“Potential client,” he lied, “He wants to meet later this afternoon.” He reached out and caressed the nearest breast with the back of his fingers, causing the nipple to harden.

“Stop it!” she giggled, brushing his hand away.

He moved toward her and nuzzled her neck and whispered into her ear. “Now that we’re awake, can you think of anything to do?”

She slid into his arms and pulled him down on top of her. “I’m sure we can think of something.” His hand moved over her hip and around the soft inner part of her thigh and then up...

    

Chapter One Hundred-Five

 

 

The Borders Book Store was located only a few blocks from the CIA’s Miami station.

Edwin Rothmann’s interest in books was legendary in the Agency. Wherever he went he always visited the local bookstores. He had a voracious appetite for reading and usually read two or three books at a time. Although history was his passion, historical novels, as long as they were accurate, were his second love.

So it was not unusual when Rothmann broke off his meetings with the station staff and announced that he was going to take a short walk over to the Borders Bookstore before heading back to Washington DC.

It was a bright, sunny day in southern Florida – just another day in paradise, as the natives would constantly remind the snowbirds from the north. A refreshing November breeze coming off the ocean rustled through the palm trees while the big man strolled the shady tree-lined streets, blue blazer thrown casually over his shoulder, limping slightly.

He arrived at the bookstore about ten minutes early and went inside to browse a bit before his pick-up by MacMurphy. At precisely three forty-five he walked briskly outside and jumped into the beige Cadillac that pulled up to the curb. He glanced at his watch. “Right on time, as always. But where did you get this car? I thought you told me you bought a BMW when you ‘retired.’”

“I did. This is a rental. In alias, of course. What would you expect me to do when meeting with the DDO?”

“Of course. Never slack up on the tradecraft, Mac. You never know…”

“Don’t worry, sir, I won’t.”

“I know, I know. Glad to see you back in one piece, Mac. It got a little hairy out there, didn’t it?”

“Yes, it did. We had a couple of close calls, but it looks like everything worked out as planned in the end.”

The big man shifted his weight in the seat and turned toward Mac. “That’s why I’m here, Mac. Khun Ut has gone berserk again. He’s totally lost it this time. Yesterday morning he and his men assaulted Charly Blackburn’s compound, killed the guards and grabbed Charly. He’s also got her Hmong asset. Intercepts tell us they’re both being held in the basement of his villa in Ban Hin Taek.”

Mac pulled the car over to the side of the road and stopped. He pounded his fist on the steering wheel. “Holy shit! You’ve got to be kidding...”

“No, I’m not kidding. And we’ve got to assume that Khun Ut now knows for certain what happened in the jungle that night when you guys injected that ricin into his shipment of heroin. Otherwise he wouldn’t have grabbed Vanquish.”

Mac rubbed his temples. “The fucking butcher! We’ve got to get Charly out of there. Won’t the Thais do anything?”

Two men in dressed in business suits walked past their car on the sidewalk and one of them glanced back over his shoulder at them. “We’d better keep moving,” said Mac, pulling back onto the road.

“Good idea. To answer your question, the Thais only know that Charly has been kidnapped. We’ve told them who we suspect is behind it and they agree, but they won’t take any action until they have completed their own investigation. That could take weeks, and then…who knows. They’re not very cooperative these days. I wish General Chavalit was back in charge. The current leadership is made up of a bunch of pussies.”

Mac drove aimlessly through the residential streets of Coral Gables while they talked. “We can’t leave her with that maniac for that long. They’ll kill her.”

Rothmann pushed his bulk back into the seat, adjusted his seat belt over his girth and stretched out his bum leg. “That’s what I’m concerned about. That’s why I’m here.”

“You want us to go back.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Yes, go back there and put eyes on Khun Ut’s mountain villa. If you get the opportunity, take him out. You know how to do that. His empire is crumbling and with him gone we might be able to save Charly and Vanquish. But we’ve got to act fast.”

“Son of a bitch…”

“Yeah, my sentiments exactly. By the way, before she was picked up Charly cleaned out the safehouse of all your gear. It’s being held at the base. How do you want me to get it to you?”

Mac’s mind was spinning. “Damn, I don’t know. Is there anyone else? We can’t use General Sawat any longer…”

Rothmann shook his big head. “And we can’t risk exposing any more base personnel to you. You guys are toxic.” He scratched his head in thought. “But I can have someone drop it off someplace for you.”

“You’re right, Ed. How about bringing the stuff back to the old safehouse? If it’s still clean, we can stay there and avoid having to check into a hotel.”

“As far as I know it is. That’s not a bad idea. There’s one guy in the base I would trust to do this. He was close to Charly. A base communicator – big lanky, good ole boy Texan named Gene Garrett. I can chat with him securely offline through the communicator’s work link without alerting anyone else. That might work.”

“If he could bring the gear to the safehouse and leave the key someplace, maybe taped above the door jam, we’d be in business.”

 “Okay. Good idea. That way you guys will never have to meet. I’ll tell Garrett to deliver the gear to the safehouse and leave the key taped above the door jam. I’ll also tell our new acting chief of base to stay away from that safehouse until further notice. I’ll give him some excuse like it may be blown or something like that. That’ll give you some privacy.”

“Okay, we’ll leave tomorrow. I think we’ll go back through Vientiane and cross into Thailand from there. That’s the way we got out. Colonel Sunthonwet can get us in and out without any problems.”

“Sunthonwet’s a good guy. Corrupt as hell, but still a good guy. Hell, they’re all corrupt out there. Especially around Nong Khai. The cops pay a lot of money to get assigned to border crossing spots like Nong Khai. They make a fortune in graft from all of the commerce going back and forth across the border.

“You can drop me off here. I can walk back to the station.”

“Okay, boss.” Mac pulled off to the side of the road and the big man heaved his bulk out of the car.

Rothmann leaned back through the car window and the two shook hands. “I’ll be in touch…and good luck, Mac. Sorry I can’t help you more. Keep your phone on and I’ll keep you updated on the situation. If there are any changes I’ll let you know. You’ve got to get Charly out of there…”

“I know, boss. I know…”

 

 

 

Chapter One Hundred-Six

 

 

MacMurphy dropped off the rental car and drove back to the office to brief Maggie and Santos. It was after five when he got there and the staff had left for the day. Mac stopped in front of Santos’s office and poked his head inside. Santos was hunched over his computer screen answering emails.

“Got a minute?” said Mac.

Santos pecked a few more words and pushed back from his desk. “You bet. Can’t wait…”

Culler followed Mac down the hall to Maggie’s office. They found her behind her desk, deep in thought editing an article for GSR’s CounterThreat publication. She wore reading glasses down low on her nose and was scratching her graying head with a pencil.

Mac waited for Culler to enter and then closed the door behind him. They plopped into comfortable chairs in front of her desk. She removed her glasses, tossed them aside and put her elbows on her desk. “Shoot,” she said. “What did the boss have to say?”

“Not good… Khun Ut has gone on another rampage. He’s feeling the pressure and wants to know what’s behind it. He grabbed Charly and Vanquish and is holding them in his mountain villa in Ban Hin Taek. The DDO’s got some intercepts to confirm that’s where they’re being held.”

Maggie threw her head back and stared at him, mouth agape, wide eyed, unable to speak. Santos uttered: “Son…of…a…bitch...” Punctuating each word.

“So he wants you back there,” said Maggie.

“Yes, right away.”

“You’re going to miss Christmas,” she groaned.

“It’s not even December yet. We’ll be back in plenty of time for Christmas.”

“Let me get this straight. He wants you to go out there and rescue them – just the two of you – without any help from the Company or the Thais or anyone else. How the hell are you going to do that?”

Mac didn’t know how to respond. Finally he said, “This isn’t about Charly Blackburn or Vanquish. It’s about cutting the head off the snake. It’s about stopping Khun Ut. Ed Rothmann believes that if Khun Ut is gone the rest of his organization will dissolve – his men will desert him like rats deserting a sinking ship. And I agree with him...”

“And how do you intend to ‘cut the head off the snake,’ as you so aptly put it? Do you have a plan?”

Santos felt like he was watching a tennis match, his head turning from him to her.

Mac took a deep breath, exhaled, and said, “Look, right now chaos reigns in Khun Ut’s dirty little empire. Pushers and buyers are at each others’ throats. People who have lost loved ones due to the tainted heroin are going after the local pushers, and the pushers are going after the local distributors, and they’re going after the regional distributors. This is happening all the way up the line to Khun Ut himself. I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know. Buyers are shunning his product. His distribution networks are crumbling. This is what we intended to happen. The problem is he suspects the CIA is behind it and if he has any luck with his interrogations of Charly and Vanquish – and I don’t doubt that he will – he’ll know for sure. That’s what we’re dealing with.”

Santos’s head turned to Maggie.

She nervously finger-combed her hair back away from her face and leaned forward.

“So now you are going to add assassination to your list of misdeeds. How many people are you going to kill before this is over? Mac, you’re a case officer. You’re both intelligence officers. Intelligence officers don’t do these kinds of things. Our country doesn’t do these kinds of things.”

Santos’s head swung back to MacMurphy.

Mac didn’t want to argue with her, but tensions were elevating and he felt himself getting sucked in.

“Oh yeah, right. What about all of those Predator and Reaper drones in Afghanistan and Iraq? Tell me the difference between a bullet from a sniper rifle and a Hellfire missile from a drone. The answer is: there is no difference.”

Santos’s head swung back to Maggie.

“You know very well that political assassination was outlawed by the Agency way back in the seventies when everyone found out we tried to take out Castro with poison and an exploding cigar. The drones are different.” She sat back in her chair in a display of finality, as if to say, This argument is over.

Santos stood up and excused himself.

Mac stood up and started to leave with Culler, but he turned back to her and said, “The answer is yes. I would follow Edwin Rothmann to the gates of hell and back. We’re going to finish this. I don’t know how we are going to do it, but we’re not going to give up now and leave Charly swinging in the wind. We owe that to him. And her.”

Santos turned to Maggie. “I’m sorry, Maggie. Mac’s right. We’ve got to try. We’ll be careful, but we have to try. It’s more than just the DDO now. Khun Ut has two of our people and we can’t abandon them. We’ve got to do something. I’m sorry…”        

She shook her head. “Go ahead, get yourselves killed. I can’t stop you. But I’ve got a bad feeling about this. A real bad feeling…”

    

 

Chapter One Hundred-Seven

 

 

Santos and MacMurphy met at the gym early the next morning. They both worked out in the weight room and then Santos spent the next forty-five minutes working out on the heavy bag while Mac went for a leisurely, five-mile run on the quay along the Intracoastal Waterway.

After their workouts they indulged in a large breakfast of ham and eggs, hash brown potatoes, toast and coffee at the Denny’s across the street from the gym.

Filled with trepidation about their impending trip back to Thailand, they did not talk much about what they planned to do once they got there. They knew how they were going to get into the country – with the help of Colonel Sunthonwet over the Thai-Lao Friendship Bridge – but they didn’t really have a plan beyond that.

This bothered Mac more than it did Santos. MacMurphy liked to plan everything down to the minutest detail before embarking on a mission. Although he possessed that special case officer trait of being able to “wing it” whenever necessary, he never went into an operation intending to just “wing it” or “play it by ear.”

He believed that precise planning for every possible eventuality was the key to success in any operation. But in this case he had yet to figure out what he was going to do when he got to Thailand, and this concerned him a lot.

What he did know is that they would fly to Vientiane via Hong Kong and cross into Thailand black, with the help of Colonel Sunthonwet. From there they would get a car and drive back to the mountains surrounding Ban Hin Taek where they would find a place to observe Khun Ut’s mountain retreat.

Long periods of observation had worked for him before, helping him to devise a plan in his head based on what he saw, but this time he knew he would not have time for any long-term observation.

Once he got there he hoped a plan of some sort would begin to emerge in his mind. He knew that storming the place would be out of the question. The Thai army had tried that once before when Khun Sa was ruling the drug trade and the firefight that ensued lasted for several days and dozens of men lay dead at the conclusion of the fight. As with Khun Sa, Khun Ut had the total support of his mercenary army and the townspeople. 

This attack would have to be surgical in nature. And for that, he was happy that Bill Barker had urged him to bring along the Lapua sniper rifle. But taking out Khun Ut from a distance with the rifle was one thing; getting Charly Blackburn and Vanquish out of there safely was another matter. That was what he couldn’t get his head around.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter One Hundred-Eight

 

Vientiane, Laos

 

 

They booked seats in business class on a direct Cathy Pacific Airways flight from Miami International Airport to Hong Kong, with a connecting flight to Vientiane, Laos. The flight left Miami at seven in the evening.

MacMurphy hated flying. Ever since the advent of the terrorist, flying had become increasingly distasteful: too much ridiculous, inefficient and ineffectual security, all in the name of political correctness.

But once he boarded the aircraft and settled into his comfortable business class seat, it was a good as it could be for the fourteen hour hop to Hong Kong.

He was dressed in his usual traveling garb: dark blue Hickey-Freeman blazer, blue button-down Brooks Brothers shirt, Levi 501 jeans and cordovan penny loafers.

Santos was also dressed casually in a brown and tan checked sport jacket, jeans (relaxed fit to cover his muscular thighs), white sport shirt and loafers. Their carry-on luggage contained everything they would need to sustain them for a week. They did not check any luggage – one less hassle for international travel.

After cocktails, a fair dinner consisting of small, four-ounce beef fillets with roasted potatoes and vegetables, washed down with glasses of an unknown but decent French Bordeaux wine, followed by an assortment of cheeses and more wine, they were ready to sleep. They each popped a couple of Melatonin pills to help them sleep and adjust to the jet lag, and settled in for the night.

In Hong Kong they had a two hour and forty-five minute layover before connecting for the short hop across the South China Sea and Vietnam to Vientiane. They relaxed in the Cathy Pacific business lounge where they checked emails on their laptops and freshened up before boarding the flight to their final destination.

In Vientiane they took a cab directly to the Settha Palace Hotel. For security reasons they had not made reservations, but the hotel was not full and the desk clerk remembered them from their previous visit in August.

They had been traveling for more than eighteen hours and it was one o’clock in the morning in Vientiane. They checked in, took some more melatonin to help with the jet lag, and crashed for the evening.

The next morning MacMurphy was up early and used the hotel lobby phone to call police Colonel Sunthonwet at his home in Nong Khai. Sunthonwet’s wife answered and promised to pass a message on to her husband that Mac and his friend were at the Settha Palace Hotel and would like to meet as soon as possible.

Colonel Sunthonwet pulled up in front of the Settha Palace hotel in his police cruiser one hour and twenty minutes later. He left his car parked conspicuously in the driveway and strolled through the lobby of the hotel in full police uniform, eliciting glances from hotel patrons and staff along the way.

He found Santos and MacMurphy lingering over breakfast in the hotel coffee shop and joined them at their table.

“I did not expect to see you back so soon,” said Sunthonwet. “What a pleasure. How can I be of service to you?”

After exchanging pleasantries, MacMurphy said, “We need to get back to Thailand but don’t want to get chopped in through Thai customs. Ummmm…we would rather not have our names appear on any Thai visitor list. You understand…and we will need transportation for a week or so…and, ummm…well, we would rather not rent a car through a rental agency. You understand...”

He paused and exchanged glances with Santos. “And, if you still have those two H&K pistols, we would like to borrow them back as well. Can you arrange that for us?”

There was never a question that Colonel Sunthonwet would be well rewarded for filling MacMurphy’s requests, and there was no doubt in MacMurphy’s mind that all of his requests were doable and would be fulfilled by Sunthonwet with the utmost discretion.

“Certainly,” said Sunthonwet with a wave of the hand. “No problem. No problem at all.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “You should know that there are outstanding warrants for the arrest of two renegade farangs named Humphrey and Callaway. I would not want anyone to confuse those two vicious murderers with you two upstanding representatives of your country.” He winked and settled back in his chair, knowing that his comment would most likely raise the amount of the stipend he would receive for his cooperation and assistance.

Neither Santos nor MacMurphy reacted to the colonel’s statement. A deadpan stare was all he received. They did not take his remark as a threat, only that the colonel wanted to show that he knew the score and the risks involved in helping them, and that he expected to be generously rewarded for the risks he would be taking on their behalf. It was just business…

“When can we leave?” said Santos.

“As soon as you are ready.”

 

 

Chapter One Hundred-Nine

 

 

They returned to their rooms, grabbed their bags and checked out of the hotel at the front desk. Colonel Sunthonwet was waiting for them in the lobby, pacing back and forth in front of the teak trimmed revolving doors at the entrance.

They followed him to his police cruiser and loaded the bags in the trunk. The drive to the Lao-Thai Friendship Bridge took a little over twenty minutes.

The police cruiser was waved through the Lao customs check-point on the north side of the bridge and they crossed into Thailand. When they reached the Thai check-point on the south side of the bridge Colonel Sunthonwet rolled down his window and summoned one of the uniformed customs police officers to the car. They exchanged words and, after glancing into the car, the customs officer waved them past.

Sunthonwet drove them back to his villa in Nong Khai, located high on the banks overlooking the Mekong. They stood chatting, looking down at the mighty river from a sunny day room thirty feet above the water. A maid brought them a frosty pitcher of lemonade and a plate of cookies and poured three glasses.

The rainy season had ended in Thailand, but the river was still swollen from the earlier monsoon rains. Despite the swift currents at this time of year, children were happily swimming near the banks and diving into the muddy water from Sunthonwet’s boat dock below them.

The weather had begun to cool and it was a sunny and pleasant day. November through February were indeed the best months to visit Thailand. It was far too hot from March through July, and the monsoon rains of August through October only brought added humidity to the region.

Colonel Sunthonwet toasted them with his glass of lemonade and welcomed them back to Thailand. Then, remembering something, he raised a finger in the air, set his glass down and excused himself. Moments later he returned with the H&K pistols, suppressors, and two holsters – concealment and leg – for each gun.

“These guns are a dream,” he said. “I fired them at the range and was the envy of my colleagues. They are clean, loaded and ready to go.”

MacMurphy said, “I really appreciate this, Colonel. I assure you, you will get them back when we leave.”

“And when might that be? I do not wish to pry into your affairs, but for planning purposes…”

“We shouldn’t be gone for more than a week or so… We just…have to tie up a few loose ends. I’ll call you here at your home to give you some warning before we arrive. Then you can have these two beautiful pistols back.”

“Not a problem. Except for a day trip or two to Bangkok, I do not plan to go anywhere. I will be here for you. Is there anything else you need? You said you will need transportation...”

“Yes, we need a car. Not the Land Cruiser we left with you, a different vehicle.”

“Oh yes, I left your Land Cruiser parked in the middle of town on Sa Dei Road near the train station. After a few days one of my officers reported it abandoned and had it towed to the police lot. We did a registration check and contacted the owner in Bangkok who declared it had been stolen and came to retrieve it. So the Land Cruiser is out of the question anyway.”

Mac exchanged glances with Santos. “Good, that’s one loose end we don’t have to worry about. Do you have something we could use? We would rather not rent one from an agency for obvious reasons.”

“Not a problem. Not a problem. I will lend you one of my cars. It is a Range Rover. Only two years old. Very comfortable and will go anywhere you want. My wife drives it, so it is like new.”

“That would be perfect, Colonel. We’ll take very good care of it.” Mac glanced over at Santos who rolled his eyes.

“I am sure you will. It is my pleasure. Before I left the office I also prepared something special for you.” Beaming from ear to ear, he handed MacMurphy a red, pocked-sized folio with a police seal on the cover. MacMurphy unfolded it with Santos looking over his shoulder. It looked very official with stamps and a bold signature at the bottom, but Mac’s limited Thai did not permit him to read it.

“Looks great, but what does it say?”

“It is basically, hum…how do you say it, a get out of jail free card. It says you are under my personal protection and any policeman reading the card should give you aid and assistance. That is what it says. If you get into any kind of trouble you just show the folio to the police and they will help you. That is it.”

“Very nice,” said Mac. Culler whistled softly.

“Now, I am sure you are anxious to get on your way and I must get back to my office. Come, follow me, I will take you to your car.”

Santos and MacMurphy followed Sunthonwet down through the entrance of the villa, where they retrieved their luggage, and out to the garage. The Range Rover looked brand new. It was black with black interior and had dark tinted windows.

Mac said, “This is perfect, Colonel, you have been of great assistance and you are a valued friend.”

They threw their bags in the back and before they climbed into the Range Rover Mac embraced Colonel Sunthonwet and they exchanged deep bows and weis. Mac slipped the Colonel an envelope containing eight thousand dollars which the colonel slid quickly onto his pocket without counting it.

And then they were on their way…

 

 

Chapter One Hundred-Ten

 

 

They arrived back in Chiang Mai in the early evening and ate dinner at the Chokchai Steakhouse on Singharat Road, about a mile from the safehouse. MacMurphy would have preferred a lighter meal of traditional Thai food, but Santos claimed his body needed red meat, and plenty of it, in order to continue.

After dinner and a bottle of California cabernet, they completed their journey to the safehouse. There they found the key taped over the door jam, and their gear and weapons safely stashed in one of the bedroom closets. They took a couple more melatonin to chase away the jet lag, and collapsed into bed.

Early the next morning they dressed comfortably in boots, jeans and polo shirts, loaded their gear and weapons into the back of the Land Rover, and took off for Ban Hin Taek.

Santos drove. Before they got too far out of Chiang Mai where cell phone reception was spotty, MacMurphy called Maggie for an update.

It was early evening in Ft. Lauderdale and Maggie was at home preparing dinner when the call came through.

“Mac, I’m glad you called. You arrived okay?” If she was still mad at him for returning to Thailand, it was not evident in her voice.

“Hi Maggie. Everything went fine. We had a good night’s rest and now we’re on our way up north. Have you heard anything from the big man?”

“Yep, he called yesterday. He confirmed that she’s still there at the villa with the other fellow. He’s got the place under twenty-four hour observation – satellite and he’s diverted the Base’s Porter to full time observation and photography over the villa. He’s also listening to their telephone communications.”

“Great. Glad he’s on top of it. What about…”

“He’ll let me know if anything changes. He is still working with liaison to get them out, but nothing has changed…”

“Okay, tell him we’re on our way up there. We’ll be in position tonight. I’ll try to call you when we’re set up, but the reception is spotty up there. Just keep the phone close.”

“I always do. Please be careful, and keep your phone on as well.”

“Okay, Maggie. Let’s keep this short. I’ll call back later. Bye.”

“Okay, be careful. Say hi to Culler. Bye.”

Santos listened intently to Mac’s side of the conversation. When Mac hung up he asked, “So what’s the deal? Sounds like no change.”

“Yep, no change. Rothmann confirmed they’re still in the villa. He’s pulled out all the stops as far as surveillance is concerned. Twenty-four hour satellite, phone intercepts and the Porter. Soon he’ll have us as well…”

“What’s the Porter? Is that a plane?”

“Yes. It’s assigned to the Chiang Mai base to do aerial reconnaissance of the poppy fields. It’s like a low and slow flying U-2. It takes very high resolution photos. They’re also listening to every word Khun Ut and his men are saying. At least as far as telephone and cell communications. Whatever the DDO can do, he’s doing. But it doesn’t look like he’s made any progress with the Thai government. They’re still dragging their feet despite all of his efforts through our liaison contacts in Bangkok.”

“Yeah, you can bet Khun Ut has  them all on the take all the way up to the Prime Minister’s office. Have you given any more thought about how we’re going to get them out of there?”

“Haven’t stopped thinking about it. We’re just going to have to get up there and take a look. Maybe create a diversion. I don’t know. I haven’t got a clue what to do without outside help. Not a clue…”

 

 

Chapter One Hundred-Eleven

 

 

Khun Ut leaned back in his chair, his polished black Wellington boots crossed on his desk. As usual he was dressed impeccably in a light grey leisure suit, smoking a cheroot. Ung Chea sat across the desk, dressed in boots, bloused camouflage pants and a black security tee-shirt.

“You’re being too kind to her, Ung Chea. I’ve never known you to be so soft in an interrogation. You’ve had her for almost a week now, and still nothing?”

“But you told me not to get too physical with her, boss. If you let me get a little tough, slap her around a bit, maybe we would get better results. She has been trained to resist interrogation. Sleep deprivation, bright lights, noise, endless interrogations and all that usual stuff is not working on her. They teach that in the CIA. She is a professional…”

“But still, she is a woman. There are special fears a woman has. You need to play on those special fears.”

“Special fears, sir?”

Khun Ut swung his good leg off of the desk, lifted his bum leg down and stood up. He limped over to the window, looked out over the town below and took a long drag from his cheroot. He turned to face the Cambodian and exhaled smoke as he spoke.

“Yes, special fears. She is a beautiful woman. The fear of disfigurement would be very strong incentive for a woman like her, like having her nipples sliced off, or cutting off her nose or ears, or even rape, or being fucked in the ass…being humiliated…”

Ung Chea’s eyes widened and he leaned forward on the edge of his chair, scooting it around to face Khun Ut directly. The scar running from his ear nub to his mouth reddened. “You want me to fuck her in the ass and cut her nipples off?”

“No, damn it! I do not want you to do that. It would give you too much pleasure.” He chuckled, and then got serious. “I want you to threaten her with these things. And I want you to make her believe you will do these things if she does not cooperate. You did a good job with the Hmong, now get me something out of her.”

Khun Ut leaned closer to Ung Chea and gestured with his cheroot, taking on a professorial air.

“You see, Ung Chea, the Americans are stupid. They advertise to the world that they will no longer harm anyone during their interrogation sessions. They advertise to the world exactly what they can and cannot do during interrogation sessions, as noted in their famous Army Field Manual. That means no prisoner is afraid of them any longer. They would never reveal information to them. Why should they? Prisoners know they can hold out because they know they will not be physically harmed. So they remain silent, or just give bullshit answers.”

He returned to his desk and sat down. “But we are not forced to operate under these foolish constraints. We are smarter than they are. We can do anything we please to our prisoners. And if our prisoners believe we will do these horrible things, really believe and fear us, they will sing like sopranos.”

Ung Chea said, “But these threats did not work on the old Hmong guy, and we smacked him around pretty good, boss.”

“He is a different case. Anyway, we already got what we want from him. He is not important now. You did very good work by tricking him into telling you that the two farangs killed his partner while they were doing something to our heroin shipment. Maybe he really does not know what the farangs were doing there, but the fact is they were there. That tells me the farangs did do something to our shipment. And that is part of the answer we were looking for. Somehow they poisoned the shipment and that is the reason for our troubles now.”

Khun Ut was reflective. “Those two farangs are responsible, and the only question now is who is behind them. That is the information you need to get out of the woman. The Hmong would not know this information.”

“I think it is the CIA, Khun Ut. It has to be them…”

“Maybe yes, maybe no. I agree it appears to be a CIA operation, even though it would be unusual for the CIA to do something like this. Very unusual. Not their modus operandi. Not their MO… But what if the farangs were hired by one of our competitors to make it look like a CIA operation? Or what if someone within our own ranks was behind it? Someone who wants to take over our territory. What then?”

The high-pitched whine of a single turboprop aircraft engine screamed overhead. Khun Ut flinched and then hurried across the room to look up at the sky through the balcony window.

“That fucking CIA Porter again. The sonofabitch is flying so low it’s going to knock the chimney off the roof.”

The Cambodian joined him at the window. “They are getting very brazen, boss. They must be looking for the CIA woman. They are coming very close. That plane is usually only used to photograph the poppy fields around here from a couple thousand feet up. Now they have it circling your house. They have the house under constant surveillance. They must know we have the CIA woman here.”

“How would they possibly know that?” Khun Ut limped slowly back to his desk. He appeared tired and confused. “No, you are right. They could know. We left two men dead back at the woman’s villa. Maybe they were not dead. Maybe one of them talked.”

Ung Chea joined Khun Ut back at the desk. Softly he said, “There are many ways they could find out, boss. Many ways.”

“How could they find out? No one followed us here when we brought the woman. We know that for a fact.”

Ung Chea understood the frustration of his boss and spoke in soft, gentle tones. “The same way we found out about the return of the two farangs, Khun Ut, through informants.”

“Yes, maybe, but we are still not sure about that. We are not certain these are the same two farangs.”

Ung Chea dropped his head. He did not like to give his boss bad news, but he would never lie to him, and he would always give him his unvarnished opinion. “Boss,” he said softly, “they are the same guys.”

Khun Ut shook his head slowly from side to side, but Ung Chea continued. “We know that two farangs matching the description of Humphrey and Callahan left Thailand over the Nong Khai bridge in late August, right after, well, after we were chasing them. And then, the following day, two identical looking farangs named Santos and MacMurphy flew out of Vientiane.”

Khun Ut nodded. “Yes, I know, Colonel Chatchai Sonthonwet helped them. The ungrateful bastard, after all we have done for him and all we have paid him, he helped those two sons of bitches.”

“Yes, he helped them, and I think he may have helped them again the day before yesterday.”

Khun Ut looked surprised and frightened. He drew heavily on his cheroot. “What do you mean, Ung Chea? What happened? You said nothing to me about this.”

“That is what I came here to tell you.” The Cambodian dropped his eyes and spoke softly. “I wanted to check things out first, boss. I did not want to alarm you until I checked all of my facts.”

“Yes, go on,” said Khun Ut anxiously.

The Cambodian took a deep breath and collected his thoughts. “Sunthonwet brought two farangs across the bridge from Vientiane into Nong Khai. One of our people saw them in Sonthonwet’s police cruiser and reported it to Paiboon. Paiboon thought it was suspicious and checked the flights coming into Vientiane over the previous couple of days and, guess what?”

“Yes…what?”

“MacMurphy and Santos…”

“And who are they?” asked Khun Ut, suspecting the worst.

“I do not know about Santos, but MacMurphy is well known to us. We have a dossier on him. He was stationed at the CIA base in Udorn a few years ago – in the late nineties. Colonel Sunthonwet was one of his principle liaison contacts back then. They know each other very well from those days.”

Khun Ut looked tired. His usual swagger and confidence was gone. But he remained as defiant as ever. “So it is the CIA.”

“It sure looks like it, boss. He was a CIA officer back then, so I think it is safe to assume he still is a CIA officer.”

Deep in thought, Khun Ut watched the smoke rise from the end of his cheroot. Finally he said, “I think we must have a talk with Colonel Sunthonwet. Get over there right away.”

The Porter returned and buzzed low over the villa once again. They ducked and looked up at the ceiling and waited until it had passed. Khun Ut’s eyes blazed with hatred.

“And take out that CIA Porter, Ung Chea. Use one of the Stingers. Take the fucking thing out…”

 

 

Chapter One Hundred-Twelve

 

 

The bright sun was low in the western sky when they passed through the town of Ban Doi heading west on route 1098. They were just a few kilometers from the north/south route 110 that would take them on the final leg of their journey up through Mae Sai to Ban Hin Taek on the northern border.

They hurried to get there before dark so MacMurphy could do a final reconnaissance of the town and Khun Ut’s mountainside villa before heading into the jungle on foot.

MacMurphy tilted the sun visor down and a red, four inch by eight inch, card fell out and landed on his lap. He glanced at it and laughed. “Look what we have here, a free parking card compliments of the police.”

“Cool,” said Santos. “We can save money at the parking meters, but I don’t think there will be many parking meters where we’re going.”

 Mac laughed. “Yeah, we can park anywhere we want and never get a ticket. But seriously, this might come in handy along with our ‘get out of jail free’ pass from the colonel. At the very least it will keep anyone from monkeying around with our car          while we are up in the hills.”

“Good point. I wonder if this Land Rover also has any neat police gadgets on it like Sawat’s car did, like lights and siren.”

“I didn’t notice anything, but then I didn’t check behind the grill for lights.” He checked the dashboard for a light or button of some kind. “Here they are.” He flipped a toggle switch below the dash and the siren wailed. He hit the one next to it and a signal indicated the blue and red grill lights were flashing. “Whoops! I guess it does,” he exclaimed. “We’ll have to keep that in mind.”

By the time they pulled into Ban Hin Taek it was almost dusk. The road dipped sharply down from the mountains into a long narrow finger valley lined with small homes, elegant villas and tin roofed commercial buildings. The massive Doi Tung Mountain loomed up to their right and smaller hills and mountains bordered the road to their left.

They passed a large cracked boulder lying in the Mae Kham River which flowed through the middle of town beside the road.

“Well I’ll be damned! See that big rock over there?” MacMurphy pointed at the huge rock. “That’s how the town got its name. Hin Taek means cracked rock in Thai.”

“How do you know that? Your Thai isn’t that good.”

“I know the words for rock and cracked, that’s enough.”

“I’m surprised at how modern the town looks and some of those villas look very expensive.”

“Yeah, it looks different on the ground than from the air. It really is pretty nice, actually. They get a lot of tourists here these days. Not like when Khun Sa ruled the place. Those villas were probably occupied by his lieutenants.”

They drove slowly through the center of the town along the river. The surrounding hills, which under Khun Sa cultivated massive volumes of opium poppy, were now planted with tea and coffee – poppy was now grown in fields further from the towns and off the more beaten touristy paths.

Near the far edge of the town, about mid-way up on a high hill on the left side of the road, they saw Khun Ut’s mountain villa. It was barely visible from the road, and the narrow drive leading up to it was blocked at the entrance with a gate manned by four sentries armed with AK-47 assault rifles.

MacMurphy drove slowly past the entrance until he was out of sight of the guards. He then turned the Range Rover around and drove past one more time, studying the mountain directly across the valley from it.

“See that tall mountain up there on the other side of the valley? That’s Doi Tung Mountain, one of the tallest in the area – almost fourteen hundred meters high. Near the top on the other side, you can’t see it from here, is the Doi Tung Royal Villa.”

“My, you are a font of information. You must have done your homework.”

“How did you guess? Never go into a situation without thoroughly researching it first, Mr. Santos.”

MacMurphy pulled off the side of the road near the entrance of the Ting Ting Restaurant. It was a modern looking Thai restaurant with fresh varnish and paint and a rock garden with a gurgling carp filled stream in front of the entrance. The number of cars parked out front indicated it was a popular place to eat.

“Are we going to eat here?” asked Santos.

“Always thinking of something to eat when there’s work to be done. No, we’re going to stretch our legs a bit and take a longer look at this side of Doi Tung Mountain. The only thing you are going to get to eat tonight will be our usual granola bars and water.”

“Great…”

They stopped the car and got out. Culler joined Mac on the side of the car and they looked up at Doi Tung.

Mac pointed at the top of the mountain. “See that big flag on the top? That’s how the mountain got its name. Doi Tung means flag mountain.”

“My, my, two more Thai words you know.”

“Yep. The Doi Tung Royal Villa, which once belonged to the now-deceased mother of King Bhumibol Adulyadej, is also located high up on the other side.

“There’s a narrow road leading up there. We can drive up at least that far. That’s the good news. There is also a temple, the Wat Phra That Doi Tung, on the top of the mountain near the flag. You can’t see it from here because it looks out over Burma in the other direction. There must be at least a foot path going up from the Royal Villa to the temple.”

“Okay, so what are we doing on this side of the mountain then?”

“I’m trying to find a good place for us to set up with a good line of sight to Khun Ut’s villa. We’re going to have to go up the mountain on the other side and then drop down to this side. But we need to find a good place to set up the Lapua. It should be a little higher than the villa so we are shooting down, but not too much, and we also need good cover because we may be spending a few days there.”

Mac pointed to a spot about two-thirds up on the side of the mountain. “I’m looking at that rocky ledge over there. See it?”

“Yeah, I see it. About where the jungle ends and the forest begins. The whole top of the mountain is covered in evergreen trees. It must be cold up that high.”

“Yep, it gets pretty chilly in the evenings up that high. We won’t be doing much sweating once we get into position up there. That’s why they built the Princess Mother’s villa up so high, to escape the heat in the days before air conditioning.”

Santos looked back and forth between the rocky ledge on Doi Tung Mountain across the valley to Khun Ut’s villa. “That’s going to be a very long shot, Mac. It looks to be about a mile across.”

“That’s what I guess it to be. Maybe a little less. But the Lapua ought to handle it…”

 

 

Chapter One Hundred-Thirteen

 

 

The two men drove back out of Ban Hin Taek the way they had come. When they reached the base of Doi Tung they circled around the southern end of the mountain and turned back north toward Mae Sai on the eastern side of the mountain.

It was dark when they pulled into the little town of Mae Sai. The main street was lined with touristy souvenir shops and small restaurants. Santos’s stomach started to rumble at the thought of food.

“Mac, my stomach thinks my throat’s cut. Would it be too much to ask if we pulled over to one of those noodle shops to get one last decent meal before we embark on our next jungle adventure?”

Mac Laughed. “I suppose people are used to seeing farang tourists in this town, and I could use a little real sustenance myself. A beer would be great. I guess we can risk a short stop.”

He pulled off the side of the road in front of the Sorn Daeng Noodles Restaurant and they went inside. Red plastic covered banquets lined the sides of the narrow little restaurant and, after making eye contact with the young waitress dressed in a red and gold native sarong and nodding toward an empty banquet near the door, they slid into the seats.

The little restaurant was half full with an assortment of working class Thai men and women. They were the only farangs in the place, but no one seemed to notice. Everyone seemed to be deeply engaged in noisily slurping noodles from the bowls in front of them. The sound of wailing Thai music played softly in the background.

When the waitress arrived they ordered the house special noodles with shrimp and crab and two bottles of Amarit Beer.

Santos ate like it was his last meal, loudly slurping his noodles like a native. MacMurphy pushed his noodles around the bowl absentmindedly and sipped on his beer.

“I don’t know, Culler. I still have no idea how we’re going to get Charly and Vanquish out of there.”

“Relax,” said Culler. “Maybe we can and maybe we can’t.” He sucked in a long string of noodles and wiped his chin. “The fact is maybe there is nothing we can do for them. We’re going to be a mile away with a sniper rifle. That’s not exactly a prescription for breaking anyone out of jail. Hell, maybe the DDO will come up with some bright idea, or maybe Khun Ut will move them out of there.”

MacMurphy took a long drink from his Amarit bottle and stopped, the bottle still at his lips. Then he looked directly at Santos and slowly sat the bottle down in front of him. “That’s it!”

“What’s it?”

“Maybe Khun Ut will move them out of there. You said it. If they move them out of the villa, maybe that will give us an opportunity. Actually, maybe we could cause a disturbance of some kind that will give them an opportunity to break free.”

“How are you going to do that? Call up Khun Ut and suggest it? Hey, Khun Ut, would you do me a favor? Come on…”

“General Sawat.”

“What about General Sawat? We can’t use him any more. They already know about our connection with Sawat.”

“That’s just the point, Culler. They know we’re in touch with him. Listen…” Mac leaned forward and lowered his voice to a whisper. “What if we called Sawat and told him we were back in town and needed his help to drop us and a few other guys off on the hill behind Khun Ut’s villa. We could say we would need his helicopter for that – maybe to make two or three trips.”

“Okay, I get it, and Sawat would naturally report those plans right back to Khun Ut, just like he did with Khun Sa many years ago, but– devil’s advocate – Khun Ut already knows that we know that Sawat talked to him about us. So why would he think that we would trust Sawat to help us again?”

“That’s a good point. You’re right of course. We never would trust Sawat again. Not unless we absolutely had to, that is. Like, if we had no other choice. If we were backed into a corner, desperate, and had no one else to turn to, we would have to trust him, right?”

Culler finished his bowl of noodles and pushed it aside. Then he noticed Mac’s practically untouched bowl and asked, “If you’re not going to eat that, do you mind…?”

“Order another bowl for yourself. And get us another round of beers. I just got my appetite back.” Mac attacked his dinner.

 

 

Chapter One Hundred-Fourteen

 

 

Bellies full, and with renewed enthusiasm, Santos and MacMurphy climbed back into the Range Rover and headed further into the town of Mae Sai. They took a left at the first major intersection where a large sign in English and Thai indicated the road to the Doi Tung Royal Villa, the Mae Fah Luang Gardens and the Wat Phra That Doi Tung.

It was quite dark, and aside from an occasional car coming down off the mountain, there was very little traffic on the paved, two-lane road that wound up the side of Doi Tung.

They passed the lights of several small Shan, Akha and Lahu tribal villages sprinkled on the mountain slopes on both sides of the road. About mid-way up they drove past the darkened Mae Fah Luang Gardens. The lights of the Land Rover illuminated the flowers and plants growing among rock formations in the gardens.

At about one thousand meters up the air began to turn noticeably cooler and the jungle and mostly deciduous forest gave way to evergreens. Further on they passed the darkened entrance to the Doi Tung Royal Villa. It consisted of several large wooden structures built in the classic Thai way with sweeping ornately curved roofs. The buildings were surrounded by tall eucalyptus and evergreen trees and gardens.

They were pleasantly surprised to find that the road continued beyond the villa, although it narrowed to little more than one lane and the macadam ran out. Mac dropped the Range Rover down into four-wheel drive and they continued to climb upward, more steeply now.

They grinded up the side of the mountain until they passed a varied collection of statues and carvings in a dark, damp sheltered glade on their left. A few minutes later they were startled when their lights illuminated a massive stone stairway directly in front of them.

Mac hit the brakes and they gazed up at the stone stairway rising up the side of the mountain in front of them. The stairs were guarded on each side by stone half-human, half-serpent Naga warriors, eerily illuminated in the moonlight and in the headlights.

At the stairway the road turned sharply to the right and ended in the temple’s deserted courtyard. Mac pulled the Range Rover into the courtyard, tires crunching on the gravel, and pulled to the far end where they parked near a grove of fir trees.

Mac slipped the red police parking pass out from behind of the sun visor and tossed it face up on the dashboard. He glanced over at Santos. “What the hell,” he said with a shrug, “it’s worth a try.”

They cut the lights and walked to the back of the Range Rover. The weather was fresh and cool. They were alone near the top of Doi Tung Mountain. Santos opened the back of the car, pulled the two duffel bags toward him, and began sorting out their gear. They were already wearing jeans and hiking boots but they changed into long sleeved camouflage military shirts and pulled on their Ghillie-suits over the top.

“Damn,” said Santos with a snort, “This thing smells rank. We should have thought to wash them after our last little outing.”

“Whew, you’re right. I guess we’ll just have to get used to it.”

Culler grimaced. “We’ll have to double up on the animal repellant or we’ll attract every snake and fox in the woods.”

He pulled out the two .45 caliber pistols and leg holsters and screwed on the suppressors. He handed one to Mac and strapped the other to his leg.

Mac pulled out the two assault rifles and passed one to Culler. Each drum was loaded with one hundred rounds of 5.56mm ammunition. He left the spare drums in the duffel bag due to the added weight. Next they strapped on their Spetz knives, slipped on their Camelbaks, floppy camouflage hats and night vision headgear. Last, they pulled on their backpacks loaded with extra ammunition, granola and power bars, animal and bug repellant, sleeping bags, nylon shelter sheets, spotter scope and other assorted gear.

Finally, Mac pulled the .338 Lapua out of its case and grabbed two, ten round magazines fully loaded with Sierra Match 250 grain bullets. He slipped one of the magazines into his pocket and put an extra box of ammo in his backpack. He slapped the other magazine into the gun and chambered a round. He checked the safety and slung the rifle over his shoulder. “I guess we’re ready,” he said, passing the laser rangefinder and spotter scope to Santos. “You can carry these.”

“As ready as we’ll ever be,” said Santos. He slammed the back door shut and pointed the remote key lock at the Range Rover and pressed the button.

Mac hesitated. “Wait a minute. On second thought, maybe we shouldn’t leave our remaining gear and ammo in the back. I mean, what if we return and find the Range Rover surrounded by Khun Ut’s men like before? Maybe we should cache the remaining gear in the woods someplace.”

“Not a bad idea, makes sense,” said Culler. He hit the remote to unlock the car. “Let’s wipe it down for fingerprints as well. Wouldn’t hurt, right?”

“You’re right, wouldn’t hurt. No sense making things easy for them.” They pulled the two duffel bags out of the back of the back and went about wiping down door handles, steering wheel and other parts of the Land Rover they may have touched. When they were done, Santos hit the remote again and locked the vehicle.

“Now, do you want to take the tourist route over the top, or shall we go around?” said Mac.

“I definitely don’t want to climb any higher than we have to.”

Mac studied his GPS. “Let’s head in a south-easterly direction back around the stairs until we get to the other side and then we’ll drop down to that rocky outcropping we saw from the other side. It shouldn’t take us more than a few hours – it’s all downhill.”

They flipped down their night vision gear and headed off, MacMurphy leading the way.

“Downhill is good,” said Santos, hitching up his backpack.

 

Chapter One Hundred-Fifteen

 

 

The Cambodian arrived in Nong Khai late in the evening and checked into the upscale Royal Mekong Nong Khai Hotel for a few hours of rest after his long drive. The next morning he was up early, ate a light breakfast in the hotel and headed for the home of Police Colonel Chatchai Sonthonwet. He wanted to get there before the colonel left for work.

Like most villas in Thailand, Colonel Sonthonwet’s compound was enclosed by an eight foot tall masonry wall topped with broken glass. The entrance to the compound was through a solid metal gate that was opened and closed from within by a security guard.

At six-thirty in the morning, Ung Chea drove his black Nissan Sentra up to the gate, stopped, honked his horn and got out of the car. He was dressed casually in chino slacks, a light, long sleeved, Thai silk dress shirt which concealed the .357 magnum revolver on his belt, and sunglasses.

When the guard did not respond immediately he pounded on the gate with the side of his fist. He heard the guard scrambling on the other side.

The guard slid open the peep door and asked who it was and what was his business. Ung Chea stated his name, announced that he was from Chiang Rai, and said he wanted to see Colonel Sunthonwet on personal business.

The guard slid the peep door shut and ran back to the house. A few minutes later he returned with Colonel Sunthonwet, dressed in a khaki police uniform, and opened the gate.

If Colonel Sunthonwet were surprised or nervous about Ung Chea’s unannounced visit, he did not show it. He bowed deeply and the two exchanged weis, and then Sunthonwet extended his hand, smiling.

“It is good to see you Ung Chea. What brings you to Nong Khai so early in the morning?”

Ung Chea did not return the smile. “I have an urgent matter to discuss with you Chatchai, may I come in for a moment?”

“Certainly, certainly, come in and join me for a cup of tea and some fruit. I was just eating breakfast.”

“That is very kind of you, Chatchai. I will not keep you long.”

Sunthonwet led Ung Chea to the house and through to the veranda overlooking the Mekong River. Breakfast for one was set on the table beside the morning newspaper. He shouted a command to the cook, who brought another cup, plate and utensils, poured tea and then quickly retreated back into the kitchen.

Ung Chea took a sip of his tea and regarded Sunthonwet severely over the rim of the cup.

“I will come directly to the point, Chatchai. We are concerned about your association with the two murdering farangs, Santos and MacMurphy.”

Sunthonwet started to speak, but the Cambodian held up his hand. “Hear me out, colonel,” said Ung Chea sternly. He removed his sunglasses and glared at the colonel across the table. “We know you helped them leave Thailand a few months ago and we know you helped them return a few days ago. What we don’t know is why you are helping them, particularly since you must know what they have done to our operation, and that there are police warrants out for their arrest.”

Sunthonwet struggled to maintain his composure. He started to pick up his teacup, but then thought better of it – he did not want to display any nervousness, and a rattling teacup would not be good. So he clasped his hands in front of him, leaned back and took a deep breath before speaking.

“First of all, let me make one thing perfectly clear. I do not like the intimidating tone in your voice. You can drop it right now or I will end this conversation and send you packing back to your boss. Is that understood?”

The Cambodian stared back at him, unblinking and expressionless. Only the flare of the hideous scar on the side of his face gave him away. He did not respond.

“Good, I will take that to mean you would like to continue this conversation in a civil, gentlemanly manner.”

The Cambodian remained expressionless, but Sunthonwet took even that as a positive sign.

“If you had done your homework properly you would know that Mr. MacMurphy and I had a liaison relationship when he was assigned to Udorn a few years back. Did you know that, Ung Chea?”

“Yes, we know all about that. That was then, we want to know about now. Why are you helping him now?”

“Because he is my friend. It is as simple as that.”

“No,” said Ung Chea, “it is not as simple as that. He is a CIA officer and he and his CIA cohort have inflicted a lot of damage on our operation. Did you know that, Chatchai? Did you know that they murdered several of our men and are wanted by the police in this country? You are aiding and abetting wanted criminals, did you know that? Do you know you could lose your position for that? Your very lucrative position here in Nong Khai is now in extreme jeopardy because of what you have done.”

Sunthonwet knew what could happen to him and his family if Khun Ut decided to target him. The loss of his position in the police would be the least of his worries. He decided the best course of action was to stonewall.

“I have no idea what you are talking about. My friend asked for help to get across the border and I assisted him. That is it. Nothing more.”

The Cambodian smiled his crooked grin, causing the scar to contract and redden, screwing up the side of his face. “You are many things, Chatchai, but stupid is not one of them. Do not insult my own intelligence with your stupid plea of ignorance.”

Sunthonwet struggled to keep his emotions, and nervousness, in check. When he began to speak his voice cracked, giving him away. “I…I will tell you what I know and then I must leave. I am late for an appointment at the station.”

He paused and cleared his throat. “MacMurphy showed up at my house with another fellow. I never saw the other guy before. He stayed in the background, letting MacMurphy do all of the talking.”

“Did you not notice that they matched the descriptions of the two farangs, Humphrey and Callaway?”

“Not at the time. I was happy to see Mac again. He wanted me to drive them to Vientiane, so I did.”

“What about their car?”

“I left it parked near the train station. It was eventually picked up as an abandoned vehicle and I assume returned to its owner.”

The Cambodian stared at Sunthonwet for a long time, showing skepticism. “Okay, now tell me about their return.”

“Nothing to tell, really, I got a phone call from Mac. He was in Vientiane staying at the Settha Palace Hotel. He asked if I would pick them up and bring them to Nong Khai. So I did. That is all.” Sunthonwet pushed his chair back and started to get up. “Now I must leave you and get to my appointment. That is all I know.”

“Sit down,” commanded the Cambodian with a wave of his hand, “I am not finished. Call your office and tell them you will be late, but stay where you are.”

 Sunthonwet slumped back into his chair, resignation and trepidation showed on his face. “Okay, go on, but please hurry.”

“By the time they returned you must have known that your two friends were the same two farangs that were wanted by the police for murder, correct?”

“I suspected as much, yes.”

“But you continued to help them, right?”

Sunthonwet lowered his eyes. “Yes, that is correct.”

“How much did they pay you?”

“Not much, a few hundred dollars. I really did not do very much for them. Just drove them across the border.”

“They were not chopped into Thailand, were they? You helped them avoid going through customs. That was a pretty big favor, I would think. Certainly worth more than a few hundred dollars, especially from someone like you, a corrupt cop who will do anything for money. Is that all?”

“Yes, that is all. Now I really must be going.”

The Cambodian allowed Sunthonwet to stand but made no effort to get up himself. He remained sitting in his chair. “What are they driving now?”

Sunthonwet considered lying to the Cambodian, but he was afraid they already knew about the vehicle. After a long pause he dropped his head and replied: “I loaned them my wife’s Range Rover.”

The Cambodian nodded knowingly, his eyes piercing into Sunthonwet’s. “You filthy maggot. What else?”

“That is all of it.”

“What did they tell you they were going to do here?”

“Nothing. They told me nothing.”

“How long did they say they were going to keep your car?”

“They said they had some loose ends to take care of and that they would return in a week or two.”

The Cambodian stood up. “I do not have to tell you that when Khun Ut hears about this he will not be happy. Nevertheless, you can redeem yourself by cooperating with us from now on. Do you understand?”

Sunthonwet nodded.

“Okay, here is my card with my cell phone number. Call me the moment you know or hear anything. Anything at all. Do not screw this up, Chatchai. Understand?”

“Yes, Ung Chea, I understand…”

 

Chapter One Hundred-Sixteen

 

 

Santos and MacMurphy circled around the base of the mountain peek and began their descent on the other side. The lights of Ban Hin Taek were clearly visible in the valley below and it was a fairly bright, moonlit night; however, they still preferred to use their night vision goggles to help them maneuver rapidly through the pine forest.

They came upon an exceptionally large evergreen tree near a bunch of large rocks and decided it was a good place to cache their duffel bags. Mac marked the spot on his GPS and they continued their descent down the side of the mountain.

“It’s nice up here,” said Santos. The two men moved rapidly down and across the Mountain through the trees.

“It’ll get worse as we get further down, thicker and hotter.”

“Yeah, I know that. Too bad. This is almost like deer country back home in Massachusetts.”

After walking for about an hour they paused while Mac checked his GPS and used his binoculars to sight in on Khun Ut’s mountain villa. “We need to continue heading south for about another mile or so, and then we can start dropping down the side to that outcropping of rocks we saw.”

“Better to hike through these trees than through the jungle below,” said Santos.

They moved rapidly through the woods until Mac was satisfied they were directly above the rock formation and then they began their descent. The slope varied between thirty and thirty-five degrees at this point which caused them to slip and slide on the leaves and pine needles. When the woods began to thicken they were forced to slow their descent.

Soon the forest morphed into a mixture of forest and jungle. It got warmer and harder to move. At about midway down the mountainside they spotted the rock outcropping below them. The slope increased considerably. They had to slide down on their butts and dig their heels in to slow their momentum.

They were happy it was the cool, dry season and they didn’t have to deal with the mud as they did when they assaulted the warehouse in Ban Mae Chan.

When they reached the rocky outcropping they stood on the edge and looked out around them.

“We need to get lower,” said Mac. “We’re too high at this point. Still a little bit too far north as well.”

Santos nodded. “How about down there?” He pointed to a grove of trees that jutted out of the mountainside about a quarter mile down and to their left.

“Yeah, looks good. Let’s give it a try,” said Mac, already heading off in that direction.

They reached the grove and found a good, flat spot on the edge and dropped into the prone position. Mac used his binoculars to survey the villa on the other side of the valley. He also searched below and around him for an alternate location to set up.

They spoke in hushed tones.

Mac said, “This is about as good as we can get. It’s a good camping spot as well – decent cover, flat and a lot more comfortable than those rocks above us. What do you guess the range is from here to the villa?”

“Shit, it looks like a good mile away to me. I don’t know. That’s a long shot. Do you really think you can hit anything that far away?”

“I’ve used the 50 cal at this distance, and it was pretty effective, but this Lapua is far superior to the 50 cal. I think we’re about fifteen hundred meters out. That’s just under a mile. And if that’s correct this rifle and I should be able to handle it. The current record for a confirmed kill by a sniper is 2,430 meters. That’s about one and a half miles!”

“Then this ought to be a piece of cake, right?” joked Culler. “Well, let’s just check and see what the actual distance is.”

Santos dug into his backpack and pulled out the laser rangefinder. Lying in the prone position, he aimed it at the front door of the villa. The seven power magnification brought the villa into clear focus.

“I’m putting it right on the front entrance under that portico. Let’s see...I’ve got thirteen hundred and seventy-four meters. How accurate is this thing?”

“To within a meter. That’s a good shot. Manageable. I wish we could get a little closer, but it is what it is.”

Mac found a good spot to set up the Lapua. He extended the Parker-Hale bipod and the rear monopod, stabilized them in the dirt, and got into a comfortable prone position behind the rifle. He had attached the eleven inch Sierra suppressor to the end of the muzzle and ten rounds of 250 grain bullets were loaded in the magazine.

He settled in behind the rifle, inserted the light intensifying low-light eyepiece, and sighted through the 8 X 32 variable power day/night scope.

The front of the mountain villa jumped out at him, clear and large. It was a two-story, dark wood building with a curving, Thai-style ornate roof line. Darkened floor to ceiling windows ran the entire length of the top floor with another smaller, higher window under the peek of the roof. The first floor had an ornate, arched portico over the double-door main entrance with two darkened windows on either side.

A paved driveway arched around the front of the villa in a horseshoe which ran under the portico of the main entrance. The entire perimeter of the villa was illuminated by security lights, enhancing Mac’s view of the building through the night scope.

Mac adjusted the mil-dot recticle in the scope at thirteen hundred and seventy-four meters and scanned the area in front of the villa. He saw two guards patrolling the front of the building and one dozing in a chair at the front door. He set the recticle crosshairs on the chest of the guard at the front door, and slid back away from the gun.

“We’re in good shape,” he announced.

Santos had set up a small campsite in a wooded area behind them. It had a covered sleeping area with the two sleeping bags laid out neatly on each side. That done, he went to work setting up the tactical spotting scope next to Mac.

“This thing’s a dream,” he said, looking through the scope. “I can count the nose hairs on that sleepy dude at the front door.”

“Yep, Barker really came through for us. And to think I almost didn’t bring the sniper gear on this trip.”

“I’m hungry,” said Santos.

“What else is new? And I’m tired. How about you take the first shift and eat your fill of our gourmet granola bars, and I’ll relieve you at daybreak.” He checked his watch. “It’s almost three-thirty now. The sun will be coming up in another couple of hours.”

“Okay, I’ll wake you if Khun Ut comes out and wiggles his ass at us.”

“Yeah, that reminds me.” Mac dug into his backpack and pulled out a notebook and pencil and handed them to Culler.

“We need to keep a detailed account of what goes on at the villa from this point on. Everything. Light patterns – when lights come on and go off in each room – movements of the guards, people coming and going, visitors, everything that happens should be noted in this book. I have a feeling we may be here for a few days and we’ll need to get a good grip on the routine of the place. Tomorrow we’ll find a target someplace at the same range and do a little target practice. Nothing beats actually seeing where the bullets land.”

 

Chapter One Hundred-Seventeen

 

    

Santos let Mac sleep until he awakened by himself at almost seven-thirty.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” asked Mac, rubbing his eyes.

“You were sleeping like a teenager. Par for the course. I didn’t have the heart to wake such a sleeping beauty.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Anything happening?”

Santos glanced down at his log book. “A car arrived at six-twenty and pulled around back. There’s probably a parking area back there. The light went on in the top left window at six-thirty. The guards changed shifts at seven. All the first floor lights went on just a few moments ago. That’s it so far.”

Mac walked to the far end of the campsite to relieve himself. When he returned, Culler said, “Don’t forget to sprinkle some of Barker’s animal repellent on your pee. We don’t want anything sniffing around here and we definitely don’t want to attract any hound dogs…”

Mac nodded and did what he was told. “You’re right,” he said softly, “we can’t be too careful up here.”

Mac ate a granola bar and sucked water out of his Camelbak. “Why don’t you go get some rest and I’ll take over here. When you wake up we’ll zero in the Lapua.”

“I’m okay for now. Let’s get it over with so we know the thing is going to hit what you’re aiming at. I’d hate to miss an opportunity if one presented itself.”

“You got it. I’ve got it set at 1374 meters. So all we need to do is find a decent target at the same range in the same direction. There’s a pretty constant breeze coming down the valley from north to south. We’ll have to fine-tune the sights for windage as well as distance.”

Mac got down behind the Lapua while Culler climbed in behind the spotter scope next to him.

Culler reduced the power on the Leupold scope from forty to twenty and surveyed the area around the villa. Mac did the same with his rifle scope.

They spoke softly, in hushed tones.

See that grassy field just to the left of the house?” said Culler. “There are a couple of good rocks sticking out of the ground that you could use as practice targets. They’re at about the same range.”

“Yeah, I see what you mean. That could work… But what if we got a whining ricochet off one of the rocks? That could alert someone.”

     “What kind of a wallop does that Lapua pack? It’s not like a 50 cal, is it?”

“Actually, it’s pretty close. The .338 round is fairly new to the sniper community. It’s the first and only caliber that was designed specifically for sniping. The bullet will arrive at one thousand meters with enough energy left to penetrate five layers of military body armor and still make the kill. It was designed that way. Its effective range is about a mile, or 1600 meters, and we’re just about three hundred meters shy of that.”

Culler shook his head. “Wow! So that means at 1374 meters it will still penetrate maybe…three or four layers of body armor!”

“You got it. It’s a real killer. For extreme long-range anti-personnel purposes, the .338 Lapua is the king.”

“Okay, I got it. No rocks. Let’s see, what’s that a few meters back from the edge of the driveway there? Looks like a piece of trash.” He increased the magnification of the spotter scope back to forty power. “Yep, it’s a box. A cardboard box. Will that do?”

“I see it. It’s a little close to the side of the house, but I think it’ll work. Sight the rangefinder on it to make sure.”

Culler sighted on the box, adjusting the dials. “1376 meters. Close enough?”

“Close enough for government work. Now, what do you estimate the breeze to be down there?”

“I don’t know, five, maybe ten knots. Something like that.”

“Let’s enter ten knots. The wind kind of sweeps down through the valley. Probably stronger down there than it is up here. Okay let’s try one. Got the target in your scope?”

“Got it, Mac. Take your shot.”

Mac squeezed off a round and the rifle bucked, but the only sound coming out of the suppressor was a muffled pssst.

“ You kicked up dirt about four feet high and three feet left of the target.”

“Okay, we need to bring it down and right.” Mac adjusted the elevation and traverse turrets on the top of the scope. “Let’s see, one mil-dot right will bring it over one meter, and, well, let’s bring it down a mil-dot as well.”

Mac settled back in behind the gun again and adjusted himself. “Ready?”      

“I’m ready.”

Mac sighted, exhaled half a breath, and squeezed off another round. After what seemed like seconds, the box flipped.

 “You clipped the top of the box. Almost in the center at about twelve, maybe one o’clock. I’d leave it right there. It sure takes awhile for the bullet to get there.”

Mac thought out loud, speaking to no one in particular. “Windage is okay. We’ll have to adjust when we feel more or less wind up here. But the wind will always come from the same direction during this season, and we can’t anticipate gusts. Range is good too, but I could bring it down one click, one-tenth of a mil-dot, to make it better. Then all we have to worry about is windage. Okay, down one click. Let’s try one more.”

The last round hit the box just a few inches to the left of center.

“We may have gotten a little gust that time, but the elevation is dead on. I think we’re good to go.”

Santos scooted back away from the spotter scope and stretched. “Man, that’s good shooting, Mac. I’ve really got to hand it to you. I never saw anything like that before.”

“With the right equipment, you can accomplish anything. This rifle is a dream.”

 “How far does that bullet drop at this range?”

“Well, at fifteen hundred meters the bullet will drop about seven or eight meters. So you’re actually shooting in a big arch. That’s why the ammo is so important. It has to be perfect in every way to get the proper consistency. The trajectory of the bullet depends upon so many factors – distance, wind, humidity, weight of the bullet, muzzle velocity, all those things. Even the rotation of the earth.”

“No shit! The rotation of the earth?”

“Absolutely. That’s why I always try to sight my rifle in at the spot where I’m going to be shooting. It doesn’t matter much over short distances, but when you’re talking a mile or so away, it definitely affects the trajectory of the bullet. It’s called the Coriolis effect. The earth rotates from west to east, so at this range firing almost due east like we are, the target drops away from you slightly by the time the bullet arrives. That means you have to aim six inches lower; six inches higher if you’re firing due west. Get it?”

Culler shook his head and laughed. “And I’m supposed to be the engineer…”

 

Chapter One Hundred-Eighteen

 

 

The Cambodian reported back to Khun Ut on his meeting with Colonel Sunthonwet. Khun Ut was not pleased. The two farangs were back in his neighborhood, and this made him very uneasy. He felt the same mixture of fear and anxiety he felt when Thai government forces attacked his father’s headquarters in Ban Hin Taek more than twenty years ago.

That raid brought down Khun Sa’s narcotics empire, almost totally destroyed his village mansion, and resulted in the death of his only legitimate son. The wounds Khun Ut suffered in the battle kept him from fleeing with his father, and left him with a permanent limp as a constant reminder of the betrayal.

Khun Sa was forced into permanent exile in Burma where he and the remnants of his two thousand man strong Shan United Army had to keep constantly on the move to avoid the relentless pursuit of Burmese army. Finally, after ten years of living in the jungle, with attrition and desertions of his men, he surrendered to Burmese forces and spent the rest of his life in a Rangoon prison.

While Khun Sa was in exile, the twenty-one year old Khun Ut, by then a seasoned veteran of the opium trade, remained in Ban Hin Taek where he nursed his wounds and quietly began to rebuild Khun Sa’s empire from his father’s mountain retreat overlooking the village.

His greatest fear was to suffer the same fate as his father. Indeed, he did everything in his power to assure that a repeat of that raid would never happen. The money he spent on bribes to the Thai military and government officials far exceeded what were paid by his father.

The influence he wielded within the pinnacles of Thai government in Bangkok virtually assured there would be no large scale attacks planned against him or his operations, and his control over local law enforcement, military and government leaders permitted him to operate in and around the Golden Triangle without interference.

But now the American CIA had entered into the equation. He knew the CIA was behind the downfall of his father – they had forced the Thai Prime Minister, Prem Tinsulanonda, and the commander of the Thai army, General Chavalit Yongchaiyut, to launch the Top Secret, large-scale assault that had driven his father out of Ban Hin Taek and into the jungle.

Something like that would never again happen. Not under his watch. Since Khun Ut took control he had made sure of that. But now it appeared that the CIA was taking matters into its own hands – was working against him without the consent and cooperation of the Thai government.

Could that be possible? Khun Ut didn’t think so at first. But now…now he couldn’t be certain. Certainly his prisoner, Charly Blackburn, the CIA base chief in Chiang Mai, would know the answer to that question, and many more as well. Ung Chea would extract the information he required.

Those two farangs had caused a lot of mischief. They had attacked his warehouse, killing several of his men in the action, and had poisoned at least one of his heroin shipments.

Now his heroin distribution network was in shambles, buyers were shunning his product, the chemists in Hong Kong didn’t want to refine his heroin for fear it would taint other shipments, and worst of all, his competitors were salivating at the thought of his demise, hovering over him like a flock of vultures waiting to pick his bones.

But if his father had taught him one thing, it was that offense was the best defense. Retreat was not an option for Khun Ut. He was always more ruthless than his enemies – that had kept him at the top of the heap – and now they would feel his wrath like never before. He would start with the CIA – those two farangs and their all-seeing, intrusive Porter spy plane.

And perhaps, if necessary, he could use the CIA woman and the Hmong as bargaining chips. He just had to figure out how to use them in the most effective way.

 

Chapter One Hundred-Nineteen

      

 

Ung Chea and Paiboon discussed their game plan for the enhanced interrogation of Charly Blackburn. In the end, they were convinced that Khun Ut was right. Humiliation and fear would work on this woman.

They knew she had probably been through the CIA’s resistance to interrogation course, but real life was a lot different than a training course down at The Farm. No training can duplicate the real thing.

In training, the students know that they will not actually be harmed by the instructors – threats and harassment can only go so far. But there would be no such certainties in this situation, and that is precisely what they were counting on.

The mountain lodge was built into the side of the hill, so the entire rear basement side of the lodge was below ground level. This dark, damp, windowless space was used for storage – except for the two rooms on each end. They had been converted long ago by Khun Sa into cells for “special guests,” just like these two.

Each cement block cell was approximately ten feet square. Aside from an olive green military style canvass cot against one wall, there was no other furniture in the room. There was no bedding on the cot, no sink, no toilet, nothing.

A single bright light bulb in a grated steel fixture in the ceiling illuminated the room. The light was never switched off. A steel plate door with a four inch by two inch viewing slot with a sliding cover was set in the middle of the interior wall.

Vanquish occupied the cell at the north end, and Charly Blackburn occupied the cell at the south end of the basement.

The interrogation room, located in the front side of the building directly under the main entrance, was actually the building manager’s office. Although it too was windowless, it was a comfortable room with paneled walls, equipped with air conditioning and heat. It was furnished with a large gray metal desk facing two padded folding metal chairs and an upolstered couch along one wall. Grey metal filing cabinets lined the opposite wall, and the floor was glossy gray, painted concrete.

It had been almost a week since Charly Blackburn had been kidnapped from her home, and almost twice as long for Vanquish.

Paiboon, who had no previous experience with interrogation, was placed in charge of the care and feeding of the two prisoners. He was, of course, under the close supervision of Ung Chea, who had considerable experience with the most brutal forms of interrogation.

The Cambodian had learned these skills from his father, Ta Mok, and other ruthless Khmer Rouge leaders.

 After days of sleep deprivation, constant beatings, living in his own filth, barrages of non-stop questioning, starvation and time distortion, Ung Chea was convinced that the old Hmong was holding nothing back.

He knew very little anyway. Khun Ut would make the ultimate decision as to what to do with the bloodied, broken old Hmong. That was not Ung Chea’s problem. He would gladly take the Hmong out behind the lodge and put a bullet in his brain, if that was what Khun Ut wanted. He was a traitor, pure and simple, and death was the punishment for traitors.

Charly Blackburn was another story. She was a CIA officer, and a tough one at that. She had endured five days of similar treatment, absent the beatings per Khun Ut’s orders, and had not given them a word of anything useful. She was totally defiant and seemingly immune to the treatment she endured in silence.

Of course, the Cambodian was unable to lay a hand on her – thus far, that is. But Khun Ut clearly was coming around to the realization that they would have to get tougher with her if they were to extract anything of value from her. Ung Chea was confident he could break her, particularly if Khun Ut would permit him to inflict a little pain on her body.

At least Khun Ut would now permit more intimidation and threats during the interrogation. That was a positive sign. At least a step in the right direction. The next step would be to follow through on the threats. The arrogant bitch deserved to be smacked around a bit, and Ung Chea looked forward to the time he would see fear and pain replace the defiance in her eyes.

This interrogation would be different than the others and he would personally conduct it. Paiboon was much too easy on her – too polite. He played the “good cop” role far too well. He actually liked playing that role.

Now Ung Chea would begin this interrogation armed with the names of the two farangs – that alone should shock her into revealing precious information about what the CIA’s plans and intentions were – and he now had the authorization to get tougher with her. He would break her today…

 

Chapter One Hundred-Twenty

    

    

The Cambodian and Paiboon kicked the building manager out of his basement office and were discussing the previous interrogations of Charly Blackburn. Ung Chea sat behind the grey metal desk with his feet up while Paiboon sat across from him in one of the two chairs.

“Once she knows we have the names of her two CIA cohorts she will break,” said Ung Chea. “She will know the game is up. If she thinks we already know everything, then it will be easier for her to confirm what she thinks we already know.”

Ung Chea was proud of himself for figuring this out. Actually, he read about the technique in various manuals on interrogation, but putting it into use in this case, well, that was his idea entirely.

He also planned to use a few well placed smacks to the head and body. Nothing that would leave any marks, but enough to shock her into submission. “Now that we can smack her around a bit, we will scare the crap out of her. That ought to do it. Go get her now. Bring her here...”

“Yes, sir.” Paiboon rose to leave.

He returned several minutes later with Charly. The sight of her shocked Ung Chea. Her condition had deteriorated considerably over the past couple of days while he was in Nong Khai.

Her hands were handcuffed in front of her and her once shiny shoulder length black hair was now dull, matted and as filthy as a Rastafarian’s. She was wearing the same clothes she had put on after her capture, a white short sleeved blouse, blue jeans and running shoes.

But the blouse was now torn, stained and covered in soot. Her jeans were filthy and she had obviously soiled herself – a large dark, wet stain circled her crotch area. Her eyes were black rimmed and dull and her face and exposed arms were black with soot and dirt. She stank of body odor and urine.

“Do not sit on that chair,” commanded Ung Chea as Paiboon was about to seat her. “You stink like a donkey and you have soiled yourself. I do not want you on my furniture you smelly bitch. You can stand right where you are.” Paiboon left her side and stood by the side of the desk.

Ung Chea got up from behind the desk, walked around it and stood in front of her, leaning back on the desk. She appeared to wobble on her feet and refused to look him in the eyes.

“You are quite a mess, Charly Blackburn. Do you want to tell me now about your two friends? Or would you prefer to go back to your filthy hovel.”

She did not respond. She concentrated on the floor in front of her and stood on unsteady feet. The slap came as a surprise and almost knocked her off of her feet. Paiboon reached out to help her and when she was standing again Ung Chea slapped her hard on the other side of the face, knocking her down to her knees this time.

Paiboon got her to her feet and noticed both cheeks reddening from the blows.

She remained silent, staring at the floor in front of her, and began to weep. Soon her whole body was wracked with deep, uncontrollable sobs. Her tears left long streaks down her dirty cheeks. She appeared drugged, but her condition was due to the lack of sleep and disorientation she had experienced since her captivity, and this physical and verbal abuse was becoming intolerable.

“Paiboon,” said Ung Chea, “put her in a chair and remove her handcuffs. I will try to reason with her now.”

Paiboon removed her cuffs and sat her in one of the chairs.

She uttered, “thank you,” and massaged her wrists.

“Would you like something to eat? When was the last time you ate?” The Cambodian walked back around behind the desk and sat down, putting more distance between them.

She did not respond.

“Would you like to get cleaned up a bit? Would you like a shower?”

She did not respond.

“I know you can talk. Answer my questions.”

She did not respond. Her body wracked with another uncontrollable sob.

“From now on your interrogations will take a turn. They will change. They will become harsher. I am tired of playing games with you, and I am running out of time. So listen closely.”

He looked up at Paiboon. “Paiboon, hold her head up so she can see me when I talk to her.”

Paiboon put his hand under her chin and gently raised her head to face him. He kept her head raised. Tears continued to flow down her cheeks, washing away the grime in streaks.

“Good, now you can see me. I want you to look into my eyes so you can see that what I say to you is the truth.”

Her eyes were blank and unseeing.

Ung Chea paused before speaking. Calmly he said, “I want you to know what will happen to you if you continue to sit there and not talk. You are a beautiful woman – at least you used to be a beautiful woman. Right now you are disgusting. But with some food and a shower and clean clothes, you could be beautiful again.” He paused, “Unless you choose to remain silent.”

Another sob wracked her body and she tried to lower her head, but Paiboon gently raised it again.

“If you continue to remain silent, I will make you permanently ugly. Do you see this scar on my face? Every day I am reminded of the piece of shrapnel that took off my ear and sliced open my face. It was not a happy day. But at least it happened quickly, in battle. For you it will happen here, in your cell, slowly, very slowly. You will feel unbelievable pain, and when I am finished you will be permanently ugly, unattractive to any man, and repulsive to children. Do you have any idea what I will do to you?”

She continued to stare blankly in his direction with Paiboon’s hand cradling her chin.

He removed a hunting knife from a desk drawer and unsheathed it. He held it out in front of him and ran his thumb across the blade to test its sharpness.

“I will remove your ears – first one, and then the other – and then I will remove the tip of your nose, and then I will heat the end of the knife and cauterize the wounds. Maybe I will cut your cheeks as well. From the corners of your mouth outward. And then I will cut off your nipples. I will do all of this, I promise, if you remain silent. Do you understand?”

Her eyes widened in fear and she shook her head and muttered, “Yes.”

“Good. You can speak.” He continued. “But before I turn you into an ugly witch, my men and I will take turns with you. We will fuck you in your stinking cunt and we will fuck you in your ass and it will be the last time anyone will ever want to fuck you again. Do you understand what I am saying, Charly Blackburn, CIA bitch?”

She nodded and sobbed and continued to stare at him blankly.

“I see the fear in your eyes, Blackburn, you can not hide it from me.”

She spoke, “Yes, I am frightened. You are a frightening, beast of a man. I believe you could…would, do all of those things, and more, and enjoy every moment of it. I believe you.”

“So you can talk after all. That is a good start. Let us begin from where we left off the last time I saw you. Tell me about your two farang friends. Your two CIA friends. You know who they are, MacMurphy and Santos.”

Her head jerked up in surprise. The vagueness in her eyes disappeared. She became alert and on guard. Her body language gave lie to any denials she might make. Ung Chea read the signs and smiled in victory.

“Yes, we know who they are and we know you have been in contact with them. They are CIA officers like you and they are leading a CIA attack on our operations here in the Golden Triangle. You can not deny those facts.”

She laughed and shook her head in disbelief.

“Why are you laughing? Are you denying the truth?”

She cleared her throat and looked at him with an amused smile. Then she spoke softly.

“No, Ung Chea, they are not CIA officers. Your sources are wrong. Yes, they used to be CIA officers, but they were fired. They are no longer employed by the CIA, and the CIA will have nothing to do with them. They committed a serious crime and were kicked out of the Agency by the director. They were fired. That is the truth…”

The Cambodian stared at her, speechless and incredulous. He sensed she was telling the truth. He looked over at Paiboon, who was equally mystified.

“What about that meeting you had with them in the Wangcome Hotel in Chiang Rai last summer?” he said. “What about that? You were liaising with them, right?”

She shook her head and smiled. “In a manner of speaking, yes, I was liaising with Mac MacMurphy, but not on behalf of the CIA. You see, Mac and I have been lovers for many years. We met that one time, shortly after he arrived in Thailand, and only that one time. He told me it would be too dangerous for me to see him again. Now I understand why. Now I understand.”

The Cambodian could not believe what he was hearing. It was impossible, he thought, this can not be. It has to be the CIA. And then he recalled Khun Ut’s suspicions. Maybe it was a competitor who hired them, or someone within their ranks.

“You say they were fired. When were they fired and why?”

“Over a year ago. The summer before last. They were involved in an operation in Paris. They stole several million Euros during the operation and the CIA director found out about it and fired them both. After that they moved to South Florida and started a company called GSR research or reporting or something like that. They are mercenaries now. They will work for anyone who will pay them. But the CIA would never touch them. Not any longer. That would be impossible…”

“And who would that be? Who are they working for now, if not for the CIA?”

“I’m sorry, but I haven’t a clue about that. We did not discuss that when we met in Chiang Rai, and Mac would never tell me if I did ask him.”

Ung Chea was clearly taken aback by her revelations. He needed to report back to Khun Ut immediately, before he shot down that CIA plane and caused more problems for them. And they needed to get rid of these two prisoners. He did not want to compound their problems by bringing the wrath of the CIA down on their heads unnecessarily.

Ung Chea turned to Paiboon. “We will check out her information. If she is telling the truth, well, her treatment will improve. If we find that she is lying… Anyway, take her back to her cell. Let her take a shower and give her something to eat. And get her clothes washed.”

He turned to Charly. “I hope you are not lying to me. That would not be good. Things will get very bad for you if you are.”

What a mess this is turning out to be, he thought.

    

    

 

Chapter One Hundred-Twenty-One

 

 

At that precise moment, Santos and MacMurphy were sitting cross-legged on the edge of the ledge. The spotter scope and Lapua were set up, aimed and ready, a few feet behind them. Mac was observing the lodge through binoculars.

Santos briefed Mac on the observations he had made earlier. “The whole front part of the second floor appears to be offices. The biggest office appears to be the one on the far right because all the lights came on at the same time there at about eight-thirty. It looks like it runs from the corner almost to the center of the building probably about thirty feet. The bedrooms are probably in the rear. I didn’t see any evidence of bedrooms in the front. All the lights were out at by about six and they didn’t come on again until this morning. I’d keep my eye on the office on the far right. I’ll bet money that one belongs to Khun Ut himself.”

“Here comes the Porter again,” said Mac. “It’ll pass right over the roof of the lodge in a few moments. That’s got to piss off Khun Ut big time.”

“I see it.  Those guys won’t let up, will they? Back and forth, back and forth over the lodge. Must be driving the sonofabitch crazy.”

“That’s part of the plan, you can be sure of that...”

Now the plane was close enough that Mac could make out the two pilots in the cockpit. It whined its way over Ban Hin Taek and began a long, slow turn to the south.

“It’s following the same flight pattern over and over,” said Mac, “not a very good idea in my opinion.”

The words were hardly out of his mouth when something streaked up into the sky from the woods below the mountain lodge and struck the Porter amidships. The little single engine plane exploded in the air and broke in half, falling straight down to the earth like two rocks. Another explosion lit up the mountainside when the main section of the plane hit the ground on the side of the mountain below them.

“Holy shit! Did you see that?” said Mac.

“Son…of…a…bitch,” said Culler. “That was a stinger.”

“Sure looked like it. Those guys are nuts. Now there’s definitely going to be hell to pay…”

“We’ve got to report this back to Headquarters right away,” said Santos. “Have you got any bars on that phone of yours?”

Mac pulled his cell phone from his pocket and turned it on. “One bar. Doesn’t look good. Let me try.” He hit the speed dial for Maggie and listened while the call was routed to the other side of the earth. Finally a wobbly ring could be heard and then the sound of someone picking up. “Hello. Maggie. Can you hear me?”

He could make out her voice at the other end but the transmission was breaking up badly. He shouted into the phone, “Maggie, I’ll call you later. Stay close to your phone.”

He could hear Maggie trying to respond on the other end, but the transmission was too garbled to make anything out, so he hung up.

“Shit,” he said, “I’m going to have to get higher on the mountain to get any decent reception. Hold the fort, Culler, I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Mac stripped down to his tee-shirt and jeans, and looked up the side of the mountain and said, “Well, here goes,” He took off at a fast pace, climbing directly up the side of the mountain.

Santos watched until he was out of sight and then turned his attention back to the burning Porter in the jungle below him. He focused through the binoculars and tried to find some sign of life, but he knew there would be none. No one could survive that fiery crash.

Mac returned almost two hours later. He was breathing heavily and drenched in sweat. He drank heavily from his Camelbak and tried to control his breathing before speaking.

“I got her,” he said between gasps. “She’ll pass the message on to Ed Rothmann. We’ll call her again after dark when the reception is better. I hope I won’t have to climb up that damn mountain again.”

He fought to control his breathing. “I was thinking. Maybe this’ll do it. Maybe the DDO will get approval to pull out all the stops now. They’re going to have to investigate the crash, right? That means there’ll be Americans on the side of the mountain looking at the crash site. It’s an American aircraft that has been shot down. What will that mean for us? For this operation?”

Culler picked up the binoculars and watched several firemen climb up the side of the mountain toward the wreckage. A Thai police helicopter had arrived and was hovering over the crash site.

“With all this attention we’re going to have to take extra precautions to make sure we’re not spotted. I don’t want us to be blamed for this.”

Mac looked up in surprise as the realization hit him. “You’re right. This changes everything. There’s gonna be all kinds of investigations going on down there. And they’re going to include Khun Ut and his mountain villa. They’ll have to. Surely others saw the direction that missile came from. He’s going to deny any involvement, sure, and he’ll probably never be implicated due to his influence and power, but there’s still gonna be investigations going on.”

“So? So what do you mean?”

“I mean he won’t want cops poking around his house and asking all sorts of questions while he’s holding an American CIA officer there. That’s what I mean. This is an opportunity for us. This is manna from heaven…”

    

 

Chapter One Hundred-Twenty-Two

 

 

Khun Ut sat behind his desk, head in his hands. His cheroot burned in the ashtray beside him. Things were unraveling rapidly. Ung Chea was convinced the CIA woman was telling the truth…and he agreed. Santos and MacMurphy were ex-CIA mercenaries. He had thought from the start that this did not smell like a CIA operation, and he was right.

But who were they working for? If not the CIA, then surely it had to be one of his competitors. But he couldn’t imagine it could be anyone local. He simply didn’t have any local competitors. He controlled the region and had excellent intelligence on who was doing what to whom. There were no indications that anyone here was trying to wrest control of his operation from him. Sure, there were guys would would like to step into his shoes, but they couldn’t pull off anything like this without him knowing about it.

So it had to be one of his foreign competitors. The Arabs who controlled the opium and heroin trade in Afghanistan maybe, or perhaps the drug cartels in Colombia – someone wanting a bigger slice of the action. These were the most likely candidates.

And now he realized that shooting down the CIA’s Porter had been a huge mistake. He had acted rashly. If only that CIA bitch had talked sooner, it could have been prevented. Now he actually would have the CIA on his case – the CIA and the two farang mercenaries.

His men had found Colonel Sunthonwet’s black Range Rover parked high on the other side of Doi Tung Mountain near the temple, so they had to be close by. What were they up to this time?

He had made a calculated risk when he attacked the consulate in Chiang Mai. He had believed the combined efforts of the CIA, DEA and State Department would be pushed back by his aggressive action. He thought they would back off in their attempts to restrict the cultivation of poppy in the region around the Golden Triangle. And by all appearances his gamble had worked – efforts by the U.S. State Department and the DEA to purchase and destroy poppy fields had come to a screeching halt, and the farmers who had cooperated in these efforts were once again returning to his camp.

But now this…  

He pushed back from his desk, grabbed his cheroot and limped slowly across the room to the window. He stood and looked out across Ban Hin Taek to Doi Tung Mountain and the smoldering wreckage of the Porter at its base.

The power of the massive mountain gave him strength. He would survive. This was just a minor setback. He had experienced other setbacks during his path to the top and had always emerged stronger than before. He had learned from each mistake and from each attempt to wrest control of his empire away from him.

Right now he had to think about damage control. His mind spun with ideas…

 

Chapter One Hundred-Twenty-Three

      

                                                                             

“Mac, look at this. Check out the far right window on the second floor near the end of the building.” Culler had the spotter scope turned up to forty-power and the window filled his vision.

Mac adjusted the scope on the Lapua. “Son of a bitch. I think that’s him.”

“I think we just decided on a plan, Culler.” Mac clicked off the safety. “Whatever happens now, taking that bastard out is not going to make it worse.” His heart pumped and his hands shook 

Buck fever, he thought, don’t do this to me now. Settle down. He could see the man clearly, just standing there looking out of the window, smoking. This had to be Khun Ut. He set the crosshairs on the middle of his chest, let out half a breath and squeezed the trigger.

The target’s arm came up as he brought the cigar to his mouth and the Lapua recoiled into Mac’s shoulder. The Sierra Match 250 grain .338 bullet left the muzzle at 2,900 feet per second with barely a sound.

After what seemed like an eternity, the bullet hit the double pane thermal glass, deflected downward slightly and slammed into Khun Ut’s lower left rib. The rib shattered and the .338 bullet contined to plough at a downward angle through muscle and stomach and intestines until it exited his back just under the left lung.

The force of the impact spun Khun Ut around and threw him back into the office. He hit the floor with a thud in the middle of the room, oozing blood and life onto the polished teakwood floor.

“Holy shit,” said Culler. “That thing sure packs a wallop.”

“Where’d I hit him?” asked Mac, still sighting through the scope of the Lapua.

“I think you were a little low and right but you hit him square enough to spin him around and knock him back into the room. It was a solid hit.”

“But not a kill shot,” Mac replied, matter of factly. “Damn…”

“Maybe, maybe not, depends… you got him good, though. Nice shot.”  

They remained in position, Santos observing the villa through the spotter scope and MacMurphy through the rifle scope. Moments later the room filled with people. One of them walked up to the window, inspected the bullet hole in the glass and looked out toward them…

 

Chapter One Hundred-Twenty-Four

    

 

Khun Ut could feel the life draining from his body. He rolled up into the fetal position and grabbed his side where the bullet had entered his body, trying to stem the flow of blood.

He called out for help. He felt like he had been kicked in the side by a mule, but he could feel no pain. Only a dull ache. He knew he had been shot, but how? From where? He was confused and panicky. He fought the feeling. He couldn’t panic. But he could feel the rush of blood going to his head. His vision was blurred. He realized he was going into shock. He called out again and again and then everything went black.

Was he dreaming? He sensed people around him, moving him, lifting him up off of the floor. He was still in no pain but he was slipping in and out of consiousness. His eyes would not focus and dark spots danced in front of them. He could hear voices in the distance. He struggled to stay awake, fearing that if he drifted off and succumbed to the urge to sleep, he would never awaken.

He could feel himself being moved. People were shouting and hurrying around him. He was being carried on a stretcher, jostled around, down the stairs, out the door. People surrounded him. Someone was trying to talk to him. The face very close. He recognized the face as Ung Chea’s. Ung Chea’s lips were moving but all he could hear was the blood rushing in his ears and faint voices far away.

He struggled to concentrate and finally, with great effort, he reached for Ung Chea’s shirt and pulled him close. He whispered, “Who did this?”

“You were shot, Khun Ut, from somewhere outside. You will be alright. An ambulance is on its way. We will get you to the hospital right away. Do not try to speak. You will be okay. Save your strength.”

Khun Ut struggled to speak. His words came out in whispery gasps. “The farangs. They did this. Get the woman and the Hmong out of here. Quickly. Take them into the jungle across the border, far away from here. And find those two. Kill them.”

 

Chapter One Hundred-Twenty-Five

 

 

Santos and MacMurphy observed the commotion from their positions on the side of Doi Tung Mountain, more than three-quarters of a mile away. Santos lay behind the spotter scope and MacMurphy alternated between the Lapua scope and binoculars.

It was late in the afternoon and the shadows were growing long. A number of rescue workers and investigators had joined the original group at the smoldering site of the crashed Porter a quarter mile down the mountain below them. An ambulance wailed up the side of the hill beneath Khun Ut’s villa and came to a stop under the portico at the front entrance.

“Here’s Khun Ut’s ride,” said Santos.

MacMurphy settled in behind the Lapua. “Maybe we can finish the job right here.”

They watched as three paramedics piled out of the ambulance, pulled a collapsible gurney from the rear and rushed it in through the open double doors of the front entrance. Moments later they returned with the gurney. One of the paramedics held a transfusion bag of blood high over the body of the man lying on the stretcher. A gaggle of a half a dozen men and women accompanied the gurney out of the building. They milled around watching while the paramedics prepared to slide the gurney into the back of the ambulance.

“I wouldn’t risk it, Mac. Too many people hanging around him.”

Mac concentrated on his shot, finger poised on the trigger. Then he relaxed. “Yeah, too much commotion, can’t get a clear shot. Sure hope the first one did it.”

“He doesn’t look too good, Mac. I can see his face. It’s as white as a sheet. Hey, is that the Cambodian hovering over him? I think it is. The ugly guy in the black shirt. I think it’s the Cambodian. Can you get a shot at him?”

“I think you’re right. You’re right. Hang on… Son of a bitch… No good...”

Two paramedics pushed the gurney into the back of the ambulance; the other held the transfusion bag high over the injured man and stayed at his side. The door was slammed shut and the other two jumped back into the cab, hit the siren and lights, and sped off down the hillside.

Mac slid back from the Lapua and turned to Santos. “That’s it for Khun Ut. Nothing more we can do about him. If he croaks, fine, if not, well, we’ll have to go to plan ‘B.’”

“What’s plan ‘B’?”

“Haven’t got the foggiest.”

“What do we do now?”

“We wait.”

“Wait for what?”

“For something to happen…”

 

Chapter One Hundred-Twenty-Six

 

 

The Cambodian watched the ambulance speed away from the villa, sirien wailing. Darkness was fast approaching. Not the best time to launch a manhunt, but he could not let those two farangs get away, and he figured they were probably already on the run.

They were out there someplace, either in the town or on the hillside on the other side of the town. He was certain the shot that hit Khun Ut came from a rifle fired by one of the farangs, probably from a rooftop of one of the taller buildings in the town. This is where he would begin the search. He had to find them. He could not let them escape.

He entered Khun Ut’s office and stood by the side of the window, looking out over the town of Ban Hin Taek in the direction of the shot. Could they see him now if he stood in front of the window? Were they still out there? Would they take a shot at him? Perhaps he could use a decoy to try to smoke them out. No, that would be too risky. He pulled the blinds shut.

Khun Ut had the town wired with informants and supporters. The two big farangs would stand out among the natives and be easily spotted. Someone would see them and report back. He had ordered the exits from the town blocked – there were only two, one to the north and one to the south. No one would escape via the only road in and out of the town.

But what about the mountain? They had found Sunthonwet’s Range Rover parked at the Wat high on the other side of the mountain. He had ordered the automobile to be staked out by his men. If they returned to the vehicle they would be intercepted and killed. But what if they had another car stashed nearby, or maybe another accomplice to help them escape – someone else like a Colonel Sunthonwet or a General Sawat?

So many options, so many possibly scenarios. He felt frustrated, confused and more than a little intimidated by his new leadership role. What would his father do in this situation? He had never been in total command before. And Khun Ut was depending upon him.

All he could do was to pull out all the stops and cover every possible escape route. He would set things in motion and enlist the help of the police. After all, a man had been shot by a known, or at least strongly suspected, assailant. They should be leading the manhunt. It’s their job and Khun Ut certainly pays them enough for their cooperation.

Paiboon entered the office and stood silently by the door. Ung Chea shook off his malaise and turned to him.

“Okay, it is up to us now. We need to make sure the town is sealed tight and find those two bastards. They are either in Ban Hin Taek or close by, maybe on the other side in the foothills of the mountain. They can’t be too far away. Make sure the police are alerted and get every one of our men on the chase.”

Almost as an afterthought he said, “And get the prisoners out of here right away. Take them across the border into the hills. I don’t want any police hanging around the villa while they are in there, understand?”

Paiboon said, “yes sir,” and turned to leave.

“One more thing, get the two Hueys in the air. Have them search the rooftops and the outskirts of the town, particularly on the eastern side. The shot came from that direction. Make sure you load them with enough armed troops to give chase on land if we find them.”

He paused for a moment, thinking, and then continued. “No, actually, you stay here on the ground and coordinate the ground search. I’ll go along with the Hueys. They may actually be our best bet to find those bastards.”

 

Chapter One Hundred-Twenty-Seven

 

 

Santos and MacMurphy watched from their concealed vantage point high on the side of the mountain. The sun had dipped below the mountain behind Khun Ut’s villa, casting long dark shadows across the valley. They switched to their night vision equipment.

“Things are going to get a little exciting here in a few moments,” said Mac. He topped off the magazine to replace the round that had been fired and set the spare ten-round magazine next to the Lapua in front of him. “Search parties will be all over the town and patrolling this side of the mountain very shortly.”

Culler checked his POF-416, making sure it was set on night vision firing, and set it down close beside him. The ammunition drum was full of one hundred rounds of 5.56 caliber cartridges. He tipped the spotter scope down and to the left and focused on the spot where the Porter had gone down.

“There’s quite a crowd assembling down there by the Porter. Looks like they’ll be working through the night.”

“Forget about that,” said Mac. “Keep your eyes on the villa. Another opportunity may present itself. They may try to move Charly and Vanquish out of there. My Spidey-sense tells me they won’t want them around with the place teeming with cops and FAA investigators.”

They watched two Huey helicopters lift off from behind the villa and began criss-crossing the town below, using powerful searchlights to illuminate rooftops and roads.

“I think we’re safe up here for the time being,” said Mac. “They believe the shot came from much closer in.”

“Yeah, none of those jokers would ever believe we could be almost a mile away and still pick the sonofabitch off like you just did. They’re checking rooftops and escape routes from the town.”

“Which will soon lead them up the side of the mountain,” said Mac. “When they don’t find us down there in the village they will widen the search.”

“Do you think they found our car?”

“Good point, let’s find out. Keep your eyes on the villa while I give Sunthonwet a call.”

Mac turned on his cellphone and checked the bars for reception. “Reception’s better in the evening. I’ve got three bars. Not too bad. Should be enough.”

Sunthonwet answered on the third ring.

“Han lo, Sunthonwet…”

“Colonel, it’s me, Mac.”

Long hesitation. “Hello, um, Mac, are you okay?”

“That’s what I’m calling about. Am I okay?”

Another long hesitation. “They, they know you were here. They know…know I helped you. Please do not contact me again. Sorry Mac…” He hung up.

Mac brought the cellphone down from his ear, held it out in front of him like it had suddenly begun to stink, and switched it off.

“Doesn’t sound too good,” said Culler.

 “No, not good. They know he helped us. That means they know about the Range Rover and they also know we’re close by. We’re going to have to figure out another way to get off this mountain, and out of the country.” Mac turned his attention back to the villa. “But let’s not worry about that now. We’ll figure something out. Right now…look, see that white van going up the drive toward the villa? That’s one of Khun Ut’s security vans. Keep an eye on it.”

“I see it,” said Culler.

The van circled up the side of the hill and stopped under the portico. Two men dressed in security garb with black tee-shirts got out and slid open the doors on each side of the van. One of them turned toward the building and briefly spoke into a walkie-talkie. Then they lit cigarettes and stood talking near the rear of the van.

Culler had the spotter scope turned up to forty-power. The van nearly filled his circle of vision. “Looks like there’re waiting for someone to come out. Maybe more than one person because they opened both side doors.”

Mac moved the night vision scope of the Lapua back and forth between the two security men and the front entrance of the villa, and waited, finger poised on the trigger. Moments later the double doors of the villa swung open and four men surrounding Charly Blackburn and Vanquish walked out onto the porch. Two men guarded Charly and two guarded Vanquish – one on either side.

“Holy shit,” whispered Culler, “there they are…”

“I see’em, hands tied in front – no, they’re zip-tie handcuffs. Time to rock and roll…”

Mac was all business, not a touch of buck fever this time. He sighted on the black shirt to Charly’s right and squeezed the trigger. The rifle bucked and he brought the sights down on the man to her left and he fired again. The rifle bucked again and he sighted on the man directly behind, to Vanquish’s left, and cranked off another round.

By now the bullets had reached their targets, creating chaos on the ground. Mac continued his rapid fire from the semi-automatic sniper rifle, snapping off round after round at the six black shirts around the van and on the porch.

The guard on Charly’s right went down first. The bullet hit him high in the right shoulder, spinning him away from her and sending him down hard. The guard on her left was next. He flew straight back from the impact of the 250 grain bullet which caught him high in the chest. He was dead before he hit the ground.

His third shot missed one of the two men holding Vanquish and ricocheted loudly off the concrete porch behind him.

The guards dropped the Hmong’s arms and drew their sidearms, looking around frantically trying to figure out where the shots were coming from. Vanquish stood there, head bowed and without his signature cowboy hat, looking dirty and beaten.

But he came alive quickly when he realized what was happening. He charged the guard nearest to him and knocked him to the ground and fought to rip the pistol out of his hands.

Mac continued to aim and fire, aim and fire, methodically, but his human targets were harder to hit because they were moving and the bullets coming from more than three-quarters of a mile away took time to reach them.

 

Chapter One Hundred-Twenty-Eight

 

 

Charly knew exactly what was happening. Free now, she dove at the first guard to be hit. He was lying on the ground moaning. He did not resist when she yanked his .357 magnum revolver from its holster. She dropped to one knee and turned the gun on the remaining guards and started firing. She hit the one closest to her in the chest and sent him flying backward.

Next she turned the revolver on the guard who was struggling with Vanquish. She aimed carefully to avoid hitting the Hmong and shot the guard in the groin.

Bullets from the mountainside continued to rain down on the remaining guards and on the entrance doors and windows of the villa – an effort to discourage any heroes from joining the gunfight.

The Hmong looked up at Charly with a mixture of surprise and gratitude. He grabbed the wounded guard’s gun and turned it on a guard near the van who was trying to run away down the hill. He shot him in the back and the guard tumbled forward into the underbrush.

The remaining guard fired at Vanquish at the same moment that Charly fired at him, and both Vanquish and the guard went down hard.

Charly ran over to the Hmong. He was holding his stomach with his two tied hands, trying to stem the flow of blood.

“I am hit bad, Charly. Gut shot. Burns like hell. You better get out of here. Leave me. Just go.”

“Don’t move,” she said, “I’ll get you out of here.” She crawled over to the nearest dead guard and removed his knife from the sheath on his belt. She used it to cut through her zip-tie cuffs and then cut Vanquish free.

An alarm sounded from inside the villa and she could hear the continuing impact of rounds hitting around her and on the doors and windows of the villa behind her. The six guards were sprawled around her, dead or dying.

Still on her kness, she looked up in the direction of Doi Tung Mountain and said, “Thank you Mac, thank you…”

 

Chapter One Hundred-Twenty-Nine

 

 

Culler’s eye was glued to the spotter scope. “Holy shit, she just said ‘thank you Mac,’ she knows we’re up here, she said it. I could read her lips. No shit…”

Between shots Mac said, “Now she better get her pretty little ass out of there toute de suite or… fuck, I’m out of ammo.” He pushed back from the gun, grabbed his backpack, pulled out a box of shells and began quickly reloading his two magazines.

“She’s moving now,” said Culler. “She’s trying to get the Hmong up on his feet…okay, he’s up. They’re getting into the van…okay, they’re moving…okay…damn she is out of there. Sonofabitch…she floored it, spitting dirt and gravel all over the place, side doors still open... Uh-oh, they’re coming out the doors. Hurry up Mac…”

“I’ve got it. I’ve got it.” Mac slapped a full magazine into the Lapua and settled in behind it once again. Four men had taken advantage of the lull in shooting and had ventured out onto the porch. They stood there looking stunned, surveying the carnage, and watched the van speed away down the hill. One of them spoke into his walkie-talkie and pointed in the direction of Doi Tung Mountain.

Mac fired off three rounds in quick succession. Two of the men went down and the other two scattered. One dove back into the villa and the other took off around the side of the house. Mac put another round through the front doors to keep the rest of them at bay.

“Good shooting, Mac.” Culler scanned the area through his scope. “Uh-oh, I think they’re on to us. Those two Hueys are gaining altitude and coming our way.”

Mac reared back on his haunches and grabbed his night vision binoculars. “Yeah, I think they figured it out. Let’s move back to better cover.”

They grabbed their gear and the spotter scope and the Lapua, and retreated further back into the pines, taking refuge in the large evergreen trees.

Culler grabbed his assault rifle and switched on the infrared laser targeting sight. He pulled his night vision gear from his backpack, strapped it over his head and adjusted the lens over his eye.

The green line of death shot out from the barrel of the rifle in front of him. He was comforted to know that whatever that green line touched when he pulled the trigger, the bullets would hit. And he knew the green line was only visible to him.

The two Vietnam vintage Huey helicopters flew back and forth on overlapping routes below them, their searchlights probing the mountainside. The side doors were open and the Huey’s 7.62x51mm Minigun and door gunner were visible to Santos and MacMurphy.

Culler shook his head. “Those babies may be old but they pack a lot of firepower in those Miniguns. I’m not comfortable being on the wrong end of one of those gunships. Seems weird...”

Mac followed them with his night vision binoculars. “I know what you mean. Let’s not get hosed down by one of those Miniguns. The Huey is heavy and slow and the belly is wide open. Let’s just stay back here under cover and let’em get close and maybe we can take’em out.”

“I don’t know. Maybe we should just bug the hell out of here? We’ve accomplished what we came here to do.”

“Where the fuck are we going to go at this point? Up or down? You decide…”

“Yeah, I see what you mean…okay, you’re right, offense is the best defense…”

The Hueys continued to scour the mountainside below them, gradually moving back and forth up the mountain. The searchlight flashed over their position and one of the Hueys pulled up level with them. The light penetrated the darkness and they shielded their eyes to maintain their night vision.

“They’re checking out this position,” said Mac. “They’re not stupid. They recognize this as a good vantage point for the same reasons we did.”

The Huey hovered in front of their location with its searchlight probing the darkness around them. They were standing motionless behind two large trees, guns at the ready, hoping it would move on.

The minigun wailed and bullets sprayed their location, knocking down branches and kicking up dirt around them.

“Fuck this,” said Culler over the noise, “they saw something, they know we’re here.” He waited for the stream of bullets to move away from him and then moved around the tree and put the green line on the open door and pulled the trigger, spraying the interior of the Huey.

The gunner was hit first. He sprawled back onto the floor of the gunship and the minigun went silent. Bullets sprayed the interior of the Huey hitting two of the other occupants and causing panic inside.

The gunship pulled up and turned away from the mountain in a tight arc. Culler continued to fire on the exposed belly of the helicopter, bullets pinged and ricocheted off the hull as the ship peeled away and sped back toward the villa.

“Well, if they had any doubts before…” said Mac.

“You want to go up or down?” asked Culler. “I vote down.”

“Let’s wait and see what they do first.”

They didn’t have to wait long.

The other Huey circled in a wide arc around them, staying out of range. Finally it stopped and hovered close to the ground about five hundred meters above and behind them. Six black shirted security guards armed with AK-47 assault rifles bailed out of the Huey, spread out and headed slowly down the side of the mountain toward their position.

“I guess that answers my question. We go down, right?”

“Wait a minute, hang on. Let’s think a minute. We still have the advantage. We’ve got night vision, silenced weapons... Shit, let’s leave the Lapua and the rest of our gear here and go hunting.”

Culler grinned widely. “Hmmm, not a bad idea, I like that. If we could get around behind them we could pick them off one by one like Sergeant York.”

“Sounds like a plan. Let’s do it… Let’s get this gear wrapped up and under that tree over there. Then you circle around them to the right and I’ll go left. Just don’t shoot me, okay? Don’t get trigger happy with that POF. Hang on while I grab the commo gear out of my backpack. We’ll need that. Meet you back here when the game’s over. Good hunting.”

They tested their commo gear and then took off at a quiet trot in opposite directions. The combination of the darkness and their Ghillie-suits made them practically invisible. They ran parallel to the side of the mountain in opposite directions for about two hundred meters and then stopped, dropped into concealed prone positions and waited quietly in ambush, listening.

Santos heard the sounds of people coming through the woods before he saw them. He whispered in his lapel mic and scanned the woods in front of him. “They’re almost on us. I can hear’em coming.”

He heard a crash of noise directly in front of him and a barely audible curse. The sonofabitch must have slipped, he thought. He lay still, aiming up the side of the mountain and waited, barely breathing. Soon he saw the man coming around a huge evergreen. The man was holding his AK-47 assault rifle in front of him with one hand and swiping the dirt from his trousers with his other.

Santos flicked on the green line, laid it on the unsuspecting man’s chest and squeezed the trigger. Three silent rounds squirted out of the muzzle and sent the man straight back and down. Culler waited for sounds, and when there were none, he got up and moved quickly but silently higher up the hill, around and behind the dead man. He whispered into his lapel mic, “One down.”

“Hang on,” said Mac. Moments later he said, “I got one, too. Coming around.”

Mac stealthily circled around behind the body, like stalking a deer. He moved around and up behind the line of intruders. He stopped and listened, senses acute. He thought he was behind the remaining four security guards and was surprised they were not using flashlights. He heard twigs snap and leaves rustle. Yes, he thought, without flashlights or night vision gear you are blind, so you will stumble and fall and will die.

He moved purposefully toward the sounds. He was almost upon the man when he saw him, moving through the shadows no more than twenty feet in front and to the right of him. He flicked on the green line and, holding the gun waist high, brought the line up and placed it on the man’s side under his right arm and touched the trigger. Two silent rounds struck the man in the rib cage and knocked him sideways, his AK-47 flying out of his hands. He landed in a crash and a yelp, alerting the other guards.

Santos and MacMurphy had the same thought: shit, we’re blown!

Confusion reigned among the remaining three security guards. The man nearest to MacMurphy took off running down the side of the mountain, crashing through the underbrush. Mac sprayed shots in the direction of the noise and head a cry. The other two guards began firing at shadows, giving their positions away.

When the firing stopped, Santos moved toward the sounds in a crouch, being careful to stay low and behind cover. He stopped behind a large evergreen tree, hunkered down, and spoke into his lapel mic. “Where are you?”

“Behind them. One took off down the mountain and I think I winged him. There are two left. They’re frightened. Let’s take them out, but be careful…”

“Roger that.”

They moved through the woods like hunters, stalking their prey, holding their assault rifles waist high at the ready, green lines of death dancing out in front of them touching trees and shrubbery.

One of the AKs opened fire in the direction of Santos. He hit the dirt, bullets peppering the trees above his head.

“I see him,” said Mac, “hang on…hang on…” He saw the man lying in the prone position, touching off two and three round bursts from his AK in the direction of Santos. Mac moved slightly to his right to get a better line of sight, put the green line on the prone man’s side and pressed the trigger. Several bullets struck the unsuspecting man and kicked up dirt under him and above him. “Got him.”

“Thanks,” said Culler, “one left…”

They heard the sound of thrashing and knew the last guard was running down the hill away from the action. “He’s on the move,” said Mac, “do you have a shot?”

“No…let him go. He’s out of here…” The sounds of the man running and sliding downhill toward the village could be heard clearly by both of them.

“Okay, meet you back at the site,” said Mac.

They rendezvoused at their original position, out of breath and experiencing an adrenaline rush from the action. They congratulated each other on the action and drank heavily from their Camelbacs.

“Let’s collect our gear and bail out of here,” said Mac. “They’re not done with us and this is a hot spot.”

“Up or down?”

“I think up. We can collect the rest of our gear up at the top and then go down the other side. Maybe we can commandeer a vehicle somewhere down in Ban Mae Sai. It’s too hot around Ban Hin Taek.”

“Sounds like a plan,” said Culler. “I could use a little rest, too. I don’t think they’ll be screwing with us anymore tonight…”

 

Chapter One Hundred-Thirty

 

 

As soon as Charly Blackburn got Vanquish into the van she hit the gas. He was turning white from loss of blood. He had to get medical attention soon or he would die. But first she had to get away.

The nearest hospital was in Chiang Rai, would he make it that far? She glanced over at him and told him to buckle up. He was holding his stomach. His shirt was soaked in blood. He looked over at her and smiled. She smiled back. Not good, she thought, he won’t make it that far.

Her mind spun and she remembered a small clinic in the center of Ban Hin Taek. If she could get him that far they could at least give him first aid to stop the bleeding, and maybe give him some blood.

She careened down the driveway from Khun Ut’s villa toward the main road. The side doors of the van were wide open and the wind rushed through like a hurricane. She was glad she made Vanquish buckle himself in because he rocked around like a ragdoll when she hit the curves on the narrow road.

The two guards at the gate looked up as she approached the guard shack at the intersection of the main road. They recognized the speeding security van and one of them started to raise the gate. Then the other one realized that something was not quite right and ordered the van to stop. The gate came back down with a thud.

Charly slowed momentarily, downshifted and then hit the gas when she approached the gate. She crashed through the gate and the two guards dove for safety.

She spun out onto the highway and made a hard right turn heading toward the center of town. She almost passed the large red and white cross sign on the left hand side of the road. She hit the brakes hard and spun the wheel sharply left into the gravel parking area in front of the clinic.

The van ground to a halt at the front entrance and she switched her attention to Vanquish. He appeared to have drifted off to sleep. His chin was resting on his chest and his head rolled back and forth like his neck was broken.

She jumped out of the van, stuffing the .357 magnum pistol into the back pocket of her jeans, and rushed around to the other side. She ripped the door open and unbuckled the Hmong, who fell limply out of the door and into her arms.

She cried out for help, but when no one came she eased Vanquish to the ground and ran into the clinic. She returned a few moments later with two men, a female nurse and a stretcher. She quickly explained that Vanquish had been shot and asked them to care for him. While he was being carried inside, she slammed the side doors shut, jumped back into the van and headed south, out of town.

Near the edge of town she saw the roadblock in the distance and knew she could not bully her way through it. She pulled off to the side of the road to think. Her mind raced. Where could she go? She was certain the other end of the road would be blocked as well.

And then she remembered. The Porter. The plane had been shot down and crashed on the mountainside across from Khun Ut’s villa. She had heard the staff talking about it and saw the smoke still coming from the site when she made her escape. Mac and Culler Santos were on the mountainside as well. Maybe…

She turned the van around on the highway and headed back toward the center of town, all the while scanning the mountainside up to her right for signs of the wreckage. Two Huey helicopters circled around in the distance on the side of the mountain. Surely they were looking for Culler and Mac.

It was almost dark and the looming black mountain made it difficult to see the smoke that would be still emanating from the wreckage.

She saw a small dirt road off to her right. An emergency vehicle and several other cars and trucks were parked at the base of the road near the highway. Her mind raced. Rescue workers, paramedics, firemen, maybe even American embassy or aviation officials might be up there at the site of the wreck. The Porter was an American owned plane…

She pulled off the road and parked next to the emergency vehicle. She opened the door and stood on the running board of the van, looking up the side of the mountain for signs of smoke or the wreckage. Nothing. Then she noticed what looked like a wisp of smoke about a mile from where she was standing. That’s got to be it.

She made a mental note of the location, sat back behind the wheel of the van and headed up the dirt road. She bounced and skidded up the rutted road, wanting to get as close to the location as possible. One of the Hueys passed overhead, causing her to duck instinctively.

The road ended about four hundred meters up at an old barn. Several cars, probably belonging to rescue workers and investigators working at the crash site, were parked in front. She pulled the van in and parked beside the other cars. She looked up at the mountain, got her bearings, and headed off on foot into the jungle in the direction of the wrecked Porter.

As she came close to the people, some in uniform, mostly civilian Lao and Thai, a Marine at the edge of the crowd happened to turn around. His face lit up when he saw her.

He stepped toward Charly and reached for her hand. But Charly stumbled and fell forward into his arms.

“Ma’am, I’m sure glad to see you.” He was flustered and embarrassed at holding a senior embassy officer in his arms. “Are you alright, Ma’am,” he said, trying to hold her at arms length.

Charly straightened up and smiled. “I’m fine, Corporal. I didn’t mean to attack you.” She brushed her hair back out of her eyes, which were welling up. The relief at feeling safe at last begin to hit her.

“Ma’am, you kind of look like shit.” He was immediately contrite. “I mean, I wasn’t, I mean…”

Charly laughed and grabbed the young embassy guard by the elbow. “I’m sure we both know exactly what you mean, Corporal. Let’s head down and get me back to the nearest safe phone.”

The Marine called over his shoulder, “Swanson, come with me and Miss Blackburn. Henricks, you and White stay here with the counsel. Don’t let ‘em out of your sight. And get ‘em out of this fucking jungle before dark.” He winced and pulled slightly away. “Jesus, I apologize, ma’am.”

Charly pulled him back to her side, as the other Marine joined them. “Get me out of this fucking jungle too, Corporal.”

 

Chapter One Hundred-Thirty-One

 

 

It was well after midnight when Culler and Mac arrived back near the top of the mountain where they had cached their excess gear. By all appearances, the search, at least on the mountainside, had been called off. The Hueys had returned to the villa and no other search parties had been deployed on the mountain – none that they could detect, anyway.

They were bone tired, dehydrated, and needed rest, food and drink. Mac spread out a green shelter sheet on the ground and the two men plopped down on it. They lay there, using their packs as pillows, looking up at the star filled sky.

Culler drank heavily from his Camelbac and munched on a power bar. “So what’s the plan now, general? Steal another car?”

“I don’t know. I can’t think any more. It’s a big mountain. I think we’re pretty safe as long as we stay under cover and away from the populated areas. I’m not worried about getting us out of here and back across the border into Laos. Colonel Sunthonwet is not the only friend I have in Northeast Thailand. We’ll get out okay.”

“Well, truth be told, I’m looking forward to getting back to Ft. Lauderdale and the routine work at GSR. I’ve had enough excitement for awhile. This is a comfortable spot. It’s cool, no bugs, nice breeze, I suggest we spend a relaxing evening right here, camping out under the moon and stars.”

Mac yawned, “You’re right. This is as good a place as any to rest up. I don’t think I could stand up anyway.”

“Me too. Do you think Charly and Vanquish made it out okay?”

“My guess is as good as yours. Vanquish didn’t look too good. I don’t know, maybe…”

Culler pulled more power bars from his backpack and tossed one over to Mac. “Well, there’s nothing more we can do for them. I’ll never forget the look on her face when she looked up at us and mouthed ‘thank you Mac.’ She knew we were here and she knew we could see her. That was truly amazing.”

“Yeah, gives me goosebumps. I hope they’re okay. Charly’s a ballsy woman. If anyone can make it out of there safely, she can. And if she makes it out okay, I guess you could say we accomplished everything we came here to do.”

“Yeah, that’s right. Even if Khun Ut recovers from his wound, I think he and his operation are finished. That mission has definitely been accomplished. Getting Charly and Vanquish out of harm’s way would be a real plus. I hope they make it, I really do…”

They lay there quietly, looking up at the stars, and slowly drifted off into deep, dreamless sleep.

 

Chapter One Hundred-Thirty-Two

 

Postscript

 

 

Khun Ut survived his gunshot wound, but the publicity over the shooting down of the CIA Porter, and the deaths that resulted from people using his heroin, ended his reign in the Golden Triangle.

On direct orders from the Thai Prime Minister, he was arrested at the hospital and brought to Bangkok where he was tried and convicted of heroin trafficking and multiple murders. He was sentenced to life in prison without the possibility of parole and was incarcerated in the infamous Bang Kwang maximum security prison on the banks of the Chao Phraya River north of Bankok.

Bang Kwang is called the “Big Tiger” by the Thais. It got the name because it ate all the people who entered it.

 

Ung Chea moved into Khun Ut’s mountain villa in Ban Hin Taek where he attempted to pick up the pieces of Khun Ut’s much diminished heroin business. With the distribution networks in shambles, he concentrated on the opium growing part of the business, selling the raw opium to other distributers.

 

Vanquish died quietly at the clinic in Ban Hin Taek moments after he was dropped off by Charly Blackburn. Months after his death a young American man appeared at the home of his widow and, without explanation, delivered an envelope containing $50,000 in cash. On the same day, another courier delivered a package containing $100,000 to Linda Peoples at her home.

 

Edwin Rothmann, the DDO, personally traveled to Chiang Mai to award Charly Blackburn the Distinguished Intelligence Cross, the CIA’s highest honor for extraordinary heroism.

 

Culler Santos and Harry MacMurphy walked out of the jungle two days later in Ban Mae Sai. They waited for the cover of darkness at the edge of the town and stole an old Toyota pickup truck parked behind a seedy apartment complex. Culler finally got to use his technical skills to hotwire the truck.

Early the next morning they ditched the pickup in a busy parking lot in Nong Khai, and Mac called an old contact of his who was engaged in smuggling all sorts of people and things back and forth between Laos and Thailand.

The smuggler took them across the Mekong River in a small fishing boat and then delivered them personally to the familiar Settha Palace Hotel where they relaxed for two days before flying back to Ft. Lauderdale.

They both looked forward to resuming a life of routine in the GSR offices, and hoped that Edwin Rothmann would not call again too soon.

 

Exactly one month after the shooting of Khun Ut, the seemingly unrelated murders of Police Colonel Chatchai Sunthonwet and former Police General Sawat Ruchupan were reported in the Thai press.

Sunthonwet had been shot once in the side of the head at close range while sitting alone in his police cruiser in downtown Nong Khai; Sawat was found floating face down in his swimming pool in Chiang Mai. His throat had been slashed.

There were no suspects in either killing.

 

 

******

 

 

 

Acknowledgments

 

 

From the time the first word hit a page to publication, my first novel, The Case Officer, was more than thirty years in the making. In that context, the writing of Plausible Denial was a snap.

The reason was because I learned so much from so many during that lengthy first writing.

Many of the same people who helped bring that first novel to print, at least in the final stages, also helped in the creation of the sequel.

One of these people – I really can’t remember who – told me long ago that it takes two things to be a successful fiction writer. First you must have something interesting to say, and second, you must be able to say it well.

Spending almost a quarter of a century in the CIA’s clandestine service certainly gave me lots of interesting things to write about, but telling these stories well required a lot of help from a lot of people with a lot more knowledge about the literary word than I possess.

So once again I want to thank my old friend Phil Jennings for his tutelage and fine editing skills; John O’Melveny Woods for his wizardry in bringing a well-designed book to print; David Smith for his masterful cover art work; and Bill and Richard Parker for their guidance on the use of sophisticated military arms and sniper gear.

And a special shout-out goes to Phil Noreen, the designer and manufacturer of the Noreen “Bad Boy” .338 Lapua semi-automatic sniper rifle, a photo of which is displayed on the back cover.

 

About the Author

 

 

F.W. Rustmann, Jr. is a twenty-four year veteran of the CIA’s Clandestine Service. He retired as a member of the elite Senior Intelligence Service (SIS), with the equivalent rank of major general. One of his assignments was as an instructor at the CIA’s legendary covert training facility, “the Farm.” After retiring from the CIA, he founded CTC International Group, Inc., a pioneer in the field of business intelligence and a recognized leader in the industry. His numerous articles on intelligence and counterintelligence have appeared in the Baltimore Sun, Miami Herald, Palm Beach Post, Newsmax and elsewhere. He has been frequently quoted and interviewed in many national and international publications including Time Magazine, USA Today, New York Times, New York Daily News, Far East Economic Review, CNN, FNN, Reuters, Newsmax and the Associated Press, among others. He is the author of the best selling non-fiction book CIA, Inc.: Espionage and the Craft of Business Intelligence, and the novel, The Case Officer. He lives in Palm Beach, Florida.