by Ken Goddard
Wallis smiled.
He’d been tempted to take a more covert escape route out of Thailand — by small boat and private aircraft, much like he’d arranged for Lanyard and Gavin — where his survival skills, combat expertise, and access to weapons would have given him a significant advantage in any confrontation with the Thai authorities.
But he also knew that using his real passport to travel openly from Surat Thani to Bangkok would provide a useful diversion for Lanyard and Gavin; and might make a crucial difference in timing once the Thai Forestry patrol teams began a hard search for the killers of their four Rangers.
It wasn’t likely that anyone had found the bodies yet; but the fact that they’d been reported missing was bound to make the Royal Thai Police and Ranger forces more alert and aggressive — which meant hundreds of new check-points and pervasive luggage and vehicle searches. But Wallis wasn’t about to put his men and Hateley’s expensively-produced Clouded Leopard trophy at additional risk of being seized just to make his own escape a little easier.
And besides, he had another very important reason for making a temporary stop in Bangkok.
He was walking toward the doors leading out to the taxi stand with his carry-on bag, looking exactly like almost all of the other Caucasians in the terminal neatly dressed in varying renditions of tropical khaki, when he spotted the familiar face of Colonel Prathun Kulawnit entering the main passenger hall from the international customs lounge with a younger Caucasian man with a scraggly white beard, white hair tied back in a short, neat ponytail and vaguely Slavic features, who looked and acted — to Wallis’ practiced eye — very much like a covert American law enforcement officer.
Bloody hell?
Reacting instinctively, Wallis casually diverted from his exit route, walked over to a telephone kiosk, set his carry-on bag down, picked up the handset, and then stared casually across the passenger hall at the two familiar faces now heading in his direction.
As he did so, he also glanced around the passenger hall, searching for any signs of an active or passive surveillance. But all he saw were the seemingly random movements of uniformed air crews, airport staff and arriving passengers. No coordinated movements, no furtive glances, no brief or hurried conversations on pack-set radios or cell phones.
And, most important of all, no signs of focused attention on his position.
The Thai’s can’t have a surveillance on; nobody has a spotting or tracking team this good, Wallis reassured himself as he refocused his attention on Kulawnit.
Wallis knew Colonel Kulawnit’s reputation all too well. He’d done extensive research on the commander of the Thai Wildlife Ranger Force — an operational unit of the Thai Forestry Police Division tasked with protecting the country’s wildlife — when he and Lanyard and Gavin first considered the idea of running illegal safari hunts in the isolated rainforests of Thailand. What he’d discovered was a highly professional and aggressive military man completely devoted to his Rangers and his children; and a man of some family wealth who was apparently indifferent to the luxuries of life that additional money might buy.
“Don’t ever try to bribe Kulawnit,” one of his sources had warned. “That would be a terrible mistake. The Colonel has no tolerance for such insults.”
Well versed in the cultural art of progressive bribery, Wallis wasn’t accustomed to dealing with adversaries who handicapped themselves with scruples. And, at first, Kulawnit’s stubborn sense of honor made things awkward for Wallis and his surveilling teammates.
But, as it turned out, they’d found no such human failings in a Ranger Captain assigned to the Phuket Field Office by the name of Choonhavan, AKA Choon.
So who is your friend, Colonel Kulawnit? Wallis asked himself, staring at the athletic-looking man who was walking beside the Forestry Ranger commander and pulling a heavy-duty, roll-along suitcase that appeared to have weathered many such international flights. And, more to the point, why are you still in Bangkok? You’re supposed to be in Tokyo, attending your bloody Interpol meeting.
Wallis could only think of one thing that might have drawn Kulawnit away from a Pacific Rim regional meeting of the Interpol Working Group on Wildlife — of which the Colonel was a charter member — and back to Bangkok; and he didn’t like the idea at all.
Muttering to himself, Wallis waited until the two men walked outside, then hung up the phone and followed them out the door.
He was hoping they’d take a cab to wherever they were going, which would give him a chance to follow in another cab; but the sight of the uniformed police officer waiting beside the black Range Rover, and the half-dozen people waiting in the Taxi queue, dashed Wallis’ hopes.
Instead, he got in line for a taxi and watched as Kulawnit and Bulatt loaded their gear into the official vehicle, hopped in, and then disappeared down the airport expressway leading to the city center.
Outside the Bangkok International Airport
Wallis stood outside Bangkok International Airport’s main departure terminal in the misting rain, carefully watching the security guards going through their well-practiced routines of monitoring the flow of cars, buses, taxi’s and people from the shelter of his umbrella.
Nothing he observed looked out of the ordinary; but the alarm bells continued to chime softly in the back of his head, and he didn’t like that at all.
In almost any other situation, Wallis would have been perfectly content to sit and watch and wait until the unknown entities brushing up against his highly-sensitive survival instincts became evident, no matter if it took hours or even days. But time was starting to become a serious issue for his team, and he knew he didn’t have days or even hours to spare.
Not with twelve dead bodies waiting to be found and linked together, the gypsy pirate Kai on the loose, and possibly several hundred increasingly alert and angry Thai police investigators and patrol officers out looking for their missing comrades.
He glanced down at his watch. The flight to Narita would start boarding in less than an hour; which meant he either had to begin going through the security process in a few minutes, or walk away.
Wallis took one last look around, started toward the terminal entrance, hesitated, and then walked over to the far side of the walkway where a small number of tables, chairs and large umbrellas had been placed for the convenience of waiting passengers.
He placed the suitcase and briefcase under one of the tables, sat down beneath a large umbrella to avoid the misting rain, pulled the encrypted satellite cell phone out of his raincoat, punched in a memorized series of numbers, and then waited.
“Gecko-two, go.” Lanyard’s voice, sounding calm and professional, as usual.
“Gecko-one, what’s your status?”
“Fair to decent,” Lanyard replied. “We’re anchored off Tanga Island. I’m stretched out on the deck, enjoying a frosty one, and Jack’s doing a spot of diving off the bow, looking for dinner. I think he’s feeling better. Say’s we’ll have to settle for lobster if he can’t find anything better.”
“What about Kai?”
“No sign of him or any of his pirate mates yet. Figure it’s a bit early for those lads to be up and about; especially if they’re planning on mucking us over tonight. Which reminds me, did you tell Kai we’d be using the bright green visible flashers to mark our location for the swap?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Good, then we’ve got a proper surprise all laid out for the little buggers.” Lanyard hesitated. “How did things go with our rainy day fund?”
“It’s all moved over to the Caiman account,” Wallis replied. “I’m transporting our hard assets in carry-on, including a nice last-minute contribution from Yak and Boon-Nam.”
“Bless their rotten souls. How’s your six looking?” Lanyard asked, using the military pilot’s terminology for the ever-vulnerable rear — or six o’clock — position.
“I’m clear so far, but we may have a problem. I spotted Colonel Kulawnit in the Bangkok International airport
this morning.”
“Heading out to Tokyo to attend his bloody Interpol meeting, I trust?”
“No, picking up someone who looked and acted very much like a covert American or Canadian law enforcement officer, and who almost certainly came in on the Tokyo flight. They drove back into the city together.”
“So, he’s probably one of Kulawnit’s Wildlife Interpol mates.” Lanyard was silent for a moment. “That doesn’t sound good,” he finally said.
“No, it doesn’t,” Wallis agreed. “I’m still at the airport and there doesn’t seem to be an alert on, so I’m assuming they haven’t found any of the bodies yet. But something is definitely on; something serious enough to pull Kulawnit away from a Pacific Rim Interpol meeting that he never fails to attend, and to possibly bring in outside help from North America.”
“And you’re thinking it might involve us, or Hateley?”
“We’re not the only ones taking advantage of the Thai wildlife preserves, by a long shot; but if Kai was the one who informed on us, and he and Yak were conspiring, and the police are at Yak’s home now — ”
“Too many paths starting to cross,” Lanyard agreed. “What about Kai? You want us to walk away, so to speak?”
“No. If he and Yak were actually cooperating with each other, instead of just conspiring, then he knows too much about us; especially if he’s got other police contacts besides Choon. Carry on with the plan, but be prepared to break off and disappear if the Thai police show up.”
“Five hours of darkness and the weather gives us some wiggle room, but not much,” Lanyard said. “I don’t mind playing coastal tag with a pack of Thai and Malaysian patrol boats at night. But come dawn, if we’re still in open water, we’re going to be a right proper sitting duck.”
“Yes, you will, which is why I’m changing my flight,” Wallis said. “Stay close to the satellite phone. By the time you’re finished with Kai, I’ll have a new back door waiting. Gecko-one, out.”
CHAPTER 8
The Genetics Section of the Draganov Research Center
Intent on initiating his latest set of experiments, Sergei Draganov’s eyes swept back and forth from his lab notebook to the rack of ninety-six vials, smoothly pipetting micro-amounts of genetic material with robot-like precision until he realized that the rack of pipette tips on the lab bench next to his right hand was empty.
He blinked, looked up at the glass-paneled storage shelf overhead where he kept his pipetting supplies, saw that it too was empty, and sighed.
Leaning over to his left, the pipette still clutched in his right hand, he activated the wall-mounted intercom that was the primary communication tool between the administration office where the old woman sat, and the widely scattered buildings of his research center operation.
“Where is Borya? I need more pipette tips and vials from the supply shed.”
“I don’t know,” the old woman responded, her raspy voice echoing throughout the genetics lab. “At MAX I think.”
“Why would he be there now?”
“Because he has become crazy. Why else would anyone want to be there with all those evil things?”
Draganov rolled his eyes. “Borya has not become crazy and the animals in MAX are not evil. They are just… damaged. It’s not their fault.”
“No, it is our fault. All of us. We caused their grief.”
Draganov sighed. “We have discussed this many times. They are experimental lab animals. In any other research facility, they would have been sacrificed after the data was gathered, but I want to learn more from them so we keep them alive and well cared for. That is Borya’s primary job, to help me care for them.”
“But you have been gone too much, Sergei Arturovich. Left to himself, Borya becomes more distant every day. He hardly talks with us anymore, not even on the intercom. And Aleksei says that Tanya — ”
“Borya drinks too much, and Aleksei fills your head with nonsense.”
“But Tanya not getting better and Aleksei says we could all be in danger if — ”
“Tanya will be fine and Aleksei is wrong. Our work is very safe. You have no need to worry.”
“But — ”
“Enough. I’m tired and I need to sleep. Find Aleksei and — ”
The voice of Aleksei Tsarovich, the Center’s burly veterinarian, suddenly boomed out over the intercom.
“I’m here, Sergei. What do you want?”
“Where are you? I’ve been trying — ”
“At the medical clinic with Tanya. Her fever is worse, and the x-rays — ”
“What x-rays?”
“The ones I’ve been taking of her. You must come see for yourself.”
Tanga Island, Malacca Strait, Thailand
Lanyard was leaning back in his deck chair, sipping at his beer and contemplating the contours of Tanga Island and the positioning of the other dozen or so boats anchored around the popular diving spot, when a pair of dark-green-shelled abalone arched up out of the water and clattered onto the deck.
Moments later, Jack Gavin climbed up the stern ladder, set his scuba tank, mask and fins aside, caught a chilled can of beer tossed by Lanyard, and settled into a second deck chair with a squish of warm seawater.
“Ah, this is more like it — a bloody patch of water that stays flat and calm.” Gavin popped the tab on the can and took a deep swig of the cold brew. “So, how are things going in the planning department?”
“A bit dicey,” Lanyard said, still staring across the glistening water at the small island, and the clouds that were starting to darken again. “Wallis called a few minutes ago.” Lanyard quickly summarized the information on Kulawnit and Bulatt, and the concern about the Thai police showing up.
“I think he’s dead-bang-on about Kai,” Gavin said after considering the new information for a few moments. “We don’t dare leave that bastard in a position to cut a deal with the Thai police and Interpol; we’d end up running for the rest of our lives. But I don’t like the idea of them popping up and cutting off our escape either. I think we need a better plan.”
“Come up with that all by yourself, did you?” Lanyard raised his eyes skyward and shook his head sadly. “Just goes to show there’s nothing like a little compressed air to stimulate the brain. Don’t suppose you happen to have one handy?”
“What, a better plan? Not likely, mate. Planning’s not my cup of tea, you know that. Always forgetting about the ‘what happens afterwards’ parts.” Gavin shrugged cheerfully as he took another sip of beer. “That’s why you and Wallis are the thinkers, and I’m the ops go-to bloke. And speaking of Wallis, what’d he have to say? I’ve never known him not to have an alternate plan.”
“Oh, he has one,” Lanyard said. “Basically, you and I deal with Kai, and he’ll cover our arses like he always does.”
“There you go, mate.” Gavin raised his beer can in salute. “Sounds like a plan to me. So how do you want your ‘Ab’ cooked, with or without the bloody lobster?”
CHAPTER 9
Police Bureau — Scientific Crime Detection Laboratory, Bangkok, Thailand
Special Agent Gedimin Bulatt and Colonel Prathun Kulawnit waited in the main examination room of the Royal Thai Police Bureau’s Scientific Crime Detection Laboratory as two men in white lab coats rolled a pair of stainless steel autopsy tables into the room through a large stainless-steel double-door.
The two bodies, each covered with a clean white sheet, appeared to be the size of a small child.
As Bulatt and Kulawnit watched, the lab technician uncovered the first body, and then stood back as the second white-coated man — Dr. P.K. Chalermchai, a professor of biology from the local University — stepped up to the table.
“As you can see,” he said calmly, “the carcass is that of a Clouded Leopard; in this case, a very young adult male weighing approximately 25 kilos — fifty-five English pounds,” the professor translated for Bulatt’s benefit. “He was found just outside the boundary of the Khlong Saeng Wildlife Preserve in
the southern peninsula. Apart from being slightly malnourished, this particular leopard was very large for its age, lean, fit, and otherwise in excellent health at the time of his death.”
“How did he die?” Bulatt asked.
“A cobra bite, to the right foreleg.” The professor pointed out an area on the creature’s right foreleg where the fur had been shaved away, revealing bare skin and at pair of puncture wounds approximately two inches apart.”
Bulatt whistled softly. “That must have been one hell of a cobra.”
“A King, almost certainly,” the professor said, nodding. “Based on the distance between the fangs, I would estimate its length at about six meters — twenty English feet. And that is the curious aspect of this leopard’s death, as I explained earlier to Colonel Kulawnit. We almost never see a Clouded Leopard killed by a cobra or any other poisonous snake; they are usually very adept at recognizing and avoiding such dangers.”
The professor stepped over to the second table, and waited for the technician to remove the sheet.
“Here again, we have what appears to have been another large and healthy — albeit slightly malnourished — young male Clouded Leopard, also found near the outer boundary of the Khlong Saeng Wildlife Preserve. The weight was probably in the area of twenty-five kilos, although it’s difficult to be sure because of the loss of tissue.” The professor pointed to the left front shoulder of the carcass where, as Bulatt could easily see, the left front leg had been ripped away.
“I assume this one didn’t run into a cobra,” Bulatt commented.
The professor smiled. “No, a creature far more dangerous: a tiger. We were able to confirm the species of the attacker by the saliva saturating the wound area; but the size of the teeth marks and the massive hemorrhaging to the surrounding tissues would have been indicative in any case.”