“Depends on what you want to do.”
“We want to get into one of Khun Ut’s shipments of heroin. All we need is a few minutes. The warehouse where the heroin is stored would be the best place, right?”
“Well, that’s where the heroin is stored, lots of it, and tons of marijuana all stacked up in neat bales.” She took another long drink from her wine glass, re-crossed her legs, and continued.
“The opium is harvested in the mountain villages and then brought to movable refineries in the jungle and in the highlands where they turn it into white, chalky one-kilogram bricks of low grade heroin.
“The bricks are then assembled in a small warehouse near Khun Ut’s mansion on the outskirts of Ban Hin Taek, an Akha village in the highlands where Khun Sa—Khun Ut’s father, of course—used to have his headquarters.
“From there the heroin bricks are loaded onto donkeys and sent by caravan down through the hills on narrow trails through the jungle to Khun Ut’s main warehouse on the outskirts Mae Chan, a few kilometers north of Chiang Rai. As you would expect, the warehouse is heavily guarded at all times with the guards living on the premises. The heroin is trucked, mostly concealed in shipments of charcoal, to the seaports in southern Thailand. There it’s concealed in shipments of one thing or another and loaded unto ships bound for Hong Kong for further, final refinement. Once the refining process is complete it’s smuggled to the United States and other parts of the world.”
Mac said, “We need to get access to it at some point after it has been turned into the one kilogram bricks but before it’s concealed and loaded onto ships bound for Hong Kong.”
“What are you going to do with it when you get your hands on it?” she asked.
“We’re going to poison it.”
She smiled admiringly. “You are a treacherous son of a bitch, aren’t you? Whose idea was that, yours or Edwin Rothmann’s?”
“Ed’s. That’s why he’s the DDO. The idea came from an operation he was involved in during the Vietnam War. He got into VC and NVA arms caches clandestinely and salted the 7.62 ammo boxes with rounds filled with high explosives rather than gunpowder.”
“I heard of that op at The Farm. The AK-47s exploded in the enemies’ faces when one of the explosive rounds was chambered. It was very effective as I recall.”
“Sure was. Made the VC afraid to use its own weapons and ammo.”
“And once you kill a few people using Khun Ut’s heroin, the word will get out that he’s selling bad shit, and people will stop buying it. His distribution network comes tumbling down, is that about it?”
“That’s about it. Got a problem with that? The collateral damage, I mean?”
She shook her head and chuckled. “Not at all. Sounds like a great plan to me.”
“So who’s the treacherous one, you or me?”
“That’s why I love you, Mac. We’re cut from the same cloth.” She ran her tongue over her lips.
“Knock it off Charly. We’ve got serious work to do and I need your help. We can’t risk any more meetings, not until this is over at least. You’re under Khun Ut’s microscope; if anyone makes the connection between you and me, all of the DDO’s ‘plausible denial’ will dissolve into mist. This can’t be a CIA op. That’s the whole point. You understand that, right?”
She put on her most doleful look and gave him a deep wai, with her prayerful hands touching high on her forehead, and replied with resignation. “I know. I get it. Don’t worry. Rothmann needs to deny any connection between this operation and the CIA, and I’m the weakest link in that plan. You can count on me, Mac. Just tell me what you need and I’ll deliver it.”
“Okay, now we’re on the same page. Tell me about this asset of yours.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
She collected her thoughts, took another swallow of her wine and proceeded to brief him.
“He’s a low level security guy who works for Khun Ut and the Cambodian. He and a team of armed guards accompany the heroin shipments from Khun Ut’s collection point in Ban Hin Taek down through the jungle to the main warehouse near Mae Chan. He’s a Hmong tribesman who fought alongside of General Vang Pao and the CIA’s Bill Lair in Laos during the Vietnam conflict. He’s a wily old cuss—smart, tough as nails, and totally loyal to the United States, thanks in large part to the rapport he had with his case officer, Bill Lair. And this is despite the fact that the U.S. abandoned the Hmong tribesmen after the war.
“What a disgrace. Anyway, I met him through his son, a bright graduate student at Chiang Mai University. The kid serves as a spotter for us among the academic community in Thailand. Spotting his dad was by far his crowning achievement. It paid for his education.”
Mac was taking notes furiously on his yellow pad. “So he’s been to both warehouses and knows the routes between them.”
“Right. The information the guy has given us has been invaluable. It was instrumental in our recent crackdowns on Khun Ut, which of course led to his retaliatory attack on our consulate in Chiang Mai.”
“And you have casings of the warehouses and have mapped the donkey routes.” “The warehouse casings are not a problem.” She dug down into her large black bag, pulled out a folder and handed it to him. “Here they are. I Xeroxed them on water-soluble paper so you can flush them after you study them. I also included Khun Ut’s villa in Ban Hin Taek and GPS coordinates for all three locations.”
“That’s terrific, Charly. You’re way out in front of me.”
“I usually am. Anyway, when you read them you won’t be so pleased. The security around all three locations is tight. They’re surrounded by guards armed with automatic weapons. They’ve also got a couple of Huey gunships with mini guns to protect them. You can’t get within a thousand meters of any of them.
“The donkey routes are less clear. There’s no one route they take each time. They just wander down through the jungle on animal trails. I solved that problem by giving VANGUISH– that’s his cryptonym, you don’t need to know his name – a stainless steel Rolex watch with a GPS built into it. Pretty neat, eh?”
“Very neat. Go on.”
“Well, actually we had his son give it to him. He needed to be able to explain how he got such an expensive item. So now we can track his every move through the jungle, in real time, from Ban Hin Taek to Mae Chan.” She sat back, proud of herself, and drained her glass.
“Good work. Excellent. That must have taken some convincing on your part.” He refilled their glasses. “How did you get him to agree to all that? How’d you recruit the guy?”
“Truth be told, it wasn’t hard at all. I was just lucky to find him. He’s a brave old cuss who sees his cooperation with me and the Agency as an extension of what he did with Bill Lair and the Hmong hill tribes in Laos way back when. You’ve heard of Bill Lair, right?”
“Of course. Met him once right after I joined the Agency. He spoke to us down at The Farm. We had a reception for him afterward. A good ‘ole Texas boy who married into Thai royalty and spent most of his career in Thailand, a true legend in the CIA.”
“Yes, and his legend lives on in Vanguish.”
“Fitting. Did you pick out that cryptonym?”
“I did indeed.”
“Nice touch. So, you think we should stay clear of the warehouses and concentrate on the donkey trails.”
“That’s the way I see it. The only way to get to the warehouses is to bomb them, but we can’t get the Thais to agree to that. But if you can intercept one of the donkey caravans…well, that’s probably your best shot, and Vanguish and I can help with that.”
“One more thing and then I’ve got to get you back on your way to Chiang Mai. Tell me what you know about General Sawat Ruchupan.”
“How do you know about him?”
“Well, it’s kind of a long story. Rothmann put us in touch with an arms dealer down in the Florida Keys, the guy who outfitted us with our weapons and the chemicals.
“He in turn put us in touch with the general
, the one who received the shipment. He turned the stuff over to us yesterday and offered his services in other ways as well. He’s a pilot. Has a helicopter and a plane. I thought he could be useful to us because we have no support structure out here.”
“I’d be very careful when dealing with General Sawat. He profited greatly from the drug trade under Khun Sa. He was known at the time as one of the most corrupt police generals in Thailand, and—believe me—that’s saying something.
“Then, when General Prem Tinsulanonda took over as Prime Minister, back in the early nineteen-eighties, things changed rapidly. Prem and the DEA decided they had had enough and decided to push Khun Sa out of Thailand. By then, Khun Sa had built up his empire to the point where it was providing more than seventy per cent of the heroin consumed in the U.S.
“So Prem leaned on General Sawat and persuaded him to change sides. Sawat did and the rest is history. The Thai army and police attacked Khun Sa’s headquarters in Ban Hin Taek with tanks and planes and, after several days of violent fighting, managed to force Khun Sa and his SUA army to retreat across the border into Burma. That ended Khun Sa’s rule in the Golden Triangle.”
“So how’s the relationship between Khun Ut and General Sawat today?”
“Not great, but word has it that the general still benefits from Khun Ut’s drug trade, despite the fact that he’s retired now and out of the chain of command. They’ve apparently reached some sort of a modus vivendi.”
“Damn…so he’s not trustworthy.”
“No, I didn’t say that. To the extent that any former corrupt police general can be trusted, General Sawat has the reputation of being a straight shooter. He works for anyone who will pay him. The word is he keeps his clients compartmented and tries not to cross wires.”
“So we should trust, but verify, in the words of Ronald Reagan.”
She laughed. “Something like that.”
“Okay Charly, you’ve got to get out of here. You’ve been here over an hour already.”
“Time flies when you’re having fun. Are you sure we can’t stretch this out just a little bit longer?” She gave him a look that promised everything.
He shook his head. “I’d love to, Charly, and I mean that. Just keep your phone handy in case I need some more of your help on this. Okay?” He grabbed his cell phone and punched in Culler’s number.
She stood up and flipped her hair back from her face. “Okay Mac, I’ll stand by the phone. Just like the old days.”
MacMurphy spoke into his phone. “She’s on her way down.”
She gathered her things and Mac walked her to the door, but before he could open it she put her hand on his outstretched arm and stopped him. She turned and took his face in her hands, brushing his lips with hers.
He hesitated. “No, Charly, you’ve got to leave.”
She pulled open the door and was halfway into the hall when she turned back to him and uttered, “You really are a mean bastard.”
Chapter Thirty
Santos dropped a one hundred baht note on the bar and prepared to leave. He was dressed in jeans, tennis shoes and a blue, short-sleeved Thai silk shirt that barely covered the large Heckler and Koch .45 caliber handgun holstered in the small of his back.
The Thai surveillant sat awkwardly in the same chair in the middle of the lobby. He pretended to read a magazine, but his eyes never left the elevator banks at the rear of the lobby.
Exiting the elevator, Charly briskly crossed the lobby between Santos and the surprised surveillant, her high heels clacking rhythmically on the marble floor.
The surveillant fumbled with his magazine, dropped it on the floor, lurched out of his chair, and fell in behind her, stuffing his cell phone in his pocket as he hurried to keep up.
She pushed through the revolving door and headed out into the night with the Thai close behind her, and Santos close behind him.
One behind the other, the three of them hurried through the city streets of Chiang Rai until they reached the two-story parking garage where Charly had left her car.
Two blocks off of the main strip made a huge difference in both foot and vehicular traffic. Aside from the well lit parking garage, the surrounding streets were quiet and dark. She stopped at the kiosk at the garage entrance, paid her bill, and one of the valets went running up the ramp for her car.
The surveillant stepped into the shadows at the corner of the garage and watched. When she had finished paying and moved to the waiting area, he darted across the dark street toward a lone black, beat-up old Toyota parked illegally in a fire zone a half block down the road across from the garage entrance.
A red and white, official-looking permit was visible on the dashboard. Santos guessed it gave the owner permission to park in restricted zones. Incipient corruption, he thought.
Santos figured that, since the surveillant had made no effort to use his cell phone to alert anyone else to Charly’s movements, he was probably alone on the job. That was a good thing. He only had to worry about neutralizing one person.
Santos circled around and darted across the dark, tree-lined street behind the surveillant. He moved quietly but rapidly in a low crouch and came up behind the unsuspecting Thai just as he rounded the car on the curbside and was about to put his key in the car’s door.
The surveillant was so intent on keeping his rabbit and the garage in sight that he never noticed the big farang moving up behind him.
The surveillant leaned toward the car, fumbling in the dark intently focused on trying to fit his key in the door. Santos slipped up behind him and brought both hands out and around and cuffed him on both ears in a powerful clap. The surveillant went down like a stone.
Santos stood motionless for several moments and surveyed the area around him. The attendant in the parking kiosk looked up momentarily and went back to reading his magazine. Two young Thai strollers, walking hand in hand further down the street, looked back in the direction of the sound but, seeing nothing, continued on their way. A car drove by, illuminating the empty street.
Santos kneeled down in the shadow of the car and quickly removed the surveillant’s watch and wallet. He pulled a money clip with about five hundred baht in small bills out of one front pocket and his cell phone from the other. He stuffed everything into the side pocket of his shirt.
He rolled the unconscious man off of the curb down into the gutter, partially under the car. Spotting the car keys laying in the gutter, he put these in his pocket as well.
Santos reached down and felt the jugular vein for a pulse. Well, you’re alive you little fucker, he thought, but you’re going to have one hell of a headache when you wake up, and your ears will be ringing like a Christmas string quartet for a month.
Santos stood up, watched Blackburn’s car exit the garage and turn south, took another look around him, and casually strolled back to the Wangcome Hotel. He walked straight through the lobby to the elevator bank, up to MacMurphy’s room, and knocked quietly on the door.
Opening the door, Mac saw Santos standing there with a big, shit-eating grin. His big outstretched hands contained the surveillant’s belongings. “Brought you a present, Mac,” he said.
“Pretty good haul for your first mugging, Culler. Now get in here before you get arrested. Tell me all about it, and then I’ll brief you on my meeting with Charly Blackburn.”
Chapter Thirty-One
The next morning Mac called General Sawat and arranged for an airplane tour of the Golden Triangle. He wanted to get a feel for the topography of the area and a look at the two warehouses and Khun Ut’s headquarters from the air. They agreed to meet at the restaurant of the general aviation section of the Chiang Mai airport at noon.
Noi met them at the entrance of the restaurant, greeting them with a respectful wai, revealing her deep cleavage. “Sawatdee kha,” she purred.
The men returned the wai and greeted her in Thai, “Sawatdee khrap.”
She spoke to one of the waiters who led them to a table at a window overl
ooking the airstrip. The table was already set with a tray of Thai appetizers, gueyteow noodles, assorted satays and a pot of tea. She served them with typical Thai grace while Ling Ling, peeking out of the top of Noi’s oversized bag, yapped at Culler, who glared back at the mutt. “General Sawat will join us shortly,” she said. “He is preparing the plane for our tour.”
The dog continued to yap at Culler and Noi muzzled the mutt with her hand, quieting the obnoxious animal momentarily.
“Will little Ling Ling be joining us on our little tour of the Golden Triangle?” Santos asked.
“Of course Ling Ling will join us,” she purred, clucking at the dog. “She is my baby.” She snuggled the dog, kissed it on the snout, and fed it a piece of spring roll from her dish. “Aren’t you, my little sweetie?” she said.
Santos forced himself to smile, leaned toward her, and said in a calm, controlled voice, “But, my dear, if you can’t control little Ling Ling’s incessant yapping, I will personally wring her neck, skin her and eat her for dinner.”
Noi’s eyes widened and the dog whimpered as she squeezed it tightly to her breast, muzzling it with a hand to protect it from the huge farang monster.
Mac looked over at Culler with a combination of disapproval and admiration. Santos had echoed his thoughts precisely, but MacMurphy would never be so confrontational in a situation like this. He needed Noi as an ally, or at least neutral. If she turned on them, she could turn the general against them, and that would not be good for the mission.
The tension of the moment was broken with the arrival of the general.
He approached the table with a spring in his step, greeting them with a wai and in a jovial voice, “My friends, I am happy to see you are enjoying your lunch. I hope you enjoy the food. This is not the finest restaurant in Northern Thailand, but I have selected items from the menu that are within the chef’s capabilities.
“The plane has been prepped and is ready to go whenever you are, but first let us finish our lunch. I have an excellent tour mapped out for you.”
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