“Got it, Boss. Great idea.”
Chapter Forty-Four
Culler and Mac drove back in the direction of Ban Mae Chan. They turned off the main highway when their GPS showed them to be at the bottom end of the valley that ended at the precipice at the southern end of Ban Mae Chan, the location of Khun Ut’s warehouse.
They followed the GPS map along a narrow paved road that ended abruptly at an old dump at the jungle’s edge. They circled around the dump and continued slowly in four wheel drive over a rutted and unmarked logging trail that took them deep into the jungle until the road ran out.
They pulled into the underbrush and piled branches on and around the vehicle to hide it from view. With the car sufficiently camouflaged, they dressed for the day-long hike through the jungle.
They pulled on Ghillie-suits and filled their backpacks with extra ammo, granola and power bars, dry clothes and socks, hammocks, shelter sheets, sleeping gear, and other personal items.
GPS devices, commo gear and night vision headgear went into separate pockets on the outside of the backpacks. Camelbaks filled with water went under the backpacks.
Over his shoulder, Culler carried a small, extra bag that contained two dozen, twelve cubic centimeter vials of ricin packed in Styrofoam.
They unpacked their short POF automatic weapons, screwed on the suppressors, checked the day and night vision sights and popped in a 100-round drum of ammo for each weapon.
Last, they put their suppressed H&K sidearms in thigh holsters, belted their fighting knives, and prepared to leave. The last thing they did was apply camouflage paint to their faces. With the paint and Ghillie suits, they would be nearly invisible in the jungle, day or night.
They checked their GPS devices, entered the current coordinates for the return trip and selected coordinates for their destination.
“We’re all set, Culler. Let’s do it.”
They hefted on their backpacks, slung their assault weapons and headed in a northwesterly direction through the triple-canopy jungle on their way toward Ban Mae Chan.
They figured the roughly five-mile hike over the rough terrain would take most of the day. They moved slowly and silently, like hunters stalking a deer, with Mac in the lead. They were in no hurry and stayed close enough together to use hand signals to communicate. The only sounds came from scurrying animals, birds and screaming monkeys.
The backpacks, Camelbaks, weapons and ammo weighed almost forty pounds, and the uneven, slippery terrain through the wet jungle made the going even slower than expected.
Soon they were sweating profusely and sucking heavily from the tubes on their Camelbaks. The rainy season had just begun so mosquitoes were an added problem, forcing them to continually douse themselves with mosquito repellent.
It was dark when they reached the base of the butte that led up at a thirty degree angle to the back of the warehouse. The sky was cloudy, threatening an evening shower, and blurring the stars and moon intermittently.
They could barely see the reflection of lights above them through the almost impenetrable triple canopy. Without the help of their night vision gear, they would have been blind.
They decided to rest and regroup. They sat close together among the winding roots of a huge banyan tree.
Mac whispered, “This is a good place to dump our packs. Let’s mark it on our GPS’s. The climb is going to be a bitch, and we need to be as light and mobile as possible.”
“Good idea. I’m bushed already.” The sweat poured off Culler’s face and down his nose. “Let’s eat a couple of granola bars and re-hydrate a bit before we tackle the hill.”
They ate, drank and rested for two hours before Mac nudged Culler and whispered, “Let’s go. It’s almost midnight and it’s going to take us an hour or two to get up this hill. Move slowly and quietly, and watch out for sensors or tripwires. I don’t think their security is going to be that hi-tech, but you never know.”
Culler said, “Let’s use the commo gear. It won’t hurt to have a backup in case we get separated up there.”
“Good idea.”
They inserted their ear pieces, adjusted their volume controls down to minimum, clipped the microphones to their collars and tested them.
Mac led the way up the slope. The climbing was tough due to the slippery ground from the recent rains. They followed animal trails which meandered up the hill, using branches and trees to help pull them along whenever they could grab on to something.
As before, they climbed in silence but maintained visual contact with each other.
About half way up the slope, they paused to rest. It began to pour and they hovered close to a tree, wishing they had brought a shelter sheet. By now they could see the reflection from the lights above them. The rain lasted only a few minutes, and they continued their climb. The jungle thinned out as they approached the highlands surrounding Ban Mae Chan. They could hear no sounds coming from above other than the rustling of branches in the breeze and the occasional squealing of monkeys.
They still had no idea how they would get into the warehouse once they got up there, but they were confident that a plan would emerge when they could lay eyes on the place and evaluate the situation firsthand.
They stopped frequently to rest as they continued their climb up the slope of the ridge. The night vision headgear they wore covered their left eyes only, leaving their right eyes open to normal vision. Both scanned the ground in front of them continuously for sensors or tripwires.
Finally, at roughly one thousand meters from the top, they began hearing faint sounds from above. First they heard a dog barking in the distance. Then, further up, they heard the muffled sounds of men talking. They looked at each other to make sure each of them had heard the sounds, adjusted their gear, checked their weapons one more time and continued up the hill, even more slowly and cautiously now.
Chapter Forty-Five
The Cambodian watched the old black pickup truck turn into the parking lot behind the Orchid Lodge. He stepped out of the darkness of a row of parked cars and approached the pickup from the front, illuminated by the headlights, and waved the driver to stop.
“Sawatdee khrap, Sunthon. Pull over there in that row of cars and cut your lights.” The Cambodian’s fingers barely touched in front of his face when he offered Sunthon an offhand wei.
The driver, a short, stocky man dressed in dirty mechanic’s overalls, did as he was told and stepped out of the pickup. He carried a package about the size of a motorcycle battery which he respectfully offered to the Cambodian with a bow.
“Sawatdee khrap. I got it right here, Ung Chea. Sorry I am a little late, but I had to put everything together.”
“Mai pen rai, no matter. We have plenty of time. The car is over there. That dark Toyota Corolla in the middle there.” He pointed to the car near the end of a row. “How long will this take?”
“Not long, Ung Chea. Please watch out for me while I am under there.”
The Cambodian signaled two other members of the surveillance team. They were staked out in the darkness at separate corners of the parking lot. He pointed to his own eyes with two fingers and then to the Corolla to indicate he wanted them to watch closely while Sunthon was under the car.
Sunthon selected a handful of tools and a roll of duct tape from the back of his pickup and walked to the Corolla. He looked around one final time, ducked down between the Corolla and the car next to it, and slid on his back under the engine compartment.
He worked silently for several minutes and then emerged without the package.
He walked back to the Cambodian. “All done Ung Chea. You want me to hang around for the fireworks?”
“No, go back home to your family. We will take it from here.”
The Cambodian and the two other members of his team settled in to wait for the morning.
By ten o’clock in the morning, the parking lot had thinned out considerably due to departing guests, but no one approached the Corolla and no one matching the desc
ription of Robert Humphrey and Ralph Callaway exited the building.
The surveillance team saw, but took no particular interest in, a young farang couple who exited the rear door of the building, stood on the steps for a moment discussing something. Then they saw the woman shake her head and reenter the hotel, while the man headed toward the parking lot.
It wasn’t until they saw him point his key remote in the direction of the Corolla and the car beep open that they realized the wrong person was entering the car.
They all stood there with mouths agape and did nothing while the young man inserted his key in the ignition and turned it and the Toyota Corolla exploded in a huge fireball before their eyes.
Chapter Forty-Six
Culler and Mac reached a point about twenty feet below the edge of the precipice. They could see the illumination of the security floodlights above them. Both were soaked with sweat and needed a bit of rest. After a few minutes to catch their breath, they checked their commo gear one more time and exchanged final words before moving to the top.
“Okay, it’s a little after two. Everyone but the guards should be asleep. How are you feeling, Culler?”
“I’m good. Glad there weren’t any tripwires and hope we didn’t set off any sensors we didn’t notice.”
“Doesn’t look like it, but we’re not there yet. Be real careful going over the ledge. The back of the warehouse is about fifteen meters back from there, so it’s going to be tight if they have any roving security. If we have to take anyone out, let’s do it as quietly as possible. We’re only going to get one crack at this place, so let’s make it good.”
Both men were outwardly calm and determined, but Mac, for one, had butterflies flying around in his stomach. It always happened to him in situations like this. He struggled to bring his breathing down and to display no outward signs of nervousness.
Whenever he was faced with a dangerous situation, he used techniques learned from years of martial arts training. His senses were sharp; he was ready—nervous as a cat ready to spring. Everything appeared to be in slow motion, but his reactions would be quick and determined.
They checked their weapons and night vision gear one last time, took deep breaths, and crawled up the final steps to the edge. The climb was even steeper now, and they had to pull themselves along using branches and roots to gain purchase on the ground. They were about ten feet apart when their heads peeked above the ridge.
They had a clear view of the back of the warehouse. There were five windows across the second floor and four along the ground floor with double doors in the middle. All appeared closed.
One security guard with an AK-47 on his lap sat on a chair in front of the double doors. He was awake and smoking a cigarette, blowing smoke up into the sky. No other security was visible, although they knew others were present.
Mac signaled Culler to wait and adjusted his night vision lens down over his left eye, then he clicked on the infrared laser located on the top of the forearm of the grip of his assault rifle. The laser’s green line of death shot out in front of the gun.
The green line was invisible to anyone not wearing night vision gear, and whatever that green line touched when he pulled the trigger would be hit dead on.
He gently brought the gun out and over the ridge, set it to fire on semi-automatic and placed the deadly green line directly on the unsuspecting security guard’s forehead. He held it there, waiting for the guard to relax and exhale another lung full of smoke into the sky, and slowly squeezed the trigger.
The gun spat out a single 5.56mm round with an almost inaudible phifft, and the security guard’s head snapped back into the doors with an audible thud; he slid off the chair onto the ground in a heap.
MacMurphy and Santos leaped over the ridge in tandem and raced to opposite corners of the building where they stopped with their backs to the wall, guns at the ready. Both set their weapons on full automatic with the infrared lasers activated.
Mac signaled Culler to hold his position and returned to the center of the building. He leaned over the dead security guard and checked the knobs on both doors but they were locked. You never know, he thought. He shrugged at Culler and returned to his position at the side of the building, signaling Santos to move out along his side.
They kept in the shadows close to the wall, moving silently toward the front of the building, green lasers scanning the terrain in front of them.
Mac heard voices. He stopped, dropped to one knee, and pressed his back to the wall. He heard muffled laughter and talking coming from the interior of the building on the other side of the wall and above him on the second floor. It sounded like several men chatting together, maybe playing cards or mahjong or some other game. He looked up and saw light coming from the second floor window.
He whispered into his lapel microphone. “Hold it. I’m about halfway down the building and can hear a group of men talking inside above me. They may be off duty security guards or maybe on-duty guards goofing off. Maybe some good luck for us. Meet you at the end of the building.”
Santos was in the shadows of the building close to the wall when Mac broke the silence. “Got it. Hang on a minute. Someone’s coming this way.”
He dropped to the ground in a prone position, invisible in his Ghillie-suit, and aimed his rifle down the wall toward the front of the building.
Santos’s night vision gear illuminated a security guard, an AK-47 slung over his shoulder, heading in his direction. Maybe a relief for the guy we killed behind us, he thought, or maybe a rover. He set the green line on the unsuspecting guard’s chest and watched the poor fool continue in his direction.
He waited, and waited, and waited until the man was less than fifteen feet in front of him, then he pressed the trigger once. Three rounds spat out of the gun. The first hit the guard in the solar plexus, the second in the center of his chest and the third two inches higher and slightly to the right. The guard’s heart exploded and he was knocked backwards, dead before he hit the ground.
The only sounds heard were the three consecutive phiffts of the rounds leaving the suppresser and the rattle of the AK-47 when it hit the ground. Culler was up and standing over him seconds later, his weapon pointed down range searching for another target. “Got him,” he said into his lapel mic. “All clear on this side.”
“Clear here,” came the response. “Meet you up front.”
Keeping to the shadows close to the wall, Mac moved silently to the end of the building and peeked around the corner. He saw three men gathered next to a pickup truck at the front of the parking lot directly across from the entrance to the warehouse. Illuminated by the bright floodlights, they were smoking cigarettes and chatting animatedly.
All carried AK-47 assault rifles slung over their shoulders and were oblivious to what was happening around them.
The shock of the floodlights illuminating the front of the building and parking lot affected Mac’s night vision gear by causing light blooms. Blinking his eyes, he backed up into the shadows, flipped up the night vision eyepiece and turned off the infrared laser.
He brought the rifle to his shoulder and sighted through the riflescope to make sure everything was working perfectly before again peeking around the corner of the building and setting the red chevron of his scope on the three guards.
But Santos got there before him.
Mac watched all three guards go down in a hail of silent 5.56mm rounds plinking into the surrounding vehicles. In the next instant Santos was standing over them. One guard groaned and Culler put a double-tap through his head. And then there was silence.
Culler ducked down into the shadows of the vehicles beside the dead guards and turned his attention to the front of the building. There was a large roll-up garage door in the center of the warehouse and two smaller pedestrian doors on each side. Five windows ran across the second floor as in the rear. All of the windows were dark.
He surveyed the entire area around him but saw no movement other than Mac running out of
the shadows at the corner of the building and taking up a position at his side of the parking lot behind one of the vehicles. Both men concentrated on the front entrances of the warehouse.
Mac pulled his lapel microphone up close to his lips and whispered into it. “That’s five of them. Good shooting. That’s it for the outside, but there are still a few more inside. You try the door on the right and I’ll try the left.”
“Roger that.”
Keeping low, both men ran to the doors and flattened themselves against the building. They listened intently for any sounds coming from the interior and then gently tried the doorknobs.
“Locked,” whispered Culler.
“Mine too.”
“What now?”
“Don’t know. Wait for someone to come out? What do you think?”
“Naw, that won’t work. There must be another way into this building.”
“Didn’t see any, aside from the back door. Did you?”
“Nope, and the corrugated walls look pretty strong, and there are no windows along this side at all.”
Mac was silent for a few moments. “Do you think we should knock?”
Chapter Forty-Seven
The four off-duty security guards were wrapping up their card game in the break room on the second floor. They were dressed alike in military style camouflage trousers and boots and black “security” tee-shirts. Pistols hung from their web belts, and their AK-47s stood stacked in the corner of the room.
Anon, the heavyset leader of the shift, glanced at his watch. “Hey, it’s after two-thirty and Michai hasn’t checked in yet. Sano, go out back and kick the sonofabitch in the ass. This is the last time for him. I am tired of warning the lazy bastard. Check on the other guys too. Make sure they are not standing around with their thumbs up their butts lying about the whores they screwed. I want to hear about it if they are not doing their rounds. Then we can all get some sleep.”
Plausible Denial Page 12