The influence he wielded within the pinnacles of Thai government in Bangkok virtually assured there would be no large scale attacks planned against him or his operations, and his control over local law enforcement, military and government leaders permitted him to operate in and around the Golden Triangle without interference.
But now the American CIA had entered into the equation. He knew the CIA was behind the downfall of his father – they had forced the Thai Prime Minister, Prem Tinsulanonda, and the commander of the Thai army, General Chavalit Yongchaiyut, to launch the Top Secret, large-scale assault that had driven his father out of Ban Hin Taek and into the jungle.
Something like that would never again happen. Not under his watch. Since Khun Ut took control he had made sure of that. But now it appeared that the CIA was taking matters into its own hands – was working against him without the consent and cooperation of the Thai government.
Could that be possible? Khun Ut didn’t think so at first. But now…now he couldn’t be certain. Certainly his prisoner, Charly Blackburn, the CIA base chief in Chiang Mai, would know the answer to that question, and many more as well. Ung Chea would extract the information he required.
Those two farangs had caused a lot of mischief. They had attacked his warehouse, killing several of his men in the action, and had poisoned at least one of his heroin shipments.
Now his heroin distribution network was in shambles, buyers were shunning his product, the chemists in Hong Kong didn’t want to refine his heroin for fear it would taint other shipments, and worst of all, his competitors were salivating at the thought of his demise, hovering over him like a flock of vultures waiting to pick his bones.
But if his father had taught him one thing, it was that offense was the best defense. Retreat was not an option for Khun Ut. He was always more ruthless than his enemies – that had kept him at the top of the heap – and now they would feel his wrath like never before. He would start with the CIA – those two farangs and their all-seeing, intrusive Porter spy plane.
And perhaps, if necessary, he could use the CIA woman and the Hmong as bargaining chips. He just had to figure out how to use them in the most effective way.
Chapter One Hundred-Nineteen
Ung Chea and Paiboon discussed their game plan for the enhanced interrogation of Charly Blackburn. In the end, they were convinced that Khun Ut was right. Humiliation and fear would work on this woman.
They knew she had probably been through the CIA’s resistance to interrogation course, but real life was a lot different than a training course down at The Farm. No training can duplicate the real thing.
In training, the students know that they will not actually be harmed by the instructors – threats and harassment can only go so far. But there would be no such certainties in this situation, and that is precisely what they were counting on.
The mountain lodge was built into the side of the hill, so the entire rear basement side of the lodge was below ground level. This dark, damp, windowless space was used for storage – except for the two rooms on each end. They had been converted long ago by Khun Sa into cells for “special guests,” just like these two.
Each cement block cell was approximately ten feet square. Aside from an olive green military style canvass cot against one wall, there was no other furniture in the room. There was no bedding on the cot, no sink, no toilet, nothing.
A single bright light bulb in a grated steel fixture in the ceiling illuminated the room. The light was never switched off. A steel plate door with a four inch by two inch viewing slot with a sliding cover was set in the middle of the interior wall.
Vanquish occupied the cell at the north end, and Charly Blackburn occupied the cell at the south end of the basement.
The interrogation room, located in the front side of the building directly under the main entrance, was actually the building manager’s office. Although it too was windowless, it was a comfortable room with paneled walls, equipped with air conditioning and heat. It was furnished with a large gray metal desk facing two padded folding metal chairs and an upolstered couch along one wall. Grey metal filing cabinets lined the opposite wall, and the floor was glossy gray, painted concrete.
It had been almost a week since Charly Blackburn had been kidnapped from her home, and almost twice as long for Vanquish.
Paiboon, who had no previous experience with interrogation, was placed in charge of the care and feeding of the two prisoners. He was, of course, under the close supervision of Ung Chea, who had considerable experience with the most brutal forms of interrogation.
The Cambodian had learned these skills from his father, Ta Mok, and other ruthless Khmer Rouge leaders.
After days of sleep deprivation, constant beatings, living in his own filth, barrages of non-stop questioning, starvation and time distortion, Ung Chea was convinced that the old Hmong was holding nothing back.
He knew very little anyway. Khun Ut would make the ultimate decision as to what to do with the bloodied, broken old Hmong. That was not Ung Chea’s problem. He would gladly take the Hmong out behind the lodge and put a bullet in his brain, if that was what Khun Ut wanted. He was a traitor, pure and simple, and death was the punishment for traitors.
Charly Blackburn was another story. She was a CIA officer, and a tough one at that. She had endured five days of similar treatment, absent the beatings per Khun Ut’s orders, and had not given them a word of anything useful. She was totally defiant and seemingly immune to the treatment she endured in silence.
Of course, the Cambodian was unable to lay a hand on her – thus far, that is. But Khun Ut clearly was coming around to the realization that they would have to get tougher with her if they were to extract anything of value from her. Ung Chea was confident he could break her, particularly if Khun Ut would permit him to inflict a little pain on her body.
At least Khun Ut would now permit more intimidation and threats during the interrogation. That was a positive sign. At least a step in the right direction. The next step would be to follow through on the threats. The arrogant bitch deserved to be smacked around a bit, and Ung Chea looked forward to the time he would see fear and pain replace the defiance in her eyes.
This interrogation would be different than the others and he would personally conduct it. Paiboon was much too easy on her – too polite. He played the “good cop” role far too well. He actually liked playing that role.
Now Ung Chea would begin this interrogation armed with the names of the two farangs – that alone should shock her into revealing precious information about what the CIA’s plans and intentions were – and he now had the authorization to get tougher with her. He would break her today…
Chapter One Hundred-Twenty
The Cambodian and Paiboon kicked the building manager out of his basement office and were discussing the previous interrogations of Charly Blackburn. Ung Chea sat behind the grey metal desk with his feet up while Paiboon sat across from him in one of the two chairs.
“Once she knows we have the names of her two CIA cohorts she will break,” said Ung Chea. “She will know the game is up. If she thinks we already know everything, then it will be easier for her to confirm what she thinks we already know.”
Ung Chea was proud of himself for figuring this out. Actually, he read about the technique in various manuals on interrogation, but putting it into use in this case, well, that was his idea entirely.
He also planned to use a few well placed smacks to the head and body. Nothing that would leave any marks, but enough to shock her into submission. “Now that we can smack her around a bit, we will scare the crap out of her. That ought to do it. Go get her now. Bring her here...”
“Yes, sir.” Paiboon rose to leave.
He returned several minutes later with Charly. The sight of her shocked Ung Chea. Her condition had deteriorated considerably over the past couple of days while he was in Nong Khai.
Her hands were handcuffed in front of her and her once shiny shoulder length black hair w
as now dull, matted and as filthy as a Rastafarian’s. She was wearing the same clothes she had put on after her capture, a white short sleeved blouse, blue jeans and running shoes.
But the blouse was now torn, stained and covered in soot. Her jeans were filthy and she had obviously soiled herself – a large dark, wet stain circled her crotch area. Her eyes were black rimmed and dull and her face and exposed arms were black with soot and dirt. She stank of body odor and urine.
“Do not sit on that chair,” commanded Ung Chea as Paiboon was about to seat her. “You stink like a donkey and you have soiled yourself. I do not want you on my furniture you smelly bitch. You can stand right where you are.” Paiboon left her side and stood by the side of the desk.
Ung Chea got up from behind the desk, walked around it and stood in front of her, leaning back on the desk. She appeared to wobble on her feet and refused to look him in the eyes.
“You are quite a mess, Charly Blackburn. Do you want to tell me now about your two friends? Or would you prefer to go back to your filthy hovel.”
She did not respond. She concentrated on the floor in front of her and stood on unsteady feet. The slap came as a surprise and almost knocked her off of her feet. Paiboon reached out to help her and when she was standing again Ung Chea slapped her hard on the other side of the face, knocking her down to her knees this time.
Paiboon got her to her feet and noticed both cheeks reddening from the blows.
She remained silent, staring at the floor in front of her, and began to weep. Soon her whole body was wracked with deep, uncontrollable sobs. Her tears left long streaks down her dirty cheeks. She appeared drugged, but her condition was due to the lack of sleep and disorientation she had experienced since her captivity, and this physical and verbal abuse was becoming intolerable.
“Paiboon,” said Ung Chea, “put her in a chair and remove her handcuffs. I will try to reason with her now.”
Paiboon removed her cuffs and sat her in one of the chairs.
She uttered, “thank you,” and massaged her wrists.
“Would you like something to eat? When was the last time you ate?” The Cambodian walked back around behind the desk and sat down, putting more distance between them.
She did not respond.
“Would you like to get cleaned up a bit? Would you like a shower?”
She did not respond.
“I know you can talk. Answer my questions.”
She did not respond. Her body wracked with another uncontrollable sob.
“From now on your interrogations will take a turn. They will change. They will become harsher. I am tired of playing games with you, and I am running out of time. So listen closely.”
He looked up at Paiboon. “Paiboon, hold her head up so she can see me when I talk to her.”
Paiboon put his hand under her chin and gently raised her head to face him. He kept her head raised. Tears continued to flow down her cheeks, washing away the grime in streaks.
“Good, now you can see me. I want you to look into my eyes so you can see that what I say to you is the truth.”
Her eyes were blank and unseeing.
Ung Chea paused before speaking. Calmly he said, “I want you to know what will happen to you if you continue to sit there and not talk. You are a beautiful woman – at least you used to be a beautiful woman. Right now you are disgusting. But with some food and a shower and clean clothes, you could be beautiful again.” He paused, “Unless you choose to remain silent.”
Another sob wracked her body and she tried to lower her head, but Paiboon gently raised it again.
“If you continue to remain silent, I will make you permanently ugly. Do you see this scar on my face? Every day I am reminded of the piece of shrapnel that took off my ear and sliced open my face. It was not a happy day. But at least it happened quickly, in battle. For you it will happen here, in your cell, slowly, very slowly. You will feel unbelievable pain, and when I am finished you will be permanently ugly, unattractive to any man, and repulsive to children. Do you have any idea what I will do to you?”
She continued to stare blankly in his direction with Paiboon’s hand cradling her chin.
He removed a hunting knife from a desk drawer and unsheathed it. He held it out in front of him and ran his thumb across the blade to test its sharpness.
“I will remove your ears – first one, and then the other – and then I will remove the tip of your nose, and then I will heat the end of the knife and cauterize the wounds. Maybe I will cut your cheeks as well. From the corners of your mouth outward. And then I will cut off your nipples. I will do all of this, I promise, if you remain silent. Do you understand?”
Her eyes widened in fear and she shook her head and muttered, “Yes.”
“Good. You can speak.” He continued. “But before I turn you into an ugly witch, my men and I will take turns with you. We will fuck you in your stinking cunt and we will fuck you in your ass and it will be the last time anyone will ever want to fuck you again. Do you understand what I am saying, Charly Blackburn, CIA bitch?”
She nodded and sobbed and continued to stare at him blankly.
“I see the fear in your eyes, Blackburn, you can not hide it from me.”
She spoke, “Yes, I am frightened. You are a frightening, beast of a man. I believe you could…would, do all of those things, and more, and enjoy every moment of it. I believe you.”
“So you can talk after all. That is a good start. Let us begin from where we left off the last time I saw you. Tell me about your two farang friends. Your two CIA friends. You know who they are, MacMurphy and Santos.”
Her head jerked up in surprise. The vagueness in her eyes disappeared. She became alert and on guard. Her body language gave lie to any denials she might make. Ung Chea read the signs and smiled in victory.
“Yes, we know who they are and we know you have been in contact with them. They are CIA officers like you and they are leading a CIA attack on our operations here in the Golden Triangle. You can not deny those facts.”
She laughed and shook her head in disbelief.
“Why are you laughing? Are you denying the truth?”
She cleared her throat and looked at him with an amused smile. Then she spoke softly.
“No, Ung Chea, they are not CIA officers. Your sources are wrong. Yes, they used to be CIA officers, but they were fired. They are no longer employed by the CIA, and the CIA will have nothing to do with them. They committed a serious crime and were kicked out of the Agency by the director. They were fired. That is the truth…”
The Cambodian stared at her, speechless and incredulous. He sensed she was telling the truth. He looked over at Paiboon, who was equally mystified.
“What about that meeting you had with them in the Wangcome Hotel in Chiang Rai last summer?” he said. “What about that? You were liaising with them, right?”
She shook her head and smiled. “In a manner of speaking, yes, I was liaising with Mac MacMurphy, but not on behalf of the CIA. You see, Mac and I have been lovers for many years. We met that one time, shortly after he arrived in Thailand, and only that one time. He told me it would be too dangerous for me to see him again. Now I understand why. Now I understand.”
The Cambodian could not believe what he was hearing. It was impossible, he thought, this can not be. It has to be the CIA. And then he recalled Khun Ut’s suspicions. Maybe it was a competitor who hired them, or someone within their ranks.
“You say they were fired. When were they fired and why?”
“Over a year ago. The summer before last. They were involved in an operation in Paris. They stole several million Euros during the operation and the CIA director found out about it and fired them both. After that they moved to South Florida and started a company called GSR research or reporting or something like that. They are mercenaries now. They will work for anyone who will pay them. But the CIA would never touch them. Not any longer. That would be impossible…”
“And who would that be
? Who are they working for now, if not for the CIA?”
“I’m sorry, but I haven’t a clue about that. We did not discuss that when we met in Chiang Rai, and Mac would never tell me if I did ask him.”
Ung Chea was clearly taken aback by her revelations. He needed to report back to Khun Ut immediately, before he shot down that CIA plane and caused more problems for them. And they needed to get rid of these two prisoners. He did not want to compound their problems by bringing the wrath of the CIA down on their heads unnecessarily.
Ung Chea turned to Paiboon. “We will check out her information. If she is telling the truth, well, her treatment will improve. If we find that she is lying… Anyway, take her back to her cell. Let her take a shower and give her something to eat. And get her clothes washed.”
He turned to Charly. “I hope you are not lying to me. That would not be good. Things will get very bad for you if you are.”
What a mess this is turning out to be, he thought.
Chapter One Hundred-Twenty-One
At that precise moment, Santos and MacMurphy were sitting cross-legged on the edge of the ledge. The spotter scope and Lapua were set up, aimed and ready, a few feet behind them. Mac was observing the lodge through binoculars.
Santos briefed Mac on the observations he had made earlier. “The whole front part of the second floor appears to be offices. The biggest office appears to be the one on the far right because all the lights came on at the same time there at about eight-thirty. It looks like it runs from the corner almost to the center of the building probably about thirty feet. The bedrooms are probably in the rear. I didn’t see any evidence of bedrooms in the front. All the lights were out at by about six and they didn’t come on again until this morning. I’d keep my eye on the office on the far right. I’ll bet money that one belongs to Khun Ut himself.”
“Here comes the Porter again,” said Mac. “It’ll pass right over the roof of the lodge in a few moments. That’s got to piss off Khun Ut big time.”
Plausible Denial Page 29