He turned to the Cambodian. “Ung Chea, I have a special note of thanks to you. Your father would have been extremely proud of you today. Your operation was executed perfectly, absolutely precisely. Your keen attention to detail during the planning stages was clearly well worth the effort, and your men performed with precision. You left nothing to chance. I am honored to have you with me and I am grateful that you traveled all the way from Anlong Veng in Cambodia to join me here in the hills of Northern Thailand. I recall vividly how sad you were at the passing of Ta Mok in that filthy Phnom Penh prison. We shared the grief of losing both our fathers that same year. You have become my right hand, and I thank Buddha every day for bringing you to me.”
The Cambodian did his best to look stern, but his scarred face glowed red from the praise that was being heaped upon him by Khun Ut. He had indeed found a new home here in the Golden Triangle, and a new mentor in Khun Ut. The crowd erupted in applause as Khun Ut limped victoriously past them and out the main door.
Khun Ut may have been right about the impotence of the U.S., but what he did not count on was the wrath of the CIA’s deputy director of operations, Edwin Rothmann, the DDO.
Chapter Six
Suze-La-Rousse, Southern France
MacMurphy paced nervously at the edge of the ancient town, his eyes flicking to the old Roman stone bridge that separated the village from the highway. It was six minutes past noon. He was late, which was unusual for a case officer coming to an operational meeting.
Then he saw a taxi pull to the side of the road and discharge a big man.
The man headed directly for the bridge, his feet crunching on the gravel at the side of the road. He walked with a John Wayne swagger, one shoulder dipped lower than the other, and with a slight limp.
He wore a white, button down shirt and an open blue blazer over tan slacks. A computer case was slung over one shoulder. His hair was receding and graying, but still mostly dark despite his sixty-odd years.
They made eye contact when the big man reached the crest of the bridge and the man’s face broke into a wide grin. They greeted each other warmly on the town side of the bridge.
“Mac, it’s so good to see you again.” The DDO embraced the smaller man in a bear-like hug and then stepped back and held him by the shoulders, examining him. “You look great–lean, mean, tanned and rested. What are you doing so far from home? Writing a book like so many of your other detached former colleagues?”
Dressed casually in blue jeans, a powder-blue polo shirt and running shoes, MacMurphy stood just under six feet tall. He had an athletic build, dark eyes, handsome chiseled features and short, prematurely gray hair, which made him appear older than his forty years.
“No, no exposés,” he replied, grinning broadly. “I just love this place. Lots of old rocks and stones. This village has been here since the twelfth century, and I’ve been coming here regularly since my Paris assignment way back when. I rent a small condo in the village.”
They walked slowly toward the center of town, chatting amicably. Mac pointed toward a hill on the far side of the town. “See that castle on the hill up there. It’s the Chateau de Suze-la-Rousse. Built between the twelfth and fourteenth centuries and maintained in perfect condition. There’s even a sixteenth century jeu de paume tennis court built for Catherine de Medicis and her son Charles IX. So much history here. The castle is now the home of the L’Université de Vin where sommeliers and just normal folk like you and me can learn about the great wines of the Drôme region.”
The two colleagues continued to get reacquainted as they walked. The last time they had seen each other was at Wei-wei Ryan’s funeral service at the Trinity church in McLean, Virginia, shortly after Mac had been separated from the Agency. At the time the DDO had reiterated to Mac what he had told him in Macau: that he would be calling on Mac from time to time to help out with some “sensitive, non-attributable things.”
MacMurphy knew that Edwin Rothmann’s visit to Suze-la-Rousse was not to chat about renaissance castles.
He was here on a mission.
Chapter Seven
They found a café in the village square next door to the ancient Chapel Saint-Sébastien. It was a sunny August day with a light breeze, and there were plenty of empty tables outside, but the two case officers opted for a banquette inside the restaurant where they would have more privacy.
“So, what mischief brings you to Suze-la-Rousse, Ed?” asked MacMurphy.
Edwin Rothmann was examining the menu. “First, let’s get a glass of local wine—red for me. What do you suggest?”
Without looking at the menu, MacMurphy replied, “Let’s get a bottle of the Domaine du Jaz. It’s grown right here in the vineyards surrounding Suze-la-Rousse. Can’t get much closer than that. You’ll like it.”
He motioned to a passing waiter carrying a tray and wearing a starched white shirt and black bow tie and ordered the wine. Then he turned his attention back to Edwin Rothmann. “I expect you’re here to help me spend some of my ill-gotten wealth. Must be really important to bring you all the way out here.”
Rothmann sat silently while the waiter brought the wine, popped the cork loudly and poured their glasses. When he set the bottle down and left, Rothmann pulled his bulk closer to MacMurphy and spoke in low gravelly tones. “I’ve got a problem in Thailand. Chiang Mai to be precise.”
“You mean last week’s attack against the consulate. It’s all over the press.”
“That’s it.” Rothmann took a sip from his glass, savoring the wine. “Yeah, Chiang Mai. What the papers didn’t say was who was behind it. No one took responsibility for the attack. But we know that bastard Khun Ut did it. He’s out of control. Killed one of our finest officers. Problem is, we’re pretty impotent as a nation, and as an Agency, at the moment. Our ass-kissing DCI won’t let us do anything about it. Zilch. They’re all a bunch of scared pussies.”
“I head the FBI’s been called in. Have they got the lead on this?”
“Yes, they do, and they’re treating it like a crime, which of course it is, although an act of terrorism. Those Fibbies are swarming all over the place. They’ve even taken over our dead COB’s office.” The DDO shook his big head. “Bunch of arrogant bastards running around trying to uncover as much evidence as they can to link Khun Ut to the attack. Hell, we know he did it. We should just take him out. The sooner the better. That’s the only way to handle a situation like this. That’s what I suggested…”
He looked down at his wine, sighed, and took another sip from his glass. “The most the administration will agree to do is to exert more political pressure on the Thai government—to try to force them to take some military action against the guy. But we know it won’t work. The Thais won’t do anything because Khun Ut has everyone in his pocket. Bought and paid for.”
“There’s no question Khun Ut was behind the attack?”
“Absolutely. One of his wounded was left behind along with two dead. We got a confession from him and were able to trace all three back to Khun Ut.”
The waiter returned and dropped a basket of sliced baguette on their table. He hovered over their table, twirling his tray, impatiently waiting to take their orders.
“What’ll you have, Ed? Something to go with the wine?”
“You bet. I’m hungry. How about a nice steak frites medium rare?”
“You got it. I’ll have the same.”
Mac placed the orders in perfect French and when the waiter left he turned back to the DDO. “So you’re frustrated. This Khun Ut guy is running amuck, the administration is treating it like a simple crime to be solved by the FBI, and without the help of the Thais nothing will be accomplished. Is that about it?”
“That’s why I love you, Mac. You always cut right to the chase.”
“What do you want me to do?”
Rothmann peered into his wine glass thoughtfully and then looked up.
“Let me tell you a story...”
Chapter Eight
Back in Vietnam in the late sixties, I was assigned as a liaison officer to MACV-SOG. Ever hear of that outfit?”
“Sure. SOG, Army Special Operations Group, right?”
Rothmann smiled. “Well, you’re half right. I keep forgetting how young you are or, I should say, how old I am. MACV-SOG stood for Military Assistance Command Vietnam—Studies and Observation Group, an outfit that conducted highly classified, deniable covert ops and sabotage missions behind enemy lines in Vietnam. The teams were made up of Army Special Forces, Air Force Air Commandos, and Navy Seals. They worked directly for the Joint Chiefs, and the commander at the time was a real smart Army guy named Jack Singlaub.”
The waiter returned with their steaks and a heaping platter of chrispy frites. Rothmann speared a frite and held it up like a prize. “Jack was a colonel back then, already a legend due to his exploits in World War Two and Korea. He was one of the original OSS ‘Jedburgs.’ That’s how he latched up with the Agency. He’s worked closely with us ever since, and he’s a real good friend of mine.”
Mac said, “I’ve heard of Jack Singlaub. He commanded our troops in South Korea. He was a Major General at the time I believe.”
The DDO sliced into his steak. “That’s the guy. Anyway, Jack had this idea to lead the Viet Cong and the NVA to doubt the safety of their guns and ammunition—make their guns explode. He called the operation ‘Project Eldest Son.’ He came to us and we arranged for CIA ordnance experts to conduct a feasibility study, which we did. A few weeks later, Jack and I watched one of our techs slide a 7.62mm cartridge, loaded with high explosive rather than gunpowder, into a bench mounted AK-47. The explosive round blew up the receiver, projecting the bolt backwards. Jack whooped when he saw that. He said he could just imagine that bolt flying back into the face of some shitass VC.”
Mac said, “Sounds like something that crusty old guy would say.”
The DDO twirled his wine and emptied the glass. “Yep. So what the SOG teams did was to identify VC and NVA ammunition caches, mostly along the Ho Chi Minh Trail, break into them clandestinely, and replace a few of the 7.62mm rounds with substitute rounds provided by us. The explosive they used so resembled gunpowder it would pass inspection by anyone but an ordnance expert.”
“You know, I have heard of that operation. From my dad. He was a Marine Gunny in Vietnam. He said it made the Marines wary of shooting AKs for fear they’d blow up in their face, and some of them preferred the AK to the M-16 before that came to light.”
“That’s right. Everyone feared using 7.62mm ammunition by the end of the war. By that time it was an open secret that the ammunition was tainted. Project Eldest Son was one of the most successful covert operations of the Vietnam War.”
“That’s a great story, Ed, but what’s Project Eldest Son got to do with your visit? I don’t get the connection between that and the attack on our consulate.”
“Eldest Son… Just an idea I had.” The DDO paused, then leaned forward and lowered his voice. “What would be the best way to take down Khun Ut? Think about it for a moment. Destroy his empire, break down his distribution network, and create havoc in his ranks. Make people fear using his narcotics.” The big man sat back and gave MacMurphy time to let it all sink in.
The wheels spun in Mac’s head. He looked up at his mentor and former boss. “You want to doctor Khun Ut’s heroin. Make it unsafe to use. Then, if nobody buys his shit, his empire will crumble from the bottom up. Am I close?”
The DDO reached for the bottle and refilled both glasses. “You’re on the right track. I’m thinking Project Eldest Son on steroids. I haven’t discussed this with anyone but you. If we move ahead with this plan, it has to remain strictly between us. Agreed?”
“Of course, Ed. But whatever I do for you will have to involve my team—Culler and Maggie at the minimum. I’ll have to brief them, right?”
The DDO pushed his plate away from him and then popped a last French fry into his mouth. “Culler and Maggie are fine, but strictly use the ‘need to know’ principle with anyone else you chose to enlist. The point is this--if we decide to proceed, there can be no blowbacks to the CIA. We’re going to need complete deniability. Nothing can be traced back to the Agency. Understood?”
“Understood. And no one else in the Agency is aware of this?”
“Right. This is strictly between you and me, Mac. I’d never get approval for an operation of this sort in this day and age. Everyone is looking over their shoulders these days. That’s why I came all this way to see you. If you’re successful all fingers will naturally be pointed at the CIA.”
“But you will have plausible denial,” MacMurphy interjected.
“Yes, plausible denial. No links back to the CIA, unless someone is watching and recording us right now,” the DDO gazed around the room and laughed.
“No chance of that, boss. Nobody comes to Suze-la-Rousse but me. And I know you made sure you weren’t followed here.”
“Right, I wrangled a boondoggle to Paris and then told the guys I wanted the day for some shopping and sightseeing. I hopped the bullet train to Montélimar and took a taxi to here. It took less than three hours.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ve got to be back at the station in Montélimar by three-thirty to catch the train back to Paris, and we’ve still got some things to cover.”
“I guess that means you won’t get to see any more of my quaint little town while you’re here.”
“Next time, Mac. Now, why don’t you get the check, my wealthy friend, and we can talk some more while you walk me back to the bridge.”
“You bet. We need to figure out how to get to his stash and doctor it. It won’t be easy.”
MacMurphy signaled the waiter for the check and finished his wine. He paid with cash and the two men walked out into the warm summer air of Southern France. They strolled slowly back toward the ancient Roman bridge at the entrance of the village, enjoying the sun and summer breezes.
“Too bad you can’t stay longer, boss. I’m disappointed.”
“We’ll have plenty of time to get together when this is over, plenty of time.”
They crossed the main square and Rothmann looked back at the imposing Renaissance castle on the hill behind him. “That is a beautiful sight. I really will have to come back here some day. When this is all over.”
“Yes indeed. You’ll be my guest. I’d love to show you this part of France.” They continued to walk while Mac thought about what he was being asked to do. Finally he asked, “So, how do we sabotage Khun Ut’s heroin shipments?”
The DDO stopped and shook his head. “You’re going to have to figure that one out for yourself, but I’ll give you a couple of resources to help you come up with a plan. The first is a guy down in the Florida Keys. He’s done some good work for me in the past. Bill Barker’s his name. He’s a bit of a rogue. An arms dealer who’s always working on the fringes of the law. But he knows his shit. He’ll fix you up with whatever you need in the way of weapons and get them safely delivered to Thailand. He’s also a chemist. Knows everything there is to know about poisons. He can advise you on what you need to put into Khun Ut’s shipments. I’m thinking something that will make people who shoot up really, really sick. Kind of like Eldest Son.”
Mac said, “What if the stuff we put in kills someone? Like Project Eldest Son.”
“Collateral damage…can’t help it. That’s something we may have to struggle with.”
“Okay, we’ll cross that bridge if and when we come to it. But what about access?”
“You’re going to have to be real careful with this one, Mac. There can be no connection to the Agency at all. That said, you’re going to need a way to get access to Khun Ut’s heroin in order to sabotage it. And I’ve given it a lot of thought. I don’t see any way around it, so I’m going to put you in touch with our ACOB in Chiang Mai, Charly Blackburn. You may even remember her. She says she met you in Bangkok a couple of years ago. She was stationed there when you visited from Hong Kong to attend some sort of a
narcotics conference.”
“Of course, I remember her well. Real smart gal. Eurasian. Very pretty. An expert on the Golden Triangle heroin trade.”
“That’s Charly all right. I knew you’d never forget a beautiful face like that. Anyway, I named her the new acting chief in Chiang Mai after Sadosky was killed. She’s a little young for the job, but I think she’s up to it. Real bright and no one in the DDO knows more about that part of the world than she does. Speaks fluent Thai too, which is a big plus. Her mother was Thai. Dad was an Air Force officer. Bombardier on a B-52 out of U-Tapao, if memory serves. I hate to create a link to the Agency, but you’re going to need some support. She’ll be your contact in country—funnel intel to you. She’s also got an asset who might be able to help get you access to Khun Ut’s heroin shipments. Guard that connection with your life. She’s totally loyal and reliable, the only other CIA employee who knows about you and me. That also makes her the weakest link in our little daisy chain, so be careful about meeting with her.”
They reached the foot of the bridge and Rothmann stopped, reached into a pocket of his computer case, pulled out an envelope and handed it to MacMurphy. “This contains contact instructions for Barker and Blackburn. Note that Barker only knows me as an arms buyer named Tom Willet. It’s important we keep it that way. I vouched for you and told him you would be contacting him, so your bona fides is established, but I didn’t give him a name. I assume you’ll use an alias with him and, for that matter, for anything you do in Thailand. There’s also a cell phone number you can use to reach me in an emergency. It’s an untraceable throwaway phone. I suggest you get a similar phone. Make sure it’s an international quad-band, so we can reach each other in an emergency.”
Plausible Denial Page 3