“I see it. Those guys won’t let up, will they? Back and forth, back and forth over the lodge. Must be driving the sonofabitch crazy.”
“That’s part of the plan, you can be sure of that...”
Now the plane was close enough that Mac could make out the two pilots in the cockpit. It whined its way over Ban Hin Taek and began a long, slow turn to the south.
“It’s following the same flight pattern over and over,” said Mac, “not a very good idea in my opinion.”
The words were hardly out of his mouth when something streaked up into the sky from the woods below the mountain lodge and struck the Porter amidships. The little single engine plane exploded in the air and broke in half, falling straight down to the earth like two rocks. Another explosion lit up the mountainside when the main section of the plane hit the ground on the side of the mountain below them.
“Holy shit! Did you see that?” said Mac.
“Son…of…a…bitch,” said Culler. “That was a stinger.”
“Sure looked like it. Those guys are nuts. Now there’s definitely going to be hell to pay…”
“We’ve got to report this back to Headquarters right away,” said Santos. “Have you got any bars on that phone of yours?”
Mac pulled his cell phone from his pocket and turned it on. “One bar. Doesn’t look good. Let me try.” He hit the speed dial for Maggie and listened while the call was routed to the other side of the earth. Finally a wobbly ring could be heard and then the sound of someone picking up. “Hello. Maggie. Can you hear me?”
He could make out her voice at the other end but the transmission was breaking up badly. He shouted into the phone, “Maggie, I’ll call you later. Stay close to your phone.”
He could hear Maggie trying to respond on the other end, but the transmission was too garbled to make anything out, so he hung up.
“Shit,” he said, “I’m going to have to get higher on the mountain to get any decent reception. Hold the fort, Culler, I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Mac stripped down to his tee-shirt and jeans, and looked up the side of the mountain and said, “Well, here goes,” He took off at a fast pace, climbing directly up the side of the mountain.
Santos watched until he was out of sight and then turned his attention back to the burning Porter in the jungle below him. He focused through the binoculars and tried to find some sign of life, but he knew there would be none. No one could survive that fiery crash.
Mac returned almost two hours later. He was breathing heavily and drenched in sweat. He drank heavily from his Camelbak and tried to control his breathing before speaking.
“I got her,” he said between gasps. “She’ll pass the message on to Ed Rothmann. We’ll call her again after dark when the reception is better. I hope I won’t have to climb up that damn mountain again.”
He fought to control his breathing. “I was thinking. Maybe this’ll do it. Maybe the DDO will get approval to pull out all the stops now. They’re going to have to investigate the crash, right? That means there’ll be Americans on the side of the mountain looking at the crash site. It’s an American aircraft that has been shot down. What will that mean for us? For this operation?”
Culler picked up the binoculars and watched several firemen climb up the side of the mountain toward the wreckage. A Thai police helicopter had arrived and was hovering over the crash site.
“With all this attention we’re going to have to take extra precautions to make sure we’re not spotted. I don’t want us to be blamed for this.”
Mac looked up in surprise as the realization hit him. “You’re right. This changes everything. There’s gonna be all kinds of investigations going on down there. And they’re going to include Khun Ut and his mountain villa. They’ll have to. Surely others saw the direction that missile came from. He’s going to deny any involvement, sure, and he’ll probably never be implicated due to his influence and power, but there’s still gonna be investigations going on.”
“So? So what do you mean?”
“I mean he won’t want cops poking around his house and asking all sorts of questions while he’s holding an American CIA officer there. That’s what I mean. This is an opportunity for us. This is manna from heaven…”
Chapter One Hundred-Twenty-Two
Khun Ut sat behind his desk, head in his hands. His cheroot burned in the ashtray beside him. Things were unraveling rapidly. Ung Chea was convinced the CIA woman was telling the truth…and he agreed. Santos and MacMurphy were ex-CIA mercenaries. He had thought from the start that this did not smell like a CIA operation, and he was right.
But who were they working for? If not the CIA, then surely it had to be one of his competitors. But he couldn’t imagine it could be anyone local. He simply didn’t have any local competitors. He controlled the region and had excellent intelligence on who was doing what to whom. There were no indications that anyone here was trying to wrest control of his operation from him. Sure, there were guys would would like to step into his shoes, but they couldn’t pull off anything like this without him knowing about it.
So it had to be one of his foreign competitors. The Arabs who controlled the opium and heroin trade in Afghanistan maybe, or perhaps the drug cartels in Colombia – someone wanting a bigger slice of the action. These were the most likely candidates.
And now he realized that shooting down the CIA’s Porter had been a huge mistake. He had acted rashly. If only that CIA bitch had talked sooner, it could have been prevented. Now he actually would have the CIA on his case – the CIA and the two farang mercenaries.
His men had found Colonel Sunthonwet’s black Range Rover parked high on the other side of Doi Tung Mountain near the temple, so they had to be close by. What were they up to this time?
He had made a calculated risk when he attacked the consulate in Chiang Mai. He had believed the combined efforts of the CIA, DEA and State Department would be pushed back by his aggressive action. He thought they would back off in their attempts to restrict the cultivation of poppy in the region around the Golden Triangle. And by all appearances his gamble had worked – efforts by the U.S. State Department and the DEA to purchase and destroy poppy fields had come to a screeching halt, and the farmers who had cooperated in these efforts were once again returning to his camp.
But now this…
He pushed back from his desk, grabbed his cheroot and limped slowly across the room to the window. He stood and looked out across Ban Hin Taek to Doi Tung Mountain and the smoldering wreckage of the Porter at its base.
The power of the massive mountain gave him strength. He would survive. This was just a minor setback. He had experienced other setbacks during his path to the top and had always emerged stronger than before. He had learned from each mistake and from each attempt to wrest control of his empire away from him.
Right now he had to think about damage control. His mind spun with ideas…
Chapter One Hundred-Twenty-Three
“Mac, look at this. Check out the far right window on the second floor near the end of the building.” Culler had the spotter scope turned up to forty-power and the window filled his vision.
Mac adjusted the scope on the Lapua. “Son of a bitch. I think that’s him.”
“I think we just decided on a plan, Culler.” Mac clicked off the safety. “Whatever happens now, taking that bastard out is not going to make it worse.” His heart pumped and his hands shook
Buck fever, he thought, don’t do this to me now. Settle down. He could see the man clearly, just standing there looking out of the window, smoking. This had to be Khun Ut. He set the crosshairs on the middle of his chest, let out half a breath and squeezed the trigger.
The target’s arm came up as he brought the cigar to his mouth and the Lapua recoiled into Mac’s shoulder. The Sierra Match 250 grain .338 bullet left the muzzle at 2,900 feet per second with barely a sound.
After what seemed like an eternity, the bullet hit the double pane thermal glass, deflec
ted downward slightly and slammed into Khun Ut’s lower left rib. The rib shattered and the .338 bullet contined to plough at a downward angle through muscle and stomach and intestines until it exited his back just under the left lung.
The force of the impact spun Khun Ut around and threw him back into the office. He hit the floor with a thud in the middle of the room, oozing blood and life onto the polished teakwood floor.
“Holy shit,” said Culler. “That thing sure packs a wallop.”
“Where’d I hit him?” asked Mac, still sighting through the scope of the Lapua.
“I think you were a little low and right but you hit him square enough to spin him around and knock him back into the room. It was a solid hit.”
“But not a kill shot,” Mac replied, matter of factly. “Damn…”
“Maybe, maybe not, depends… you got him good, though. Nice shot.”
They remained in position, Santos observing the villa through the spotter scope and MacMurphy through the rifle scope. Moments later the room filled with people. One of them walked up to the window, inspected the bullet hole in the glass and looked out toward them…
Chapter One Hundred-Twenty-Four
Khun Ut could feel the life draining from his body. He rolled up into the fetal position and grabbed his side where the bullet had entered his body, trying to stem the flow of blood.
He called out for help. He felt like he had been kicked in the side by a mule, but he could feel no pain. Only a dull ache. He knew he had been shot, but how? From where? He was confused and panicky. He fought the feeling. He couldn’t panic. But he could feel the rush of blood going to his head. His vision was blurred. He realized he was going into shock. He called out again and again and then everything went black.
Was he dreaming? He sensed people around him, moving him, lifting him up off of the floor. He was still in no pain but he was slipping in and out of consiousness. His eyes would not focus and dark spots danced in front of them. He could hear voices in the distance. He struggled to stay awake, fearing that if he drifted off and succumbed to the urge to sleep, he would never awaken.
He could feel himself being moved. People were shouting and hurrying around him. He was being carried on a stretcher, jostled around, down the stairs, out the door. People surrounded him. Someone was trying to talk to him. The face very close. He recognized the face as Ung Chea’s. Ung Chea’s lips were moving but all he could hear was the blood rushing in his ears and faint voices far away.
He struggled to concentrate and finally, with great effort, he reached for Ung Chea’s shirt and pulled him close. He whispered, “Who did this?”
“You were shot, Khun Ut, from somewhere outside. You will be alright. An ambulance is on its way. We will get you to the hospital right away. Do not try to speak. You will be okay. Save your strength.”
Khun Ut struggled to speak. His words came out in whispery gasps. “The farangs. They did this. Get the woman and the Hmong out of here. Quickly. Take them into the jungle across the border, far away from here. And find those two. Kill them.”
Chapter One Hundred-Twenty-Five
Santos and MacMurphy observed the commotion from their positions on the side of Doi Tung Mountain, more than three-quarters of a mile away. Santos lay behind the spotter scope and MacMurphy alternated between the Lapua scope and binoculars.
It was late in the afternoon and the shadows were growing long. A number of rescue workers and investigators had joined the original group at the smoldering site of the crashed Porter a quarter mile down the mountain below them. An ambulance wailed up the side of the hill beneath Khun Ut’s villa and came to a stop under the portico at the front entrance.
“Here’s Khun Ut’s ride,” said Santos.
MacMurphy settled in behind the Lapua. “Maybe we can finish the job right here.”
They watched as three paramedics piled out of the ambulance, pulled a collapsible gurney from the rear and rushed it in through the open double doors of the front entrance. Moments later they returned with the gurney. One of the paramedics held a transfusion bag of blood high over the body of the man lying on the stretcher. A gaggle of a half a dozen men and women accompanied the gurney out of the building. They milled around watching while the paramedics prepared to slide the gurney into the back of the ambulance.
“I wouldn’t risk it, Mac. Too many people hanging around him.”
Mac concentrated on his shot, finger poised on the trigger. Then he relaxed. “Yeah, too much commotion, can’t get a clear shot. Sure hope the first one did it.”
“He doesn’t look too good, Mac. I can see his face. It’s as white as a sheet. Hey, is that the Cambodian hovering over him? I think it is. The ugly guy in the black shirt. I think it’s the Cambodian. Can you get a shot at him?”
“I think you’re right. You’re right. Hang on… Son of a bitch… No good...”
Two paramedics pushed the gurney into the back of the ambulance; the other held the transfusion bag high over the injured man and stayed at his side. The door was slammed shut and the other two jumped back into the cab, hit the siren and lights, and sped off down the hillside.
Mac slid back from the Lapua and turned to Santos. “That’s it for Khun Ut. Nothing more we can do about him. If he croaks, fine, if not, well, we’ll have to go to plan ‘B.’”
“What’s plan ‘B’?”
“Haven’t got the foggiest.”
“What do we do now?”
“We wait.”
“Wait for what?”
“For something to happen…”
Chapter One Hundred-Twenty-Six
The Cambodian watched the ambulance speed away from the villa, sirien wailing. Darkness was fast approaching. Not the best time to launch a manhunt, but he could not let those two farangs get away, and he figured they were probably already on the run.
They were out there someplace, either in the town or on the hillside on the other side of the town. He was certain the shot that hit Khun Ut came from a rifle fired by one of the farangs, probably from a rooftop of one of the taller buildings in the town. This is where he would begin the search. He had to find them. He could not let them escape.
He entered Khun Ut’s office and stood by the side of the window, looking out over the town of Ban Hin Taek in the direction of the shot. Could they see him now if he stood in front of the window? Were they still out there? Would they take a shot at him? Perhaps he could use a decoy to try to smoke them out. No, that would be too risky. He pulled the blinds shut.
Khun Ut had the town wired with informants and supporters. The two big farangs would stand out among the natives and be easily spotted. Someone would see them and report back. He had ordered the exits from the town blocked – there were only two, one to the north and one to the south. No one would escape via the only road in and out of the town.
But what about the mountain? They had found Sunthonwet’s Range Rover parked at the Wat high on the other side of the mountain. He had ordered the automobile to be staked out by his men. If they returned to the vehicle they would be intercepted and killed. But what if they had another car stashed nearby, or maybe another accomplice to help them escape – someone else like a Colonel Sunthonwet or a General Sawat?
So many options, so many possibly scenarios. He felt frustrated, confused and more than a little intimidated by his new leadership role. What would his father do in this situation? He had never been in total command before. And Khun Ut was depending upon him.
All he could do was to pull out all the stops and cover every possible escape route. He would set things in motion and enlist the help of the police. After all, a man had been shot by a known, or at least strongly suspected, assailant. They should be leading the manhunt. It’s their job and Khun Ut certainly pays them enough for their cooperation.
Paiboon entered the office and stood silently by the door. Ung Chea shook off his malaise and turned to him.
“Okay, it is up to us now. We need to make sure the town is sealed t
ight and find those two bastards. They are either in Ban Hin Taek or close by, maybe on the other side in the foothills of the mountain. They can’t be too far away. Make sure the police are alerted and get every one of our men on the chase.”
Almost as an afterthought he said, “And get the prisoners out of here right away. Take them across the border into the hills. I don’t want any police hanging around the villa while they are in there, understand?”
Paiboon said, “yes sir,” and turned to leave.
“One more thing, get the two Hueys in the air. Have them search the rooftops and the outskirts of the town, particularly on the eastern side. The shot came from that direction. Make sure you load them with enough armed troops to give chase on land if we find them.”
He paused for a moment, thinking, and then continued. “No, actually, you stay here on the ground and coordinate the ground search. I’ll go along with the Hueys. They may actually be our best bet to find those bastards.”
Chapter One Hundred-Twenty-Seven
Santos and MacMurphy watched from their concealed vantage point high on the side of the mountain. The sun had dipped below the mountain behind Khun Ut’s villa, casting long dark shadows across the valley. They switched to their night vision equipment.
“Things are going to get a little exciting here in a few moments,” said Mac. He topped off the magazine to replace the round that had been fired and set the spare ten-round magazine next to the Lapua in front of him. “Search parties will be all over the town and patrolling this side of the mountain very shortly.”
Culler checked his POF-416, making sure it was set on night vision firing, and set it down close beside him. The ammunition drum was full of one hundred rounds of 5.56 caliber cartridges. He tipped the spotter scope down and to the left and focused on the spot where the Porter had gone down.
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