by Bradley West
JUMP TO THE CAST OF CHARACTERS
JUMP TO ABBREVIATIONS AND JARGON
CHAPTER FOUR
CLUB AVATAR
SATURDAY NIGHT, MARCH 8, RANGOON
A half hour later, they pulled up to a closed gate on a darkened residential street. An indistinct figure opened the gate and the SUV parked around the back. As soon as Millie, Nolan, Ryder and the driver exited, more unseen hands pulled a tarp over the SUV. Ryder kept the SCAR and goggles with him as they went in.
“Welcome.” Sam Hecker was there to greet them, at least in voice. Through the dark they followed a trail of glow sticks laid through the kitchen, dining and living areas, and up the stairs. “Mind your steps and no flash photography, please,” Hecker quipped.
Upstairs they edged sideways through a door into what had been a large master bedroom. The windows were shuttered from the inside and overhead fluorescent lights blazed. There were chairs, two PCs on tiny desks and a big-screen TV with a large conference table as the centerpiece. The BBC ran on mute; the crawl noted that MH370 was still missing. The map indicated the Gulf of Thailand as the likely crash site.
“Sit, everyone. Bob, take us through it piece by piece. Leave nothing out.” Hecker was a different man from the softball pitcher with a highball glass Nolan had met the night before. Clean-cut features, short brown hair and a choirboy's smile made Sam Hecker appear soft until you actually saw him in action.
Nolan took a chair. “Sure, Sam, but I haven’t eaten all day. Millie hasn’t eaten dinner, either. Can we get some food?” On cue the housekeeper entered the room. In short order, Nolan was smearing peanut butter over saltine crackers, sampling Cheetos and raisins, and washing it all down with a warm Dr. Pepper. Millie was less impressed and picked at a couple of items. He surmised that the safe house grocery shopping took place at the Rangoon American Club’s expatriate comfort food commissary.
Nolan spent an hour taking everyone through the story, including interruptions and retelling. Hecker was particularly interested in the four-vehicle convoy, but Nolan couldn’t do any better than a general description of the dark gray SUV and brown K-Line containers. It wasn’t much. Three-quarters through his tale, Ryder pushed away from the table and placed phone calls from the corner.
Hecker’s second area of interest was the airfield. Millie was the most help there. Hecker’s irritation at the dual indignities of the DEA’s being grounded and the absence of imaging satellite capacity rankled. He cursed Matthews.
Nolan's bugbear Teller was Hecker’s third focal point, and Hecker had a different take. “Robin Teller, a.k.a. Jay Toffer, is well known to the DEA as the head of Khun Sa’s family’s security, most specifically chairman Myat Noe and her Golden Elephant group. Toffer hires and trains ex-Burma Special Forces operators, puts them in uniforms and pretends he’s running his own Ranger unit.”
Hecker massaged his temples with his thumbs as he gathered his thoughts. Despite graying sideburns, at first glance he looked to be in his late thirties. Only the fine crows’ feet and an old man’s eyes belied the impression left by the even white teeth, firm chin and ready smile.
“But Toffer and Golden Elephant are clean on the drug front. DEA had people inside GE for over a year when I arrived two-plus years ago. In early 2013, we moved our agent out as it was dead quiet. And why not? The Opium King had already made and laundered billions, so with hundreds of millions left, why would the children risk losing it all by jumping back into drugs? Finally, I’m not convinced MH370 landed out there. We’ll interview a sample of people under the likely flight path and find out if they heard or saw anything.”
“Sam, you know those peasants wouldn’t say shit if their mouths were full of it. The Army has them terrified,” Ryder said.
“Fair enough, but the provincial police chief is my friend and you know him, too,” Hecker said. “Zaw runs a good operation. He used to be in Lashio but made so many drug busts that the generals promoted him to run Irrawaddy State where he wouldn’t be in their way. Maybe no civilians heard or saw anything, but the officers on the ground will speak up if Major Zaw asks them."
"That's where Zaw ended up? Hell, no one told me," Ryder said.
“We know that at night the civilian radars are turned off. The generals almost were caught last year when the police and DEA put that sting on them. Those corrupt bastards sabotaged their nation’s defense readiness rather than risk providing more incriminating evidence via radar tapes. My hunch is that GE built a new strip for the junta. Maybe as an escape route if it all goes pear-shaped in a hurry, or merely as another place to run their drugs and money in and out.”
Millie jumped in. “If that’s true, then what about the convoy? That could contain people or cargo off MH370. And why would Teller care so much about an airfield GE’s built for the Army? I mean, he’s lurking on a Saturday, threatening Bob and stabbing Kyaw. The Army has three or four bases just like it upcountry and Teller doesn’t hang out there. It doesn’t add up. We’ve got to go back out and look.”
Ryder said, “She’s right.”
Hecker replied, “Fine, but there’s nothing that ties three containers and an SUV to the airstrip, much less MH370. Bob didn’t see any uniforms. He didn’t get any plates or photos. We'll have to find those containers. As for the rest of it, let’s aim to visit tomorrow before noon.”
Nolan added, “If we’re going at all, make it tonight. That airfield is hot regardless if MH370 was there or not. There will be activity out there, but precisely what, I can’t tell you.”
“We need to get Matthews involved and I’ll also call Captain Abrahams,” Millie said. “Even shorthanded, we can probably get fifteen men out there if Sam can spare a few of his agents.”
Hecker's boyish features contorted into something uglier than a scowl. He slammed the tabletop with his open palms. “Whoa! There’s no way Toffer/Teller has been in-country since 2007 with a private army of US-equipped, Ranger-look-alike mercenaries and someone in the embassy didn’t know about it. Given that Teller’s last known job was arms dealer to the CIA, you’ll pardon me if I think someone in Rangoon station is in on the secret. What better candidate than the COS? There’s no fucking way we’re telling Lloyd Matthews anything until we know what we’re dealing with.
“As for embassy security, Abrahams and his Marines are good men, but anything you tell them will be on Matthews’s desk tomorrow. We’ll work up a cover story for Kyaw’s injury to justify the need to have him under guard at the hospital. For now, we keep the circle small.”
Nolan didn’t disagree with Hecker’s professional judgment, but wondered how much was colored by the DEA head’s palpable hatred of Matthews. There was plenty to dislike based on Nolan’s two prior meetings since the COS’s arrival in Burma in 2012. Over the fifteen or so years Matthews had been on the payroll, he’d demonstrated sharp elbows and sharper ambitions. With the physique of an underweight volleyball player, his 6’3” height might have been his best feature. Matthews lacked the grace that marked a true diplomat. To go with his gelled, swept-back sandy hair, his face was a mismatch with a perfect pointed nose, bleached even teeth and ears that jutted out. “Looks like someone left the doors ajar on a Land Rover,” Nolan once remarked at an off-site. That Matthews had been right behind him had cemented their mutual disdain.
Matthews sported a phony interpersonal charm that most people could see from across the room. Seeing him work a cocktail party was like watching a street magician perform tricks after you’d already spotted the sleight of hand. Nolan couldn’t understand how people like Matthews prospered in any organization, much less the CIA, where reading character was part of the job description. Matthews’s peers could have long ago leaked his name and real job title on jihadi websites and let the terrorists take care of the rest.
Turning to Nolan, Hecker said, “When the dust settles, we’ll need you and Kyaw to sign off on the same fairy tale. The usual DEA undercover sting. It went wrong. Bad guys hurt Kyaw. You escaped, but they got
a look, so now we’re being careful.”
“That’s fine. I agree with everything you said. But we have to get back before Teller destroys whatever evidence is still around,” Nolan said.
Ryder looked at Hecker, who nodded. “We hear you. We can mount up in the next ninety minutes and get there by 4:30 a.m., maybe sooner. It gets light at six, so we’ll want to be in-and-out fast.”
Millie said, “I'm coming with you. I can help find the building near the airstrip.”
Hecker replied, “Millie, if you still have the GPS coordinates, we’ll find it. And besides, if we aren’t bringing the CIA into the loop, what in the hell do I tell Matthews when he wonders where you are?”
Ryder added, “This won’t be capture the flag at the Farm,” and bestowed a condescending look. Millie’s return gaze was venomous.
Nolan had heard enough. Rejuvenated by half a jar of peanut butter and a stack of crackers, he waded in. “We need to get going. I’ve got to go because I’m the only one who knows where the Hyundai is, plus my passport is in that farmer’s sock drawer. We’ll need someone to drive the Toyota over and the Hyundai back. With luck, we’ll find the same turnoff I used when I hiked in earlier—”
Ryder interrupted, “Absolutely the last place we’ll use is the side road you took earlier today.”
“Sorry, you’re right. That was stupid. But at a minimum I need to lead the driver to the Hyundai and get my passport. So we drive out together, the DEA team goes to the runway while I split off and head to the farmer’s house, fetch the Hyundai, and rejoin you for the return leg.”
Ryder concurred, “That’s affirmative. Let me get some people out of bed.”
Hecker checked his watch. “Travis, let’s have everyone here at Club Avatar for an ETD of 02:00 hours.” Across the room, Ryder tilted the phone from his ear and nodded.
Hecker said to Millie, “If you don’t have anywhere else to be, it would be easiest if you stayed here tonight. It’s after midnight, so most of the good bars are too crowded anyway.”
She said, “Thanks for the offer, but if I’m not coming with you, I have to get home. I’m due back at the annex before seven to collate the intel coming in from Shan and Kachin States.”
“Ah, right. Take my SUV.” Hecker raised his voice and called, “Sally?” The housekeeper stepped through the door so quickly you’d have thought she had her ear pressed against it. “Please take Millie to my car, have Arun drive her home and then tell him to come back here.”
Millie turned to Nolan. “You don’t look well. Why don’t you get some sleep, and return the pickup tomorrow afternoon and get the Hyundai then? That’s not super urgent. You can double up with the DEA, so you’ll have guards as well.”
“My mother always said, ‘Nothing good ever happens after three in the morning.’ In thirty-plus years in the CIA, Mom’s never been wrong. That’s a good enough reason to go back out there. Maybe I can get another look at the runway while I’m at it.” Nolan put on a brave face, but a bed sounded inviting.
“Alright, just be careful. Come to the annex after you return and we’ll talk.” Millie stood up. Nolan thought she had an even cuter face than when they’d met thirteen hours and one hundred years ago. She sensed the interest, and true to her gender, turned and walked off without another word. Sally followed her out.
Nolan caught the tag end of Ryder’s and Hecker’s overlapping conversation. “So the rules of engagement are that we can’t fire even if fired upon?” Ryder’s tone was disbelieving.
“Travis, you’re an ex-SEAL, but you can’t run with those fragged legs. We’ll have at most five agents potentially up against the Burma Army. Even if it’s a private show, Toffer may have a dozen of his mercs with him. Our goal is to throw some night-vision on the strip, photograph what we see and get the hell out before first light.”
“Well then, we may as well go in unarmed and carry white flags on sticks.”
“Be serious. If we're shot at, we’ll shoot back, but understand that our first shot blows up your career, my career, the DEA in Burma and this investigation. We also tip off that prick Matthews, and ruin what could be our best chance to nail him. If we can show he’s somehow connected to Toffer/Teller, I’ll see that the sonofabitch fries.”
Nolan marveled how, no matter where you were in the world, inter-service rivalries were the reason a whole lot of things happened, and not always for the better. Hecker was a piece of work, his fraternity rush chairman looks belying an intense, vindictive side.
Ryder said, “You coming?”
“Yeah. You and Bob ride with me. Get Dara to drive the farmer’s pickup. How are we doing on headcount?” Hecker asked.
“I spoke with Gonzalez. Kyaw is out of surgery. His left hand is screwed up; two tendons were cut and there’s nerve damage. He’ll need another operation, but he’ll make it. We have a guard on his room, Zeya. He’ll mind the fort until we’re back in town.”
“Pull Zeya off Kyaw’s room,” Hecker said. “Why would Teller kill him? Kyaw saw Teller, but now that Bob’s back in town he’s told others as well. So there’s no way Teller will be able to get that cat back in the bag. I don’t even think Bob’s a target.”
Nolan slumped. “I see your logic, especially as it relates to a driver who doesn’t know anything anyway. However, Teller is violent and unpredictable. You sure you want to do this?”
“It’s my call. I’m taking Zeya off the room and bringing him with us. I’ll alert Abrahams, and he can have a plainclothes Marine bedside from 8 a.m. Will that be good enough?”
Nolan slowly nodded yes while his brain shouted objections.
Ryder gave them both a thumbs-up and started a new call. He was with the boss on this one: they could use another man who shot straight.
Hecker said, “By my count, that makes eight in total. Even with Zeya, we’re still undermanned, and we’re going in without a proper plan. We’re too rushed, but having Zaw with us swings the deal. I’m not alerting Hong Kong or DC, either. Just remember that we’ll be snooping, not shooting. We’ll stick together on the drive out: two SUVs and the pickup. Before Einme we’ll rendezvous and move Bob into the Toyota.”
Turning again to Nolan, he asked, “You’ll be all right with just a driver? We’ll give you a secure radio with at least twenty miles’ range, and the driver has a cell phone that may work as well.”
“I should be fine. I don’t think there will be any trouble. But just in case, can your men handle weapons?”
“They’re range-certified for pistols, and Ryder has shown them how to load and point a SCAR, but they aren’t Green Berets by any stretch. Do you want a weapon?”
“Hell no. I’d probably shoot myself,” Nolan confessed. An instant later, he said, “You know, if Travis could give me a thirty-second refresher on how to aim and shoot a pistol, that might not be a bad idea.”
Ryder’s clap on the back let him know it was as good as done. “Bob, Millie was right. You look like hell. Get your head down for forty-five minutes and I’ll wake you.”
Nolan lied. “I’m feeling fine, though I could use a shower. If I could get clean clothes then all the better.”
“Sally will sort you out.”
CHAPTER FIVE
THE STING
SATURDAY, MARCH 8, FORT MEADE, MARYLAND
“Buster, I’m nervous as hell about the briefing on Monday. Thanks for coming in on a Saturday morning.” Tim Weill, NSA program director for Project Acapulco and senior manager in the Tailored Access Operations unit, ushered his colleague into a small conference room littered with coffee cups, fast food wrappers and a messy multicolored white board.
Brian Gregory had expected the breakfast summons from his boss. “I was going to be in here one way or the other. That missing Malaysia airliner has just about filled up the parking lot. Didn’t you notice on the way in?”
“Well, ah, I didn’t actually look. I’ve been here a while.”
“You pulled an all-nighter, didn’t you?”
/> “Yep. I scrapped the PowerPoint. I hate that damned program. Death by bullet point should be stamped on the installation disk. We’re presenting to the frigging head of the CIA, not Mrs. McElroy’s sophomore geography class. Let me walk you through what’s now a verbal briefing, with all the background shoved into a handout.
“The Western Pacific Fleet’s goal is to keep the sea lanes open from Korea down to Philippines, and to the west through the Straits of Malacca. China’s number one objective is to control its coastal zone, the ‘Near Sea,’ out to almost Japan. China’s island claims conflict with the recognized territorial waters of Korea, Japan, Taiwan, Philippines, Vietnam, Indonesia and even Malaysia. In 2012 and again in 2013, China occupied various islands and sent warships to back up the land grab.
“To that end, they spend much of their military budget on developing new and interesting ways to sink US warships via—”
“Tim, speed it up. Admiral Perkins is the most impatient man in government.”
“OK, OK. I understand, but assume that the meeting transcript will end up in his underlings’ in-trays as well, so an overview won’t hurt.”
“Other in-trays? Acapulco is completely off-camera. I can think of four people outside the NSA who know about it, including the President.”
“Well, it’ll be five people as of Monday morning at 10:31. Given that Billy is being told two years after the fact, we may see him explode. So let’s walk him down the path before we drop a turd on his noggin.”
Weill referred back to his notes. “In Feb 2012, building on the success of Stuxnet, NSA coerced a Presidential sign-off to try something similar aimed at China and Tailored Access Operations assigned a team of seven to develop the worm."
"OK, but why are you now calling this 'Stuxnet 3.0'? It's got nothing to do with the Stuxnet architecture that crippled Iran's nuclear weapons program."