“Nothing to tell, really, I got a phone call from Mac. He was in Vientiane staying at the Settha Palace Hotel. He asked if I would pick them up and bring them to Nong Khai. So I did. That is all.” Sunthonwet pushed his chair back and started to get up. “Now I must leave you and get to my appointment. That is all I know.”
“Sit down,” commanded the Cambodian with a wave of his hand, “I am not finished. Call your office and tell them you will be late, but stay where you are.”
Sunthonwet slumped back into his chair, resignation and trepidation showed on his face. “Okay, go on, but please hurry.”
“By the time they returned you must have known that your two friends were the same two farangs that were wanted by the police for murder, correct?”
“I suspected as much, yes.”
“But you continued to help them, right?”
Sunthonwet lowered his eyes. “Yes, that is correct.”
“How much did they pay you?”
“Not much, a few hundred dollars. I really did not do very much for them. Just drove them across the border.”
“They were not chopped into Thailand, were they? You helped them avoid going through customs. That was a pretty big favor, I would think. Certainly worth more than a few hundred dollars, especially from someone like you, a corrupt cop who will do anything for money. Is that all?”
“Yes, that is all. Now I really must be going.”
The Cambodian allowed Sunthonwet to stand but made no effort to get up himself. He remained sitting in his chair. “What are they driving now?”
Sunthonwet considered lying to the Cambodian, but he was afraid they already knew about the vehicle. After a long pause he dropped his head and replied: “I loaned them my wife’s Range Rover.”
The Cambodian nodded knowingly, his eyes piercing into Sunthonwet’s. “You filthy maggot. What else?”
“That is all of it.”
“What did they tell you they were going to do here?”
“Nothing. They told me nothing.”
“How long did they say they were going to keep your car?”
“They said they had some loose ends to take care of and that they would return in a week or two.”
The Cambodian stood up. “I do not have to tell you that when Khun Ut hears about this he will not be happy. Nevertheless, you can redeem yourself by cooperating with us from now on. Do you understand?”
Sunthonwet nodded.
“Okay, here is my card with my cell phone number. Call me the moment you know or hear anything. Anything at all. Do not screw this up, Chatchai. Understand?”
“Yes, Ung Chea, I understand…”
Chapter One Hundred-Sixteen
Santos and MacMurphy circled around the base of the mountain peek and began their descent on the other side. The lights of Ban Hin Taek were clearly visible in the valley below and it was a fairly bright, moonlit night; however, they still preferred to use their night vision goggles to help them maneuver rapidly through the pine forest.
They came upon an exceptionally large evergreen tree near a bunch of large rocks and decided it was a good place to cache their duffel bags. Mac marked the spot on his GPS and they continued their descent down the side of the mountain.
“It’s nice up here,” said Santos. The two men moved rapidly down and across the Mountain through the trees.
“It’ll get worse as we get further down, thicker and hotter.”
“Yeah, I know that. Too bad. This is almost like deer country back home in Massachusetts.”
After walking for about an hour they paused while Mac checked his GPS and used his binoculars to sight in on Khun Ut’s mountain villa. “We need to continue heading south for about another mile or so, and then we can start dropping down the side to that outcropping of rocks we saw.”
“Better to hike through these trees than through the jungle below,” said Santos.
They moved rapidly through the woods until Mac was satisfied they were directly above the rock formation and then they began their descent. The slope varied between thirty and thirty-five degrees at this point which caused them to slip and slide on the leaves and pine needles. When the woods began to thicken they were forced to slow their descent.
Soon the forest morphed into a mixture of forest and jungle. It got warmer and harder to move. At about midway down the mountainside they spotted the rock outcropping below them. The slope increased considerably. They had to slide down on their butts and dig their heels in to slow their momentum.
They were happy it was the cool, dry season and they didn’t have to deal with the mud as they did when they assaulted the warehouse in Ban Mae Chan.
When they reached the rocky outcropping they stood on the edge and looked out around them.
“We need to get lower,” said Mac. “We’re too high at this point. Still a little bit too far north as well.”
Santos nodded. “How about down there?” He pointed to a grove of trees that jutted out of the mountainside about a quarter mile down and to their left.
“Yeah, looks good. Let’s give it a try,” said Mac, already heading off in that direction.
They reached the grove and found a good, flat spot on the edge and dropped into the prone position. Mac used his binoculars to survey the villa on the other side of the valley. He also searched below and around him for an alternate location to set up.
They spoke in hushed tones.
Mac said, “This is about as good as we can get. It’s a good camping spot as well – decent cover, flat and a lot more comfortable than those rocks above us. What do you guess the range is from here to the villa?”
“Shit, it looks like a good mile away to me. I don’t know. That’s a long shot. Do you really think you can hit anything that far away?”
“I’ve used the 50 cal at this distance, and it was pretty effective, but this Lapua is far superior to the 50 cal. I think we’re about fifteen hundred meters out. That’s just under a mile. And if that’s correct this rifle and I should be able to handle it. The current record for a confirmed kill by a sniper is 2,430 meters. That’s about one and a half miles!”
“Then this ought to be a piece of cake, right?” joked Culler. “Well, let’s just check and see what the actual distance is.”
Santos dug into his backpack and pulled out the laser rangefinder. Lying in the prone position, he aimed it at the front door of the villa. The seven power magnification brought the villa into clear focus.
“I’m putting it right on the front entrance under that portico. Let’s see...I’ve got thirteen hundred and seventy-four meters. How accurate is this thing?”
“To within a meter. That’s a good shot. Manageable. I wish we could get a little closer, but it is what it is.”
Mac found a good spot to set up the Lapua. He extended the Parker-Hale bipod and the rear monopod, stabilized them in the dirt, and got into a comfortable prone position behind the rifle. He had attached the eleven inch Sierra suppressor to the end of the muzzle and ten rounds of 250 grain bullets were loaded in the magazine.
He settled in behind the rifle, inserted the light intensifying low-light eyepiece, and sighted through the 8 X 32 variable power day/night scope.
The front of the mountain villa jumped out at him, clear and large. It was a two-story, dark wood building with a curving, Thai-style ornate roof line. Darkened floor to ceiling windows ran the entire length of the top floor with another smaller, higher window under the peek of the roof. The first floor had an ornate, arched portico over the double-door main entrance with two darkened windows on either side.
A paved driveway arched around the front of the villa in a horseshoe which ran under the portico of the main entrance. The entire perimeter of the villa was illuminated by security lights, enhancing Mac’s view of the building through the night scope.
Mac adjusted the mil-dot recticle in the scope at thirteen hundred and seventy-four meters and scanned the area in front of the villa. He saw two guards patrolling th
e front of the building and one dozing in a chair at the front door. He set the recticle crosshairs on the chest of the guard at the front door, and slid back away from the gun.
“We’re in good shape,” he announced.
Santos had set up a small campsite in a wooded area behind them. It had a covered sleeping area with the two sleeping bags laid out neatly on each side. That done, he went to work setting up the tactical spotting scope next to Mac.
“This thing’s a dream,” he said, looking through the scope. “I can count the nose hairs on that sleepy dude at the front door.”
“Yep, Barker really came through for us. And to think I almost didn’t bring the sniper gear on this trip.”
“I’m hungry,” said Santos.
“What else is new? And I’m tired. How about you take the first shift and eat your fill of our gourmet granola bars, and I’ll relieve you at daybreak.” He checked his watch. “It’s almost three-thirty now. The sun will be coming up in another couple of hours.”
“Okay, I’ll wake you if Khun Ut comes out and wiggles his ass at us.”
“Yeah, that reminds me.” Mac dug into his backpack and pulled out a notebook and pencil and handed them to Culler.
“We need to keep a detailed account of what goes on at the villa from this point on. Everything. Light patterns – when lights come on and go off in each room – movements of the guards, people coming and going, visitors, everything that happens should be noted in this book. I have a feeling we may be here for a few days and we’ll need to get a good grip on the routine of the place. Tomorrow we’ll find a target someplace at the same range and do a little target practice. Nothing beats actually seeing where the bullets land.”
Chapter One Hundred-Seventeen
Santos let Mac sleep until he awakened by himself at almost seven-thirty.
“Why didn’t you wake me?” asked Mac, rubbing his eyes.
“You were sleeping like a teenager. Par for the course. I didn’t have the heart to wake such a sleeping beauty.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Anything happening?”
Santos glanced down at his log book. “A car arrived at six-twenty and pulled around back. There’s probably a parking area back there. The light went on in the top left window at six-thirty. The guards changed shifts at seven. All the first floor lights went on just a few moments ago. That’s it so far.”
Mac walked to the far end of the campsite to relieve himself. When he returned, Culler said, “Don’t forget to sprinkle some of Barker’s animal repellent on your pee. We don’t want anything sniffing around here and we definitely don’t want to attract any hound dogs…”
Mac nodded and did what he was told. “You’re right,” he said softly, “we can’t be too careful up here.”
Mac ate a granola bar and sucked water out of his Camelbak. “Why don’t you go get some rest and I’ll take over here. When you wake up we’ll zero in the Lapua.”
“I’m okay for now. Let’s get it over with so we know the thing is going to hit what you’re aiming at. I’d hate to miss an opportunity if one presented itself.”
“You got it. I’ve got it set at 1374 meters. So all we need to do is find a decent target at the same range in the same direction. There’s a pretty constant breeze coming down the valley from north to south. We’ll have to fine-tune the sights for windage as well as distance.”
Mac got down behind the Lapua while Culler climbed in behind the spotter scope next to him.
Culler reduced the power on the Leupold scope from forty to twenty and surveyed the area around the villa. Mac did the same with his rifle scope.
They spoke softly, in hushed tones.
See that grassy field just to the left of the house?” said Culler. “There are a couple of good rocks sticking out of the ground that you could use as practice targets. They’re at about the same range.”
“Yeah, I see what you mean. That could work… But what if we got a whining ricochet off one of the rocks? That could alert someone.”
“What kind of a wallop does that Lapua pack? It’s not like a 50 cal, is it?”
“Actually, it’s pretty close. The .338 round is fairly new to the sniper community. It’s the first and only caliber that was designed specifically for sniping. The bullet will arrive at one thousand meters with enough energy left to penetrate five layers of military body armor and still make the kill. It was designed that way. Its effective range is about a mile, or 1600 meters, and we’re just about three hundred meters shy of that.”
Culler shook his head. “Wow! So that means at 1374 meters it will still penetrate maybe…three or four layers of body armor!”
“You got it. It’s a real killer. For extreme long-range anti-personnel purposes, the .338 Lapua is the king.”
“Okay, I got it. No rocks. Let’s see, what’s that a few meters back from the edge of the driveway there? Looks like a piece of trash.” He increased the magnification of the spotter scope back to forty power. “Yep, it’s a box. A cardboard box. Will that do?”
“I see it. It’s a little close to the side of the house, but I think it’ll work. Sight the rangefinder on it to make sure.”
Culler sighted on the box, adjusting the dials. “1376 meters. Close enough?”
“Close enough for government work. Now, what do you estimate the breeze to be down there?”
“I don’t know, five, maybe ten knots. Something like that.”
“Let’s enter ten knots. The wind kind of sweeps down through the valley. Probably stronger down there than it is up here. Okay let’s try one. Got the target in your scope?”
“Got it, Mac. Take your shot.”
Mac squeezed off a round and the rifle bucked, but the only sound coming out of the suppressor was a muffled pssst.
“ You kicked up dirt about four feet high and three feet left of the target.”
“Okay, we need to bring it down and right.” Mac adjusted the elevation and traverse turrets on the top of the scope. “Let’s see, one mil-dot right will bring it over one meter, and, well, let’s bring it down a mil-dot as well.”
Mac settled back in behind the gun again and adjusted himself. “Ready?”
“I’m ready.”
Mac sighted, exhaled half a breath, and squeezed off another round. After what seemed like seconds, the box flipped.
“You clipped the top of the box. Almost in the center at about twelve, maybe one o’clock. I’d leave it right there. It sure takes awhile for the bullet to get there.”
Mac thought out loud, speaking to no one in particular. “Windage is okay. We’ll have to adjust when we feel more or less wind up here. But the wind will always come from the same direction during this season, and we can’t anticipate gusts. Range is good too, but I could bring it down one click, one-tenth of a mil-dot, to make it better. Then all we have to worry about is windage. Okay, down one click. Let’s try one more.”
The last round hit the box just a few inches to the left of center.
“We may have gotten a little gust that time, but the elevation is dead on. I think we’re good to go.”
Santos scooted back away from the spotter scope and stretched. “Man, that’s good shooting, Mac. I’ve really got to hand it to you. I never saw anything like that before.”
“With the right equipment, you can accomplish anything. This rifle is a dream.”
“How far does that bullet drop at this range?”
“Well, at fifteen hundred meters the bullet will drop about seven or eight meters. So you’re actually shooting in a big arch. That’s why the ammo is so important. It has to be perfect in every way to get the proper consistency. The trajectory of the bullet depends upon so many factors – distance, wind, humidity, weight of the bullet, muzzle velocity, all those things. Even the rotation of the earth.”
“No shit! The rotation of the earth?”
“Absolutely. That’s why I always try to sight my rifle in at the spot where I’m going to be shooting. It doesn’t matter muc
h over short distances, but when you’re talking a mile or so away, it definitely affects the trajectory of the bullet. It’s called the Coriolis effect. The earth rotates from west to east, so at this range firing almost due east like we are, the target drops away from you slightly by the time the bullet arrives. That means you have to aim six inches lower; six inches higher if you’re firing due west. Get it?”
Culler shook his head and laughed. “And I’m supposed to be the engineer…”
Chapter One Hundred-Eighteen
The Cambodian reported back to Khun Ut on his meeting with Colonel Sunthonwet. Khun Ut was not pleased. The two farangs were back in his neighborhood, and this made him very uneasy. He felt the same mixture of fear and anxiety he felt when Thai government forces attacked his father’s headquarters in Ban Hin Taek more than twenty years ago.
That raid brought down Khun Sa’s narcotics empire, almost totally destroyed his village mansion, and resulted in the death of his only legitimate son. The wounds Khun Ut suffered in the battle kept him from fleeing with his father, and left him with a permanent limp as a constant reminder of the betrayal.
Khun Sa was forced into permanent exile in Burma where he and the remnants of his two thousand man strong Shan United Army had to keep constantly on the move to avoid the relentless pursuit of Burmese army. Finally, after ten years of living in the jungle, with attrition and desertions of his men, he surrendered to Burmese forces and spent the rest of his life in a Rangoon prison.
While Khun Sa was in exile, the twenty-one year old Khun Ut, by then a seasoned veteran of the opium trade, remained in Ban Hin Taek where he nursed his wounds and quietly began to rebuild Khun Sa’s empire from his father’s mountain retreat overlooking the village.
His greatest fear was to suffer the same fate as his father. Indeed, he did everything in his power to assure that a repeat of that raid would never happen. The money he spent on bribes to the Thai military and government officials far exceeded what were paid by his father.
Plausible Denial Page 28