The Quiet Professional

by Michael Byars Lewis

  Jason tried to digest all the information coming at him. Damn. This was much bigger than he first realized. Why would the BIPP attack his crew? And he wanted to talk to Ben. He wanted answers. Did he know Suttirat sold him fake gold? Why was Maison Andrepont, multi-millionaire, obsessed with Ben Harris? Ten thousand dollars in gold was chump change. Those questions would have to wait. He had something more important to do.

  “Sir, I need to speak with you in private,” he said, shaking Lieutenant Colonel McClendon’s hand.

  McClendon eyed him curiously.

  “Is this before or after you talk with the folks at JUSMAGTHAI and the local police?”

  “Immediately.”

  “Okay, follow me,” he said, leading Jason to the back room of his suite. Closing the door behind them, McClendon motioned for Jason to sit in a chair. “What’s up?”

  “Sir, before we escaped, we were passed some intel I think is important.”

  McClendon paused, waiting for more information. “Okay, what is it?”

  Jason pulled out the piece of paper Helena gave him before he left the mansion.

  “The BIPP is planning to shoot down Air Force One when it flies into Bangkok.”

  Maison stood outside the warehouse at the airport, his cell phone glued to his ear as Sarathoon went to get the limousine. The bank president had him on hold. Earlier, Arthit phoned him and explained what happened with the Chechen. For some reason, after the Chechen went to deposit the money, he called the deal off and directed his men to bring the missiles back with them. Arthit and his men killed the Chechen’s men, had possession of the missiles, and returned to the jungle camp. They had no idea of the status of the Chechen.

  He wondered what happened. Was it a double-cross? Did the Chechen try to rip him off? Did he cash the check? The bank had him on hold for the last five minutes, and he grew anxious. When the bank president came back on the line, his voice was distressed.

  “Monsieur Andrepont?”

  “Yes?”

  “The check in question had not been cashed.”

  “This is good,” he said, smiling.

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “No. It seems we have a bigger problem. Your account is empty.”

  “Wait . . . What? What do you mean ‘empty’?”

  “I mean, there is no money in your account. Other than a thousand dollars to keep the account open.”

  Maison’s mouth fell open, and his face sagged. He didn’t notice his heartbeat increase or the perspiration that poured down his forehead.

  "I—say that again? I thought you said I have no money in my account." He heard it the first time. It made no sense; he wanted confirmation. Then details.

  “Correct, monsieur. The account was emptied electronically this morning. It seems to have been bounced around to different accounts around the world before disappearing from Johannesburg.”

  “How can this be?” His body tensed; his teeth clenched. “You lost all my money?”

  “We’ve contacted the banking commission and the police. We’ve put a freeze on all bank withdrawals for seventy-two hours—”

  “I don’t care about that,” he yelled. “Where is my two-hundred million dollars?”

  There was a pause. “I—I don’t know, Monsieur Andrepont.”

  “You sons of bitches, I’ll have every one of you killed. Where is my money?”

  “Monsieur Andrepont, please. Threats against myself and the bank will not help find your money. Remember, this phone call is being recorded, and your comments may be subject to criminal prosecution."

  “Criminal prosecution?” he screamed. His breathing came in large gasps now. “Why don’t you track down the thieves who took my money instead of finding ways to get me arrested? Who is the imbecile that runs that operation?”

  “I am. You know that. And insults won’t make us work any faster either.”

  Maison stared at the phone as if it could read his expression. He tried to calm himself. It didn’t work.

  “AAAAAUUUGGHHH!” Maison screamed into the phone. He hurled it into the wall of the warehouse, the phone breaking into pieces.

  He kicked over a garbage can, its contents spilled onto the ground. Sarathoon stood back and watched, careful not to interfere. Maison grabbed the plastic garbage can by the handle and beat it against the wall several times, before throwing it toward the empty ramp.

  His chest heaved as he gasped for breath. He walked in circles, his head tilted back, and his eyes closed. This was a setback of astronomical proportions. Did it affect his immediate plans? After thinking it through for at least twenty minutes, he decided no. While the bank in Bangkok was empty, he still had the casino’s bank account in Cambodia. That provided him with working capital to accomplish his goals.

  It was time to return home. He would tell Helena when he arrived at the mansion; perhaps she had some ideas on how this happened.

  52

  October 16, 2003

  McClendon ushered everyone out of his room except Jason and Chris. He sent Chris to find Remi and have him come to his suite. Jason went to clean up, shave, eat, and find some clothes. The three of them were to meet him at the hangar in three hours. McClendon contacted his comm team and had them set up a STU-III, secure telephone in his room. They told him it might not work due to the hotel switchboard, but luckily, it worked fine. He had a lot to do in three hours.

  His first call was to the Group Commander at the 353rd Special Operations Group in Okinawa. He gave him the details on Jason’s return and what he said about Air Force One. The Group Commander then contacted SOCPAC in Hawaii, since they had operational control, or OPCON, of their activities. This was followed by a courtesy call to Air Force Special Operations Command (AFSOC) Headquarters at Hurlburt Field, Florida, who subsequently contacted Special Operations Command (SOCOM) in Tampa.

  While the group commander made his calls, McClendon notified his intel personnel at the hangar on the STU-III, giving them the location and the threat. He needed satellite imagery and all chatter and correspondence regarding the BIPP for the past six months. His team would be at the airport in an hour.

  Master Sergeant Martinez returned to the suite and was surprised to see everyone else gone. His task proved simple. Jason was put in Thomas' old room while he placed Lawan and Preeda next door in the first sergeant’s previous room. McClendon filled him in on the new development.

  “Find your loadmaster,” McClendon said. “We’re heading to the hangar.”

  The limousine pulled through the gate of his compound, and Maison knew right away that something was wrong. Everyone walked around the compound, armed, guns ready.

  “What is going on?” Maison glanced at Sarathoon as he stepped out of the limo, who simply shrugged his shoulders.

  Nimol approached him, his AK-47 pointed at the ground.

  “The prisoners have escaped,” he said, his voice wavering.

  “What? Which one?”

  “All of them.”

  “Why didn’t you call me?”

  “We did, Monsieur Andrepont. You never answered. The mademoiselle said she would contact you, so we could continue our search.”

  Maison stormed into the house. He never answered because he smashed his phone against the building at the airport. Servants scrubbed the blood from the floor of the living room and patched bullet holes throughout the house.

  Maison’s eyes widened. “Helena!” he yelled.

  A small man rounded the corner. Maison jerked his head toward him.

  “M-Monsieur Andrepont. W-Welcome home.”

  The small man, his cook for many years, still looked shaken.

  “What happened?”

  The timid man rubbed his hands together, struggling to look Maison in the eye.

  “I’m s-sorry Monsieur Andrepont. I-It was the American. He escaped with Madame Suttirat and her daughter.”

  Maison could tell his long-time cook was nervous. He set a comforting hand on his shoulder to
calm him down.

  “It’s all right. What do you know?”

  The cook relaxed, confidence returning to his voice. “I went to Madame Suttirat's room to pick up their trays from lunch. No one was inside. I walked next door into the American's room, and Madame De Vries lay unconscious on the floor. I ran and got Ponleak, and we helped her to her feet.

  “We searched the house and found them heading to the garage. The American somehow found a gun and killed Ponleak. Madame De Vries triggered the lockdown alarm, but they escaped in her car before the gate closed.”

  Maison turned to Sarathoon.

  “Call our contacts at the border. See if they went to Thailand.”

  Sarathoon nodded, pulled out his cell phone, and entered his security code.

  Maison left while he dialed and hurried to Helena’s room.

  She lay on top of her covers, still in her dress, her shoes on the floor, holding an ice pack to the side of her face. Maison rapped on the doorframe and entered, shutting the door behind him.

  Helena rolled over as he approached the bed. “Hello, Maison.”

  “Are you alright?”

  “I’m fine.”

  Maison moved the ice pack from her face and inspected the damage. Just a little swollen. No permanent damage.

  “I was told you were going to call me about this,” he said.

  “I did. You didn’t answer.”

  “Why did you not call Sarathoon?”

  “I was going to . . . I guess I fell asleep from the medication.”

  Maison sighed. Whether out of frustration or compassion, he wasn’t sure himself. “How did this happen?” he said. His voice softened slightly, but rigidity remained in his tone. One that said he wanted answers.

  “I walked in to check on the prisoner and he, or she, hit me. I-I didn’t see. They knocked me unconscious. I don’t remember anything until we were shot at in the living room.”

  “I’ve been told.” He placed the ice pack back on the side of her face. “You are brave, my dear. Stay here and rest. I must go to the casino and move some funds.”

  “Move funds?” she said, removing the ice pack and propping herself on her elbows.

  “Yes,” Maison noticed the shift in her demeanor. Money always did get her attention. “I want you to join me later. Someone has emptied my bank account. and I need you to help me track them down.”

  The Chechen was furious. After he left the bank, he went straight to the warehouse. He was shocked to find his men dead and his missiles stolen. The Frenchman had double-crossed him, and there would be hell to pay. He removed any identification, gathered their weapons and tactical gear, then sped out of the warehouse just before the first police car arrived.

  He raced through the traffic, out of Bangkok, and began the long drive to Pattaya Beach. It would be another hour and a half before he reached his headquarters. He thought of his options to retaliate. Where would it hurt the Frenchman the most?

  Yes, Maison Andrepont will pay. Then he will die.

  When Jason and Chris arrived at the hangar, Remi and his SEAL team reviewed the imagery the intel folks gave them. Two of the SEALs moved equipment into the hangar, then set up crates of ammunition on a long table.

  “Something is going down,” Jason mumbled under his breath.

  “Yeah, looks like we’re late to the party,” Chris replied.

  The two Jakals found McClendon, who directed them to one of the briefing rooms. He was still waiting on a phone call and would talk to them shortly. Jason and Chris had sat alone in the briefing room for five minutes when one of the intel officers came in and set up a computer and projector.

  After a few minutes, a portly man with a salt-and-pepper goatee dressed in white pants, a cream-colored button-up Hawaiian shirt, and slip-on sneakers entered the room carrying his white hat. Jason and Chris glanced at each other, then back at the man. Jason recognized him from The Huntsman pub a few days earlier. Yes, Jason thought, he is the spitting image of the park owner from Jurassic Park.

  “Captain Conrad,” the man said, extending his hand out. “I’m Doctor Mark Sugarmann.”

  “I remember.” The two men shook hands, and Jason realized there was more to this guy than he let on.

  “I’m with the Central Intelligence Agency,” Sugarmann said, putting on his round spectacles.

  “I figured that when you walked in. Things are getting pretty tight around here.”

  “Indeed.”

  The two men chatted for a couple of minutes, mostly Jason filling in Sugarmann on how he gathered his intel.

  Several minutes later, the SEALs filtered in slowly, and Sugarmann retreated to the back of the room. Remi was the last to enter, and Jason limped over to greet him.

  “Glad you’re back with us,” Remi said. “You doing okay? You walk like an old man.”

  "Glad to be back. Got a little banged up while I was away." No need for details. His friend was aware of what he had been through. They were focused on the mission.

  “That’s one hell of a tip you gave Mike Charlie. Once we had that, the intel guys started digging up all kinds of data. It’s legit.”

  “Happy to be of service,” Jason said. “So, what do you have?”

  “We’ve got the location, and some of the chatter out there ties in directly with what you said. It didn’t make sense until you gave us the tip. Once they had that, they pieced everything together and validated it real fast. It’s going down soon.”

  Jason started to speak when McClendon entered the room.

  "Take a seat, everybody. You all know why we're here. Captain Conrad," he said motioning to Jason, "provided us with intel that an attack on Air Force One is in the works by the BIPP. Usually, we would be suspect of such a report, but we checked it out, and it is authentic.

  "I've been in contact with SOCPAC to fill them in with what we've got. SOCOM and AFSOC are in the loop, but SOCPAC has OPCON. We'll be working through them.

  “I’ll turn this over to Lieutenant Carpenter, who will give a quick rundown on the BIPP, what we think, and what we know. And more importantly, where they are. Lieutenant.”

  "Thank you, sir," the lieutenant stepped forward. The intel officer briefed the threat, focusing most of his discussion on the location and suspected capabilities. The BIPP was embedded deep in the jungles of Southwest Thailand, near the Malaysian border, and were heavily armed.

  McClendon moved back to the front.

  “Ensign Remi Clark and his team are prepping for insertion in twenty-four hours. We are still waiting on word from the National Command Authority for the green light. In the meantime, we’ll lean forward. Let me be clear—word of this mission does not leave this room.”

  Jason studied the location of the BIPP camp on the map. It was very isolated. It would be difficult to reach unless—

  “Sir,” Jason said, raising his hand, “how is the team getting there?”

  McClendon gave him a stern look. “That’s up to you, Captain Conrad.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes. The only way we can get these guys there in time without attracting attention is via a HALO insertion. Your airplane and crew are the only show in town.”

  Jason started to smile as McClendon continued. “What do you think, Captain Conrad? Welcome to the Global War on Terror. Feel like going flying?”

  53

  October 16, 2003

  Jason and Chris returned to the hotel in the back of the white van; neither said a word for fifteen minutes. Jason had a thousand thoughts running through his head. First, he needed to put his guys into crew rest. Once this thing started to evolve, they had to be rested and ready to go.

  He stared silently out the window as the driver weaved among the other cars and scooters in the Bangkok traffic. He sadly recalled how his friend, Chaow, died trying to save him.

  “You going to be able to fly?” Chris finally asked, breaking the silence.

  "I think so. Jimmy can do the takeoff and landing. I'll just start the en
gines and taxi. It shouldn't be too painful. I'll see what the doc says."

  “No docs here, but we did get a nurse.” Chris paused. “I think you’ll like her.”

  Jason made a face at Chris, letting him know he was a smartass.

  “Hey, don’t give me shit. You need to get back in the ring. And yes, she’s a looker.”

  For the next twenty minutes, Jason filled Chris in on the details of his adventure over the last week. Chris explained the attack outside the hotel and the injuries to Thomas and Lacey. Ben was sent home on an airliner with Thomas and the first sergeant. They escorted Ken Crawford’s body back, as well.

  Jason shook his head. Ken was a good friend. He would pay his respects to his wife and two kids when he returned home.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “This kind of thing isn’t supposed to happen out here,” Jason said. “If I had been here, Ken would still be alive.”

  "Dude, you can't blame yourself for this. You were kidnapped by terrorists. There is no way anyone could predict anything like this. Let's face it—I haven't seen Thailand turned this upside-down in a long time. Well, ever, I think."

  “Yeah . . . I can’t help but think I’m responsible somehow. His wife is going to blame me. If I had been here, he would have never been brought to Bangkok. Her worst fear was probably he would get drunk and nail a hooker. Now he’s coming home in a box.”

  “I understand. I’m sorry, man. It’s a tough situation but a valuable lesson for us all. It is a global war on terror, and the terrorists are everywhere, not just in the sandbox.”

  The van pulled up to the hotel, and the two Jakals hopped out and headed inside. Chris led Jason downstairs to The Huntsman, where the rest of the crew, minus Thomas and Lacey, waited for them.