Plausible Denial

by Rustmann Jr. , F. W.

  “My, my, two more Thai words you know.”

  “Yep. The Doi Tung Royal Villa, which once belonged to the now-deceased mother of King Bhumibol Adulyadej, is also located high up on the other side.

  “There’s a narrow road leading up there. We can drive up at least that far. That’s the good news. There is also a temple, the Wat Phra That Doi Tung, on the top of the mountain near the flag. You can’t see it from here because it looks out over Burma in the other direction. There must be at least a foot path going up from the Royal Villa to the temple.”

  “Okay, so what are we doing on this side of the mountain then?”

  “I’m trying to find a good place for us to set up with a good line of sight to Khun Ut’s villa. We’re going to have to go up the mountain on the other side and then drop down to this side. But we need to find a good place to set up the Lapua. It should be a little higher than the villa so we are shooting down, but not too much, and we also need good cover because we may be spending a few days there.”

  Mac pointed to a spot about two-thirds up on the side of the mountain. “I’m looking at that rocky ledge over there. See it?”

  “Yeah, I see it. About where the jungle ends and the forest begins. The whole top of the mountain is covered in evergreen trees. It must be cold up that high.”

  “Yep, it gets pretty chilly in the evenings up that high. We won’t be doing much sweating once we get into position up there. That’s why they built the Princess Mother’s villa up so high, to escape the heat in the days before air conditioning.”

  Santos looked back and forth between the rocky ledge on Doi Tung Mountain across the valley to Khun Ut’s villa. “That’s going to be a very long shot, Mac. It looks to be about a mile across.”

  “That’s what I guess it to be. Maybe a little less. But the Lapua ought to handle it…”

  Chapter One Hundred-Thirteen

  The two men drove back out of Ban Hin Taek the way they had come. When they reached the base of Doi Tung they circled around the southern end of the mountain and turned back north toward Mae Sai on the eastern side of the mountain.

  It was dark when they pulled into the little town of Mae Sai. The main street was lined with touristy souvenir shops and small restaurants. Santos’s stomach started to rumble at the thought of food.

  “Mac, my stomach thinks my throat’s cut. Would it be too much to ask if we pulled over to one of those noodle shops to get one last decent meal before we embark on our next jungle adventure?”

  Mac Laughed. “I suppose people are used to seeing farang tourists in this town, and I could use a little real sustenance myself. A beer would be great. I guess we can risk a short stop.”

  He pulled off the side of the road in front of the Sorn Daeng Noodles Restaurant and they went inside. Red plastic covered banquets lined the sides of the narrow little restaurant and, after making eye contact with the young waitress dressed in a red and gold native sarong and nodding toward an empty banquet near the door, they slid into the seats.

  The little restaurant was half full with an assortment of working class Thai men and women. They were the only farangs in the place, but no one seemed to notice. Everyone seemed to be deeply engaged in noisily slurping noodles from the bowls in front of them. The sound of wailing Thai music played softly in the background.

  When the waitress arrived they ordered the house special noodles with shrimp and crab and two bottles of Amarit Beer.

  Santos ate like it was his last meal, loudly slurping his noodles like a native. MacMurphy pushed his noodles around the bowl absentmindedly and sipped on his beer.

  “I don’t know, Culler. I still have no idea how we’re going to get Charly and Vanquish out of there.”

  “Relax,” said Culler. “Maybe we can and maybe we can’t.” He sucked in a long string of noodles and wiped his chin. “The fact is maybe there is nothing we can do for them. We’re going to be a mile away with a sniper rifle. That’s not exactly a prescription for breaking anyone out of jail. Hell, maybe the DDO will come up with some bright idea, or maybe Khun Ut will move them out of there.”

  MacMurphy took a long drink from his Amarit bottle and stopped, the bottle still at his lips. Then he looked directly at Santos and slowly sat the bottle down in front of him. “That’s it!”

  “What’s it?”

  “Maybe Khun Ut will move them out of there. You said it. If they move them out of the villa, maybe that will give us an opportunity. Actually, maybe we could cause a disturbance of some kind that will give them an opportunity to break free.”

  “How are you going to do that? Call up Khun Ut and suggest it? Hey, Khun Ut, would you do me a favor? Come on…”

  “General Sawat.”

  “What about General Sawat? We can’t use him any more. They already know about our connection with Sawat.”

  “That’s just the point, Culler. They know we’re in touch with him. Listen…” Mac leaned forward and lowered his voice to a whisper. “What if we called Sawat and told him we were back in town and needed his help to drop us and a few other guys off on the hill behind Khun Ut’s villa. We could say we would need his helicopter for that – maybe to make two or three trips.”

  “Okay, I get it, and Sawat would naturally report those plans right back to Khun Ut, just like he did with Khun Sa many years ago, but– devil’s advocate – Khun Ut already knows that we know that Sawat talked to him about us. So why would he think that we would trust Sawat to help us again?”

  “That’s a good point. You’re right of course. We never would trust Sawat again. Not unless we absolutely had to, that is. Like, if we had no other choice. If we were backed into a corner, desperate, and had no one else to turn to, we would have to trust him, right?”

  Culler finished his bowl of noodles and pushed it aside. Then he noticed Mac’s practically untouched bowl and asked, “If you’re not going to eat that, do you mind…?”

  “Order another bowl for yourself. And get us another round of beers. I just got my appetite back.” Mac attacked his dinner.

  Chapter One Hundred-Fourteen

  Bellies full, and with renewed enthusiasm, Santos and MacMurphy climbed back into the Range Rover and headed further into the town of Mae Sai. They took a left at the first major intersection where a large sign in English and Thai indicated the road to the Doi Tung Royal Villa, the Mae Fah Luang Gardens and the Wat Phra That Doi Tung.

  It was quite dark, and aside from an occasional car coming down off the mountain, there was very little traffic on the paved, two-lane road that wound up the side of Doi Tung.

  They passed the lights of several small Shan, Akha and Lahu tribal villages sprinkled on the mountain slopes on both sides of the road. About mid-way up they drove past the darkened Mae Fah Luang Gardens. The lights of the Land Rover illuminated the flowers and plants growing among rock formations in the gardens.

  At about one thousand meters up the air began to turn noticeably cooler and the jungle and mostly deciduous forest gave way to evergreens. Further on they passed the darkened entrance to the Doi Tung Royal Villa. It consisted of several large wooden structures built in the classic Thai way with sweeping ornately curved roofs. The buildings were surrounded by tall eucalyptus and evergreen trees and gardens.

  They were pleasantly surprised to find that the road continued beyond the villa, although it narrowed to little more than one lane and the macadam ran out. Mac dropped the Range Rover down into four-wheel drive and they continued to climb upward, more steeply now.

  They grinded up the side of the mountain until they passed a varied collection of statues and carvings in a dark, damp sheltered glade on their left. A few minutes later they were startled when their lights illuminated a massive stone stairway directly in front of them.

  Mac hit the brakes and they gazed up at the stone stairway rising up the side of the mountain in front of them. The stairs were guarded on each side by stone half-human, half-serpent Naga warriors, eerily illuminated in the moonlight and
in the headlights.

  At the stairway the road turned sharply to the right and ended in the temple’s deserted courtyard. Mac pulled the Range Rover into the courtyard, tires crunching on the gravel, and pulled to the far end where they parked near a grove of fir trees.

  Mac slipped the red police parking pass out from behind of the sun visor and tossed it face up on the dashboard. He glanced over at Santos. “What the hell,” he said with a shrug, “it’s worth a try.”

  They cut the lights and walked to the back of the Range Rover. The weather was fresh and cool. They were alone near the top of Doi Tung Mountain. Santos opened the back of the car, pulled the two duffel bags toward him, and began sorting out their gear. They were already wearing jeans and hiking boots but they changed into long sleeved camouflage military shirts and pulled on their Ghillie-suits over the top.

  “Damn,” said Santos with a snort, “This thing smells rank. We should have thought to wash them after our last little outing.”

  “Whew, you’re right. I guess we’ll just have to get used to it.”

  Culler grimaced. “We’ll have to double up on the animal repellant or we’ll attract every snake and fox in the woods.”

  He pulled out the two .45 caliber pistols and leg holsters and screwed on the suppressors. He handed one to Mac and strapped the other to his leg.

  Mac pulled out the two assault rifles and passed one to Culler. Each drum was loaded with one hundred rounds of 5.56mm ammunition. He left the spare drums in the duffel bag due to the added weight. Next they strapped on their Spetz knives, slipped on their Camelbaks, floppy camouflage hats and night vision headgear. Last, they pulled on their backpacks loaded with extra ammunition, granola and power bars, animal and bug repellant, sleeping bags, nylon shelter sheets, spotter scope and other assorted gear.

  Finally, Mac pulled the .338 Lapua out of its case and grabbed two, ten round magazines fully loaded with Sierra Match 250 grain bullets. He slipped one of the magazines into his pocket and put an extra box of ammo in his backpack. He slapped the other magazine into the gun and chambered a round. He checked the safety and slung the rifle over his shoulder. “I guess we’re ready,” he said, passing the laser rangefinder and spotter scope to Santos. “You can carry these.”

  “As ready as we’ll ever be,” said Santos. He slammed the back door shut and pointed the remote key lock at the Range Rover and pressed the button.

  Mac hesitated. “Wait a minute. On second thought, maybe we shouldn’t leave our remaining gear and ammo in the back. I mean, what if we return and find the Range Rover surrounded by Khun Ut’s men like before? Maybe we should cache the remaining gear in the woods someplace.”

  “Not a bad idea, makes sense,” said Culler. He hit the remote to unlock the car. “Let’s wipe it down for fingerprints as well. Wouldn’t hurt, right?”

  “You’re right, wouldn’t hurt. No sense making things easy for them.” They pulled the two duffel bags out of the back of the back and went about wiping down door handles, steering wheel and other parts of the Land Rover they may have touched. When they were done, Santos hit the remote again and locked the vehicle.

  “Now, do you want to take the tourist route over the top, or shall we go around?” said Mac.

  “I definitely don’t want to climb any higher than we have to.”

  Mac studied his GPS. “Let’s head in a south-easterly direction back around the stairs until we get to the other side and then we’ll drop down to that rocky outcropping we saw from the other side. It shouldn’t take us more than a few hours – it’s all downhill.”

  They flipped down their night vision gear and headed off, MacMurphy leading the way.

  “Downhill is good,” said Santos, hitching up his backpack.

  Chapter One Hundred-Fifteen

  The Cambodian arrived in Nong Khai late in the evening and checked into the upscale Royal Mekong Nong Khai Hotel for a few hours of rest after his long drive. The next morning he was up early, ate a light breakfast in the hotel and headed for the home of Police Colonel Chatchai Sonthonwet. He wanted to get there before the colonel left for work.

  Like most villas in Thailand, Colonel Sonthonwet’s compound was enclosed by an eight foot tall masonry wall topped with broken glass. The entrance to the compound was through a solid metal gate that was opened and closed from within by a security guard.

  At six-thirty in the morning, Ung Chea drove his black Nissan Sentra up to the gate, stopped, honked his horn and got out of the car. He was dressed casually in chino slacks, a light, long sleeved, Thai silk dress shirt which concealed the .357 magnum revolver on his belt, and sunglasses.

  When the guard did not respond immediately he pounded on the gate with the side of his fist. He heard the guard scrambling on the other side.

  The guard slid open the peep door and asked who it was and what was his business. Ung Chea stated his name, announced that he was from Chiang Rai, and said he wanted to see Colonel Sunthonwet on personal business.

  The guard slid the peep door shut and ran back to the house. A few minutes later he returned with Colonel Sunthonwet, dressed in a khaki police uniform, and opened the gate.

  If Colonel Sunthonwet were surprised or nervous about Ung Chea’s unannounced visit, he did not show it. He bowed deeply and the two exchanged weis, and then Sunthonwet extended his hand, smiling.

  “It is good to see you Ung Chea. What brings you to Nong Khai so early in the morning?”

  Ung Chea did not return the smile. “I have an urgent matter to discuss with you Chatchai, may I come in for a moment?”

  “Certainly, certainly, come in and join me for a cup of tea and some fruit. I was just eating breakfast.”

  “That is very kind of you, Chatchai. I will not keep you long.”

  Sunthonwet led Ung Chea to the house and through to the veranda overlooking the Mekong River. Breakfast for one was set on the table beside the morning newspaper. He shouted a command to the cook, who brought another cup, plate and utensils, poured tea and then quickly retreated back into the kitchen.

  Ung Chea took a sip of his tea and regarded Sunthonwet severely over the rim of the cup.

  “I will come directly to the point, Chatchai. We are concerned about your association with the two murdering farangs, Santos and MacMurphy.”

  Sunthonwet started to speak, but the Cambodian held up his hand. “Hear me out, colonel,” said Ung Chea sternly. He removed his sunglasses and glared at the colonel across the table. “We know you helped them leave Thailand a few months ago and we know you helped them return a few days ago. What we don’t know is why you are helping them, particularly since you must know what they have done to our operation, and that there are police warrants out for their arrest.”

  Sunthonwet struggled to maintain his composure. He started to pick up his teacup, but then thought better of it – he did not want to display any nervousness, and a rattling teacup would not be good. So he clasped his hands in front of him, leaned back and took a deep breath before speaking.

  “First of all, let me make one thing perfectly clear. I do not like the intimidating tone in your voice. You can drop it right now or I will end this conversation and send you packing back to your boss. Is that understood?”

  The Cambodian stared back at him, unblinking and expressionless. Only the flare of the hideous scar on the side of his face gave him away. He did not respond.

  “Good, I will take that to mean you would like to continue this conversation in a civil, gentlemanly manner.”

  The Cambodian remained expressionless, but Sunthonwet took even that as a positive sign.

  “If you had done your homework properly you would know that Mr. MacMurphy and I had a liaison relationship when he was assigned to Udorn a few years back. Did you know that, Ung Chea?”

  “Yes, we know all about that. That was then, we want to know about now. Why are you helping him now?”

  “Because he is my friend. It is as simple as that.”

  “No,” said Un
g Chea, “it is not as simple as that. He is a CIA officer and he and his CIA cohort have inflicted a lot of damage on our operation. Did you know that, Chatchai? Did you know that they murdered several of our men and are wanted by the police in this country? You are aiding and abetting wanted criminals, did you know that? Do you know you could lose your position for that? Your very lucrative position here in Nong Khai is now in extreme jeopardy because of what you have done.”

  Sunthonwet knew what could happen to him and his family if Khun Ut decided to target him. The loss of his position in the police would be the least of his worries. He decided the best course of action was to stonewall.

  “I have no idea what you are talking about. My friend asked for help to get across the border and I assisted him. That is it. Nothing more.”

  The Cambodian smiled his crooked grin, causing the scar to contract and redden, screwing up the side of his face. “You are many things, Chatchai, but stupid is not one of them. Do not insult my own intelligence with your stupid plea of ignorance.”

  Sunthonwet struggled to keep his emotions, and nervousness, in check. When he began to speak his voice cracked, giving him away. “I…I will tell you what I know and then I must leave. I am late for an appointment at the station.”

  He paused and cleared his throat. “MacMurphy showed up at my house with another fellow. I never saw the other guy before. He stayed in the background, letting MacMurphy do all of the talking.”

  “Did you not notice that they matched the descriptions of the two farangs, Humphrey and Callaway?”

  “Not at the time. I was happy to see Mac again. He wanted me to drive them to Vientiane, so I did.”

  “What about their car?”

  “I left it parked near the train station. It was eventually picked up as an abandoned vehicle and I assume returned to its owner.”

  The Cambodian stared at Sunthonwet for a long time, showing skepticism. “Okay, now tell me about their return.”