Plausible Denial

by Rustmann Jr. , F. W.

  If he noticed the pout on Noi’s face, he didn’t react to it at all.

  They finished eating, with Noi only picking at her food, and followed the general down the tarmac to the aircraft. The general did a final inspection and removed the chocks from the wheels and the tethers from the wings. Then they all began to climb aboard the aircraft.

  Sawat said, “Noi, you and Ling Ling sit in the back with Mr. Ralph. Bob, you come up front with me. It is a beautiful day for a tour of the mighty Mekong and the Golden Triangle.”

  Seeing the expression of shock and discomfort on Noi’s face, Mac smiled and suggested that he and “Ralph” sit in the back, with Noi and Ling Ling up front next to the general.

  Visibly relieved at the new seating arrangements, she bowed deeply to Mac. The general was oblivious to the whole act being played out before him.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Once inside with the doors closed, it rapidly grew hot in the cabin. Rivulets of sweat ran down Culler’s face and off his chin onto his Thai silk shirt. As the propeller caught, the engine revved and the cooling system cut in; they finally began to cool off.

  The general maneuvered the howling Cessna 172 out onto the taxiway and then to the end of the runway, where he did a final check of his instruments and received permission from the control tower to take off. They raced down the runway and up into the air.

  Banking right he took the plane due east toward the Mekong River. They climbed to an altitude of fifteen hundred feet and leveled off over thick triple-canopy jungle interspersed with villages and farms. Soon the meandering, wide, brown swath of the mighty Mekong came into view. He banked left and they followed the river north toward the Golden Triangle.

  The general kept up a steady stream of commentary on the landscape and history of the land below them, shouting over his shoulder to be heard above the wailing engine.

  They reached the Golden Triangle, and Culler and Mac could see plainly how the place got its name. The Mekong flowed north to south, dividing Burma to the west and Laos to the east. The Ruak River flowed from the west to the east separating Burma from Thailand, its neighbor to the south, until it curved south and joined the Mekong in a perfect triangle, joining Burma, Laos and Thailand.

  The general circled the Golden Triangle while continuing to enlighten them on the jaded history of the area over the roar of the plane. He banked south beyond Doi Mae Salong and headed back into the mountains of Northern Thailand until he reached the village of Ban Hin Taek, securely nestled deep in a long finger valley in the shadow of Doi Tung, the highest mountain in the region.

  “There it is,” the general shouted. “The notorious Ban Hin Taek—easy to get to by air, but by land it is a very different story. See that road over there? It starts at Bap Basang on route 110 between Chiang Rai and Mae Sai, winding up that mountain to Doi Mae Salong. From there it continues as a dirt road heading north toward the Burmese border to Ban Hin Taek. It’s the same road the Thai Army took when they attacked Khun Sa. Many trucks loaded with men—armed with assault rifles, grenade launchers, recoilless rifles and rocket launchers—drove all night to surprise Khun Sa. And they succeeded. Khun Sa never thought they would do it. Or if they did, he figured he would have plenty of warning from his many paid informants. He never thought such a thing could happen with all the money he spread around the area.”

  “I’m surprised no one warned him,” said Mac.

  “Frankly, I would have warned him if I could have, but the raid was such a closely guarded secret that even the Thai Army and Border Patrol soldiers didn’t know where they were going until after they got there.

  “It is not as small a village as you might think, either. Even during Khun Sa’s days, it was thriving. Khun Sa first came to Ban Hin Taek in the mid-sixties. He lived here for about a year and fell in love with the place. So, about ten years later he returned with his wife and children. He made the village his base of operations for his Shan United Army and for his associated drug trade. At its peak the SUA had twenty thousand heavily armed soldiers totally devoted to him, and seventy percent of the heroin consumed in the United States came from his organization.”

  The general brought the Cessna lower and buzzed the village. “See that large villa there at the base of that mountain? That was Khun Sa’s home and headquarters. It was very modern, beautifully furnished with expensive furniture and artwork. It had a television in every room, an elaborate stereo system, an Olympic sized swimming pool and a tennis court that doubled as a helicopter landing pad.”

  “Pretty nice digs,” said Mac.

  “Yes, the officers and chemists in Khun Sa’s narcotics army also lived in spacious, modern villas with manicured lawns. You can see some of them over there, lining the base of the hill next to Khun Sa’s place.”

  Mac leaned forward and shouted a question at the general. “If that’s the only road leading to Ban Hin Taek, how did the Thai Army flush him out of there?”

  “Yes, good question. Ban Hin Taek was a heavily fortified mountain stronghold. Khun Sa felt very secure there surrounded by two thousand soldiers. The actual battle was like a shootout in one of your cowboy movies: street by street and house by house. Vicious.

  “The battle for the village, back in 1982, lasted three long days. The Thai soldiers and Border Patrol took up battle lines along the east side of the main street, over there. Ten meters away, on the other side of the street, stood the surprised drug traffickers, many of them rousted from their beds and still in their underwear, but heavily armed with automatic weapons and not afraid to use them.

  “When asked to surrender, the bedraggled line of scruffy soldiers, many of them high on marijuana, just opened fire. The fighting was close quarters and bitter, but the Thais had them outgunned and the element of surprise in their favor. The Thai Army was supported by aircraft that strafed the dense surrounding jungle and the SUA positions.

  “In the end, fifty-one of the SUA mercenaries, including Khun Sa’s natural son, lay dead alongside of sixteen Thai soldiers. The rest of the opium mercenaries fled with Khun Sa to safety over the border into Burma. Khun Sa never returned. Thailand had finally had enough of him.”

  “What supports the village now?” asked MacMurphy. “The same old drug trade but with Khun Ut in charge?”

  “No, although there are certainly similarities, the trade is much more disbursed under Khun Ut. It certainly continues to bring a lot of revenue to the village, but tourism actually brings in more.”

  Mac leaned forward and shouted over the engine. “Tourism? You’ve got to be joking. People drive all the way up here on that little dirt road to tour the village?”

  “Yes sir. Khun Sa’s old town villa, the one I told you about, is now a museum for the drug trade. People drive all the way up here to see how he lived. And we also get our share of trekkers who walk all the way up here just to sample the opium in one of the many native huts that will sell them a pipe or two.”

  The general paused to clear his throat, which was becoming sore from shouting over the engine. “But it’s not over. Far from it. The destruction of Khun Sa’s army disrupted the heroin flow for awhile, but the opium war is far from over. The syndicate is gaining momentum once again under the leadership of Khun Ut, who is, as I am sure you know, Khun Sa’s adopted son.

  “See that mountain aerie about halfway up that hill over there?” He pointed to a sprawling lodge nestled in the woods directly across the village from the towering Doi Tung Mountain. “That villa was used by Khun Sa as a mountain retreat back in the old days and is now the headquarters and home of Khun Ut. I cannot take you too close to it, or they will shoot at us. It is very heavily guarded. Just like the good old days, or maybe not so good old days. No one can get close to Khun Ut’s house. It is a fortress.”

  Mac leaned forward and shouted into the general’s ear. “Take us over Ban Mae Chan, will you? We would like to see Khun Ut’s warehouse.”

  Startled, the general asked over his shoulder. “Mae Chan.
What do you know about Mae Chan?”

  “Why don’t you tell me?”

  Turning in her seat, Noi regarded Mac and Culler in disbelief.

  “Well, you already know Khun Ut has a warehouse there. Actually, it’s his main storage depot. But you can’t get close to it. He has got security tighter than a virgin’s twat. That’s a good one, eh? I learned that expression in California.”

  Noi rolled her eyes and cuddled Ling Ling closer to her breast, as if to shield the dog’s ears from the general’s crude words.

  “That warehouse is the last stop for the heroin before it is shipped out of Thailand. Most of it goes to Hong Kong where it is put through the final refining process by Chinese chemists. The mountain refineries in the hills around here are very primitive and have to be moved around constantly to avoid detection. The heroin bricks that are produced here cannot be used for very much the way they are.”

  “Let’s go see it,” said Santos.

  Noi gave the general a frightened look, but he seemed unconcerned. The general banked the small plane to the left and headed in a southeasterly direction away from Ban Hin Taek. “Okay, it’s off the normal tourist routes of the Golden Triangle, Ban Hin Taek and the Mekong, but I will take you as close as I can get without alerting Khun Ut’s security team. That is not something any of us would want to do, and they know me and my plane very well.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  MacMurphy had traveled to Ban Mae Chan when he was stationed in Udorn. The town was located on Route One at the end of a high plateau extending south into Thailand from the Burmese border. It was in the heart of the opium growing region twenty-two miles north of Chiang Rai, mid-way between Chiang Rai and Ban Mae Sai on the Burmese border. Traditionally the town was a trading post for the Akha and Yao hill tribes to sell their goods and purchase manufactured items. Now it was all about tourism and opium.

  They were flying at one thousand feet when they came upon the town from the north. “There it is,” said the general, pointing ahead and to the right of the plane. “It is not much to see. Just another little hill village turned into a tourist trap. In front of us to the south, you will see where the plateau comes to a point and falls into a deep jungle ravine. At the edge of that ravine in those woods you will see…there it is—see that shiny tin roof there in the woods? That is the warehouse.”

  Both Culler and Mac strained to see, as the general banked the plane first to the right and then to the left for each of them to get a clear view of the terrain below.

  Sawat said, “This is as close as we dare to get. We will have to fly around it and continue south towards Chiang Rai. But at least you know where it is. You certainly don’t want to go asking directions for it in the village.” The general laughed heartily at his joke while Noi stared at him with wide, disapproving eyes.

  Culler and Mac settled back into their seats in the rear of the plane thinking the same thing. This was going to be a bitch! They had studied the casings Charly had provided, but actually seeing the facility from the air gave them an entirely new perspective.

  They needed to break into the facility, inject the ricin into as many of the heroin bricks as possible, and get out without being detected, or—if they were detected—make it look like they were attempting to rob the place. Stealing a few kilos of heroin would be good cover for the operation as long as it allowed them to get in and out and do their thing.

  The casings showed that the bales of marijuana were stacked around the perimeter of the warehouse’s ground floor, with the pallets of heroin bricks near the center. They could possibly get through a back door or a window, maybe even cut a hole in the wall.

  It seemed unlikely they would be able to gain access to the interior any other way. Not with all the security around, and not without having to kill the guards they would inevitably encounter along the way.

  Maybe they could quietly take out a few of the guards on the warehouse’s rear—the apparently less guarded side facing the ravine. That would be a possibility. But it would mean a steep climb from the jungle floor to the ridge of the plateau: a tough job, but not impossible.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  While Santos and MacMurphy were flying over Ban Hin Taek and Ban Mae Chan, Khun Ut and Ung Chea were meeting in Khun Ut’s mountain lodge in Ban Hin Taek.

  Impeccably dressed in a tan, starched safari suit, Khun Ut leaned back in his leather executive chair. His feet were propped up on the corner of an oversized, ornately carved antique teak desk that had once belonged to his father. He watched as the smoke wafted from his cheroot.

  “What makes you think it was anything more than a mugging?” he asked. “After all, Chiang Rai is a rough neighborhood, and he was robbed of everything of any value he had on him.”

  “Just a feeling,” said the Cambodian. He had plopped himself down in a chair across the desk from Khun Ut and was absentmindedly tracing the jagged scar on his cheek with a thumb. “Things don’t match up, boss. She drives all the way to Chiang Rai, parks her car, walks straight to the Wangcome Hotel, through the lobby to the elevators and disappears upstairs for over an hour. Surely she was meeting someone in one of the rooms. A clandestine meeting of some sort, and I do not think it was about sex. She would not come all that way for a quickie.”

  “But that is her job, right? She is a CIA officer. She was probably meeting one of her agents.”

  “Of course she was. But why would she come to Chiang Rai for an agent meeting? She almost never comes here. And then the mugging...”

  “I would understand it, Ung Chea, if she had counter-surveillance, but no CIA counter-surveillance team would ever be so bold as to do that to a surveillant. Not unless they thought her life was in danger.”

  “Maybe they did. I mean, our attack on their consulate…well, maybe they finally decided to get revenge. It is possible, no? Considering what we just did to them.”

  Khun Ut spun out of his chair and walked to the expanse of windows across the front of the room. He studied the village below and then lifted his gaze toward the towering Doi Tung Mountain on the other side.

  He thought back to the first time he had played in this room as a small boy with Khun Sa’s son.

  Khun Ut was born Duangdee Khemmawongse in Ban Hin Taek. His father was pure Akha, and his mother was half-Chinese, half-Akha. His family lived on the outskirts of the village, in a thatched roof hut with a dirt floor, among the pigs and chickens. As long as he could remember, they had worked in one capacity or another in the opium trade.

  As is the custom in Thailand, he was given a nickname shortly after his birth. While most Thai nicknames reflect what the baby looked like at birth, his parents chose Ut, which had no particular meaning. They just liked the sound of the name.

  Ut had a vague recollection of the time when Khun Sa first arrived in Ban Hin Taek. He remembered Khun Sa as a handsome, charismatic man who gave the dirt poor villagers hope of better times in the future: a future where opium would be more than just a remedy for their ills and an escape from their troubles, but one which would bring them heretofore unimaginable wealth and prosperity.

  Khun Sa came to the village with his wife and three children, one of whom was a three-year-old boy, the same age as Ut. The boys quickly became inseparable, and they grew up as brothers while Khun Sa built up his opium empire and brought prosperity to the small village.

  By the time the boys reached the age of thirteen, they were constantly at his side, collecting opium from farmers and delivering it to refineries deep in the jungle.

  And as Khun Sa’s empire expanded, the boys took on ever increasing responsibility, and their power and wealth increased commensurately.

  Ut, the smarter boy by far, reveled in his newfound status and soon began to overshadow Khun Sa’s natural son, much to the chagrin of Khun Sa at first, but soon with the resignation that the two boys complimented each other and would always be together at his side.

  When the forces of the Thai army and border patrol attacked Kh
un Sa’s Ban Hin Taek stronghold, Khun Sa lost many of his men, including his son, in the fighting. He also lost guns and ammunition worth more than two million dollars.

  Ut was badly wounded in the right leg by shrapnel, making it impossible for him to retreat with Khun Sa. The injury left him with a permanent limp and the resolve to recover his former lifestyle and climb back to the top of the heap, with or without Khun Sa.

  By then Ut was twenty-one years, a seasoned veteran of the opium trade. While Khun Sa roamed the hills of Burma trying to avoid capture with the remnants of his SUA army, Ut remained in Ban Hin Taek and quietly began to rebuild Khun Sa’s empire.

  He adopted the name Khun Ut and took up permanent residence in Khun Sa’s mountain retreat overlooking Ban Hin Taek. No one challenged his right to be there.

  Khun Sa remained on the run, hounded by Burmese authorities, for the next ten years. He finally surrendered in 1996 and was held in house arrest in Rangoon until his death in 2001.

  The drug trade under the direction of Khun Ut was by this time restored to the point where it was once again becoming a nuisance to the Thai and Burmese governments, and a particular menace to the U.S. government. It had reached a point where its production amounted to forty-five percent of the U.S. heroin supply, rivaled only by Afghanistan.

  Under pressure from the U.S., the Burmese started shelling the border region around Ban Hin Taek and made preparations for an invasion to wipe out the drug trade. But the Thai government protested the invasion of its territory vigorously, forcing the Burmese to call it off and leaving Khun Ut to manage his revived drug empire with minimum resistance.

  Ut shook himself out of his reverie and returned to the moment. That is the answer. She was meeting with some outside CIA people. That is why she didn’t meet with them at the consulate in Chiang Mai. It is an outside team. Maybe paramilitary.