Mac stopped to check their location on his GPS, and Culler looked over his shoulder. “Let’s keep to this side of the stream where the going is a bit easier and keep humping it as fast as we can until it branches off to the right. That’ll be about a mile from the car. Then we can cut off in a more easterly direction and make a beeline for the car.”
Culler nodded his head, sending rivulets of sweat careening down his face and off his nose. He sucked heavily from the tube on his Camelbak. “Fast is good. Let’s put as much distance between them and us as we can. What a goat rope this turned out to be.”
“Can’t argue that. Let’s get moving.”
“Wait. Let’s toss this kilo of heroin. I don’t like carrying it around. We stole it—that’s enough. Let’s just toss it in the stream.”
MacMurphy thought a moment and then his face broke into a large grin. “No, let’s leave it here on the trail where they can find it. But first empty one of those ricin vials into it and hope they find it and keep it. It’s worth a lot of money. That’ll help us take out a few more of those drug-dealing bastards.”
“Now you’re thinking.” Santos took out the brick, unwrapped it and laid it on the ground in front of them. He removed one of the vials of ricin and injected it one cc at a time into several places around the chalky brick until the vial was empty. Then, being careful not to get any of the ricin on his hands from the tip of the needle, he flipped the empty vial into the stream like a disgusting bug.
At that moment the familiar sound of a Huey helicopter could be heard lifting off in the distance behind them.
Mac looked back in the direction of the noise and then up at the triple canopy above him. “They’ll have a hell of a job seeing us from up there, and they sure as hell can’t hear us, so let’s get a move on. If they find the RAV before we do, we’ll really be screwed.”
Chapter Fifty-Four
The Cambodian’s men scoured the perimeter of the warehouse with flashlights, looking for tracks and other signs that would indicate the direction in which the two farangs had fled. One of his men called out from the rear of the building. “Over here. They went down the ledge over here. I can see where they slid down the slope.”
Ung Chea ran to the rear and looked over the ledge. “You are right,” he exclaimed. “They went down this way.” He called to one of his team leaders. “Paiboon, take your men down here and follow their trail. They will be moving fast, not covering their tracks. Get going. I will leave a few behind to guard the warehouse and take the rest in the Huey.”
“Yes sir,” said Paiboon, saluting. He quickly selected five of the youngest and most athletic of his men, eschewing the older, overweight guards. He led them to the edge and commanded, “Follow me.” And over the ledge he went with the others close behind like parachutists leaving the door of a plane.
Ung Chea and the rest of his men ran back to the Huey, which was idling in the parking lot. They climbed aboard and the helicopter lifted off noisily. When it reached altitude, it banked south toward the rear of the warehouse and the jungle beyond.
Once they were airborne the Cambodian keyed his walkie-talkie and called Paiboon. “This is base calling One. Come in, One.”
Paiboon answered in a breathless voice. “Base, this is One. We have their trail. They are moving fast. It is tough going here.” He stumbled and cursed as one of his men slammed into him from the rear, forcing him to stop transmitting for a moment. “Base, can I call you back when we reach the bottom? We are slipping and sliding all over the place here.”
“Okay, One. Call when you get straightened out. We will continue searching from above. They are moving south so, until you say otherwise, that is where we will continue to search.”
The triple canopy made it impossible to view the ground below from the helicopter, so Ung Chea ordered it to cover the western perimeter of the swath of jungle that ran from the precipice behind the warehouse for almost thirty miles, until it ended at the outskirts of Chiang Rai. He called for his other Huey to join the search and ordered it to search the eastern side of the jungle swath.
Ung Chea moved up to the front of the Huey and stood behind the pilot and co-pilot. “They are on foot and moving through thick jungle, so they cannot move that fast,” he instructed the pilots, shouting over the wail of the turbo engine. “But they have got to come out of there at some point so keep on the perimeter. We’ll box them in until Paiboon’s men can catch up to them.”
Chapter Fifty-Five
Culler and Mac walked rapidly along an animal trail alongside the stream. Their Ghillie-suits were soaked through with sweat and mud.
Both men were familiar with a jungle environment. They had gone through survival school together in the jungles of Panama as a part of their CIA junior officer training, and they were at least thankful for the absence of Black Palm trees in the jungles of Thailand. They recalled being pierced frequently by the sharp black palm needles after each slip and fall in Panama, having to deal with the puss-filled, infected sores the needles left afterwards. Black Palm was worse than mosquitoes and leaches combined.
A Huey helicopter flew noisily overhead, its powerful searchlight arching back and forth over the trees above them. Protected by the triple canopy, they were not afraid of being seen from above. The searchlight could not penetrate all the foliage to the ground, but just the same they quickened their pace as the adrenalin coursed through their veins. The Huey continued heading south, waving the searchlight from side to side over the tops of the trees.
Mac estimated they had less than two miles to go to find the hidden RAV4. At this rate they would be there in about twenty minutes. He prayed the camouflage would protect it from detection by the helicopter.
The first signs of daylight could be viewed occasionally through breaks in the canopy above them, but the jungle floor remained dark. Their night vision gear illuminated the way in front of them and permitted them to continue to move swiftly through the jungle.
Occasionally they would startle a bird or animal that would go scurrying out in front of them, but otherwise the monotonous chirping and wailing sounds of the jungle remained constant.
Chapter Fifty-Six
Paiboon was in the lead, swinging a powerful searchlight back and forth in front of him. His men were strung out behind. All of them carried flashlights. Their beams swayed and bounced about in front of them. The trail was fresh and not difficult to follow, but the men slipped and fell constantly as they struggled to keep up with Paiboon.
Paiboon’s walkie-talkie squawked and he replied. “This is One.”
“One, this is base. What is your situation?”
“Base, we have reached the jungle floor and are following. They are heading almost due south, and so far their trail is not too difficult to follow. We are moving as fast as we can.”
“I can see your lights, One. We are looking for their vehicle. We think they are headed for it. Keep the pressure on them, and we will try to keep you in sight from up here. Base out.”
The flashlights did not work as well as night vision gear because the lights cast deep shadows wherever their beams were cast, and the shadows concealed depressions and roots which were constantly tripping up the pursuing security guards.
Because of this Paiboon walked right past the heroin brick lying in the middle of the trail near the stream.
But the next man in line, Kaset, stumbled on it and stopped abruptly, causing the next man in line to bump into him.
“Paiboon,” Kaset called out. “Stop. Look what they dropped.”
Paiboon shined his searchlight on the brick. “Mai pen rai, leave it there. We can come back for it later. Keep moving. We must catch them.” He turned and continued following the trail and the others followed.
Kaset thought for a moment, his flashlight illuminating the precious heroin brick, and stepped aside to let the others pass him. He licked his lips and reached down to scrape off a thumbnail-sized flake of the heroin to taste. Satisfied, he crumbled it b
etween his fingers and snorted it up his nose.
That will give me energy, he thought, smiling at his good fortune as he slipped back into the line and continued following the trail.
The heroin kicked in almost immediately, giving Kaset a burst of energy and a feeling of euphoria. He edged past the guards who had passed him and took up his position directly behind Paiboon.
But minutes later the potent toxin ricin began to trigger allergic reactions and inhibit protein synthesis throughout his body. His throat and nasal passages began to swell and he felt nauseous. His stomach began to rumble, and the first urges of diarrhea began to trouble him.
He tried to shrug off the debilitating effects of the poison that was now coursing through his body, aided by the pounding of his heart caused by the severe exertion of the forced march through the jungle.
Mai sabai, what is wrong? he thought, just before his entire body seized up in shock, and his legs ceased to move on command. He pitched forward into the mud, eyes wide open and swollen tongue hanging from his open mouth.
The guard following behind tripped over him and joined him on the ground. “Paiboon, stop! Kaset is sick,” he called.
Paiboon stopped and dropped to one knee beside Kaset’s body, while the others stood around gaping at the convulsing figure on the ground. “Must be a heart attack,” he said. He grabbed the nearest guard by the sleeve. “Stay here with him. If he can walk, take him back. If not, stay here with him and I will send help.”
He stood up and motioned to the three remaining guards. “Come, we must hurry or they will get away.”
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Culler and Mac reached the cutoff point where they left the stream and turned east for the final mile and, hopefully, the RAV4. They had stopped momentarily at the stream to shoot another azimuth on the GPS and drink heavily from their Camelbaks, but now they were charging through the underbrush as fast as they could manage. They tried to move as quietly as they could, but it was not always possible. Speed was their main concern at this point.
The Huey buzzed over their heads, blades thumping loudly and causing the foliage to rustle in the downdraft. It was flying low coming south to north, the searchlight moving incessantly, attempting to probe into the depths of the jungle. Another circled far to the west of them. They knew they were nearing the edge of the jungle where they would be most vulnerable, and they figured that was where the helicopters were concentrating their surveillance.
Mac stopped to check his GPS. Both men were breathing heavily. Culler was bent over with his hands on his knees trying to catch his breath.
Between gulps of breath and water, Culler broke the silence. “Almost there?”
“Almost…it’s about another quarter of a mile. We’re doin’ good.”
“Then I think we should slow it down a bit.” Santos took long, deep breaths to re-oxygenate his body. “We need to be rested in case we have to fight our way out of here, and we need to keep the noise down to a minimum from now on.”
Mac responded between long gulps from his Camelbak. “Good point. You sound like a bull elephant thrashing through the underbrush…”
“Me? What about you? You’re no Goddamn gazelle.”
“Okay, it’s starting to get light out there, too, so you’re right, let’s take it a little easy. But not too easy. Wait…hang on…Listen…I hear something.” Putting his hands to his ears, Mac turned around to listen behind him. He concentrated on his hearing while both men held their breaths and remained motionless. Maybe it was just the rustling of the leaves or an animal.
Culler said, “I don’t hear anything.”
“Maybe not…I know they’re behind us, so maybe I’m just imagining things. We need to get to the car before they catch up to us.”
Culler adjusted his gear and took a deep breath. “Okay, let’s move out.”
They proceeded more quietly now, choosing each step with care not to snap twigs or rustle branches. Their ears were focused in front of them, listening for signs of people near the RAV4. The Huey buzzed over their heads once again, this time coming from north to south.
Eleven minutes later Mac stopped to check the GPS one last time. They were less than one thousand meters from the spot where they had left the camouflaged vehicle. Mac thought he heard something. They squatted down and listened intently, holding their breaths.
Then they heard it – the unmistakable sound of a car engine in low gear whining, growling, and struggling to maneuver along the same rutted logging road they had used to enter the jungle. They looked at one another with wide eyes and muttered “Shit!” in unison.
“Let’s move out,” said Mac. They ran toward the spot where they had left the car. The jungle was thinning, making it easier to move, but the underbrush was still fairly thick. Despite their efforts to keep the noise down, they sounded like two large deer charging through the woods.
They almost overran the RAV4. Culler saw it first, nestled in a small clearing and covered with branches. They doubled back and set up in a position between the RAV4 and the oncoming car.
They could now clearly hear the car heading up the trail directly toward them.
The morning light cut through the trees on the edge of the jungle, forcing them to switch off their night vision gear. They were each down on one knee with their weapons pointing toward the sound of the oncoming car.
Mac spoke softly, “There’s only one way in and out of this place, and it won’t take a Davy Crockett to follow those tire tracks right to our vehicle. We’re gonna have to neutralize whoever’s coming up that trail before we can get out of here.
“Okay,” said Culler, hefting up his gear and checking his rifle. “Let’s go get’em. I’ll take the left side of the trail and you take the right.”
They moved out quietly at a fast walk, occasionally darting from one concealed location to another, keeping in the shadows on each side of the trail. The recent ruts left behind by the RAV4 were unmistakable. The distinct sounds of a vehicle struggling up the trail toward them were also unmistakable.
And then the sounds of the vehicle changed. It was stuck in the mud, or getting stuck. The whine of spinning wheels increased and then stopped completely. Moments later they heard the sound of doors slamming and men talking.
Mac signaled Culler by pointing to his ears and then toward the vehicle. Culler acknowledged with a nod. Moments later they had the car in sight. It was stuck in the middle of the trail with two men standing beside it trying to decide what to do next.
It was a police cruiser, and both men were uniformed police officers.
Mac went down on one knee behind some brush and whispered into his lapel mic. “There’re cops. Whatever you do don’t shoot’em. We can’t kill these guys.”
“Yeah, I know. We’re going to have to stop them though, and fast. How do you figure on doing that?”
“Hell, I don’t know. Hit’em over the head or something. Let’s get closer and we’ll figure it out.”
They moved through the underbrush on each side of the trail until they were within a few meters on each side of the police car. One cop was behind the wheel, and the other was trying to push from the rear. The left rear wheel spun, spraying mud and grass up behind it, splattering the cop who was pushing.
He yelled something in Thai that probably meant stop. The driver took his foot off of the accelerator and the engine stopped screaming.
But the muddy cop in the road did not. He ran around to the driver’s side and continued to yell at the driver. Seizing the opportunity, Mac ran up behind him and swung the butt of his rifle up an around and smacked the screaming cop hard on the side of the head.
The cop went down in a heap and Mac shoved the barrel of his rifle through the open window. He jammed the muzzle into the side of the driver’s head and the driver froze.
“Hands where I can see them,” commanded Mac. He pulled the door open, grabbed the cop by the shirt and jerked him out of the car, shouting, “Out, out, out.”
“Need any help?” asked Culler, who had run up and was standing on the other side of the car, rifle at the ready.
“Naw, got it under control. Why don’t you just take a nap under that tree over there while I take care of things here?”
“Great idea!”
Mac took a deep breath and thought a moment, surveying the situation. “Look, those other guys aren’t far behind us so we don’t have much time. You get these guys off to the side and immobilize them and I’ll go bring the RAV around.”
“Got it.” Culler removed the pistols and walkie-talkies from each cop and threw them in the backseat of the cruiser. He dragged each of the cops by their collars, one in each hand, back away from the trail. Once in the brush he removed their handcuffs from their belts and cuffed them together with their arms linked behind them. He tossed the keys far into the underbrush. Neither cop budged. Both were in la-la land.
Moments later Mac returned with the RAV4 and pulled up to the police cruiser. “I’ve got an idea,” he said.
“Uh oh, we’re in trouble again.”
“Why don’t you take the cruiser and follow me like you’re a cop on my tail? That will give us a little cover and maybe buy us a little more time to get the hell out of here. I’ll give you a push to get it unstuck.”
“Sounds like a plan. Let’s do it.”
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Paiboon put up his hand to signal his men to stop. They had strung out so far that the last one was almost fifty meters back. “Did you hear that?” he asked the guard behind him.
Plausible Denial Page 14