Drake nodded, suddenly exhausted by the adrenaline leaving his system after sustained anticipation. “Maybe we’ll spot it tomorrow.” He looked off into the near distance and pointed to a pair of karst peaks. “Is that our valley?”
“Yep.”
Two holes suddenly appeared in the left wing, and Joe cursed as he twisted the plane right. Drake stared at the holes as the turn’s g-force pressed him back into the seat, Joe urging the plane higher as fast as it would climb. “Are those…did somebody just shoot at us?”
Joe nodded grimly. “Looks that way to me.”
“I thought you said everybody knows you.”
“They do. But not everyone likes me. Hang on,” he said, and jerked the plane to the left as he continued to ascend. “Don’t want to be an easy target.”
Drake closed his eyes. The easy flight was now a nightmare as Joe twisted and turned the plane for all he was worth. When the plane steadied, he opened them and checked the altimeter – they were at six thousand feet.
“That should take care of that. They won’t want to waste any ammo now.”
“They actually hit us.”
“Probably had to empty a full magazine to do it.”
Drake took another fearful look at the bullet holes, and then his gaze drifted down to the canopy, obviously dangerous even from the air. His mind wandered to the memory of the helicopter plunge as his eyes traced a line, following the natural curve of the stream ahead. He was turning to speak to Joe again when something winked in the fading sunlight. His words caught in his throat and he sat up straighter in the uncomfortable seat. There it was again. It wasn’t his imagination.
Drake stiffened and grabbed Joe’s arm. Joe turned in surprise as Drake’s grip tightened. Drake raised the glasses again as Joe pulled free of his hand.
“What is it?” Joe demanded.
Drake stared through the binoculars for a long beat and then lowered them, his eyes glued to the stream.
“I see something.”
Chapter 30
Allie paced near the airstrip while Uncle Pete taught Spencer some Thai words, delighted at the American’s mispronunciations. Spencer was good-natured about the ribbing he was receiving, pausing to occasionally protest that he used to have a rudimentary command of things like greetings.
“Maybe brain soft? Drinky drinky? Or smoke?”
“No. I just didn’t file it away in my permanent banks.”
Uncle Pete’s brow beetled. “You got bank?”
“Not like that. Memory banks.”
“Farangs got bank for memory?”
“Never mind.”
Thunder boomed as the storm neared and Allie looked to the sky, worried. The clouds, purple and gunmetal gray in the waning light, were almost on top of them now, pregnant with rain and pulsing with lightning. Another explosion echoed from the hills, and she shook her head. “They’re never going to make it.”
Their heads swiveled in unison as Joe’s plane appeared from the west, buzzed over the runway, and then executed a tight turn before diving for the dirt strip. The Cessna was a flyspeck against the looming backdrop of the massive roiling clouds, and moments after it touched down, the near hills disappeared behind a gray curtain of heavy rain.
They ran to the plane as it coasted to a stop near the hut. The motor fell quiet and the air was filled with the sound and fury of nature. Joe and Drake jumped from the plane, and Joe jogged toward them.
“Never mind the netting. We can put it on later.”
“Allie, we found it!” Drake cried triumphantly.
“The plane? You did?”
He nodded and said something that was drowned out by another deep explosion of thunder.
“What?” Allie yelled as the first heavy raindrops began falling around them, the sporadic drops almost instantly transforming into opaque sheets. Joe led them at a run toward the village and they struggled to keep up; the older man was considerably spryer than his age would suggest. Allie slipped and went down in the mud, and Spencer helped her up with an unceremonious pull on her arm.
When they reached the huts, they darted inside the one Spencer and Allie had slept in, while Joe continued on to his. All four of them stood dripping as the downpour intensified, the thunder now nearly continuous and the air crisp with ozone from nearby lightning strikes. Allie sank to the wood floor with a sigh. Drake flopped beside her and pushed a wet lock of her hair from her eyes, and she gave him a tired smile. Spencer sat across from them, while Uncle Pete chose to remain standing, leaning against a wall, eyes locked on the deluge outside.
“I said I found it. I saw it out of the corner of my eye. It was so weird. One minute we’re doing evasive maneuvers and the next, there it is. I wouldn’t have spotted it if we hadn’t gone so much higher. From lower we’d have had to be right on top of it. So strange – I mean, if the sun hadn’t been at that exact angle, and we hadn’t climbed like we did…”
“Go back…evasive maneuvers?” Spencer asked.
“Oh. Yeah. We got shot. The plane took at least two rounds. Joe said he’d check it tomorrow, once it stops raining.”
“Wait – someone shot at you?” Spencer demanded.
“Apparently it happens around here,” Drake said. “We’re okay, don’t worry. The important thing is that we found the crash site. Joe thought the rain should fade by morning.”
Uncle Pete looked to the sky. “Storm over in few hours, tops.”
Drake mopped his forehead with a wet sleeve. “Hope you’re right.”
“I right.”
“Where’s the plane, exactly?” Spencer asked.
“It looks like it crashed in a small stream. Or maybe that’s just where it wound up. Hard to tell. We had to get back because of the storm.” Drake hesitated. “Joe set a waypoint. He said we could find it again.”
“Is it near the Mekong?”
“Not really – more like forty or so miles, at least. But you can see our two peaks from it. The temple site.”
“How far is it from there?” Allie asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe two or three miles?”
Spencer eyed him. “Let’s get back to someone shooting at you.”
“Joe says this territory is in play. Being disputed by a new drug gang. They’ve carved out a chunk and successfully held off the Shan Army, who doesn’t seem that interested in it, except on principle.”
“I suppose you’ve seen one jungle, you’ve seen them all,” Spencer said.
“Guess so. Joe says they’ve set up a meth factory and are pretty well armed. Hundreds of men. Most ex-Shan, so they know each other’s tricks. It’s a standoff right now.”
Allie sat back. “Great. So both the plane and the valley are in this group’s territory?”
“Joe thinks so, but he says the situation’s fluid. It’s more like they’re in a no-man’s land between the two areas. Shan to the north, the splinter faction to the south.”
“And us in the middle. This just gets better and better,” Spencer said.
They sat wordlessly as the storm tore at the thatched roof, and Allie and Drake dozed while Spencer joined Uncle Pete in watching the downpour. After an hour the intensity lessened, and in another half hour the rain had stopped completely. Uncle Pete grinned like he’d just won a marathon and gave Spencer a high five.
Minutes later Joe’s voice called from outside the doorway. “Phone’s charged.”
Allie and Drake awoke and eyed the opening groggily. Allie stood and moved to the threshold. Joe approached, the phone in hand. “Hate to let this baby go. It’s a vintage piece. Collector’s item.”
“You mean relic,” Allie said.
“He means worthless pile of old junk,” Drake corrected.
“Such a downer, man,” Joe said. “Turn that frown upside down. Hey, I know. You want some weed? Put you in touch with your higher energy.”
“Pretty sure I just need some sleep,” Drake said.
“This stuff’s killer. I mean, like, ‘wh
oa, whose hands are these attached to my arms’ kind of otherworldly high,” Joe persisted. “Takes it to a whole ’nother level.”
Drake shook his head. “I’m holding out for the heroin.”
Joe made a face. “That’s mean stuff, dude. Sledgehammer to the back of the head.”
“I’ve heard.”
“Oh, I get it. You’re F-ing with me.” Joe chuckled. “That’s cool. Remember Buddha was always smiling.”
“Maybe he was wincing because he had gas,” Spencer said, and Uncle Pete snorted.
“The cosmos is absurd, it’s true. But beautiful, man. You should take some time to appreciate it.” Joe handed over the phone and battery. “By the way, when you power it on, might not want to talk too long. And once you’re done, turn it off and remove the battery right away.”
Drake frowned. “Why? Is the battery that much of a dud?”
“Nah, it’s primo. More the phone. I mean, it’s probably nothing. The dude I bought it from said it might be a little hot, that’s all.”
“Hot? As in stolen?”
“I wouldn’t traffic in stolen goods, young man,” Joe said, his tone serious. “No, apparently he had a disagreement with some government or other and narrowly missed being taken out by a drone strike. He thinks they triangulated the phone chip. But that was probably just a story, you know? Everybody likes a good story. I’m pretty sure it’s fine.”
Drake eyed the phone like it was a scorpion. “You are frigging joking, right?”
Joe shrugged. “You wanted a bargain, dude, and hot deals always have strings. Nothing in life’s free, kid. Just don’t stay on the call too long, and pull the battery as soon as you can – and just to be safe, might want to go down the trail a ways before plugging it in. Not that there’s anything to worry about.” Joe smiled. “And send positive vibes. Don’t worry, be happy.”
They watched Joe shuffle off through the mud, whistling to himself, and Spencer shook his head. “Drone strike? Can that be for real?”
“Who is this guy?” Drake asked. Allie slid the battery into place with a snick and powered the phone on. The signal was moderately strong. She handed the phone to Uncle Pete and told him to make the call from the airstrip. The little Thai stepped down into the mud and disappeared into the jungle. Drake turned to Allie when he was gone. “Once he gets back, I want to talk to Collins. This is not what we signed up for at all.”
“What? You’re going to let a little Shan Army and some drug lords keep you from the temple?” Spencer teased.
“I’m serious. They shot at the plane. We could have been killed.”
“Well, let’s see what he says, but remember that Christine – if she’s alive – has now been out there for a week,” Spencer said. “I have a feeling he’s going to insist we investigate the wreckage immediately. We’re her only chance.”
“It’s not worth risking our lives for,” Drake insisted. He was looking at Allie, and it was obvious he was intent on protecting her from harm.
“True. Maybe our new best buddy Joe will have some ideas,” Allie said.
Drake shook his head. “Right. Mr. Super Bong is going to lead us to victory.”
“He did find the plane, and we narrowed the valley down to the one in Myanmar.”
Spencer nodded. “I agree with Drake: it’s dangerous. But I also know how the agency works. If we’re this close, there’s no way they’re going to let us turn back. Remember that we’re the only ones with the permits, and those are ostensibly to search for the temple. If we turn our backs on this, the girl’s dead.”
“She’s probably dead already,” Drake stated flatly. “We’ve gotten a sense of how bad the jungle is. She crashed in it at night. Let’s be honest, at least among ourselves.”
Allie sighed. “The difference between ‘probably’ and ‘not’ is the difference between thinking you’re pregnant and being pregnant,” Allie said softly. “Might not matter to anyone else, but it matters a hell of a lot to the baby and the mom.”
Drake remembered the discussion with Christine’s mother, and his tone softened. “Yeah, you’re right. We gave our word to Ms. Blakely we’d see this through. I just don’t want to risk anyone’s life to keep that promise.”
Uncle Pete returned. He passed the phone to Allie, who handed it to Drake. “Do what you think best, Drake. For what it’s worth, I think you made the right call when you agreed to this.”
Spencer stepped aside so Drake could pass. “I’m not big on altruism, but Allie’s got a point. We didn’t say we’d do our best unless it got dangerous; we agreed to the terms, and the CIA did its part and got us the permits. Seems like a deal’s a deal, even if the deal sucks for us now. I bet that’s what Collins says.”
“Collins isn’t risking his life.”
“True.” Spencer exhaled and met Drake’s stare. “It’s also true that I need the money this treasure could mean, Drake. So maybe I’m more motivated to make it work. I’m not dissing you in any way, but if you walk from this, you’re still set. My life’s more of a question mark, so I’m in, no matter what.”
“You’d continue even if I pulled the plug?”
“Cornered rats fight harder.”
“You’re not a rat. And the hedge fund still has your money, remember?”
“That’s what they say. But when you ask someone to hold your wallet, and they agree but then come up with fifty reasons you can’t have it back? Not a good sign.” Spencer looked at Allie. “Ever.”
Ten minutes went by agonizingly slowly, and Allie’s lids were growing heavy when Drake reappeared, his jaw set in grim determination. He removed the battery from the phone and sat down on the mat next to Allie, took her hand in his, and looked her in the eyes.
“They want us to get going at first light.”
“And you said?”
Drake squeezed her hand, his gaze unflinching.
“We’re going in.”
Chapter 31
Reggie Waters rolled over on the mat he was trying to sleep on and waved away a mosquito with a listless hand. The persistent insect ignored the feeble gesture and landed on his lip, the one spot Reggie hadn’t slathered with insect repellent. Reggie stirred as the mosquito crept to a promising area and drove its long proboscis into the tender flesh. The sting of the forced entry woke Reggie fully and he sat up. The mosquito took flight, its search for nourishing blood aborted at the unexpected jarring.
He cursed quietly and his eyes drifted to where his bag rested on the flattened grass, his satellite phone atop it. Blinking, signaling that he’d missed a call.
Reggie swore again, this time audibly, and retrieved the phone. His Seiko dive watch showed that it was almost seven a.m. The sun was still too low on the horizon to really penetrate the overhead canopy, and his jungle encampment was still dark with shadows. He pushed away the rain poncho he’d jury-rigged over his head to shelter himself from the rain and checked the time of the call.
Calls.
Beginning at eleven the prior night, he’d received one call per hour thereafter. Reggie had set the phone to vibrate lest its warble draw the attention of predators – his Laotian guide had refused to stay with him overnight and warned him that he was in drug-gang territory, so to be discreet. They’d agree to rendezvous this morning at eight, but Reggie had his doubts as to whether the boat captain would reappear – even though he’d only collected half the promised money, he was alive to spend it, whereas the odds apparently declined the further north on the Mekong he pushed.
He thumbed the phone to active status and stood – he’d need to find a clearing for decent reception. He hurriedly dismantled his camp and shouldered his bag, the phone in one hand, an ancient Browning 9mm pistol the captain had sold him for five times the going rate in the other, and set off toward the river, which was a few hundred yards west.
Reggie had only made it thirty yards when he heard voices and smelled tobacco smoke. He crouched in the brush and stayed motionless, recalling the captain’s words.
“Plenty bad guy working river. Not safe.”
“Right, but on the Laos side, there’s a dirt road that parallels the river, and enough traffic to and from the farms, so it’s probably okay, isn’t it?”
The captain had shaken his head. “No work that way. Drug gang run that part Laos. Bad news. Farmers pay protection. But druggies everywhere. Plenty guns. Shoot first, no ask questions. Many disappear there.”
“What about the Myanmar side?”
“Worse. Even Laos druggies scared of Myanmar.”
Reggie glanced down at the peashooter that was his only defense and then back to the trail ahead. The captain had explained that if the dirt road was dangerous, the trails were worse – that’s where the caravans of beasts of burden laden with sacks of candy-coated methamphetamine tablets, referred to as yaba, worked their way south, accompanied by heavily armed traffickers who would kill anyone they encountered.
A procession of Laotians came into view, their AKs unmistakable even through the dense vegetation. They were leading a half-dozen mules carrying packs heavy with yaba bound for the metropolitan areas of Thailand, where the meth and caffeine blend was the most popular drug in the country, especially among sex workers and in the thriving nightclub scene. Reggie shrank back and willed himself to blend in with the darkened jungle – as lethal as he was, his odds against six automatic rifles were nil.
The men didn’t seem to be expecting trouble, though, judging by their chatter and the cigarettes. Reggie wasn’t sure whether to find it reassuring or troubling that they seemed so unconcerned. While it meant that they were less likely to have their antennae finely tuned, it also spoke to the security they must feel – reinforcing that, as the captain had warned, they were a law unto themselves.
Reggie remained still as the column filed past his hiding place, and was ready to issue a sigh of relief when one of the mules snorted in alarm, its eyes focused on where he crouched. Reggie silently did the math on the number of rounds in his pistol and, at thirty to forty yards, the likelihood of being able to hit all the men before they could turn their higher power weapons on him. Even though he was a marksman whose accuracy was far above the norm, one semiautomatic handgun against a hail of fully auto fire was suicide.
Emerald Buddha (Drake Ramsey Book 2) Page 18