Emerald Buddha (Drake Ramsey Book 2)

by Russell Blake

  The gunman’s body rolled several meters down the slope, a bullet hole in the center of his forehead, and Drake’s voice whispered urgently, “Uncle Pete. Can you make it up here?”

  “I…no.”

  “Hang on.”

  Several moments passed, and then a coil of nylon line snaked down to Uncle Pete.

  “Tie it around your waist, and I’ll help you climb the slope.”

  “Gun…”

  “Leave it. Just do as I say.”

  Uncle Pete fumbled the cord around his waist and seemed to take forever to cinch it with a crude knot. When he was finished, he nodded to Drake, who was dividing his time between watching the trail and the fallen Thai. Drake took up the slack and began winding the rope around his own waist by turning, since the gun he was holding prevented him from hauling it hand-over-hand.

  Uncle Pete scrambled for footing against the pull, and slowly, inch by painful inch, ascended the steep grade. When he reached the top, he looked down at the dead Red Moon gunman and scooped up his AK. Drake grimaced when he saw Uncle Pete’s shoulder, and was about to say something when Joe appeared on the trail, his gun pointed at Drake’s head.

  Drake’s eyes widened in shock at the sight. He sputtered as he brought his weapon to bear, but he was too late.

  Joe’s weapon barked twice.

  Another Red Moon gunman dropped behind Uncle Pete. Drake’s heart skipped when he realized how close he’d come to being killed, and then Joe opened fire again as he yelled at Drake. “Run. There’s more of them coming.”

  Drake and Uncle Pete made for Joe, but the rope binding them together slowed them. When they reached a grove of trees, Drake untied the knot and unwound the line from Uncle Pete’s waist as Joe continued shooting behind them. “Can you make it?” Drake demanded as bullets whined around them.

  “Maybe. Pull arm.”

  Drake nodded and grabbed Uncle Pete’s forearm. The Thai winced, took a deep breath, and closed his eyes. Drake set his gun down and, using his right foot against Uncle Pete’s chest, pulled as hard as he could. Uncle Pete screamed as the shoulder joint popped back into place, and then fainted, falling to the ground as Joe arrived.

  “Hand me your gun. Mine’s empty,” Joe said, and contemplated the limp form of Uncle Pete. “Pick him up, or he’s dead meat.”

  Drake gave Joe his rifle and gathered Uncle Pete in his arms. The Thai was surprisingly light, little more than skin and bones. Joe retrieved Uncle Pete’s dropped AK and handed it to Drake. “Looks like at least a dozen more moving up the trail,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “I’ll hold them off as long as I can to give you a running start, but we’re going to have to make a stand eventually.”

  “Why not here?”

  Joe shook his head. “Our odds will be better the further we get into Shan territory. If we all open up on them at once, they might rethink how badly they want to continue the chase. Look out.” Joe leaned out from behind the tree he was using for cover and fired again, and a man grunted no more than fifty yards away. “Get going.”

  Drake pushed through the brush, avoiding the open trail, as Joe continued shooting. A branch struck Uncle Pete in the shoulder and he stirred. His breathing deepened and he moaned, and then patted Drake’s back. “Put down. I run okay.”

  “You sure?” Drake asked, continuing without slowing.

  “I try.”

  “Okay.”

  Drake veered right around a banyan tree before stopping and bending over to let the guide down. The shooting was still sounding from behind them, and Drake leaned into Uncle Pete. “Follow me.”

  They set off at a good clip, and in a couple of minutes were back on the trail. Drake stopped near a rock outcropping and eyed Uncle Pete. “Did you see Spencer and Allie?”

  Uncle Pete shook his head. “No. Think they ahead.”

  “Right, but where?”

  The guide shrugged. More gunfire rang out from where they’d left Joe, and then it stopped. Drake heard footfalls hurrying toward them and raised his rifle. Joe appeared from around the bend, moving fast. When he reached them, he was breathing hard, his shirt soaked with sweat. “Let’s get moving,” he whispered.

  “Where are Spencer and Allie?” Drake asked.

  “I thought they’d be waiting for us.”

  “So you have no idea?”

  The sound of shooting greeted them from their right. Drake caught Joe’s eye. “If that’s Spencer, we need to help them, Joe.”

  Joe nodded just as the shooting stopped. “Question is, where are they?” He cocked his head, listening. “And how do we avoid getting killed in the process of coming to the rescue?”

  Drake pointed in the direction where the last shots had rung out. “We need to do something.”

  Joe tilted his head at Uncle Pete. “He’s not going to be a lot of help, so it’s really just the two of us. And we’ve got, what, one more magazine between us? Not trying to be a downer, but that’s not much firepower.”

  “They’re my friends. If you won’t help them, I’ll do it alone.”

  Joe sighed. “You’re stubborn. Anyone ever tell you that?”

  “We’re wasting time, Joe. You in or out?”

  “Crap. Fine. Let’s do this.” Joe set off in the rough direction of the last shots. The going was tough, there being no trail, and they were forced to press through the tangle of vines and branches until they came to a small open area. A dead gunman lay on one side of the clearing. Joe darted over and retrieved the man’s weapon, his eyes on the surroundings, and then froze.

  Drake did the same when he followed Joe’s gaze to where a crimson smear of blood colored a thicket of bamboo. Uncle Pete moved slowly to the spot, knelt down, and then rose with something in his hand. Drake looked at it and his heart sank. It was Allie’s green bandana.

  Drake moved to where Joe was still scanning the brush, his gun at the ready, and leaned into him. “They’ve got Spencer and Allie.”

  Joe’s face was unreadable, his eyes continuing to sweep the tree line. “If they took them prisoner instead of just killing them, it’s because they want to know what we’re doing on their turf.”

  “We have to find them.”

  Joe nodded. “Right. And how would you suggest we do that? It’s a big jungle, and worse, right now there could be a rifle lining up on your head.”

  Drake frowned. “Where do you think they’d be taking them?”

  “Probably to their headquarters for interrogation. That’s what I’d do.”

  “And where’s that?”

  Joe spit by his boots and shook his head. “Beats me.”

  “I thought you knew this area like the back of your hand.”

  “I do. But there are still some things I don’t know, and that’s one of them. Rumor is they have a meth factory south of here, deep in their territory, but that’s all it is – a rumor.”

  “A factory? Would it be big enough to spot from the air?”

  “Maybe. Why?”

  Drake turned to where Uncle Pete was crouched. “You have the sat phone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hand it over.”

  Chapter 43

  Spencer clutched his wounded arm as Allie trudged alongside him. The gunmen who’d taken them prisoner were silent as ghosts as they made their way through the jungle. Spencer had given up the fight when he’d seen that the shooters were preparing to gun down Allie, and had tossed his weapon aside and told her to do the same.

  The bullet had torn through his shoulder, missing the bone and exiting cleanly, but the wound ached with each step, the flow of blood staunched from a crude pressure dressing one of the captors had rigged.

  He had no idea where they were being led, but they seemed to be headed south, judging by the position of the sun whenever the canopy gave way to blue sky. Spencer wanted to reassure Allie, but he knew better than to risk the gunmen’s wrath – the hike would be even harder after a rifle butt to the skull.

  Two hours later they arrive
d at their destination: a crudely built cinderblock warehouse with easily fifty gunmen watching the perimeter of the clearing. Their captors guided them to a door and pushed them through. Inside was a pill manufacturing line, complete with conveyors; pill-making machines; a coating system; rolling steel shelves lined with jugs of muriatic acid, acetone, ammonia, and other chemicals used in manufacturing meth; and in the far corner, rows of large vats with hoses tangling from them.

  At the opposite end of the building was another door. The gunmen herded them to it, and one of them slid back the bolt. The lead man pointed, his meaning clear – they were to go in. Allie walked into the gloom, and Spencer followed. The door slammed shut behind them, and they waited as their eyes adjusted.

  A woman’s voice from the corner startled them. “Welcome to hell.”

  Allie squinted to make out who was speaking, and gasped when she saw Christine Whitfield on a cot. She rushed to her and stood over her. “Oh, my God. It’s you!”

  “You speak English, obviously. How do you know who I am?”

  “We’ve been looking for you since we found the plane.”

  “And who exactly are you?”

  “We’re…friends of your mother,” Spencer said, before Allie could speak.

  Christine peered at him. “Looks like you took a bullet.”

  “Yeah.”

  They were interrupted by the bolt sliding open and Lee entering with two gunmen. He sneered at the new captives and barked at Christine in Chinese, “You translate. Ask them who they are and what they’re doing here.”

  Christine blinked and shook her head. “They don’t speak English. I already tried.”

  Lee looked annoyed. “What nationality are they?”

  “I think they’re German. That’s what they sounded like.”

  Lee looked them up and down and then stalked out, his gunmen following. The bolt slammed home and Christine looked to them. “Either of you speak anything besides English?” she whispered.

  Spencer nodded. “Spanish.”

  “Me too,” Allie confirmed. “What did he say?”

  “He wanted me to translate for him, but I said you didn’t speak English. I figured I’d buy you some time while he’s trying to find a translator.”

  “Why?” Allie asked.

  Spencer turned to her. “Because once we answer their questions, they’ll have no reason to keep us alive.”

  Christine sighed. “Oh, they’ll keep her around. They’re going to sell me into sex slavery. I imagine she’ll bring a pretty penny, too.”

  Allie’s expression turned to one of horror. “Oh, God…”

  Spencer moved to her side. “Don’t worry. Drake and Joe will be looking for us.”

  “You saw how many are here. What can two do against a hundred?” Allie murmured.

  “They’re resourceful.” Spencer looked at Christine. “How badly are you hurt?”

  “Broken collarbone. Bruises, maybe a few broken ribs and a concussion. And they’ve been shooting me up with something for the pain – heroin. But they’re decreasing the dose, so something’s up. They filmed me yesterday saying my name and that I was okay.”

  “What happened with the plane?”

  “One minute we were flying, the next we were crashing. Something exploded in the engine compartment. I’m lucky to be alive. My boyfriend didn’t make it.”

  “I…I’m sorry,” Allie said. “But you’re right that you’re lucky. The wreckage looked like nobody could have walked away from it.”

  “Yeah, I know what you mean. I still can hardly believe it myself.”

  Christine appeared to tire from the effort of speaking, and closed her eyes. Allie and Spencer moved to the wall and slid down, facing her. Allie glanced at the dressing on his arm. “You need some antibiotics so that doesn’t get infected.”

  “I doubt they’re planning to keep me around that long.”

  That simple truth seemed to reverberate in the cinderblock chamber, and Spencer joined Christine in closing his eyes. Allie stared numbly at the door, her stomach churning with bile at what was to come.

  ~ ~ ~

  Reggie waited in the shade for Tam and his gangster friend to show. He’d received a ten-second video time-stamped the day before from a burner phone, and had immediately forwarded it to CIA headquarters for analysis. His control had told him to agree to the trade, but to stall for time so they could bring a surveillance plane to bear and see if they could identify the building where she was being held. Now that they knew it was Red Moon that had her, they could narrow the search down to the gang’s territory and were actively looking for any cinderblock structure in the southern Myanmar jungle that bordered the Shan state and Thailand, using a high-altitude reconnaissance aircraft equipped with sensitive infrared, thermal, and imaging gear. While it wouldn’t have been able to spot wreckage of a plane, given the absence of a thermal signal, a factory would have personnel and a power source, and would therefore theoretically show up relatively easily.

  This time Jun led the way to the café, Tam trailing him. When they were inside and seated, the establishment’s only customers, he got straight to the point. He rattled off a few sentences, which Tam translated.

  “He say you get movie. Girl alive.”

  Reggie nodded. “I did.”

  “You pay now.”

  Reggie frowned. “He wants half a million dollars. I don’t carry that around in my wallet. I have to make a wire transfer and wait for it to arrive; then I can send it to him. But I need to understand the swap mechanism, because I’m not giving him money until I have the girl in my possession. Translate that for him.”

  Tam did, and the man grunted. He offered a solution, and Tam nodded as he listened. When Jun had finished, Tam began translating. Reggie cut him off mid-sentence. “No. That won’t work. Too many ways he can screw me. So here’s what I’ll do. Give me twenty-four hours. When the money hits Thailand, I’ll have the bank arrange for cash. It will fit in a briefcase. He brings the girl to a destination of our agreement, I bring the cash. We both come alone. Anyone but Jun and the girl shows up, the deal’s off and I walk.”

  They went back and forth, and eventually agreed on a transaction they could both live with. They would do the exchange by the close of business the next day, and Tam would call to verify that Reggie had gotten the funds and was ready before they chose a location for the handover.

  Jun and Tam left the café, and Reggie watched them turn the corner, and then an unremarkable-looking middle-aged woman did the same – a CIA asset in the area who’d been charged with shadowing them in the hopes of discovering Red Moon’s base in town.

  Reggie was back at his hotel when his phone rang. The news was as he’d expected. Jun was staying in a cheap tenement near the river, but it wasn’t cinderblock, so that wasn’t where the woman was being held – which made sense. She’d been captured in the jungle, and there was no reason to move her to an urban setting. Still, they’d had to rule out the easier option.

  So they were back to waiting for the reconnaissance plane to score a hit. Once it did, depending on the location, Reggie would lead a group of commandos in to rescue the girl. A jet was already on its way, scheduled to arrive the next morning, with a dozen of the toughest special ops fighters in the world; hence the need for a delay. The plan was for Reggie to stall again at the end of the day, citing an issue with the bank, and arrange a later meeting so the team would have time to retrieve her.

  Nobody believed that Jun would actually deliver Christine. Instead, it was a virtual certainty, given Red Moon’s reputation, that Reggie would be ambushed and killed, the money stolen, and the girl sold into prostitution. Red Moon were ruthless, comprised of a new generation for which no abomination was unthinkable; they had risen to power by slaughtering their foes, including whole villages in their territory, without hesitation.

  Reggie would be picked off by a sniper as he made his way to the rendezvous, the analysts predicted, and a motorcycle rider or the like
would snatch his payload and vanish before he’d hit the ground. It was just the way things operated in the region, and Reggie didn’t question the intel. Now all he could do was wait for the call that would tell him where Christine was being held prisoner, so he could mobilize and bring the war to her captors.

  Something he would relish.

  Chapter 44

  Drake stood in the sunshine, palm fronds stirring around him as the phone acquired a satellite and the signal bars lit. He dialed Collins’ number and was relieved when the man answered in seconds.

  “Collins.”

  “It’s Drake. Allie and Spencer have been captured by one of the local gangs. An outfit called Red Moon.”

  “What? How?”

  “The temple was a bust, but it had a bunch of guns and heroin in it. They didn’t like us nosing around, so they came after us, and now they’ve got them – and one or both are wounded.” Drake described the blood and the shoot-out. When he was done, Collins was silent for several moments.

  “This group is the same one that has the girl. Our agent has been working another lead, and they’re offering her to us for ransom.”

  “Where are they holding her?”

  “We’ve located a facility in the deep jungle on the Myanmar side, which looks to be their headquarters. There are a lot of men around, heat signatures from generators, and a small dirt airstrip.”

  “Then you can go in and get them.”

  “That’s the plan. But it won’t happen immediately. That’s not how we operate. We want to be successful, not lose the girl to a hurried mission. We have personnel on their way.”

  “What about Spencer and Allie?”

  “Obviously, they’ll be a priority.”

  “When are you going in?”

  “To be determined, but probably tomorrow.”

  “That’s too late. My contacts on the ground say they’ll be questioned and killed. Red Moon have no reason to hold them.”

  “I understand your concern, and we’ll front-burner this. But there are logistical issues. It’s not like we pull the trigger and guys are parachuting in the next hour. That only happens in movies.”