by Ken Goddard
“But do you really think either of them would be devious and daring enough to arrange for the death of Lieutenant Kulawnit?” Bulatt asked.
“No, I don’t,” Preithat said after a moment, “I cannot believe either of them would be so stupid.” His eyes flickered briefly to Colonel Kulawnit, who remained stone-faced and silent. “They’d know the consequences would be severe, and impossible to escape.”
“So Captain Choonhavan is probably your best lead?” Bulatt suggested.
“Yes,” Preithat agreed. “And when we find him, I’m certain he’ll be anxious to tell us everything he knows about these foreign guides.” Preithat turned to stare out the windshield at the isolated facility they were rapidly approaching. “Very anxious, indeed.”
The Police Morgue, Phuket, Thailand
The familiar heavy odors of death and decay hit Bulatt the moment he followed Colonel Kulawnit and Major Preithat in through the double-doors of the police morgue.
Kulawnit’s two bodyguards — both hardened investigators — took positions inside the doorway with their M4 carbines at the ready, apparently unaffected by the familiar sights and odors. The room was air-conditioned; but the straining chillers and air-handlers were no match for the effects of Thai heat, humidity and insects on human corpses.
Bulatt had spent five years as a police homicide detective in southern California before joining the federal government, so he wasn’t jarred by the sight of four blood- and mud-stained Forestry Division Ranger uniforms lying on the morgue floor — on lengths of white butcher paper — next to three morgue carts bearing bodies draped with white sheets. A fourth body, naked and partially dissected out, lay on the nearest of the three autopsy tables in the room.
“They were found in their jeep, by the ocean near Khuraburi, yesterday morning,” Major Preithat said as he motioned for the pathologist to pull back the first sheet.
Colonel Kulawnit’s only reaction as the sight of his son’s partially-decomposed corpse was to walk over to the front end of cart and stand there, staring down with his hands clenched behind his back.
The pathologist hesitated, glanced questioningly at the Major, received a curt nod, and began his presentation.
“As you can see, Lieutenant Kulawnit was struck in the right side of his head by two bullets. His wounds are similar to those of Sergeant Tongproh and the other two Rangers. All head shots, no other wounds on the bodies. If it is of any consolation, Colonel,” the white-coated pathologist added, turning to face the grim-faced Kulawnit, “death appears to have been instantaneous for all four men.”
As the pathologist continued to recite his initial findings, Bulatt knelt down beside the blood- and mud-stained uniforms, closely examined the four uniform shirts, and then stood up and walked over to the stainless steel table where Sergeant Tongproh’s body was in the final stages of the autopsy process.
He nodded silently to the white-coated technician standing guard beside the table, and then bent forward to examine the entry wounds through the left side of Tongproh’s exposed and empty lower skull. The upper half of the sergeant’s skull and his brain were lying in a tray hovering over his dissected-out chest cavity. Next to the skull top was a small stainless steel bowl containing two partially-mushroomed bullets lying in a bloodied wad of gauze.
“Do you see something of interest, Khun Ged?” Colonel Kulawnit asked quietly as he walked up beside Bulatt.
For reasons that were completely beyond Bulatt’s comprehension, the Colonel now seemed calm, almost at peace with himself. But beneath that calm exterior, Bulatt sensed a vengeful presence waiting patiently to be released.
“The uniform shirts belonging to the sergeant, the corporal and the constable,” Bulatt replied, still staring at the pair of bullets in the bowl. “The blood-splatter patterns suggest all three men had their heads turned sharply to the left when they were shot from the left side. It also appears that your son’s head was turned sharply to his left when he was shot from the right side.” Bulatt hesitated. “Do we know if any of them managed to fire a shot of their own?”
Colonel Kulawnit and Bulatt both turned to look at Major Preithat who had joined them beside Sergeant Tongproh’s body.
“It appears not,” Preithat said. “All of their pistols and rifles were found fully loaded, as were all of their extra magazines and ammo pouches.”
“Was there anything about their jeep that tells you something about the direction of the fired shots?” Bulatt asked.
“Not that I’m aware of.” Preithat shook his head. “The jeep appears untouched by gunfire, externally and internally. There were some blood spatterings on the left front and rear seats, and perhaps some on the right passenger seat, but that’s all. Our crime scene team is now examining the jeep and searching the area where it was found. I will take you there, once we are finished here.”
“Would Lieutenant Kulawnit have been sitting in the front passenger seat?” Bulatt asked.
“Yes, that would be normal procedure. And Sergeant Tongproh would have been driving.”
“So Lieutenant Kulawnit could have been standing outside the jeep, on the right side, and the others could have been standing outside the jeep on the left side, or perhaps behind the jeep, when the shooting occurred?”
“Yes, that could be consistent with our procedures; especially if they were confronting someone,” Preithat said.
“And could have been surprised by a second person — someone they didn’t know was there?”
Preithat nodded silently, the expression on his face slowly shifting from controlled rage to thoughtfulness. Finally, he said: “I have known Sergeant Tongproh for many years. He was a very professional police officer, and very careful in the field; easily my best non-commissioned officer. I still find it difficult to believe that anyone could have surprised him like this.”
“Surprise being the key word,” Bulatt said. “Which is interesting, given the condition of these bullets — ” Bulatt nodded his head at the stainless steel bowl, “- which, I assume were removed from Sergeant Tongproh’s head?”
The pathologist — who was now standing beside Major Preithat — nodded silently.
“Why do you say that?” Preithat asked.
“They didn’t mushroom very much.”
“Is that significant?”
Bulatt shrugged. “Perhaps not; but nine-millimeter hollow-point rounds are usually high-velocity and do a good job of expanding after they hit a solid target. The fact that these didn’t suggest a number of possible situations: long-distance shots, reduced powder-loads, old ammo, or — perhaps more likely in this case — a silenced pistol; which could explain how Sergeant Tongproh and the others were all caught by surprise.”
“You’re suggesting Sergeant Tongproh, the corporal and the constable were shot by someone who came up behind them, to their left, by surprise,” Preithat said, “and Lieutenant Kulawnit — ?”
“- by the person he was interrogating,” Bulatt finished.
“Which would mean — ” Preithat started to say when a uniformed constable stepped into the mortuary, winced, and motioned for his attention.
“What is it?” Preithat demanded.
“You have a call, sir,” the young constable said, trying not to look at Tongproh’s body on the table. “The captain said it was important.”
Preithat excused himself and went outside with the constable. As he did so, Colonel Kulawnit turned to Bulatt.
“If I understood you correctly, you’re suggesting this might have been an ambush conducted by at least two people, at least one of whom may have been armed with a silenced pistol? Not poachers, but professional killers?” Kulawnit’s voice expressed his disbelief.
“It doesn’t make sense to me, either, Khun Prathun,” Bulatt said softly. “I’m sure your crime lab staff will be able to tell us much more, once they’ve examined the evidence; but — ”
“Excuse me, Colonel,” Preithat interrupted as he quickly re-entered the morgue room. “That wa
s the police commander of the Surat Thani district. They’ve located Captain Choonhavan.”
CHAPTER 12
The Maximum Containment Facilities (MAX) at the Draganov Research Center
Although it hardly seemed possible, the raging storm outside had actually gotten worse. Nearly blinded by high-velocity ice particles, Draganov and Tsarovich staggered toward the nearby parked Sno-Cat, guided in good part by the noise of its idling engine.
Once inside the cab, the two men continued to shiver as Draganov carefully drove the treaded vehicle slowly up a long snow-covered gravel road toward a distant dimly-lit structure barely visible in the storm that was known by everyone at the research center simply as MAX.
“How can Borya stand to be up there in this cold?” Tsarovich whispered through chattering teeth.
“With his vodka.” Draganov snorted. “How else?”
As the Sno-Cat approached the top of the hill, all of the MAX lights suddenly went out. Draganov quickly brought the Sno-Cat up to the high metal shed structure that comprised MAX, headlights reflecting off the thick metal bars of the padlocked gate and surrounding fence, set the brakes, and then swung his head around, staring out into the whirling blizzard.
“Did Borya do that?” he demanded.
“No, I don’t think so,” Tsarovich replied, turned around in his seat to look back down the hill, “it looks like all of the Center’s lights are out. Must be another power failure.”
The two men look at each other, their unease apparent.
“Let’s go back,” Tsarovich said. “I don’t like this. The creatures here frighten me.”
“No, it’s all right,” Draganov said firmly. “They are all tightly contained, and we must check on Borya.”
The two men stepped out of the Sno-Cat with powerful torch lights in their shaking hands. Tsarovich nervously swept the fence line with his light beam as Draganov fumbled with the heavy gate padlock. After unlocking the door padlock, the two men cautiously entered the shed.
Inside the MAX structure, the torch beams revealed a wide gravel walkway with nine six-foot-high, metal-barred and concrete-walled cages on the left, and three wider, triple-height cages on the right.
The aggressive rustling sounds of disturbed creatures both large and small began to fill the shed.
“Quick, shut off your torch and activate the emergency lights!” Tsarovich whispered urgently.
The interior lighting of the shed changed to a very dim battery-powered glow, and the rustling sounds ceased.
“Borya, are you here?” Draganov called out.
After a long silence, a deep gravelly voice answered: “Yes, Sergei Arturovich, I am here.”
“Where?” Draganov demanded.
“In the middle cage — number five.”
Draganov and Tsarovich stared at each other in shocked surprise, then cautiously and slowly approached the middle cage on the left. They could see that the metal-bar door was closed and secured like on all of the other cages.
“Don’t turn on your torch,” Borya warned as the two men came up to the cage front.
“No, we won’t,” Draganov replied, trying to sound calming and reassuring. “We won’t. We just wanted to make sure you’re not sick like Tanya.”
“I’m not sick. I’m fine.”
“Yes, I’m sure you are,” Tsarovich agreed, “but as the senior medical officer at the center, I need to see for myself. Please come out so that — ”
“No. Go away. Leave me alone.”
Before he could catch himself, Draganov yelled out in an angry voice: “Borya, why are you in — ?!”
The whimpering sounds of a frightened creature somewhere near Borya — and a very upset big animal in the middle large cage across the way — caused the two men to freeze. They look at each other, wide-eyed.”
“It’s okay, Borya,” Tsarovich said in a gentle, soothing voice. “We’re not angry. We just wanted to make sure you’re okay. We’ll leave now and talk with you later.”
The two research scientists slowly walked back to the shed door.
As Draganov and Tsarovich exited the shed and carefully shut and locked the heavy doors, the emergency interior lights went out. Immediately, ten pairs of bright emerald animal eyes flashed open inside the left-side cages.
In cage five, one of the two eye-pairs was clearly human.
CHAPTER 13
Surat Thani, Thailand
It was nearly ten P.M. by the time Bulatt, Kulawnit, Preithat and the bodyguards finally arrived at Yak’s palatial estate. The rains had mercifully stopped, turning the exquisitely landscaped gardens into a steaming outdoor sauna festooned by dripping lengths of bright yellow scene perimeter tape that provided — among many other things — a safe pathway to the first body.
The scene commander waited patiently for Kulawnit, Preithat and Bulatt to negotiate the designated route, introduced himself, and nodded respectfully as Preithat made the introductions.
“The bodies were discovered by the resident chef’s son who came here looking for his father,” the scene commander — a Lieutenant of the Thai Police Central Investigation Bureau — began. “He entered through the south garden gate, observed this man lying here, ran into the house, and ultimately found three more bodies.”
“Including his father?” Colonel Kulawnit asked softly.
“Yes. He found his father’s body in the walk-in freezer; shot twice, like the others in the house. At that point, he called the police.”
Kulawnit looked down at the body sprawled face-down at his feet, a semi-automatic pistol with an attached silencer lying near the man’s outstretched right hand. There were five widely-scattered bullet holes in the back of the man’s shirt that was bunched together in places by the straps of a shoulder holster, and what looked like five matching holes in the back of a raincoat stretched out beside the body.
“This one was shot several times,” Kulawnit noted. His eyes were focused on the silenced pistol. “Who is he?”
“Boon-Nam, a criminal well known to us in Surat Thani,” the scene commander replied. “He is suspected of killing at least thirty people — mostly drug dealers, couriers, body-guards, thieves, burglars and the like — which is to say, mostly the competitors of the people who employ him.”
“A killer for hire?” Preithat asked. “An assassin?”
“Yes, he was exactly that. We’ve arrested him several times, but he always — please, don’t touch anything!” the scene commander said quickly when Bulatt knelt down to examine the body and weapon more closely.
“No, I won’t; I’m just looking,” Bulatt promised, his eyes sweeping the wet grass around the body, and noting the fourteen bright yellow flags stuck in the grass around the steps leading up to a back door to the house.
“Special Agent Bulatt is an American covert operator for Interpol, and also an experienced homicide crime scene investigator, who will be assisting us with our investigation,” Preithat said firmly. “He is aware of our rules and restrictions, and will honor them implicitly.”
“Excellent. We are happy to have you here, Agent Bulatt,” the scene commander said unconvincingly.
“Thank you, lieutenant,” Bulatt replied, looking up. “I apologize for the interruption, and I certainly will not interfere with your work; but could you tell me something? Did one of your investigators remove this man’s raincoat, or was the scene like this when the officers arrived?”
“One of our crime scene technicians removed it a few minutes ago, at my direction. We wanted a photograph clearly showing Boon-Nam was wearing the shoulder holster, and therefore came here with intent to kill.”
Bulatt nodded as if that was the answer he’d been expecting. “Thank you.”
“I was told that one of our Captains is in the house?” Colonel Kulawnit said, finally turning his gaze away from the silenced pistol.
“Yes, of course. Follow me,” the scene commander said.
As Kulawnit and the scene commander walked toward the door lead
ing into Yak’s den, Preithat held Bulatt back and leaned his head forward. “Did you see something of interest back there?” he whispered.
Bulatt nodded. “Yes. I think this scene’s been rigged.”
Preithat blinked. “What do you mean?”
“I think I should explain when we’re alone.” Bulatt gestured slightly with his head in the direction of the scene commander.
“Yes, I understand,” Preithat acknowledged, and then motioned for Bulatt to follow Kulawnit and the scene commander into the den.
“So this is how a corrupt Ranger Captain ends his career, soiled by his own piss and shit,” Kulawnit said, staring down at the familiar figure lying on his back, still bound tightly to the chair, with his wide-open mouth and eyes frozen in a horrified stare. “He appears to have suffered appropriately. Was he tortured?”
“Not that we can tell,” the scene commander replied. “We’ll know more once we get them to the morgue, but there are no other obvious wounds or bruising; just the two bullet holes you see — heart and forehead.”
“And this man?” Kulawnit nodded down at the second much-scrawnier body lying face up on the floor with a silenced semiautomatic pistol lying a few inches from his outstretched hand.”
“This is Yak, the owner of this estate,” the scene commander said.
“As well as one of my informants,” Preithat added.
“Was he also an assassin for hire?” Kulawnit asked, staring down at the pistol that looked identical to the one lying out in the garden.
“Yak, an assassin?” The scene commander chuckled. “No, I would not call him that. A crook, con man, thief, drug dealer, child abuser, and consummate liar, yes; and I’m sure, as Major Preithat said, an informer many times over; but not an assassin. Mr. Yak did not like to get his hands soiled, in any manner. I have no doubt that he hired Boon-Nam many times to do his dirty work; but I would not be surprised if this was the first time he had ever fired that pistol — and, as you saw outside, did so poorly. Fourteen or fifteen rounds fired, and only five hit the target — three barely.”