they did. We know who they are now. We will find them and kill them.”

Ung Chea was reassured and the doctor was almost finished stitching him up. Soon he could rest. He took a deep breath and said, “Their names are Robert Humphrey and Ralph Callaway. I think Callaway is the big guy registered in room 1050, and Humphrey is the guy that shot me from the room next door, 1048. But I am sure we will not find them there any longer.”

“Yes indeed,” said Khun Ut, thinking out loud. “You can bet they have beat it out of there. Those are probably not their real names either. But they showed passports when they registered so they have documentation in those aliases. They are professionals all right. They must have rented a car in one of those names as well.”

“That is right. They did.” Ung Chea brightened. “The hotel clerk told me they had paid for parking in the hotel garage, so they definitely have a car.”

“Okay, we will check all the rental car agencies in the vicinity of Chiang Mai and Chiang Rai in the morning. We will find out what they are driving, and we will nail them that way. Divert all of our surveillance teams to scour both cities and every place in between to find that vehicle. Start at the airport. We will find them, Ung Chea, and then you can have them.”

 

 

Chapter Forty-One

      

      

Santos and MacMurphy spotted a small business class hotel named the Orchid Lodge on the northern outskirts of Chiang Mai and pulled into the parking lot behind it.

It was almost four in the morning, and they were exhausted from lack of sleep and the adrenaline flow they had experienced earlier that evening. They grabbed a couple of well deserved hours of sleep in the car and then went into the hotel to freshen up and eat breakfast.

“Maybe we should reef our sails a bit,” said Santos. They were drinking coffee after having ordered huge American breakfasts of ham and eggs, home fries, fruit and juice.

“What’s that, one of your New England expressions?” MacMurphy was already feeling better.

“Yes, and it’s a good one too. That’s what you do when the seas get too rough. You slow down and ride out the storm. Maybe we should go to the mattresses and wait until things quiet down a bit.”

“Go to the mattresses? That’s what the Mafia does when they want to hide out, right? You’re just a font of esoteric, useless knowledge.”

Santos toasted him with his coffee cup and a large grin. “Right. That’s what we should do. Slow down, regroup and strike when we’re ready.”

“We’re ready now. We just need to get a clean car, transfer our gear and head for the jungle below Ban Mae Chan.”

“Maybe Charly or the General can get us a car. We also need a place to stay. We can’t use these aliases in any more hotels. Humphrey and Callahan are blown.”

“Yeah, you’re right. And that’s the only set of alias docs we have with us, so I guess that means no more hotel rooms or rental cars.”

Culler was thoughtful. “Hmmm, we could steal a car. That won’t be a big problem. I can hotwire anything on wheels. But we’ll need to use the General or Charly to find us a place to stay, a safehouse or something.”

“I’d rather not use the General or Charly any more than we absolutely have to.” MacMurphy paused and then said, “See that couple sitting over there?” He nodded at a young American couple sitting a couple of tables away from them. They were eating breakfast and planning their day’s sightseeing activities with maps and brochures spread out on the table.

“Yeah, what about them?”

“I’ve been watching them. They’re American tourists. Maybe honeymooners. They probably don’t have a lot of money; otherwise they would be staying in one of the four-star hotels, not a cheap business one like this. And I’ll bet they also have a rental car, because it looks like they are on their own.”

“So, what does that mean? You want to steal their rental car? We could probably do that.”

“No, they would scream and report it. The cops would be looking for the car and we’d be right back where we are now. I think maybe we could buy their car.”

Culler shook his head. “You think you can buy their rental car from them? Why would they want to do that?”

“Persuasion and charm, Mr. Santos, something you techies have very little of. And, of course, money.”

MacMurphy got up and went over to their table. “You guys are Americans, right? I overheard you talking. I’m also American. Where are you from? Are you touring this little corner of paradise?” He was friendly and non-threatening and offered them a big, beaming smile that nobody could refuse.

She was cute, in a plain sort of way, with light brown hair in a bob. She wore hiking boots, knee-length khaki shorts, and a sleeveless yellow shirt. He was tall and skinny with longish unkempt brown hair. He was dressed in jeans, boots and a light blue, Disney World tee-shirt with Mickey Mouse on the front. They appeared to be in their early twenties.

Culler watched admiringly as his friend worked his case officer magic on the couple. Within minutes they were laughing and shaking hands like old friends. Mac pulled a chair up to their table, and they chatted and laughed as they looked at the maps.

Ten minutes later Mac paid their bill, and they all got up together and started heading for the front entrance. Mac excused himself for a moment to return to his table where Culler Santos was sitting.

He winked at Culler. “Okay, it’s all arranged. Pay the bill and join us outside. We’re going to switch cars.”

Santos’s jaw dropped and he started to say something but Mac was gone, following the young couple out the door. Case officers, he thought, shaking his head. They are indeed a unique bunch, all charm and persuason.

Santos suspected the case officer had probably just seduced the young American couple into lending him their car.

He found them outside in the parking lot at the side of the building. They were standing beside a small, white Toyota RAV4 SUV with an Avis sticker on the left rear bumper.

Mac introduced him to the couple. “Ralph, meet Linda and Sam Peoples. Linda and Sam, meet my associate Ralph Callahan.” They all shook hands and did their greetings while Mac announced that they had agreed to swap cars for a few days.

He explained: “Linda and Sam really don’t need a 4WD vehicle and we do, and rather than us having to go back to the Avis counter at the airport and taking the chance that they don’t have one available, they kindly agreed to swap the 4WD for our Toyota Corolla. Wasn’t that nice of them, Ralph? It’ll save us a ton of time.”

“Yeah, that’s great,” replied Santos, puzzled.

“Would you bring our car around so we can swap out the suitcases?”

“You bet. And…thanks guys, really,” he said to the couple.

Fishing the keys out of his pocket, Culler jogged around to the back of the building. When he returned he parked their Corolla next to the RAV4.

The Peoples had very little in the way of personal effects in their car. Most of their things were up in their hotel room. But their eyes widened at the sight of Culler Santos and Mac moving all of their gear, including two long, heavy duffle bags into the back of the RAV.

Mac dug into one of the bags, located an envelope full of one hundred dollar bills and counted out five thousand dollars. He handed the stack of bills to Sam Peoples who quickly dropped the wad into Linda’s large handbag.

“Now you guys enjoy the rest of your vacation,” Mac said, “and don’t worry about returning your car. We’ll take care of that. And remember, when you get ready to depart just leave the Corolla in the parking lot of the hotel, and take the shuttle bus to the airport. Leave the keys with the bellman and tell him to call Avis to come pick up the car. We’ll do the same with the RAV4 when we’re done with it.”

Linda and Sam were delighted. “Thanks Mr. Humphrey,” said Sam. “This is really going to make our vacation. The Lord was smiling on us today.”

“He certainly was,” said Linda with a beaming smile. “God bless you. God bless you both.” 

 

Chapter Forty-Two

 

 

Culler drove and they waved back at the young couple as they pulled out of the Orchid Lodge parking lot and turned south toward the heart of Chiang Mai.

Culler was still shaking his head in amazement over what Mac had just accomplished. “How’d you know what buttons to push with that couple?”

“Well, it’s really pretty simple.” Mac adjusted the seat back and got comfortable. “First I put’em at ease, showed’em I wasn’t a threat. Then I elicited information about them, like the fact they were almost broke, and had to pay extra for a 4WD vehicle they didn’t want in the first place, and how they got hassled at the Avis rental counter. You know, stuff like that. Then I just made up a story that fit with their story.”

 “What story was that?”

“Well, I told them you were my father and you were sick and…”

“Bullshit! What did you really tell them?”

Mac laughed. “I said we had a mission to accomplish up north on the border. I told them I didn’t know if we were going to make it in time because we were already late, and the roads up there are so bad that our two wheel drive car that the same rental car agency gave us may not make it. I commiserated with them and said we had ordered a 4WD vehicle, but they didn’t have any when we picked up the vehicle.”

“And then you asked them if they would be willing to switch vehicles with you for five thousand dollars?”

“A little smoother than that, but you’re right, that’s about it. The exchange fulfilled all their needs: money, they got rid of the bumpy vehicle and there was no downside to the deal.”

“They weren’t the least bit suspicious?” asked Culler incredulously.

“Well, maybe a little bit at first, but then I explained that we were with Interpol and that’s why we could be so generous with the money. And when I reiterated about there being no downside, I mean they would have our car and the money and all, well, they just bought it.”

“And we didn’t have to steal one.”

“Right, if we had to steal one we’d just have the cops on our tail along with Khun Ut’s crew. Double trouble.” 

Culler thought for a moment. “But what about those kids? Khun Ut is looking for us and it won’t take him long to figure out what car we were driving. Aren’t we placing them in serious danger now? What happens when he finds the car with them in it?”

“Well, hopefully Khun Ut won’t find them. And if he does, well, he’ll find out quickly enough that it’s not us. I mean, maybe he’ll question them and find out what happened, learn about the switch and all.”

Both men were thoughtful, considering the possible consequences for the innocent young couple. 

Santos broke the silence. “Well, you certainly bought us some time, but those kids are going to be in deep kimchee if the Cambodian gets a hold of them and decides to…well, I don’t want to think about it.”

“Yeah,” said Mac, “I really hope that doesn’t happen.”

Mac sat up abruptly and looked around him. They were entering the city traffic of Chiang Mai. “Where are we going?”

“Chiang Mai. Isn’t that where we want to go?”

“Hell no! Not now. We’ve got a new car. That’s all we wanted. We’ve got nothing further to do in Chiang Mai. Our job is in Ban Mae Chan. Turn around and let’s do what we came here to do.”

 

 

Chapter Forty-Three

 

 

Later that evening, Khun Ut was enjoying dinner, surrounded by friends at the expensive Chao Phraya restaurant, when his cell phone rang.

He dug the phone out of his pocket and glanced at the caller ID. With an annoyed expression, he announced to his guests, four lovely young women dressed in traditional long Thai silk sarongs and three men in business suits, that he had to take the call.

He walked away from the noisy heart of the restaurant into the foyer and spoke into the phone. “What is the problem?” He knew there had to be a problem or the Cambodian would never interrupt his dinner.

“Actually, there is no problem, Boss. You always think there has to be a problem for me to call you. This time it is good news. I thought you would want to hear it right away.”

“Okay, what news is good enough to tear me away from Toi, Daeng and their beautiful friends?”

“Our guys found the car. They got it staked out right now. It is parked behind the Orchid Lodge, a small business hotel on the north side of Chiang Mai.”

“Are you sure it is them?”

“One hundred percent. We got the make and registration number from the Avis agent at the airport. Plates match and it has an Avis sticker on the rear bumper. No doubt about it, Boss.”

Khun Ut was excited. He paced back and forth in the foyer, careful not to be overheard by other guests entering and leaving by the front door. “Did you check to see if they are registered at the hotel?”

     Yes, but their names did not show up. They probably registered under different names. One of the hotel staff thought he saw two guys that matched their description having breakfast there this morning.”

“Okay, okay, that is good enough. Good work, Ung Chea. Tell your guys not to spook them.”

His mind was suddenly spinning with ideas. Should they wait in ambush and get them when they get back into their car? Should they try to find them in the hotel and get them in their rooms? No, he had a better idea.

“Keep an eye on the vehicle and make sure they don’t leave. If they try to leave, take them out. Let me see, it is almost ten now so they probably will not be going anywhere tonight, right?”

“That is what I think, Boss. They are probably in for the night. They are definitely not in any of the public areas of the hotel, not in the bar or restaurant or anyplace like that. We checked all those places.”

“Okay, listen, call Sunthon right away. Tell him to get over there right away and wire the car. We will blow the bastards to hell when they start the car in the morning. Make sure you are there to witness it, and make sure there are no survivors. Got it?”

“Got it, Boss. Great idea.”

 

Chapter Forty-Four

 

 

Culler and Mac drove back in the direction of Ban Mae Chan. They turned off the main highway when their GPS showed them to be at the bottom end of the valley that ended at the precipice at the southern end of Ban Mae Chan, the location of Khun Ut’s warehouse.

They followed the GPS map along a narrow paved road that ended abruptly at an old dump at the jungle’s edge. They circled around the dump and continued slowly in four wheel drive over a rutted and unmarked logging trail that took them deep into the jungle until the road ran out.

They pulled into the underbrush and piled branches on and around the vehicle to hide it from view. With the car sufficiently camouflaged, they dressed for the day-long hike through the jungle.

They pulled on Ghillie-suits and filled their backpacks with extra ammo, granola and power bars, dry clothes and socks, hammocks, shelter sheets, sleeping gear, and other personal items.

GPS devices, commo gear and night vision headgear went into separate pockets on the outside of the backpacks. Camelbaks filled with water went under the backpacks.

Over his shoulder, Culler carried a small, extra bag that contained two dozen, twelve cubic centimeter vials of ricin packed in Styrofoam.

They unpacked their short POF automatic weapons, screwed on the suppressors, checked the day and night vision sights and popped in a 100-round drum of ammo for each weapon.

Last, they put their suppressed H&K sidearms in thigh holsters, belted their fighting knives, and prepared to leave. The last thing they did was apply camouflage paint to their faces. With the paint and Ghillie suits, they would be nearly invisible in the jungle, day or night.

They checked their GPS devices, entered the current coordinates for the return trip and selected coordinates for their destination.

“We’re all set, Culler. Let’s do it.”

They hefted on their backpacks, slung their assault weapons and headed in a northwesterly direction through the triple-canopy jungle on their way toward Ban Mae Chan.

They figured the roughly five-mile hike over the rough terrain would take most of the day. They moved slowly and silently, like hunters stalking a deer, with Mac in the lead. They were in no hurry and stayed close enough together to use hand signals to communicate. The only sounds came from scurrying animals, birds and screaming monkeys.

The backpacks, Camelbaks, weapons and ammo weighed almost forty pounds, and the uneven, slippery terrain through the wet jungle made the going even slower than expected.

Soon they were sweating profusely and sucking heavily from the tubes on their Camelbaks. The rainy season had just begun so mosquitoes were an added problem, forcing them to continually douse themselves with mosquito repellent.

It was dark when they reached the base of the butte that led up at a thirty degree angle to the back of the warehouse. The sky was cloudy, threatening an evening shower, and blurring the stars and moon intermittently.

They could barely see the reflection of lights above them through the almost impenetrable triple canopy. Without the help of their night vision gear, they would have been blind.

They decided to rest and regroup. They sat close together among the winding roots of a huge banyan tree.

Mac whispered, “This is a good place to dump our packs. Let’s mark it on our GPS’s. The climb is going to be a bitch, and we need to be as light and mobile as possible.”

“Good idea. I’m bushed already.” The sweat poured off Culler’s face and down his nose. “Let’s eat a couple of granola bars and re-hydrate a bit before we tackle the hill.”

They ate, drank and rested for two hours before Mac nudged Culler and whispered, “Let’s go. It’s almost midnight and it’s going to take us an hour or two to get up this hill. Move slowly and quietly, and watch out for sensors or tripwires. I don’t think their security is going to be that hi-tech, but you never know.”

Culler said, “Let’s use the commo gear. It won’t hurt to have a backup in case we get separated up there.”

“Good idea.”

They inserted their ear pieces, adjusted their volume controls down to minimum, clipped the microphones to their collars and tested them.

Mac led the way up the slope. The climbing was tough due to the slippery ground from the recent rains. They followed animal trails which meandered up the hill, using branches and trees to help pull them along whenever they could grab on to something.

As before, they climbed in silence but maintained visual contact with each other.

About half way up the slope, they paused to rest. It began to pour and they hovered close to a tree, wishing they had brought a shelter sheet. By now they could see the reflection from the lights above them. The rain lasted only a few minutes, and they continued their climb. The jungle thinned out as they approached the highlands surrounding Ban Mae Chan. They could hear no sounds coming from above other than the rustling of branches in the breeze and the occasional squealing of monkeys.

They still had no idea how they would get into the warehouse once they got up there, but they were confident that a plan would emerge when they could lay eyes on the place and evaluate the situation firsthand.

They stopped frequently to rest as they continued their climb up the slope of the ridge. The night vision headgear they wore covered their left eyes only, leaving their right eyes open to normal vision. Both scanned the ground in front of them continuously for sensors or tripwires. 

Finally, at roughly one thousand meters from the top, they began hearing faint sounds from above. First they heard a dog barking in the distance. Then, further up, they heard the muffled sounds of men talking. They looked at each other to make sure each of them had heard the sounds, adjusted their gear, checked their weapons one more time and continued up the hill, even more slowly and cautiously now.

 

Chapter Forty-Five

 

 

The Cambodian watched the old black pickup truck turn into the parking lot behind the Orchid Lodge. He stepped out of the darkness of a row of parked cars and approached the pickup from the front, illuminated by the headlights, and waved the driver to stop.

“Sawatdee khrap, Sunthon. Pull over there in that row of cars and cut your lights.” The Cambodian’s fingers barely touched in front of his face when he offered Sunthon an offhand wei.

The driver, a short, stocky man dressed in dirty mechanic’s overalls, did as he was told and stepped out of the pickup. He carried a package about the size of a motorcycle battery which he respectfully offered to the Cambodian with a bow.

“Sawatdee khrap. I got it right here, Ung Chea. Sorry I am a little late, but I had to put everything together.”

“Mai pen rai, no matter. We have plenty of time. The car is over there. That dark Toyota Corolla in the middle there.” He pointed to the car near the end of a row. “How long will this take?”

“Not long, Ung Chea. Please watch out for me while I am under there.”

The Cambodian signaled two other members of the surveillance team. They were staked out in the darkness at separate corners of the parking lot. He pointed to his own eyes with two fingers and then to the Corolla to indicate he wanted them to watch closely while Sunthon was under the car.

Sunthon selected a handful of tools and a roll of duct tape from the back of his pickup and walked to the Corolla. He looked around one final time, ducked down between the Corolla and the car next to it, and slid on his back under the engine compartment.

He worked silently for several minutes and then emerged without the package.

He walked back to the Cambodian. “All done Ung Chea. You want me to hang around for the fireworks?”

“No, go back home to your family. We will take it from here.”

The Cambodian and the two other members of his team settled in to wait for the morning.

By ten o’clock in the morning, the parking lot had thinned out considerably due to departing guests, but no one approached the Corolla and no one matching the description of Robert Humphrey and Ralph Callaway exited the building.

The surveillance team saw, but took no particular interest in, a young farang couple who exited the rear door of the building, stood on the steps for a moment discussing something. Then they saw the woman shake her head and reenter the hotel, while the man headed toward the parking lot.

It wasn’t until they saw him point his key remote in the direction of the Corolla and the car beep open that they realized the wrong person was entering the car.

They all stood there with mouths agape and did nothing while the young man inserted his key in the ignition and turned it and the Toyota Corolla exploded in a huge fireball before their eyes. 

 

Chapter Forty-Six

 

 

Culler and Mac reached a point about twenty feet below the edge of the precipice. They could see the illumination of the security floodlights above them. Both were soaked with sweat and needed a bit of rest. After a few minutes to catch their breath, they checked their commo gear one more time and exchanged final words before moving to the top.

“Okay, it’s a little after two. Everyone but the guards should be asleep.  How are you feeling, Culler?”

“I’m good. Glad there weren’t any tripwires and hope we didn’t set off any sensors we didn’t notice.”

“Doesn’t look like it, but we’re not there yet. Be real careful going over the ledge. The back of the warehouse is about fifteen meters back from there, so it’s going to be tight if they have any roving security. If we have to take anyone out, let’s do it as quietly as possible. We’re only going to get one crack at this place, so let’s make it good.”

Both men were outwardly calm and determined, but Mac, for one, had butterflies flying around in his stomach. It always happened to him in situations like this. He struggled to bring his breathing down and to display no outward signs of nervousness.

Whenever he was faced with a dangerous situation, he used techniques learned from years of martial arts training. His senses were sharp; he was ready—nervous as a cat ready to spring. Everything appeared to be in slow motion, but his reactions would be quick and determined.

They checked their weapons and night vision gear one last time, took deep breaths, and crawled up the final steps to the edge. The climb was even steeper now, and they had to pull themselves along using branches and roots to gain purchase on the ground. They were about ten feet apart when their heads peeked above the ridge.

They had a clear view of the back of the warehouse. There were five windows across the second floor and four along the ground floor with double doors in the middle. All appeared closed.

One security guard with an AK-47 on his lap sat on a chair in front of the double doors. He was awake and smoking a cigarette, blowing smoke up into the sky. No other security was visible, although they knew others were present.

Mac signaled Culler to wait and adjusted his night vision lens down over his left eye, then he clicked on the infrared laser located on the top of the forearm of the grip of his assault rifle. The laser’s green line of death shot out in front of the gun.

The green line was invisible to anyone not wearing night vision gear, and whatever that green line touched when he pulled the trigger would be hit dead on.

He gently brought the gun out and over the ridge, set it to fire on semi-automatic and placed the deadly green line directly on the unsuspecting security guard’s forehead. He held it there, waiting for the guard to relax and exhale another lung full of smoke into the sky, and slowly squeezed the trigger.

The gun spat out a single 5.56mm round with an almost inaudible phifft, and the security guard’s head snapped back into the doors with an audible thud; he slid off the chair onto the ground in a heap.

MacMurphy and Santos leaped over the ridge in tandem and raced to opposite corners of the building where they stopped with their backs to the wall, guns at the ready. Both set their weapons on full automatic with the infrared lasers activated.

Mac signaled Culler to hold his position and returned to the center of the building. He leaned over the dead security guard and checked the knobs on both doors but they were locked. You never know, he thought. He shrugged at Culler and returned to his position at the side of the building, signaling Santos to move out along his side.

They kept in the shadows close to the wall, moving silently toward the front of the building, green lasers scanning the terrain in front of them.

Mac heard voices. He stopped, dropped to one knee, and pressed his back to the wall. He heard muffled laughter and talking coming from the interior of the building on the other side of the wall and above him on the second floor. It sounded like several men chatting together, maybe playing cards or mahjong or some other game. He looked up and saw light coming from the second floor window.

He whispered into his lapel microphone. “Hold it. I’m about halfway down the building and can hear a group of men talking inside above me. They may be off duty security guards or maybe on-duty guards goofing off. Maybe some good luck for us. Meet you at the end of the building.”

Santos was in the shadows of the building close to the wall when Mac broke the silence. “Got it. Hang on a minute. Someone’s coming this way.”

He dropped to the ground in a prone position, invisible in his Ghillie-suit, and aimed his rifle down the wall toward the front of the building.

Santos’s night vision gear illuminated a security guard, an AK-47 slung over his shoulder, heading in his direction. Maybe a relief for the guy we killed behind us, he thought, or maybe a rover. He set the green line on the unsuspecting guard’s chest and watched the poor fool continue in his direction.

He waited, and waited, and waited until the man was less than fifteen feet in front of him, then he pressed the trigger once. Three rounds spat out of the gun. The first hit the guard in the solar plexus, the second in the center of his chest and the third two inches higher and slightly to the right. The guard’s heart exploded and he was knocked backwards, dead before he hit the ground.

The only sounds heard were the three consecutive phiffts of the rounds leaving the suppresser and the rattle of the AK-47 when it hit the ground. Culler was up and standing over him seconds later, his weapon pointed down range searching for another target. “Got him,” he said into his lapel mic. “All clear on this side.”

“Clear here,” came the response. “Meet you up front.”

Keeping to the shadows close to the wall, Mac moved silently to the end of the building and peeked around the corner. He saw three men gathered next to a pickup truck at the front of the parking lot directly across from the entrance to the warehouse. Illuminated by the bright floodlights, they were smoking cigarettes and chatting animatedly.

All carried AK-47 assault rifles slung over their shoulders and were oblivious to what was happening around them.

The shock of the floodlights illuminating the front of the building and parking lot affected Mac’s night vision gear by causing light blooms. Blinking his eyes, he backed up into the shadows, flipped up the night vision eyepiece and turned off the infrared laser.

He brought the rifle to his shoulder and sighted through the riflescope to make sure everything was working perfectly before again peeking around the corner of the building and setting the red chevron of his scope on the three guards.

But Santos got there before him.

Mac watched all three guards go down in a hail of silent 5.56mm rounds plinking into the surrounding vehicles. In the next instant Santos was standing over them. One guard groaned and Culler put a double-tap through his head. And then there was silence.

Culler ducked down into the shadows of the vehicles beside the dead guards and turned his attention to the front of the building. There was a large roll-up garage door in the center of the warehouse and two smaller pedestrian doors on each side. Five windows ran across the second floor as in the rear. All of the windows were dark.

He surveyed the entire area around him but saw no movement other than Mac running out of the shadows at the corner of the building and taking up a position at his side of the parking lot behind one of the vehicles. Both men concentrated on the front entrances of the warehouse.

Mac pulled his lapel microphone up close to his lips and whispered into it. “That’s five of them. Good shooting. That’s it for the outside, but there are still a few more inside. You try the door on the right and I’ll try the left.”

“Roger that.”

Keeping low, both men ran to the doors and flattened themselves against the building. They listened intently for any sounds coming from the interior and then gently tried the doorknobs.

“Locked,” whispered Culler.

“Mine too.”

“What now?”

“Don’t know. Wait for someone to come out? What do you think?”

“Naw, that won’t work. There must be another way into this building.”

“Didn’t see any, aside from the back door. Did you?”

“Nope, and the corrugated walls look pretty strong, and there are no windows along this side at all.”

Mac was silent for a few moments. “Do you think we should knock?”

 

 

Chapter Forty-Seven

 

 

The four off-duty security guards were wrapping up their card game in the break room on the second floor. They were dressed alike in military style camouflage trousers and boots and black “security” tee-shirts. Pistols hung from their web belts, and their AK-47s stood stacked in the corner of the room. 

Anon, the heavyset leader of the shift, glanced at his watch. “Hey, it’s after two-thirty and Michai hasn’t checked in yet. Sano, go out back and kick the sonofabitch in the ass. This is the last time for him. I am tired of warning the lazy bastard. Check on the other guys too. Make sure they are not standing around with their thumbs up their butts lying about the whores they screwed. I want to hear about it if they are not doing their rounds. Then we can all get some sleep.”

“Yes sir.” Sano grabbed his cap, slung his assault rifle over his shoulder and pushed the door open. The door led to a catwalk that extended the length of the building and provided access to the rooms and offices on the second floor. At each end of the catwalk were stairs leading down the ground floor.

He turned left and headed down the catwalk to the stairs that would take him down to the rear entrance. Poor Michai, he thought, all he has to do on this job is stay awake and he cannot even do that. Now he will be out of a job and will have the Cambodian to contend with as well. The Cambodian will smack the crap out of him. I would hate to be in his shoes.

Sano reached the double doors and called through them in a hushed voice. “Hey, Michai, open up. It’s me, Sano.” There was no response. He called again, louder this time, and tried opening the door. The door opened a few inches and bumped up against something. “Wake up Michai.” He put his shoulder to the door and pushed harder, forcing the door open a few more inches.

Then he saw the blood and the body; he knew his friend was dead.

Sano pulled the door shut and called out. “Anon, Anon. Michai is dead. Hurry up. Someone killed Michai.”

 

 

Chapter Forty-Eight

 

 

Moments earlier, Santos whispered into his lapel mic. “Don’t you dare knock on that door. Look, there are rooms on the second floor on your side of the building, but I don’t think there is a second floor on my side. No windows at all. So come over here and we’ll shoot the lock out of this door and enter from this side.”

“I was just screwing with you,” said Mac. “Sounds like a good plan to me. I’m on my way.”

Mac joined Culler on his side of the warehouse. He leaned close and whispered, “It’s going to be dark inside, so let’s go back to night vision and lasers.”

They changed the settings on their rifles and flipped down their night vision gear over their left eyes. “We’ve got plenty of ammo. At least we don’t have to worry about that.”

“One more thing,” Mac whispered. “Let’s not forget why we’re here. Once we get inside, you concentrate on injecting the ricin into as many of those heroin bricks as you can, and I’ll take care of the rest of the guards. And if we have to skedaddle, make sure we get a couple of those bricks to make it look like we’re thieves. That’ll give us at least a bit of a fig leaf for why we were here.”

“Okay, okay. I got it. We’re thieves. Now stand back while I blast the door.” 

Santos brought the POF up to his hip, put the green line above the bolt of the lock and hit the trigger.  As five silent 5.56mm rounds leaped out of the muzzle and splintered the wood around the lock and door jam, the door opened with a gentle tug.

Santos slipped into the warehouse and turned right toward the side of the building. He saw two pallets of heroin bricks sitting in front of bales of stacked marijuana. MacMurphy followed, pulling the door closed behind him and flattening himself against the wall on the other side of the door.

His eyes quickly surveyed the interior of the dark warehouse and caught the sight of one of the guards at the other end of the building pushing at the double doors and calling softly to someone on the other side. He saw the guard push the door open wide enough for him to see his dead colleague laying on the ground, and all hell broke loose.

The guard turned and started yelling up to the second floor. Mac already had the green line on him, and he touched the trigger, slamming the guy back into the doors and down in a heap.

Mac glanced over at Santos who was standing with his back to a pallet of heroin bricks looking up toward the second floor. A heavy- set security guard came running out of one of the rooms yelling something in Thai to others behind him.

Culler was already aiming in that direction, and when the guard hit the catwalk he brought the green line to bear on the running man and hit the trigger, sending him sprawling to the floor, his AK-47 assault rifle flying out of his hands, over the ledge and clattering onto the concrete floor below.

An alarm blared, echoing through the warehouse in a cacophony of noise. Other doors flew open on the second floor level, and men ran out onto the catwalk in their boxer shorts.

Mac fired at the guards in short bursts, alternating back and forth as they came out onto the catwalk. Two went down immediately, but one of them returned fire with his AK-47, adding to the noise, before Mac cut him down in a hail of 5.56mm rounds.

Other guards came out of the rooms on their bellies and started to return fire from over the edge of the catwalk.  The noise of the AK-47s joined the mind-numbing yells, shouts and the incessant wailing alarm.

Mac continued to rake the catwalk with his assault rifle, but the odds were not looking good for them. “We’re fucked,” he shouted. “Get the shit and let’s get the hell out of here.” Glancing over at Culler, he saw the big man stuffing a heroin brick into the sack carrying the ricin.

They both concentrated their fire along the second floor catwalk, keeping the guards at bay as best they could, but the guards continued to return blind fire over the edge in the general direction of Culler and Mac. Bullets pinged into the corrugated steel wall behind them as they dove for the door and darted out into the relative safety of the night.

“Are you okay?” asked Mac.

“Where did those fuckers come from all of a sudden?” Culler replied with wide eyes. “So much for stealth and clandestinity. Let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

They were at the far corner of the building heading toward the rear when Mac stopped abruptly. “Wait a minute,” he said into his lapel mic. “You go ahead and watch the back door. I’ll slow them down from this end. Let’s try to keep them inside for as long as we can, or they’re gonna be on our asses all the way to town.”

Running to the edge of the parking lot, Mac set up behind a black pickup truck. The area was well lit, so he switched off his laser sight, flipped up the night vision monocular over his left eye and sighted his rifle on the front entrance. The door nearest to him flew open, and two men dressed only in their undershorts came running out only to be met with a hail of fire from Mac’s assault rifle. Three of them went down in the doorway and none followed.

The far door opened a second later. Mac sighted the assault rifle; two more men were met with another hail of silent 5.56mm bullets.

Figuring that would stop them for the time being, Mac left his position behind the truck and took off running down the side of the warehouse to join Culler at the far end. “I’m on my way. Don’t shoot me,” he called into his mic as he ran.

He met up with Culler, who was standing with his back to the ravine with his rifle leveled at the back doors of the warehouse, and shouted: “Rake the doors and let’s bug out of here.” 

Culler stitched the doors back and forth at waist high and then joined Mac over the ledge, sliding down on their butts through the mud and foliage toward the bottom.

 

 

Chapter Forty-Nine

 

 

Chaos reigned in the warehouse. Anon hit the alarm to warn the others of the intrusion, and sleeping guards baled out of their racks.

He hit the speed-dial of his cell phone to call the Cambodian. The call was answered on the second ring by an angry, groggy voice.

Anon sputtered into the phone: “Boss, we have…an intrusion…at the warehouse. We need…help immediately.”

The Cambodian leaped out of bed and struggled to pull his pants on while holding his cell phone up to his good ear with his shoulder. “How many? What is going on?”

“I don’t know yet. I don’t know. We have at least one guard, Michai, dead at the rear of the building. That’s all I know. I’m going out to see what is going on now, but you better get over here.”

“I’m on my way.” The Cambodian cut the connection.

Anon grabbed his AK-47 and charged out of the door directly into a hail of gunfire from below.

 

 

Chapter Fifty

 

 

Culler and Mac were half-sliding, half-running down the steep slope of the ravine, holding their weapons high out in front of them to keep them clean. They reached the base of the huge banyan tree where they had rested on the way up and stopped for a moment to retrieve their backpacks and listen.

“I don’t think anyone followed us. Do you?” said Mac.

“I can’t hear a damn thing with that siren blaring up there, but I’ll bet the little fuckers won’t come out of there too soon.”

“But eventually they will, so let’s haul ass out of here before they realize we’re gone and start sending out search parties.”

“Yeah, let’s go back to night vision. We’ll move faster that way,” said Culler, knocking mud from the back of his Ghillie-suit.

“We already covered more ground in one minute than we did in thirty going up. At this rate we’ll be down at the bottom and out of range in no time.”

“Sure, but once we get done sliding on our asses we’ll be at the bottom and the long march begins. And they’re definitely going to be looking for us.”

Mac saddled up and glanced back up towards the top of the ridge. The siren was still blaring but there didn’t appear to be any other movement at the ridge’s edge. “Okay, let’s move out as fast as we can. I’ll lead the way so try not to tumble into me.”

“Yeah, make a nice smooth trough in the mud with your ass, and I’ll slide down behind you nice and easy.”

They slipped and slid their way toward the bottom of the ravine. The sound of the incessant wailing siren became dimmer and dimmer. Occasional bursts of AK-47 fire and shouts could be heard, an indication that the trigger-happy guards were now outside of the building and searching the perimeter.

By the time they reached the flat bottom, their Ghillie-suits and boots were covered in mud. They paused for a few minutes to catch their breath and scrape off as much of the gunk as they could. They rinsed off their hands, took long drinks of water from their Camelbaks and munched granola bars for energy. Then they were on their way again, moving at a fast walk with Mac in the lead.

They moved rapidly and silently through the triple canopy jungle, pausing only to glance at the GPS occasionally to establish their position. Twenty-six minutes had passed since they went over the ledge. Going down was a hell of a lot faster than going up.

Suddenly they heard the sound of a helicopter landing in the distance behind them, and then the wailing siren went silent.

 

 

Chapter Fifty-One

 

 

Ung Chea and a dozen of his men began jumping out of the Vietnam vintage Huey helicopter before it settled onto the tarmac of the parking lot. All but the Cambodian were dressed in boots and security uniforms. They all carried AK-47 assault rifles.

The Cambodian wore blue jeans, tennis shoes and an untucked, short-sleeved orange shirt. He held a 9mm pistol.

The men spread out in front of him and advanced toward the warehouse. Ung Chea followed closely behind, spewing out a steady stream of orders to the leader of the group.

The Cambodian surveyed the damage. Three men lay dead in a tangled heap amid bullet ridden cars at the edge of the parking lot, and more men lay dead in both open doorways to the warehouse.

Approaching one of the guards standing at the front of the building, he asked, “Where is Anan? What happened here?”

The quivering guard responded in a squeaky voice, bowing deeply with his fingertips touching his forehead in a deep wei, and almost dropping his AK-47 in the process.  “I, I do not know, sir. It happened so very fast. So many dead. Anan dead. Michai dead. Sano dead. Many dead.”

The Cambodian’s scarred face burned red and his eyes spit hatred. “How many were there? Where did they come from?”

The guard continued to wei repeatedly and cringe in fear. “I do not know, sir. Everything happened so fast. I think they were many. They killed so many.”

The Cambodian brushed the slobbering guard aside and yelled, “Does anyone know what happened here?”  Stepping over three bloody bodies, he entered the warehouse. He glanced around the interior and, without emotion, took in the sight of the still bodies of several guards lying sprawled on the catwalk and on the floor of the building.

A tall, young security guard with an AK-47 slung over his shoulder stepped forward and addressed the Cambodian in a soft voice. “Sir, my name is Phao. I was with Anan and the others when we were first alerted that something was wrong. I was the one who set off the alarm.”

He related the story of how Sano found Michai dead at his post, and two men with silenced automatic weapons broke into the building through one of the front doors and started shooting everyone in sight. “And then, when the alarm went off and we began to return fire, they left through the same door they entered.”

Ung Chea stared up at the young guard and then motioned around the room with his 9mm pistol. “Two men? You said two men did all this? What about the guys outside? Who killed them?”

Phao dropped his head respectfully and answered quietly. “I only saw two men, Ung Chea, only two. And, oh yes, they were both farangs.”

The remaining security guards focused their attention on the Cambodian standing just inside the door amid three of their dead colleagues.

 

Ung Chea could only remember one other time in his life when he had experienced as much anger, fear and trepidation as he was feeling at the moment.

He was six years old living in the northeast Cambodian border town of Anlong Veng when the Khmer Rouge seized power and changed the country’s name to Democratic Kampuchea. Ta Mok, the most brutal Khmer Rouge general, nicknamed “The Butcher,” arrived to take charge of the army in the northern zone.

The killing of intellectuals and the wealthy class began immediately after Ta Mok’s arrival. Ung Chea’s father, a wealthy merchant engaged in trade across the border with Thailand, was one of the first to be hacked to death with hoes by Ta Mok’s vicious Khmer Rouge.

His mother, an educated nurse, pretended to be a simple peasant to escape certain death, but her family and friends knew that that it would be only a matter of time before her secret would get out and Ta Moc’s thugs would see to it that she would meet the same fate as her husband.

The fear of losing his mother after witnessing the horrible death of his father was unbearable for the young Ung Chea. Several days went by and he couldn’t keep anything in his stomach. He spent his days and nights quivering in his bed, unable to eat or sleep, paralyzed by fear and foreboding.

Ung Chea felt the same squeamish pangs in his stomach today. He felt like he was going to retch.

Fortunately, Ung Chea’s luck changed abruptly on the day Ta Mok was carried back home on a stretcher following a skirmish with Vietnamese forces in the surrounding Dangrek mountains. His right leg had been blown off below the knee by a land mine, and he was near death from loss of blood and shock.

The call went out for anyone with medical experience to help their beloved leader, and Ung Chea’s mother, despite her fears, stepped forward.

Ung Chea and his mother were moved into Ta Moc’s huge three-story villa where she nursed Ta Moc back to health with hidden medical supplies and precious antibiotics.

By the time Ta Mok had recovered enough to screw on a peg leg and get back to fighting the Vietnamese, he had fallen in love with his nurse. 

Needing the security and support Ta Moc provided, she became his mistress and the six-year-old Ung Chea was adopted and trained to be a guerilla fighter alongside his legendary adoptive father.

 

Ung Chea shook out of his reverie and began shouting orders to his troops. “Everyone outside,” he commanded.

When the men had assembled at the front of the building, he addressed them. “I know exactly who is responsible for this. They are farangs and we have their names and descriptions. They appear to be American CIA agents. We have been searching for them for days. Now everyone fan out and search the woods around us. They are on the run and we must find them. Now get moving and shoot them on sight.”

 

Chapter Fifty-Two

 

 

Khun Ut was soundly sleeping beside his favorite mistress when he received the call from the Cambodian. At first he was annoyed at being awakened in the middle of the night, but as soon as he heard what the Cambodian had to report, he was wide awake, furious and ready to take action.

He shouted into the phone. “Get everyone on it. You have got to find the bastards. They must be on foot so it should not be too difficult. Get more men if you need them. Just find them and kill them. Get another helicopter if you need it. Dogs. Get some dogs if you want. Scour the jungle and the woods. They are out there somewhere.”

He was out of bed pacing with the phone to his ear. His mistress was wide awake now, sitting up and looking at him with frightened eyes, the sheet pulled up to her chin.

In a calmer voice he continued. “Oh, I almost forgot to tell you. The last report from the police is that they still have not found the RAV4 they are now driving. I’ve got everyone, including the police who want them for questioning about the bombing of their car, scouring the area between here and Chiang Mai for it.”

He paused a moment, thinking about what he had just said and putting things together in his head. “Oh my God,” he said, thinking out loud. “The car is there. It’s got to be somewhere fairly close to the warehouse. You have got to find the car, Ung Chea. That is where they are headed. Use the Hueys to find the car. They must have dropped it off someplace on the edge of the jungle and walked in. Find the car and you will find them.”

His next call was to his police contact.

 

 

Chapter Fifty-Three

 

 

The five-mile trek back down to the car was going considerably faster than the long, cautious walk in. Santos and MacMurphy were humping it as fast as they could, moving at slightly less than a jogger’s pace through the jungle back to where they had left their vehicle.

Mac stopped to check their location on his GPS, and Culler looked over his shoulder. “Let’s keep to this side of the stream where the going is a bit easier and keep humping it as fast as we can until it branches off to the right. That’ll be about a mile from the car. Then we can cut off in a more easterly direction and make a beeline for the car.”

Culler nodded his head, sending rivulets of sweat careening down his face and off his nose. He sucked heavily from the tube on his Camelbak. “Fast is good. Let’s put as much distance between them and us as we can. What a goat rope this turned out to be.”

“Can’t argue that. Let’s get moving.”

“Wait. Let’s toss this kilo of heroin. I don’t like carrying it around. We stole it—that’s enough. Let’s just toss it in the stream.”

MacMurphy thought a moment and then his face broke into a large grin. “No, let’s leave it here on the trail where they can find it. But first empty one of those ricin vials into it and hope they find it and keep it. It’s worth a lot of money. That’ll help us take out a few more of those drug-dealing bastards.”

“Now you’re thinking.” Santos took out the brick, unwrapped it and laid it on the ground in front of them. He removed one of the vials of ricin and injected it one cc at a time into several places around the chalky brick until the vial was empty. Then, being careful not to get any of the ricin on his hands from the tip of the needle, he flipped the empty vial into the stream like a disgusting bug.

At that moment the familiar sound of a Huey helicopter could be heard lifting off in the distance behind them.

Mac looked back in the direction of the noise and then up at the triple canopy above him. “They’ll have a hell of a job seeing us from up there, and they sure as hell can’t hear us, so let’s get a move on. If they find the RAV before we do, we’ll really be screwed.”

 

 

Chapter Fifty-Four

 

 

The Cambodian’s men scoured the perimeter of the warehouse with flashlights, looking for tracks and other signs that would indicate the direction in which the two farangs had fled. One of his men called out from the rear of the building. “Over here. They went down the ledge over here. I can see where they slid down the slope.”

Ung Chea ran to the rear and looked over the ledge. “You are right,” he exclaimed. “They went down this way.” He called to one of his team leaders. “Paiboon, take your men down here and follow their trail. They will be moving fast, not covering their tracks. Get going. I will leave a few behind to guard the warehouse and take the rest in the Huey.”

“Yes sir,” said Paiboon, saluting. He quickly selected five of the youngest and most athletic of his men, eschewing the older, overweight guards. He led them to the edge and commanded, “Follow me.” And over the ledge he went with the others close behind like parachutists leaving the door of a plane.

Ung Chea and the rest of his men ran back to the Huey, which was idling in the parking lot. They climbed aboard and the helicopter lifted off noisily. When it reached altitude, it banked south toward the rear of the warehouse and the jungle beyond.

Once they were airborne the Cambodian keyed his walkie-talkie and called Paiboon. “This is base calling One. Come in, One.”

Paiboon answered in a breathless voice. “Base, this is One. We have their trail. They are moving fast. It is tough going here.” He stumbled and cursed as one of his men slammed into him from the rear, forcing him to stop transmitting for a moment. “Base, can I call you back when we reach the bottom? We are slipping and sliding all over the place here.”

“Okay, One. Call when you get straightened out. We will continue searching from above. They are moving south so, until you say otherwise, that is where we will continue to search.”

The triple canopy made it impossible to view the ground below from the helicopter, so Ung Chea ordered it to cover the western perimeter of the swath of jungle that ran from the precipice behind the warehouse for almost thirty miles, until it ended at the outskirts of Chiang Rai. He called for his other Huey to join the search and ordered it to search the eastern side of the jungle swath.

Ung Chea moved up to the front of the Huey and stood behind the pilot and co-pilot. “They are on foot and moving through thick jungle, so they cannot move that fast,” he instructed the pilots, shouting over the wail of the turbo engine. “But they have got to come out of there at some point so keep on the perimeter. We’ll box them in until Paiboon’s men can catch up to them.”

 

 

Chapter Fifty-Five

 

 

Culler and Mac walked rapidly along an animal trail alongside the stream. Their Ghillie-suits were soaked through with sweat and mud. 

Both men were familiar with a jungle environment. They had gone through survival school together in the jungles of Panama as a part of their CIA junior officer training, and they were at least thankful for the absence of Black Palm trees in the jungles of Thailand. They recalled being pierced frequently by the sharp black palm needles after each slip and fall in Panama, having to deal with the puss-filled, infected sores the needles left afterwards. Black Palm was worse than mosquitoes and leaches combined.

A Huey helicopter flew noisily overhead, its powerful searchlight arching back and forth over the trees above them. Protected by the triple canopy, they were not afraid of being seen from above. The searchlight could not penetrate all the foliage to the ground, but just the same they quickened their pace as the adrenalin coursed through their veins. The Huey continued heading south, waving the searchlight from side to side over the tops of the trees.

Mac estimated they had less than two miles to go to find the hidden RAV4. At this rate they would be there in about twenty minutes. He prayed the camouflage would protect it from detection by the helicopter.

The first signs of daylight could be viewed occasionally through breaks in the canopy above them, but the jungle floor remained dark. Their night vision gear illuminated the way in front of them and permitted them to continue to move swiftly through the jungle.

Occasionally they would startle a bird or animal that would go scurrying out in front of them, but otherwise the monotonous chirping and wailing sounds of the jungle remained constant.

 

Chapter Fifty-Six

 

 

Paiboon was in the lead, swinging a powerful searchlight back and forth in front of him. His men were strung out behind. All of them carried flashlights. Their beams swayed and bounced about in front of them. The trail was fresh and not difficult to follow, but the men slipped and fell constantly as they struggled to keep up with Paiboon.

Paiboon’s walkie-talkie squawked and he replied. “This is One.”

“One, this is base. What is your situation?”

“Base, we have reached the jungle floor and are following. They are heading almost due south, and so far their trail is not too difficult to follow. We are moving as fast as we can.”

“I can see your lights, One. We are looking for their vehicle. We think they are headed for it. Keep the pressure on them, and we will try to keep you in sight from up here. Base out.”

The flashlights did not work as well as night vision gear because the lights cast deep shadows wherever their beams were cast, and the shadows concealed depressions and roots which were constantly tripping up the pursuing security guards.

Because of this Paiboon walked right past the heroin brick lying in the middle of the trail near the stream.

But the next man in line, Kaset, stumbled on it and stopped abruptly, causing the next man in line to bump into him.

“Paiboon,” Kaset called out. “Stop. Look what they dropped.”

Paiboon shined his searchlight on the brick. “Mai pen rai, leave it there. We can come back for it later. Keep moving. We must catch them.” He turned and continued following the trail and the others followed.

Kaset thought for a moment, his flashlight illuminating the precious heroin brick, and stepped aside to let the others pass him. He licked his lips and reached down to scrape off a thumbnail-sized flake of the heroin to taste. Satisfied, he crumbled it between his fingers and snorted it up his nose.

That will give me energy, he thought, smiling at his good fortune as he slipped back into the line and continued following the trail.

The heroin kicked in almost immediately, giving Kaset a burst of energy and a feeling of euphoria. He edged past the guards who had passed him and took up his position directly behind Paiboon.

But minutes later the potent toxin ricin began to trigger allergic reactions and inhibit protein synthesis throughout his body. His throat and nasal passages began to swell and he felt nauseous. His stomach began to rumble, and the first urges of diarrhea began to trouble him.

He tried to shrug off the debilitating effects of the poison that was now coursing through his body, aided by the pounding of his heart caused by the severe exertion of the forced march through the jungle.

Mai sabai, what is wrong? he thought, just before his entire body seized up in shock, and his legs ceased to move on command. He pitched forward into the mud, eyes wide open and swollen tongue hanging from his open mouth.

The guard following behind tripped over him and joined him on the ground. “Paiboon, stop! Kaset is sick,” he called.

Paiboon stopped and dropped to one knee beside Kaset’s body, while the others stood around gaping at the convulsing figure on the ground. “Must be a heart attack,” he said. He grabbed the nearest guard by the sleeve. “Stay here with him. If he can walk, take him back. If not, stay here with him and I will send help.”

He stood up and motioned to the three remaining guards. “Come, we must hurry or they will get away.”

 

 

Chapter Fifty-Seven

 

 

Culler and Mac reached the cutoff point where they left the stream and turned east for the final mile and, hopefully, the RAV4. They had stopped momentarily at the stream to shoot another azimuth on the GPS and drink heavily from their Camelbaks, but now they were charging through the underbrush as fast as they could manage. They tried to move as quietly as they could, but it was not always possible. Speed was their main concern at this point.

The Huey buzzed over their heads, blades thumping loudly and causing the foliage to rustle in the downdraft. It was flying low coming south to north, the searchlight moving incessantly, attempting to probe into the depths of the jungle. Another circled far to the west of them. They knew they were nearing the edge of the jungle where they would be most vulnerable, and they figured that was where the helicopters were concentrating their surveillance.

Mac stopped to check his GPS. Both men were breathing heavily. Culler was bent over with his hands on his knees trying to catch his breath.

Between gulps of breath and water, Culler broke the silence. “Almost there?”

“Almost…it’s about another quarter of a mile. We’re doin’ good.”

“Then I think we should slow it down a bit.” Santos took long, deep breaths to re-oxygenate his body. “We need to be rested in case we have to fight our way out of here, and we need to keep the noise down to a minimum from now on.”

Mac responded between long gulps from his Camelbak. “Good point. You sound like a bull elephant thrashing through the underbrush…”

“Me? What about you? You’re no Goddamn gazelle.”

“Okay, it’s starting to get light out there, too, so you’re right, let’s take it a little easy. But not too easy. Wait…hang on…Listen…I hear something.”  Putting his hands to his ears, Mac turned around to listen behind him. He concentrated on his hearing while both men held their breaths and remained motionless. Maybe it was just the rustling of the leaves or an animal.

Culler said, “I don’t hear anything.”

“Maybe not…I know they’re behind us, so maybe I’m just imagining things. We need to get to the car before they catch up to us.”

Culler adjusted his gear and took a deep breath. “Okay, let’s move out.”

They proceeded more quietly now, choosing each step with care not to snap twigs or rustle branches. Their ears were focused in front of them, listening for signs of people near the RAV4. The Huey buzzed over their heads once again, this time coming from north to south.

Eleven minutes later Mac stopped to check the GPS one last time. They were less than one thousand meters from the spot where they had left the camouflaged vehicle. Mac thought he heard something. They squatted down and listened intently, holding their breaths.

Then they heard it – the unmistakable sound of a car engine in low gear whining, growling, and struggling to maneuver along the same rutted logging road they had used to enter the jungle. They looked at one another with wide eyes and muttered “Shit!” in unison.

“Let’s move out,” said Mac. They ran toward the spot where they had left the car. The jungle was thinning, making it easier to move, but the underbrush was still fairly thick. Despite their efforts to keep the noise down, they sounded like two large deer charging through the woods.

They almost overran the RAV4. Culler saw it first, nestled in a small clearing and covered with branches. They doubled back and set up in a position between the RAV4 and the oncoming car.

They could now clearly hear the car heading up the trail directly toward them.

The morning light cut through the trees on the edge of the jungle, forcing them to switch off their night vision gear. They were each down on one knee with their weapons pointing toward the sound of the oncoming car.

Mac spoke softly, “There’s only one way in and out of this place, and it won’t take a Davy Crockett to follow those tire tracks right to our vehicle. We’re gonna have to neutralize whoever’s coming up that trail before we can get out of here.

“Okay,” said Culler, hefting up his gear and checking his rifle. “Let’s go get’em. I’ll take the left side of the trail and you take the right.”

They moved out quietly at a fast walk, occasionally darting from one concealed location to another, keeping in the shadows on each side of the trail. The recent ruts left behind by the RAV4 were unmistakable. The distinct sounds of a vehicle struggling up the trail toward them were also unmistakable.

And then the sounds of the vehicle changed. It was stuck in the mud, or getting stuck. The whine of spinning wheels increased and then stopped completely. Moments later they heard the sound of doors slamming and men talking.

Mac signaled Culler by pointing to his ears and then toward the vehicle. Culler acknowledged with a nod. Moments later they had the car in sight. It was stuck in the middle of the trail with two men standing beside it trying to decide what to do next.

It was a police cruiser, and both men were uniformed police officers.

Mac went down on one knee behind some brush and whispered into his lapel mic. “There’re cops. Whatever you do don’t shoot’em. We can’t kill these guys.”

“Yeah, I know. We’re going to have to stop them though, and fast. How do you figure on doing that?”

“Hell, I don’t know. Hit’em over the head or something. Let’s get closer and we’ll figure it out.”

They moved through the underbrush on each side of the trail until they were within a few meters on each side of the police car. One cop was behind the wheel, and the other was trying to push from the rear. The left rear wheel spun, spraying mud and grass up behind it, splattering the cop who was pushing.

He yelled something in Thai that probably meant stop. The driver took his foot off of the accelerator and the engine stopped screaming.

But the muddy cop in the road did not. He ran around to the driver’s side and continued to yell at the driver. Seizing the opportunity, Mac ran up behind him and swung the butt of his rifle up an around and smacked the screaming cop hard on the side of the head.

The cop went down in a heap and Mac shoved the barrel of his rifle through the open window. He jammed the muzzle into the side of the driver’s head and the driver froze.

“Hands where I can see them,” commanded Mac. He pulled the door open, grabbed the cop by the shirt and jerked him out of the car, shouting, “Out, out, out.”

The cop hit the ground hard and Mac butt-stroked him on the side of the head. He lay still in a heap next to his buddy.

“Need any help?” asked Culler, who had run up and was standing on the other side of the car, rifle at the ready.

“Naw, got it under control. Why don’t you just take a nap under that tree over there while I take care of things here?”

“Great idea!”

Mac took a deep breath and thought a moment, surveying the situation. “Look, those other guys aren’t far behind us so we don’t have much time. You get these guys off to the side and immobilize them and I’ll go bring the RAV around.”

“Got it.” Culler removed the pistols and walkie-talkies from each cop and threw them in the backseat of the cruiser. He dragged each of the cops by their collars, one in each hand, back away from the trail. Once in the brush he removed their handcuffs from their belts and cuffed them together with their arms linked behind them. He tossed the keys far into the underbrush. Neither cop budged. Both were in la-la land.  

Moments later Mac returned with the RAV4 and pulled up to the police cruiser. “I’ve got an idea,” he said.

“Uh oh, we’re in trouble again.”

“Why don’t you take the cruiser and follow me like you’re a cop on my tail? That will give us a little cover and maybe buy us a little more time to get the hell out of here. I’ll give you a push to get it unstuck.”

“Sounds like a plan. Let’s do it.”

 

 

Chapter Fifty-Eight

 

 

Paiboon put up his hand to signal his men to stop. They had strung out so far that the last one was almost fifty meters back. “Did you hear that?” he asked the guard behind him.

Breathing heavily and soaked in sweat, the exhausted guard replied, “What?”

“Listen, shhhhh. Sounds like a car.”

“Mai sabai. The blood is pounding in my ears. I cannot hear anything.”

The other two caught up and the four of them huddled together, listening intently.

“There it goes again,” said Paiboon. But they all shook their heads.

“Mai pen rai, no matter. I heard a car from over there. No question about it. You are all so badly out of shape, huffing and puffing like old women, you cannot hear anything. Spread out and be careful. It must be them. And turn off your flashlights. If you screw this up, the Cambodian will make curry stew out of you.”

Dawn was setting in but it was still quite dark under the canopy of the jungle, slowing them down considerably as they picked their way through the underbrush.

When they got nearer to the clearing, Paiboon heard the unmistakable sounds of a four-wheel drive vehicle spinning and clawing in low gear ahead of them. Paiboon pointed to his ears and in the direction of the noise and signaled them to fan out and to hurry up.

He estimated the sound was coming from about one hundred meters in front of them. He was exhausted from his hike, so he stopped and drank heavily from his canteen before charging off in the direction of the sounds. The combination of the ground mist and the darkness caused him to trip on a root and he fell heavily on his face in the mud, cursing.

The others were out in front of him by the time he recovered and cleaned himself off enough to resume the chase. Another one of his men tumbled in the underbrush and cursed. Now he wanted to tell them all to slow down because they were nearing the edge of the jungle. Suddenly it became much lighter as the morning sun penetrated the dwindling canopy above them.

The guard to his left was the first to break through the edge of the jungle. When he did he immediately brought his AK-47 up and began firing in short, staccato bursts.

 

 

Chapter Fifty-Nine

 

 

Mac had returned to the police cruiser with the 4WD vehicle. The two vehicles were nose to nose on the narrow trail. Culler got into the cruiser and put it in reverse. The wheels spun in the mud of the trail while Mac nudged it backwards with the RAV4.

Finally the spinning wheels of the cruiser gained traction and Culler took off weaving down the trail in reverse, one hand on the wheel and the other on the backrest of the passenger seat, looking out through the rear window.

When the cruiser hit firm ground, Culler gunned it, hit the brakes hard and spun the wheel, executing a perfect mud slinging reverse one-eighty. Then he was off, careening down the narrow trail with his rear end fishtailing in the dirt and mud.

Mac watched closely in the RAV4, admiring Culler’s driving ability. Defensive driving was something all CIA case officers learned down at The Farm. Things are looking up, he thought.

The unmistabable staccato sound of an AK-47 shocked him, and then the plinking sound of the rounds impacting the left rear side of the RAV4 frightened him.

He popped the gearshift lever into neutral, grabbed his assault rifle and hit the door hard with his shoulder, tumbling out of the vehicle and rolling. He came up in a low shooting position behind and to the rear of the right rear wheel.

He spotted the shooter standing behind a tree by the edge of the woods, still firing short bursts at his vehicle.

Mac put the red chevron on the assailant’s chest and pulled the trigger, firing off a silent burst from his POF. Seven 5.56mm rounds stitched the tree and the assailant at chest level, sending bark and gun flying, and spinning the hapless guard hard around and down with four rounds in his chest and arm.

Still in a prone shooting position, Mac used the scope to scan the tree line to the northwest where they had exited the jungle. He spotted another guard running through the brush toward the logging trail, carrying his AK-47 at port arms.

Mac touched the trigger, sending three deadly rounds into the man’s gut. The man went down with a crash in the underbush.

Mac’s earpiece came alive. “Nice shooting, Mac. Now let’s get the hell out of here before any more of those guys come out of the woods. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. See if you can get that police cruiser moving a little faster while I cover us from here.”

“I’m working on it. Don’t want to get too far from you. Just get your ass over here.”

Mac took a last long look through his scope and, seeing nothing, bolted up and back into the RAV4. He pulled the gear shift lever back into drive and floored it, spraying mud and dirt behind him from all four wheels.

Then it came again. The pop, pop, pop, sound of an AK-47 rattled off a long burst, and the rear of the RAV absorbed the 7.62mm rounds in a staccato plink, plink, plink. One of the rounds ricocheted through the back of his seat and creased his left hip, causing him to wince in pain.

Santos yelled into his lapel mic. “Are you okay? Are you hit?”

“Shit, shit, shit! I caught one in the butt. Stings like a sonofabitch. I’m on my way.”

“Me too. I’m moving out.”

“I can see you. I’m right behind you.”

The two cars careened down the narrow logging trail. Soon they were out of sight of their pursuers and the automatic weapons fire ceased.

 

 

Chapter Sixty

 

 

Paiboon cursed as the vehicle sped out of sight down the trail. He stood up from his kneeling shooting position, exchanged the empty magazine for a full one and slung the hot assault rifle over his shoulder. His remaining security guard was huffing and puffing toward him.

“They are gone,” he said to no one in particular. “But they cannot get far.”

He keyed his walkie-talkie. “Base, this is One.”

The Cambodian answered from the helicopter. “This is Base. Go ahead, One.”

“They are heading east on a trail which leads into this strip of jungle, approximately eight or nine kilometers south of our warehouse. They are in two vehicles, a police cruiser and a small jeep, and they are moving fast.”

“Talk us in, One. We are turning around and heading for your position now. Did you say one of the vehicles was a police cruiser? How did they get a police cruiser?”

“I don’t know, sir, but the two vehicles left together and I saw no police around.”

The Cambodian thought for a moment before answering.

“The police have been searching for them. Khun Ut notified them. They must have killed the police and taken their cruiser, so their bodies must be around there someplace. Find them and I will notify the police to be on the lookout for a police cruiser as well as their vehicle.”

“Yes sir. I hear your helicopter coming this way… I see you now… Keep coming. Keep coming… Left about thirty degrees… Good, keep coming and you will pass directly over my position… Okay, now turn due west and you will be directly over the trail. It must head out to a road.”

“Good work, One. We can see the trail. Base out.”

 

Chapter Sixty-One

 

 

The two vehicles careened down the logging trail as fast as possible, but it wasn’t fast enough. Mac heard the sound of the helicopter first. “Uh-oh, we’ve got company again.”

“I hear it,” Culler replied.

The helicopter passed directly overhead and continued in a westerly direction. “I think they missed us,” said Mac. “The tree cover is still pretty good along this strip of road. It’ll be hard for them to find us from the air until we hit the road, but not impossible. What do you think?”

Culler fought the wheel of the police cruiser, trying to keep up his speed but being thrown from one side of the trail to the other by the deep muddy ruts left by logging trucks.

“I don’t think anyone’s following us from behind any longer, so let’s pull over into some cover the next chance we get and try to wait them out. That helicopter’s been in the air since before dawn. They’ll have to refuel sooner or later, so if we can hide till then…”

“Good idea. Let’s ditch the RAV4 as well. Everyone’s looking for it and it’s riddled with bullet holes. But the police cruiser looks like every other police car in Thailand. And this is as good a place as any. Hold on, I’m going to pull off into that brush over there to my right.”

Mac pulled off the trail and ran the vehicle deep the underbrush beneath a thicket of fichus trees. Culler stopped the cruiser and backed up to get as close as he could to the RAV4.

Stripping off his gear and Ghillie-suit, Santos said, “We better get out of this camouflage shit, so we don’t look like a couple of jungle monsters.” He opened the trunk of the cruiser and tossed his gear into it. He was now dressed in a sweat soaked white tee-shirt and blue jeans.

Mac followed suit. His Ghillie-suit and jeans were torn and bloodied from the ricochet. He turned to help Culler, who was busy emptying the RAV and loading their gear into the back of the cruiser. They decided to keep their rifles and pistols beside them in the cab.

Culler surveyed the back and side of the RAV. “You sure did get shot up. How’s your butt?”

Mac looked down at a three-inch tear in his jeans high on his hip between the pocket and belt. The tear was coated in blood. “Stings like a bitch but it’s not too deep. I’ll live. We’ll get it fixed up later.”

The helicopter returned from the west and thump-thumped over their position, rustling the trees and bushes in its powerful downdraft. They could barely see the helicopter through the trees as it passed overhead. “We’ve still got pretty good cover on this trail,” said Mac. “What do you think?”

Culler threw the last of the gear into the cruiser and slammed the trunk. He looked up through the trees and assessed their situation. “We’re most vulnerable out on the trail. The helicopter can see it from up there. I think our best bet is to move as fast as we can down the trail and dash for cover whenever we hear the bastards approaching.”

“Good idea. I don’t want to hang out around here any longer than we have to, and if we can get out on the road with the cruiser, we’ll be able to blend in better.”

“And thank God for those tinted windows. People won’t be able to see our big farang faces peering out at them.”

“Yeah,” said Mac, “got to avoid being seen. Leaving the trail for the highway will be tricky. That’ll have to be timed just right. But they’ll be looking for two vehicles, not just one, which is a good thing.”

Mac thought for a moment. “Wait a minute. What about the police? Surely they’re out looking for their guys, too. And what if Khun Ut’s men in the helicopter have communicated with them about this? Damn, Culler, we need to get the hell out of here tout de suite before the whole goddamned world converges on this trail.”

 

 

Chapter Sixty-Two

 

 

The Cambodian cursed into his walkie-talkie. “This is bullshit. Mai sabai. How long ago did they leave? We cannot see them from up here.”

“They left not more than ten minutes ago. I called you immediately. I hit the jeep as they were leaving. Maybe I got one of them.”

“Then why did you stop following them? We cannot see the ground from here.”

“Phom mai khao jai khrap, we could not follow, Ung Chea. There are only two of us left, and they are in vehicles and we are on foot.”

“Why are there only two of you left? Mai pen rai, you are incompetent. Have you found the bodies of the police officers yet?”

“Yes, Ung Chea, we just found them. They are unconscious but not dead.”

“Dee mak, thank you. Stay with them until the police arrive. They are on their way. We will continue to search from here.”

 

 

Chapter Sixty-Three

 

 

Culler and Mac piled into the cruiser. Culler drove and Mac sat in the passenger seat with his POF across his knees. His left hip burned like hell, and he tried to keep it from rubbing on the seat. Culler hit the gas and the cruiser leapt forward down the narrow trail.

“Keep going like this and don’t touch the brakes,” said Mac. “We don’t want any lights flashing for them to see. Damn, it’s hot in here.” He put the A/C on high and opened his window to listen for the surveilling helicopter above.

The trail improved as they progressed toward the road, and Culler pushed it faster. As the trail widened a bit, Mac heard the sound of the returning helicopter behind them. “Quick, pull over to the side as far as you can, but don’t hit the brakes. The helicopter is returning.”

The Huey flew low overhead while Culler hugged the side of the road and slowed down by downshifting.

“Good job,” said Mac. “Now let’s hang out here for a moment until he turns around and then let’s make a dash for it.”

Culler pushed the gear lever into neutral, and the car slowed to a stop as far over under the cover of the trees as he could get. Moments later the gunship circled wide and came back toward them, low as before and thrashing the trees above them under the prop blast.

Then it was gone behind them and Mac hit the dash with his fist. “Let’s go.”

Culler slammed the car into drive and pushed the accelerator to the floor. The rear wheels spun and he cut the wheel to the left and bounced over the ruts and back to the middle of the trail. The speedometer reached thirty as the car lurched in and out of the deep ruts and spun haphazardly down the logging trail.

Finally they careened out onto the pavement of the macadam road leading to the highway, and the car accelerated again. It was almost seven in the morning.

Mac studied the GPS. “Keep heading straight until you hit the highway, then turn right, south, and go for about a thousand meters and then branch off to a dirt road on the left. Then you can slow down. But for now we need to get away from that Huey.”

 Culler concentrated on his driving. “Got it.”

They skidded and bumped up unto the highway, and Culler hit the gas again. Ahead of them they saw a police cruiser speeding their way with sirens blaring and lights flashing.

Mac leaned forward and hit the lights and siren switch on their cruiser.

Culler screamed, “What the hell are you doing?”

“Just drive. I’ve got an idea. As soon as we pass the cruiser, spin around and follow it north. They’ll think we’re one of theirs—maybe…”

The police cruiser flashed past and Culler spun their car around on the shoulder of the road, spraying gravel and dirt, and came up behind the other cruiser. Their police radio squawked and something was said in Thai.

Mac listened intently to the radio. “My Thai isn’t good enough to get the whole thing but it sounds like they are calling all units to look for the RAV4. Maybe they don’t know we’re in one of their cruisers.”

“That would be a really good thing,” said Santos.

They reached the road that led to the trail that had brought them out of the jungle and the police cruiser they were following turned into it. “Keep going straight,” said Mac.

The Huey circled above them menacingly for several more minutes but them broke off and headed back east.

“Let’s put as much distance between us as possible,” said Mac, studying his GPS. “There’s a secondary road coming up on the right. Take it east and follow it for about twelve miles. There it will intersect with another north-south secondary road. Take it south past Chiang Rai and follow it all the way to Chiang Mai.”

“We need to stay away from the main highway. That’s where they’ll be looking for us.”

Culler turned right onto the secondary road heading west and hit the button for the lights and siren. “We don’t need those any more.”

“Right, but keep the speed up. We need to put some distance between us and them. Once we hit the north-south road, we can slow it down a bit and try to blend in.”

“Then what?”

“Then we find a place to ditch the cruiser and regroup.” Mac thought a bit before continuing. “We’re gonna need support. We’re too hot to handle this on our own.”

“Well, that means either the general or Charly Blackburn. Take your pick.”

Mac pushed back into his seat and massaged his temples. “Hell, I don’t know. Neither one’s a good choice. We can’t trust the general, and it’s risky to get Charly too far involved. We’ve got to keep that connection secure. Otherwise denial goes down the drain. We can’t do that to the DDO, not to Ed Rothmann.”

“The way I see it, we’re going to need Charly and her Hmong tribesman. Without them we’re dead in the water. We’re not going to accomplish anything. Trying to go it alone is turning into a goat rope.”

“And we’re not out of it yet. You’re right, of course. We’re going to need Charly to get us out of this mess and back on track to complete the mission. I’ll call her and tell her we’re on our way.”

 

 

Chapter Sixty-Four

 

 

Charly Blackburn was eating a breakfast of fresh mango, sticky rice, and assorted fruits on the veranda of her villa when her “non-attributable” cell phone rang. She scrambled to find it in the bottom of her cluttered purse, and her heart jumped when she recognized the number on the caller ID.

She shooed her servant away with a wave of the hand and the woman bowed deeply and shuffled back into the house on calloused bare feet. “Hey, what’s up?” she said into the phone, trying to act casual. 

The sound of her voice reassured Mac. Charly was a rock. She would know how to get them out of this situation. They were exhausted from the physical exertion and the adrenaline rush of the previous twelve hours. And they had left their Camelbaks and granola bars in the trunk and were afraid to stop the car to retrieve them for fear of being seen, so now they were hungry and thirsty as well.

“The short story is we’ve commandeered a police cruiser. Right now we’re northeast of Chiang Rai heading south through a village named…Ban Lao, I think. The whole country is out searching for us, and pretty soon they’re going to know we’re in a police cruiser. Got any bright ideas?”

“Yeah, stay off the main roads and don’t let anyone see your ugly farang faces.”

“Thanks, I needed that…”

Charly smiled and popped a grape into her mouth. She liked having the upper hand over MacMurphy. But she liked helping him even more. She was tired of flitting from one case officer to another, and the job was getting to her. She was also tired of fighting a losing battle with the drug lords, and she was especially tired of sex without romance.

She wanted Mac, but he was, after all, Mac... Life sucks, she thought. It really sucks.

Her mind spun. How could she get him out of this mess? There was only so much she could do. The rest would be up to them, but they were resourceful guys.

“Okay, keep coming south on the back roads. Head southeast toward a town named Ban Huai Kang near the Lao border, and then turn southwest toward Ban Khai then Ban Pa Kha. Have you got that?”

“Yeah, I’m writing. Keep going.”

“When you get to Ban Pa Kha, turn west toward Chiang Mai. Just before you get to Chiang Mai, you’ll go through a small village called San Sai. That’s where I’ll meet you. In San Sai. Got it?”

“Okay, that’s great, Charly. We really appreciate this. But be careful you’re not followed, and…”

“Don’t lecture me about security. I’ll be clean when I get there and I’ll have a clean vehicle. Just get there in one piece, hopefully without a dozen police cars on your tail.

“By the way, in case you haven’t heard, your exploits at the Orchid Lodge and the Wangcome Hotel are all over the news, and whatever you did at the warehouse in Mae Chan is soon to follow. That’s already in our channels.”

Mac was confused. “What happened at the Orchid Lodge?”

She looked around to make sure her maid was out of earshot before answering. “Your rental car was blown to bits in the parking lot with an American tourist inside.”

“Oh my God. I didn’t know. You said ‘a’ tourist. How many people were in the car?”

“Just one, a man. His wife was the one who told the police about you and Culler and the vehicle trade.”

Mac cast Culler a nauseated look. “Sonofabitch. I’m really sorry about that.”

“Of course you are. Now just concentrate on getting to San Sai safely. It should take you about three hours over those roads. When you get near the center of town—it’s not very big so keep your eyes open—you will see a long tree-lined driveway on your left. It leads to a burned out, abandoned charcoal factory. You can’t miss it. Go down that driveway and pull around back of the building. I’ll be waiting for you.”

 

 

Chapter Sixty-Five

 

 

I don’t know about you, Mac, but I’ve got to take a leak and we’ve got to get our Camelbaks and power bars out of the trunk. I can’t last another hour without food and water.”

“Me neither. Let’s find a secluded place to pull over and take care of our animal needs and cravings.”

They found a spot on a lonely stretch of the road on the outskirts of Ban Lao. There were woods to their left and fields to their right. They got out, stretched, and each selected a tire upon which to relieve themselves.

Mac popped the trunk and rummaged around looking for the Camelbaks and granola bars. He pulled them out and slammed the trunk shut just as a jeep drove by coming from the other direction. The jeep slowed and the two men in the front seat craned their necks in the direction of the police cruiser.

Culler and Mac tried to shield their faces as best they could by turning away and putting their hands up to their heads. They did not look back as the jeep passed them.

They hurried back into the cruiser and slammed the doors shut. Culler pulled the vehicle back onto the road.

Then Mac broke the silence. In a philosophical tone he said, “It never ceases to amaze me. You can be in the most remote spot in Asia, and as soon as you stop to take a leak someone comes out of nowhere to watch. It’s definitely a third world kind of thing.”

“Do you think they noticed us?”

“Hell, I don’t know. But it’s not good. We’ve got every cop and druggie in north Thailand out looking for us, and those idiots have to drive by while we’re outside of the car taking a piss on the side of the road. If we didn’t have bad luck, we wouldn’t have any luck at all.” 

“Mind if I go a little faster?”

“Just don’t get a ticket.”

Culler drove as fast as he could over the narrow back roads. They slowed as they passed through the little village of Ban Huai Kang and then headed southeast toward Ban Khai. There was very little traffic on the road, but when they did meet an oncoming vehicle they had to slow to a near stop and pull over to the side to let the other vehicle past.

The trucks were the worst. They hogged the road and drove way too fast, the drivers not caring one bit whether they drove the oncoming vehicles off the road. Mac wondered what would happen if two trucks met at a curve. But he knew the answer.

Truck accidents were the bane of Thailand. The drivers were often unlicensed and overworked, resorting to drugs to stay awake on their long hauls. And when an accident did occur, the drivers would simply disappear from the scene, leaving the injured and dead behind them, and going on to the next truck driving job.

The two men munched on granola bars and drank heavily from their Camelbaks. The road ran through heavy woods broken by fields and scrub brush, wild elephant country years ago.

They were feeling better and the police radio remained relatively silent, probably because reception was so bad in the hills, which was a good thing.

They passed through Ban Pa Kha at a crawl due to the gaggle of people and animals walking on the road. The people regarded the cruiser with mild curiosity, but the heavily tinted windows did not permit them to see inside.

They turned west on an improved, two-lane macadam road to Chiang Mai. They were thirty-three kilometers from their rendezvous with Charly Blackburn.

They arrived in San Sai at a few minutes before eleven in the morning, almost exactly three hours after speaking to Charly on the phone.

Mac said, “Look at that. Right on time. Charly sure does know this part of the world. She said it would take us about three hours to get here and here we are.”

“And I do believe that’s the tree-lined driveway we’re looking for. Up there on the left, in that field.”

They crept through the village of San Sai. It was larger than many of the others they had passed through, more like a small town. The road was lined with shops and open restaurants with cars parked in front along both sides of the road. People, dogs, goats and pigs milled about.

“My, my,” said Mac, “I do believe we have reached the suburbs.”

Culler turned the cruiser into the tree lined drive and headed toward the burned out charcoal factory. Everything was exactly as Charly had described it.

 

Chapter Sixty-Six

 

 

Charly Blackburn stood behind the factory where she said she would be, leaning up against a white Toyota Land Cruiser.

She was wearing tan slacks and a matching tan safari style blouse. Her rich black hair was pulled back into a pony tail. She looked crisp and fresh. She tilted her sunglasses down and peered over them as the men approached.

Culler pulled the police cruiser in behind the Toyota. Mac jumped out and hurried over to her. Grinning broadly, he embraced her and whispered in her ear, “God, you look great.”

Winking, she whispered back, “You stink like a horse, and what happed to your ass?”

“It’s not my ass. It’s my hip. See, right here.”

“Doesn’t look too bad.”

“That’s easy for you to say. It hurts like hell.”

Culler approached them from the other side of the car. He held his hand out to her, and she took it in both of hers. “So I finally get to meet the famous Culler Santos.”

“It’s all my pleasure, Charly. I’ve heard a lot about you, too. Thanks for getting us out of this jam.”

She smiled and put her hands on her hips. “That’s my job, keeping people like Santos and MacMurphy out of trouble. But you’re not out of the woods—or jungle—yet, boys.”

Then she was all business. “Okay, guys, let’s get your gear into the back of the Land Cruiser. Pull the police car over there, Culler, close behind the building by that door where it can’t be seen from the road. Then let’s get the hell out of here. These villagers notice everything, absolutely everything.”

Charly drove and Mac sat next to her in the front seat while Culler stretched out in the back. She drove rapidly the last few kilometers into Chiang Mai, briefing them on the arrangements she had made for them.

“You can keep this car for as long as you need it. It was leased in alias by one of our most trusted Thai support assets. It’s as close to clean as we can get. When we get to Chiang Mai, I’ll drop you off at an unused safehouse. It’s a two- bedroom apartment in a nice neighborhood, not too far from the consulate. Lot’s of farangs live around there, so you won’t stand out too much if someone sees you. It was leased in alias by an American retired Navy Chief and used only once, for the debriefing of a Hong Kong station journalist asset, so it’s as clean as we can expect. It’s also quite comfortable. The Chief’s alias name is Harold Moscowitz, just in case anyone asks.”

“You’re the best, Charly,” said Mac. “Rest and food and a stiff drink, not necessarily in that order. That’s what we need most right now.”

Charly glanced over at him and then at Culler in the back seat, and pinched her nose with her fingers. “And a bath, boys—a long hot soak. You guys are ripe!”

Culler and Mac responded with sheepish and knowing nods.

“Oh yeah, I almost forgot, I brought some light disguises for you guys as well. They are in that blue sports bag in the back, Culler. They’re nothing great, but quick and easy to use and enough to blur your appearances. The good guys and the bad guys are all out looking for you, and they have your descriptions.”

Culler rummaged through the bag, examining the items she had brought, while she continued talking.

“You’ll see I brought a selection of different mustaches, two longish wigs, a couple of different caps for you to wear, an assortment of sunglasses and regular glasses that are big enough to hide your eyebrows. And, oh yes, some hair dye for you, Mac. That is unless you want to wear one of the hippy wigs I brought.”

“Hair dye? You want me to color this distinguished gray hair of mine?”

“Don’t worry, handsome, it’s not permanent. It’ll wash out over a week or two, and you’ll be back to your old, extinguished–I mean distinguished–self once again…and alive. That’s the most important thing.”

She drove into the outskirts of the city and soon pulled up to the underground garage entrance of a four-story, sand colored, brick and stucco apartment building on a quiet, tree-lined street. She pressed a remote above her sun visor and the door rolled open.

She pulled into the garage and parked in slot number 222.

“This is your space. Don’t park anywhere else, or the manager will come knocking on your door. People are very protective of their parking spaces in this building.”

The garage was almost deserted. Only about a quarter of the spaces were occupied with cars. She said, “Most of the residents are at work during the day, so if you have to come and go, this is a good time to do it.”

They grabbed their gear out of the trunk, leaving behind the heavy boxes of ammo and the assault weapons. “Don’t forget those two bags of groceries,” she said. “You guys must be hungry, and I came prepared to give you a pasta fix.”

She led them to an elevator near the middle of the garage and hit the call button. When the elevator arrived, she pushed the button for the forth floor. Thus far their arrival was unnoticed.

Soon they would be home free and out of sight inside the safehouse apartment.

When the elevator stopped on the ground floor to let in a Filipina maid dressed in a white uniform pushing a baby stroller, Culler and Mac shuffled to the back of the cab and tried not to make eye contact with the woman. The woman pushed the stroller and child into the elevator cab and turned it around, facing the door with her back to Culler and Mac.

She pushed the button for the second floor and the doors closed. No one spoke on the ride up to the second floor, but the woman made sniffing sounds and glanced around her on the floor for the source of the odor. When the elevator reached the second floor, she exited rapidly without looking behind her.

When the door closed, Mac broke the silence. “Murphy’s law. Do you think she’ll remember us?”

Charly frowned at him like he had lost his mind. “Oh yeah, she’ll remember you all right. No doubt about that.”

 

 

Chapter Sixty-Seven

 

 

Charly gave them a quick tour of the apartment and directed them to their respective rooms and showers. She found some Neosporin salve and bandages in one of the medicine cabinets and handed them to Mac. “Okay, clean yourselves up and slip into something more comfortable while I get started on fixing you something to eat.”

Mac pecked her on the cheek. “Thanks Charly. I’ll call you when I’m clean so you can dress my wound, okay? By the way, you didn’t by any chance bring us something to drink to go along with that pasta, did you?”

“Of course I did. Knowing your love of vodka and wine, I brought both. But you can’t have anything until you are shaved and clean. Then I’ll fix your scratch and you can have a drink.”

She busied herself in the kitchen, unpacking the groceries and preparing to cook the pasta. When she heard the water from the showers shut off, she grabbed three glasses from the cupboard, filled them with ice, sliced a lime and prepared three strong vodka tonics.

Mac padded into the kitchen barefoot, wearing gym shorts and a tee-shirt. He smelled of soap and shampoo, and his wet hair was neatly parted and slicked down. She offered him one of the vodka tonics and took another. “Cheers,” she said, clinking his glass with her own.

“Cheers!” He took a long satisfying drink, exhaled and then put his arm around her, pulling her to him. “This is manna from heaven.”

She moved into him and put both hands around him, being careful not to spill her drink. He looked down at her, deep into her eyes, and stroked her hip with his free hand. His breathing quickened.

“Am I interrupting something?” said Culler, entering the room.

She pushed Mac away and blushed. “Not at all. Here, I fixed you a drink.” She handed him the vodka tonic, and the three of them clinked glasses in a toast.

“To better days ahead,” said Culler.

“Hear, hear,” said Mac. “Now will you dress my wound? It really hurts, damn it.”

Culler laughed. “Go fix his ass, Charly. I’m tired of hearing him complain about it.”

Charly took Mac into the bathroom, slathered the four-inch long wound with Neosporin and bandaged it lightly. “It looks like a burn from a poker,” she said. “You’ll live. You don’t need any stitches. Just keep the Neosporin on it, so it doesn’t get infected. You’ll be okay.”

Later, Mac and Culler sat at the small kitchen table drinking their cocktails, while Charly busied herself preparing the meal. They filled her in on what had transpired over the past few days, and she briefed them on what had been reported in the local press and in Agency cable traffic.

“So the bottom line is they—and I’m talking about the police and Khun Ut—have your descriptions and know your alias names. They also know you escaped in a police cruiser, and as soon as they find it behind the charcoal factory in San Sai, which won’t take long, they’ll know you’re probably in Chiang Mai. That’s about it. There’s very little in Agency or State traffic, only a little reporting about the killing of an American tourist in a car bombing and some internecine fighting among the drug lords. As far as I can tell, no one at Headquarters knows you guys are here, other than Edwin Rothmann, of course. So I think you’re okay on that score.”

Mac got up to make refills. “We tried to do this without any support from you or the Chiang Mai Base, and the reasoning behind that decision was sound. Problem is we failed. We got a lot of people killed, including that young American kid—that really hurts—and didn’t accomplish anything other than to raise the ire of Khun Ut and his people.”

“Yep,” said Culler, “I expect we managed to piss them off real bad.”

“Well,” said Charly, “You’ve just got to be more careful from now on. You need to do what you’ve got to do, then leave.”

Mac took a long drink of his vodka tonic. He was feeling human again and the alcohol helped him to relax. “Tell me again about General Sawat. How much can we trust him?”

“The only person in Thailand you can fully trust is me, Mac, and I think you know that. But if you keep Sawat on a short leash and use him on a strict ‘need to know’ basis, I think he’s about as good as you can get around here. He won’t just decide to turn you in or blow your cover, but if Khun Ut puts the screws to him, he’ll squeal like a pig.”

“What about his ever present mistress, Noi?” asked Culler. “He takes her everywhere, her and that yappy mutt.”

Charly turned the heat down on the pasta and turned to face them, gesturing with a long wooden spoon. “She’s definitely a problem. Sawat bought her out of a massage parlor three or four years ago, when she was about seventeen. Her family is from northeast Thailand, around Loei, I think. A very depressed area. Her father sold her to the massage parlor in Chiang Mai. It’s a pretty common thing in these parts, a huge source of income for the impoverished. Now that she’s set with the general, I’m sure they receive some sort of a monthly stipend from him. Word is she’s very doting on him and extremely loyal.”

“But she’s basically a hooker, and you can’t trust hookers, right?” said Mac.

Charly raised her eyebrows. “Of course, she’s in it for the money, and if she gets a better offer she’ll take it. She’s clearly a weak link.”

“But they’re a package,” said Culler. “The two of them and that obnoxious mutt.”

“That’s right,” said Charly, “so be extra careful if you feel you have to use him again. I wouldn’t be surprised if Khun Ut or the Cambodian has tapped into her to keep tabs on the general.

“Anyway, pop open that wine, will you, Culler? Then let’s eat. You guys must be famished and the pasta is done.”

Charly watched them devour a huge bowl of spaghetti with meat sauce, a loaf of Italian bread, large green salads with tomatoes, onions and hard boiled eggs topped with a creamy Italian dressing, and a bottle of Chianti Classico.

It was almost five in the afternoon when they pushed back from the table. Charly began clearing the table, rinsing the dishes and placing them in the dishwasher. “I brought coffee as well. Shall I make a pot?” she asked.

They both shook their heads. “Not me,” said Mac. “I don’t want anything to keep me awake.”

“Me neither,” said Culler. “Just point me toward the bedroom.”

“Well, I should get back to the office and check the afternoon cable traffic. I’ll check in with you guys in the morning.”

“Do you need a lift back?” asked Mac.

“No way, I don’t want to be seen with you guys. I’ll take a taxi.”

Mac stood and took both of her hands in his. “Take care of your business and let us crash. Tomorrow morning we’ll decide what to do next. Right now I’m too tired to think.”

She hugged him and then Culler. At the door she turned and looked back at them. “Sleep well, my beauties. I’ll check in with you in the morning.”

 

 

Chapter Sixty-Eight