Missions from the Extinction Cycle (Volume 1)

by Mark Tufo

  That would be Nick and Cody, Hal thought, confirming Sunan’s impression that their murders hadn’t been committed by the same perp.

  “They were friends of Kyle’s. The sergeant.”

  “Sorry. Still doesn’t ring any bells.”

  “Are there any photos of the killer you know of?”

  “I can’t answer that for you. Sorry. I don’t know, but I assume there have to be.”

  Hal spent five more minutes picking Doc’s brain, but learned little more. Doc was fading by the time Hal decided to call it quits, and was getting visibly anxious as the drug left his system.

  “Really ought to think about shaking the monkey off your back,” Hal said.

  “Yeah. It’s occurred to me. At some point my savings will run out, but my organs will probably go first.” He paused. “I was diagnosed with stage four prostate cancer about the time our man went missing. There’s no cure.”

  Hal swallowed hard. “I…”

  “Don’t judge those whose shoes you haven’t walked in, son. We all have our burdens. Now leave me in peace, would you? Your buddy probably drank my damned beer, too. Figures.”

  Hal nodded and stood. “Anything else you can tell me?”

  Doc looked up at him with a hunted expression. “If you see him, kill him—or he’ll rip your heart out and eat it without a second thought. He’s relentless, and…he’s not a man anymore.” Doc paused, seeming to consider his words. “Kill him and do the world a favor. I wish I’d had the balls to give him a hot shot when I had the chance.” He closed his eyes and sat back. “Now get out of here and let me be.”

  — 13 —

  Hal filled Sunan in on what he’d learned on the way to the police station, omitting the part about the VX-99 because of security concerns, and instead painted the escaped killer as a lunatic with the strength of five men. Sunan absorbed Hal’s report in silence and, when he was done, had a few pointed questions.

  “I don’t understand why the Americans would have this man as a prisoner and allow him to escape.”

  “Mistakes were made. It happened. That’s all we care about,” Hal deflected.

  “And now he’s out there, killing other Americans.”

  “Thais as well. We can’t be sure.”

  “That’s my line.” Sunan frowned. “We need full disclosure from your military. He’s one of yours. We need their help tracking him down.”

  “I agree, but I’m not running the show. I’ll have to talk to the colonel. Worst case, I can try going over his head.” Hal didn’t mention the classified experimentation that would limit any cooperation from the U.S. side.

  “We need everything they have on him.”

  “I understand. I’ll do the best I can,” Hal said, hating the assurances he knew could well be false, but having no viable alternative under the circumstances.

  Sunan seemed to intuit Hal’s reluctance to discuss the matter further, and the tension in the vehicle on the way back to Sunan’s headquarters was thick as fog. Halfway to the station, the dash radio crackled and a voice called out Sunan’s vehicle number in Thai.

  He reached for the mic and listened, crestfallen, as the voice spoke in crisp sentences. Sunan responded and barked instructions, and then reseated the mic and looked at Hal.

  “Aranya’s been murdered. The housekeeper found her. Sounds like our man.”

  “Jesus,” Hal managed, an image of the young woman’s face springing to mind.

  “We need to head over there.”

  Hal nodded. “Of course.”

  The trip to Aranya’s apartment seemed to last forever, both men lost in thought. When they arrived, the now-familiar cordon was in place, and police vehicles on the street were blocking the curb.

  The scene in the apartment was as bad as they’d feared, and Hal swallowed back sour bile that rose in his throat at the sight of the mutilated young beauty, now nearly unrecognizable in a rust-colored lake of dried blood, her face broken and her throat torn out. Sunan went about his work with determined precision as Hal stood by the small kitchen, the forensic technicians waiting with him as the inspector studied the scene.

  He bagged the keys and walked to the nearest tech. “You get photos of the footprints?”

  “Yes. The entire apartment, as usual.”

  Sunan handed her the keys. “See if you can pull prints.”

  “Will do.”

  Hal caught his eye. Sunan leaned into him. “Not much we can do here. But it’s definitely him.”

  “Why would he come after her? She’s not American…”

  “Maybe we’ve been misinterpreting something. Or maybe the Americans are only his latest victims. Who knows how many hill people simply disappeared without a trace?”

  It was a chilling thought. Sunan threw a final glance at Aranya’s remains and strode to the front door. A uniformed officer stopped Sunan and whispered something in his ear, and the inspector nodded and moved out into the hall with Hal, where a woman in her seventies was standing with her hand over her heart, her face so deeply lined she more resembled a Shar-Pei than a human.

  “Tell me what you told the officer,” Sunan instructed, after introducing himself and flashing his badge.

  The woman spoke for a minute in barely audible Thai. Sunan interrupted several times and, when she finished, jotted some notes and read them back to her. She nodded, eyes frightened, and Sunan excused her. She went back into her apartment and closed the door, and Sunan motioned to Hal to follow him out of earshot from the officers. At the end of the hall, where the emergency exit to a balcony was taped off for later attention by the techs, he stopped and turned to Hal.

  “She said she thought she heard a scream last night, but couldn’t be sure—thought it might have been her ears playing tricks on her or something blowing loose and screeching outside from the storm. Patio furniture.”

  “What time?”

  “About eleven. So not that late.”

  “She didn’t think to call the police?”

  “She’s old. She didn’t want to call and have it turn out to be nothing. I can understand.”

  “So she didn’t see anything?”

  Sunan shook his head. “No. Not last night, anyway.”

  Hal studied Sunan’s face. “What does that mean?”

  “It means that Aranya apparently wasn’t exclusive with her charms. The old lady, like many her age, is a snoop. Her pastime is watching the street outside. I asked her about visitors, and she said Aranya had a young, colored boyfriend who came fairly often, usually on weekends, sometimes with a couple of white friends.”

  “That would be Kyle and his buddies.”

  “I assume so. But this is where it gets interesting. She also said that there’s another man who predates Aranya’s fling with Kyle. An older man, white, who’s been seeing her since she moved in. Not as regularly, but at least a couple to three times a week.”

  Hal blinked. “Older? How old? Could it be…Doc?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Hal scowled at Sunan. “Spit it out. What did she say?”

  “That he usually wore a uniform. An officer’s uniform, she thought. And that he was maybe fifty, and fit. Looked like a professional soldier, she said.”

  Hal gaped at Sunan, processing the words, and then his expression clouded and he turned toward the apartment.

  “Get me to the base. Now.”

  — 14 —

  Hal brushed past the startled aide and marched to the colonel’s office, ignoring the younger man’s protests. He knocked on the door, containing his urge to throw it open unannounced, and only swung it wide when the colonel called out.

  “Yes?”

  Hal entered and stood in front of the colonel’s desk, eyes blazing. The colonel regarded him as though he’d landed in a spaceship.

  “Have you lost your mind, Shaw?” he snapped.

  “There’s been another murder. Three, actually, since we last spoke.”

  The colonel’s face didn’t c
hange. “And when did that authorize you to barge in on a superior officer and show such contempt for protocol?”

  “One of them was Aranya.”

  Hal watched the colonel’s eyes, which momentarily seemed to lose focus as he slowly lowered the pen in his hand to the desk and sat back.

  “What are you talking about?” the colonel stammered.

  “Her neighbor identified an older officer who visited her regularly. She described you.”

  “This is preposterous,” Hedges growled.

  Hal held his ground. “I can have her identify you out of a lineup.”

  Hedges’ outrage collapsed. “I…tell me what happened.”

  “No. That’s not how this is going to work. You’re going to tell me the truth. Everything. No more dancing around it and hiding behind need to know.” Hal paused. “I also talked to Doc.”

  “Then why do you need to hear it from me?”

  “Humor me. Or we can do this in a more formal setting. One call to the general and we both know you’ll be relieved of your command, and then this will become official.”

  The colonel regarded Hal with new appreciation, his breathing shallow. Beads of sweat had suddenly appeared on his forehead in spite of the frigid temperature.

  “I was seeing Aranya. There’s no law against that.” He hesitated. “I kept it secret because I have a wife and kids back home. Surely you can understand that.”

  Hal nodded, unwilling to say anything that might disrupt the colonel’s admission now that it had started.

  “She was a doll. I can’t imagine why anyone would hurt her. She was harmless.”

  “The same killer who butchered Kyle did it. Your man. Corporal Kendrick.”

  Hedges looked shocked. “How…how can you be sure?”

  “The body’s in the same condition as the others. There’s no doubt.”

  “I don’t understand. Why would he go after her? That makes no sense.”

  Hal decided to deliver a body blow. “She was seeing Kyle.”

  The colonel’s expression melted like wax before a flame. He looked away from Hal and nodded.

  “I had my suspicions. She was young. It’s not entirely a surprise.”

  “Kyle was dealing drugs. Or smuggling them. Which you know. He was getting the heroin you used to keep Kendrick under control.”

  “You have it wrong. He was chartered with obtaining medical supplies—heroin—for the prisoner’s containment. He wasn’t smuggling. It was aboveboard.”

  “He was buying twenty kilos at a time, a couple of shipments a week.”

  The colonel’s eyes widened. “You think Kendrick is killing them for heroin?”

  “No, I’m informing you that there was, or still is, a major heroin ring operating on this base.”

  “What does that have to do with Kendrick, then?”

  “Maybe nothing. But it’s the common link between many of the victims so far.”

  “How were the first two involved in this ring you assume was operating?”

  “I don’t know all the details.”

  “Well, if there was a ring, it sounds like Kendrick did us a favor by eliminating them.”

  “Tell me everything about him. Don’t leave anything out. Start with how you captured him.”

  The colonel rambled for ten minutes, his thoughts clearly scattered as he absorbed the news about Aranya. Kendrick had been living east of Pattaya in the lower hills, living off animals and occasionally butchering a farmer. Several people had sighted him, and the U.S. military had been called in when it had become clear that it was an American committing the atrocities. A search had been mounted, and he’d eventually been run to ground using local trackers and dogs, and he had been sedated with tranquilizer darts before being taken into custody at the base.

  Military intelligence had stepped in and determined that its best interests lay in keeping him well away from the U.S., where he’d have constitutional protections, and decided to keep him on ice in Thailand until they figured out a longer term plan. The heroin had kept him docile, but they’d misjudged his intelligence, and he’d given them the slip early one morning and disappeared.

  “He killed a guard,” Hal stated flatly. “How did you cover that up?”

  “Died in the line of duty. The family never suspected a thing.”

  Hal’s lips compressed and his jaw clenched. “You’ve endangered lives by not telling me the truth before.”

  “I was under orders from higher up to contain this and limit any discussion with you to what was essential to finding Kendrick.” Hedges paused. “You said you found Doc?”

  Hal nodded. “He’s dying.”

  “Could he have been involved in Kendrick’s escape?”

  “Not that I can tell. But you’ve got a bigger problem. If Kendrick is a tracker and he’s become fixated on following the chain through to the people responsible for his capture and imprisonment, you could be the next link.”

  “What do you mean? Aranya wasn’t involved in any of that.”

  “She was with Kyle. A key to her front door was found by her body. Kendrick must have gotten it from Kyle. If he’s crazy and fixated, he might be killing everyone he comes across with any connection. Which, given your role in this, and especially since you’ve been at the apartment numerous times, could put you in the crosshairs.”

  “That’s…that’s impossible,” the colonel said, but his voice betrayed his doubt.

  “For your sake, you better hope it is.”

  Hedges frowned. “That sounds like a threat.”

  “I don’t make threats. But if you’ve left anything out, it could well be your ass on the line, so best think long and hard about coming clean.” Hal paused. “Sir.”

  Five more minutes of interrogation and Hal was done. He stormed from the office, his dislike of the colonel threatening to tip him over the line into insubordination territory. It would do no good to have the man sabotaging his efforts behind his back, and he needed to maintain his focus on catching Kendrick, so Hal checked his rage at the colonel’s posturing and made for his quarters to restock on money and strap on his sidearm—after trips to opium dens, meetings with gangsters, and near misses with killers, it seemed prudent to be armed.

  He changed his shirt, which was soaked through, and then marched to the gate, where Sunan had again been barred entry by the petty Thai guards, the roar of jets preparing for takeoff on the tarmac a reminder that only a few hundred miles away a war was being waged by the most powerful military in the world against a collection of peasants with only rusty AKs.

  — 15 —

  Sunan eyed Hal from beside the truck, taking in his pistol and the angry expression on his face. “Well?”

  “He admitted to it, but it doesn’t really get us any further along than we were.”

  “What exactly did he say, and how did he react?”

  Hal gave him a report. Sunan listened quietly, but interrupted him toward the end, his eyes excited.

  “Say that again,” he demanded.

  “He was living east of Pattaya and had killed a few peasants that they know of.”

  “No. That’s not what you said.”

  Hal appeared confused. “Yes, it is. He was living off livestock and killing peasants. How does that help us?”

  “Livestock. That would be cows, right?”

  “I assume so.”

  Sunan swore in Thai and opened the truck door. He reached in for the mic and slid behind the wheel to start the engine.

  “What is it?” Hal asked.

  “I need to talk to my subordinate.”

  “Why?”

  “Before Kyle’s murder, we received a call from a farmer in a rural community halfway between here and Pattaya. Several of his cows had gone missing.”

  Hal immediately understood the curse. “Did you investigate?”

  Sunan keyed the mic. “That’s what I intend to find out.”

  After several false starts, Sunan reached Panit at the station. He ra
ttled off a string of questions and, when he was satisfied with the answers, turned to Hal with a grim expression.

  “The farm is about ten kilometers from here, near Bang Sare. Panit took down the farmer’s complaint, but there wasn’t much there. Two missing cows. It could be nothing.”

  “The location’s suspicious. And it fits his prior MO.”

  “Which is why we’re going to talk to the farmer in person,” Sunan agreed, and rolled away, the air conditioner laboring to cool the cab against the oppressive heat of the afternoon sun.

  The farmer’s plot was a lush green spread with a two-bedroom shack near what passed for a road. Several toddlers covered in mud were playing in the front yard and stared up at Sunan and Hal as though they were giants. Sunan asked the oldest looking where his father was, and the little boy pointed to the fields and said something unintelligible. Sunan thanked him and they set off along a trail that snaked through the expanse, hopeful they’d find the farmer in short order.

  A crane flapped into the sky from nearby with a rush of wings, startling Hal. Sunan was unaffected and continued plodding east until the trail ended at a small stream that bisected the property. Hal looked around and saw nothing but elephant grass stretching in every direction.

  “Now what?” he asked.

  “He’s got to be around here somewhere.”

  “It’s a big spread.”

  “We can follow the creek and see where it leads.”

  “Wouldn’t it be smarter to wait at the house?”

  An hour later, no farmer in sight, they slogged back to the shack, their clothing dripping with sweat. Sunan started the truck engine and they sat drinking water, waiting for the man to put in an appearance. They were rewarded for their patience as the sun began its descent when the farmer came into view, a machete in one hand. The children went running to him and the little boy pointed at the truck. The farmer eyed it and strolled toward the vehicle as Sunan and Hal stepped out into the heat.

  Sunan introduced himself and showed the farmer his badge, and then a long discussion ensued, with the farmer doing most of the talking, becoming more agitated as he spoke, motioning with the machete at the distant tree line. Sunan frowned toward the end and looked to Hal, who was pretending interest even though he wasn’t following a word.