Sea of Lies: An Espionage Thriller

by Bradley West

  * * * * *

  Millie was pacing in circles around the holding room. Her observer was getting dizzy watching through the one-way glass. Millie had been in there since the polygraph concluded, awaiting her fate.

  “Millicent? I’d like to review the polygraph results to see if you can elaborate on your answers to certain questions. There are a few irregularities.”

  She had plenty of grievances against Bob Nolan, but an accusation of treason was over the top. “Director Constantine, I made an unwarranted inference when Bob Nolan told me he was Mark Watermen’s godfather, and furthermore, had slept with Watermen’s girlfriend on that trip to Hawaii. At no time did Bob tell me Watermen gave him a copy of the NSA files. I think the polygraph results bear that out. If they don’t, let’s do it again.” Those doe eyes were working overtime.

  Constantine could see why Nolan had fallen for her. Millicent had a pretty face and exuded intelligence and a lot more moxie than the plain vanilla trainees Singapore station always seemed to be saddled with. Maybe she was worth salvaging, but that determination wasn’t likely to be made in an interrogation room under the bright lights.

  “It’s getting late. Why don’t we have dinner and talk before I drop you off at the safe house?”

  “I’d like that very much, Director Constantine. Thank you, sir.”

  It was clear she thought he might be interested in sex. Little did she know that the stakes were much higher.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  DOUBLE DEALING

  THURSDAY MARCH 12, COLOMBO, SHAN STATE, RANGOON, BRITISH COLUMBIA

  First Officer Jenkins jostled Nolan awake fifteen minutes prior to touchdown. Kaili was asleep as well. Nolan found a receipt for $127,200 and confirmation of the extended booking through early Saturday morning, Sri Lanka time. He was down to about $45,000. Not much to show for a life’s work. It was too depressing to dwell on. He had to get his family back, but first he had to settle the Watermen affair.

  Nighttime was prime time for little Sri Lanka, with Far East and Gulf long-haul flights making refueling stops. The jet taxied away from the main passenger terminal to a dark corner just past the control tower. When they were close, two vehicles approached. The plane halted and the engines shut off while Jenkins popped open the door and brought down the stairs.

  Nolan collected the satphone number from Nishimoto, informing the captain that the Gulfstream 550 should be refueled and the pilots at the airport hotel ready to fly on short notice.

  Vishnu Balendra greeted them at the foot of the steps. The gentle giant shook their hands and took Kaili’s bags. Nolan carried his own backpack to ensure that anyone watching him focused on it. He already had the terabyte hard drive in one pants pocket and $20,000 in another. He was ready to travel light.

  “Welcome to Sri Lanka, Mr. and Mrs. Birch. Did you have a pleasant flight?”

  Nolan said, “Very much so.” Lowering his voice, he added, “What happens now?”

  “Nothing. We walk to the VIP building about fifty yards away over there, then walk through one set of doors and out the other side to where my vehicle is parked.”

  “Where are we staying?”

  “The Jetwing Blue Resort in Negombo is only fifteen minutes away. I’ve switched you into the bridal suite.”

  Nolan had two motives when he’d instructed Balendra to house him near the airport Wednesday night. It was a long shot whether Kaili and he would be able to make it back it to the Gulfstream if a CIA kidnap team moved on them, but their chances were improved by staying close to the airport. The more tangible reason was Nolan’s wish to disguise his in-town whereabouts as long as possible to minimize surveillance opportunities.

  As predicted, they breezed through a VIP reception area that featured a half-dozen loitering immigration officers, baggage handlers and clerks. An older fellow in a white uniform fixed them with a big smile. He and Balendra exchanged pleasantries in Sinhalese, and they were through.

  “If only the TSA could do things the Sri Lanka way,” Nolan joked as they bridged the twenty yards from the main entrance to the SUV waiting curbside. Kaili linked arms with him, making them a couple for public display purposes. Balendra’s driver pulled onto the road and headed toward town.

  “It’s about a fifteen-minute drive to the hotel. Here are your phones.” Balendra turned around and handed two phones to Nolan and one to Kaili. Nolan saw a box in the back that probably held his new laptop. The phone numbers were taped to the back and he texted these to Hecker and Nishimoto.

  Kaili was fiddling with her iPhone clone, presumably checking in with the home office. Nolan gave a mild shudder. He was traveling with the MSS’s head of Singapore. He was consorting with the enemy. The China twist was something he hadn’t yet wrapped his mind around.

  Nolan took a couple of deep breaths to quell his building anxiety and closed his eyes for the remainder of the short journey. Had he been wearing night-vision goggles, he would have spotted three vehicles following at staggered distances.

  Balendra’s driver parked outside Jetwing Blue’s circular driveway. Colored blue and red lights alternated in time with the central fountain’s pulsating jets. Balendra already had the key, so they walked directly to the honeymoon bungalow tucked into a secluded area off the beach.

  “I’ll get some ice,” Balendra said.

  Nolan did a quick walk-through. Thankfully, the suite had two rooms, and the sofa in the TV area converted to a bed. He plugged in the new laptop and waited for it to boot up. Kaili came over and stood next to his desk chair, hand lightly on his shoulder. “So are we having a glass of champagne before bed?” she offered. She’d spritzed on perfume. He detected Chanel, Joanie’s scent.

  Gathering his resolve, he surprised himself. “I’m saving the champagne for when Mark Watermen is safe, my family is free and I’m on a plane out. I have a lot to do. You can take the bedroom and I’ll sleep out here on the sofa bed. Goodnight, and thanks.”

  She turned on her heels wordlessly, the sharp sound of the door shutting accentuating his isolation. For a moment, Nolan felt like he was on holiday with his wife.

  Balendra returned with the ice and informed him in a low voice that there were two Sri Lanka Navy Special Boat Service operatives guarding their bungalow. Both were loyal to Balendra, as his father had done their families a great service many years ago. They’d be guarding wherever Nolan stayed as well as any specific places he might designate. Balendra had already told them where Nolan would be staying tomorrow night. The SBS men had confirmed that their friends in the security services would sweep Nolan’s Colombo Racquets Club rooms prior to check-in Thursday. The cost was a thousand US dollars a head per day.

  Nolan appreciated the initiative shown by someone who looked more like a bouncer than a thinker, and counted out six thousand in hundreds. “Give them this and tell them there’s another ten thousand to share when I’m safely out of Sri Lanka. Keep this arrangement confidential. No need to alarm Ms. Chan. In fact, don’t answer any specific questions she might ask unless I’m present.” Balendra nodded and left after confirming a ten o’clock start the next morning.

  Nolan’s new cell buzzed. It was Hecker calling with news of Captain Nishimoto and Richard Constantine’s email. Nolan chatted as he began uploading files from the portable hard drive to his new laptop.

  * * * * *

  Based on Teller’s nonstop coughing, Mullen doubted he’d slept much. Certainly Mullen hadn’t enjoyed more than thirty minutes at a stretch before Teller’s rattling and hocking woke him up. But now that Teller was out of bed he was all business. “Find someone who can give us tea and something to eat other than an opium ball or yaa baa. I’ll look in on our doctor friend.” Mullen was pleased to be away from him; he didn’t want whatever Teller had contracted.

  Teller found Dr. Wang unchanged in the last twelve hours, an unemptied bedpan serving as the only proof of life. “So, Doc, how are you feeling?” Teller’s question sounded more like an accusation.

&n
bsp; “Better because I not take more shots. I can move toes, but am in great pain. My spinal cord is intact. If you give me non-opium pain medications, I treat you better.”

  “What do you want? And what kind of facility do you need to treat me?”

  “I wrote it all down on paper on nightstand.” Teller looked to where Dr. Wang was gesturing and picked up a piece of scrap paper with two columns of childlike printing in blue ink. The long list was for Teller’s needs and the short one was for the doctor’s.

  Teller barely gave it a glance. “I’ll get someone in to clean you up and bring something to eat, and pass this along to the air taxi service. We’re at least an hour’s drive from the airfield. The roads will be bumpy, so expect pain.”

  “I am lying in filth. I accept your offer.”

  “It wasn’t a request. It was a description.” Teller turned to go.

  “Mr. Toffer.” Teller turned around and the doctor continued, “Your immune system is damaged. You need bone marrow transplant. For that we require tissue match. Do you have family?”

  “A couple of kids I haven’t seen in almost thirty years, and maybe a sister back in Tennessee.”

  “We need Caucasian bone marrow donor. You have much better chance in North America. We tissue type you in Bangkok. Then take two or three days to see if match. I also treat lung infection. It take one to two weeks to set up transplant if we find donor.”

  “That sounds like a plan, Doc.” Teller punctuated his approbation with another expulsion of bloody phlegm onto the floor of the makeshift wardroom.

  “I want to fly with you to US. I want right to stay in US.”

  “And why would the US agree to give you asylum?”

  “Because pneumonia kill you. Pleural effusion—fluid in lungs—drown you in sleep. Or you contract fatal infection. My price for saving your life is I live in US.”

  “What if I don’t make it to the US alive?”

  “Then I don’t stay there.”

  “We have a deal.”

  “I want writing on official paper and signed by ambassador and stamped with official seal of United States.”

  “Shouldn’t be a problem, but it will take some time. I’ll get the letter to you before we leave Bangkok.”

  In short order, Teller found Officer in Charge Bourey, the major who welcomed them the night before. “From midday I’ll need one SUV and four soldiers to accompany me to the Mong Hsat airfield. We’ll need a mattress for the North Korean doctor you thought was dead. He has a broken back, and I need him to treat me in Thailand, so he’s coming along.” Teller summoned a racking cough for emphasis.

  “No problem, Mr. Toffer.” Major Bourey smiled and the Ray Bans gleamed.

  “Dr. Wang’s a mess and he’s talking nonsense. Can you make certain he gets a strong shot of morphine around noon? Have your orderlies clean him up and put him in fresh clothes. It will be easier to move him if he’s not speaking all the time.”

  Bourey smirked and nodded.

  Next, Teller stepped outside while his half-charged satphone acquired the satellite. Matthews answered on the first ring. “When does the HAC fixed-wing land?”

  “They can’t supply us on short notice. I’ve arranged a puddle jumper from Mae Sot. It’s being piloted by an old contractor you know well, Charlie Meursault. Should be on the ground at 16:00 hours with an immediate turnaround.”

  “Goddamnit! 16:00 hours? Is it cleared to land in Bangkok?”

  “We’re good as far as Chiang Mai. Still working on a slot at Don Muang Airport in Bangkok. Should be doable. I’ve given the pilot your satphone number, so leave it on from 15:00 hours onward.”

  “Fine. I’ll let you know once we’re aboard. I have a list of medical supplies and tests I’ll need.”

  “Give that to the pilot when you get on the plane. Depending on where you’re headed first, Meursault can radio ahead to Chiang Mai or Bangkok so they can prep for your arrival.” Matthews hung up. Apparently Dr. Wang wasn’t the only delusional person in Southern Wa district.

  * * * * *

  “Clay? It’s Lloyd. Can you speak?”

  “Yes, sir. How can I be of assistance?” Captain Clay Abrahams, USMC, and head of physical security at the US embassy Rangoon was the son-of-a-son-of-a-Corpsman. His Marines joked that if you looked up the Corps’ motto Semper fidelis in Wikipedia, Captain Abrahams’s photo appeared next to the translation Always faithful.

  “Our local sources have a lead on Robin Teller, also known as Jay Toffer, sought for questioning in the murder of US embassy and DEA personnel, and most recently, Dr. Melvin Yap and his domestic servant.”

  “I can have six armed Marines under my command at your disposal in thirty minutes, sir.”

  “No, that’s not why I’m calling. As you know, the Agency and the DEA have been quarreling. I’m afraid it compromises our mutual effectiveness if we can’t resolve matters. To that end, on Friday, Hecker and I meet the regional heads of the Agency and the DEA in Tokyo to try to patch things up. Previously, we agreed the Agency would lead the airfield investigation while the DEA would inspect containers at Thilawa and pursue the Teller/Toffer angles. This Teller lead is actually the DEA’s to follow up, but if I call Hecker, or he otherwise finds out the Agency is the source, the DEA is likely to ignore the intelligence. Sad to say, there’s been a complete breakdown of mutual trust.”

  “Yes, that seems to be the case, sir.”

  “So what I’m suggesting is that you pass along the information I’m about to tell you as having come from Corps’ own Rangoon sources. If your Marines were to provide the information, then those DEA jokers would believe the CIA had nothing to do with the capture or death of Teller.”

  “Seems feasible, sir.”

  “I will give you the name of an airfield and its GPS coordinates. You must have your team there by 15:00 hours latest. You will have to get onto Hecker right away to arrange for a flight to Southern Wa. Take these compass headings down and read them back to me.”

  “I’m ready for you, sir.”

  * * * * *

  After a good night’s rest, young Nolan did twenty minutes of calisthenics and ate a paleo breakfast augmented by a protein shake. He next went online and checked his Safe-mail. He was left disheartened by Dad’s lame message: “I will help when I can, but I’m afraid you can’t rely on me for much right now. Love you guys.”

  That meant Mom and Dad were in trouble. Meanwhile he was stuck here in the woods with a stack of textbooks for company.

  A chorus of coyotes sounded. He remembered that 30-06 bolt action and box of hollow points.

  * * * * *

  Sergeants Gerard and Michaels sipped coffee and pored over sat photos of Mong Hsat Airfield while Hecker and Zaw spoke on the phone. From Hecker’s end, it sounded like Zaw had secured a Pilatus PC-6 Porter. Michaels, startled, looked up from his topo map. “A PC-6? That’ll land halfway up Everest.”

  Hecker nodded and gave him a thumbs-up. “Well take it. When do we have to be at the airport? Should be there by 11:00 hours no problem. 11:30 hours ETD and three hours thirty minutes flying time? That works.”

  Gerard started rolling up maps, rubber-banding them as he went.

  Hecker had hung up. “Mount up. You have a ride north on a plane paid for by the UN Office on Drugs and Crime. Zaw says the Air Force usually uses the Porter to haul dope. We’re in luck because today’s an off day, and for twenty thousand dollars and a butt-load of aviation gas, we landed ourselves a wet lease including unrecorded takeoffs and landings from the international airport. You gotta love Major Zaw.”

  Michaels interjected, “The Pilatus is slow as balls, boss, and only carries ten.”

  Hecker ignored the interruption. “I have to stay and cover our tracks. Gonzalez is still on the ground in Bangkok. I’ll get back on the phone and see if Abrahams can get his Marines to the airport in mufti with weapons stowed. It’s an hour’s drive, more if it rains. That gives you ten to fifteen minutes to move. We don’t know how m
any you’ll be up against.”

  “As of the last sat photos, Mong Hsat looks abandoned. There’s been no Army presence for at least six months. No planes parked there; just a windsock, runway and an ATC building with a radio set and a dead radar dish on top. If we arrive early, control the airfield and lay out the welcome mat, it won’t matter how many men Teller has. There’s only one road in and one road out.” Gerard could have been listing electric utilities dividend yields.

  Michaels pitched in. “We’ve been through Ryder’s weapons locker, sir. There’s more than enough for the job. Not all of that SEAL shit is up to standards, but we’ll make do.”

  One corner of Gerard’s mouth turned up in a quarter smile, so Hecker knew Michaels must have said something pretty funny.

  Gerard said, “We can do the business with the two SCAR CQCs Ryder had in the back. They have FN40 grenade launchers slung underneath for more punch. We also have a couple thousand rounds of 7.62 ammo, ordinary and tracer, plus a GPMG with a bipod and ammo belts for our USMC brothers. The comms sets are all good, as is the field first-aid kit. Michaels and I are both combat medics. While we’re in the air, you’ll need to set up a trauma unit as close to the airport as possible to handle my wounded. We’ll need plasma and whole blood, plus an operating room staffed and on standby.”

  Hecker said, “I’ll take care of it.”

  Michaels asked, “Can you give us the final rules of engagement? What happens if Teller’s accompanied by regular Army?”

  “Teller’s worth much more alive than dead. The civilians he’s with—if any—are probably worth even more. Teller’s ill, maybe dying. I’m guessing he’ll be guarded by uniformed troops, but they are likely to run off when the shooting starts. Teller has a Praetorian Guard that wear Ranger fatigues and carry M-4s. If you see any of them, shoot to kill. If you don’t see fake Rangers, I’m guessing well-placed grenades will send his conscript escorts scurrying.” Even to Hecker, it sounded like a muddle.