Plausible Denial (27 page)

“No,
he didn’t, and we forgot to ask him. Damn. We don’t want them crossing anywhere
near the spot we picked out to observe them. Let’s find it.”

It
didn’t take them long to find the crossing spot. It was at the shallowest part
of the stream, right in the middle of the bend of the horseshoe where the
stream widened to make the curve.

“That’s
perfect,” said Mac. “Now let’s go back and wait for them. We can get another
couple hours of rest.”

“Is
that all you can think about? Sleep? Getting your beauty rest?”

“No,
it’s not all I think about.”

Culler
rolled his eyes.

Chapter Eighty-Five

 
I
f Vanquish was making an effort to move
stealthily through the jungle, he certainly didn’t act like it. It was dusk and
Culler and Mac were lying prone, side by side on the top of the boulders, when they
heard the first sounds of Vanquish and his caravan moving toward them through
the jungle.

“What’s
that?” asked Mac.

“What?
I can’t hear anything.”

“That’s
because you’ve had far too many explosions going off too close to your head.
You’re half deaf. Listen.”

“Sounds
like animals. Do you think that’s them?”

“Maybe.
Or maybe it’s a herd of elephants.”

Twenty
minutes later the caravan reached the stream, and they could hear voices and
splashing as the animals crossed over to the campsite. They still could not see
them clearly through the thick underbrush.

“Stay
here and keep me covered while I try to get closer,” said Mac. “We need to find
out exactly what we’re up against while there’s still some light.”

Mac
slid off the rocks, checked his rifle and ammunition drum, and moved stealthily
through the underbrush toward the campsite. Culler watched the man in the
Ghillie-suit blend into the undergrowth and become practically invisible.

Culler
surveyed the area with binoculars, but, aside from the occasional rustling of
bushes as Mac moved closer to the campsite, he couldn’t see anything.

The
foliage thinned and the voices and the braying of the donkeys became clearer as
Mac crept closer to the edge of the clearing. He dropped into a prone position
and pushed himself deep into the underbrush. He lay motionless and surveyed the
campsite through his binoculars.

Vanquish,
clearly distinguishable with his broad-brimmed black cowboy hat, directed the
activities. There were three men, including Vanquish. One wore a dirty white
bandana on his head and looked to be about middle aged, and the other was much
younger, maybe a teenager or early twenties. He wore a faded blue baseball cap.
Both men deferred to Vanquish.

Vanquish
and the older man busied themselves setting up a temporary rope corral for the
three houses and eight donkeys, while the young man set up their sleeping area
at the southern end of the campsite. The boy spread out a large tarp on the
ground and strung a shelter sheet above it from surrounding trees, and then he
went about collecting twigs and branches for a campfire.

Once
the corral was complete at the north end, the two older men unsaddled the
horses and unloaded the heavy packs from the donkeys.  Carrying the
saddles and packs to the middle of the campsite, they stacked them in a neat
pile.

At
one point just before dark, the boy, in search of twigs and branches for the
fire, came dangerously close to Mac’s hiding place.

Mac
watched the boy approach and thought,
I’ve set up too close to the campsite.
God don’t let him spot me.
But he didn’t, and Mac breathed a huge sigh of
relief as the boy walked away from his position carrying an armful of branches
back to the camp fire.

Mac
lay motionless, as only a trained sniper can do, for the next four hours,
observing every movement through his night vision binoculars.

Vanquish
and the bandana guy ate their dinner and smoked by the fire while the boy took
his dinner back to his post on the pile of packs.

After
dinner the Hmong dug the bottle of Mekong whisky out of his saddle bag and
presented it to the others, who were delighted at the unexpected treat.

They
passed the bottle among them. The boy was on duty so he did not drink at all,
and Vanquish drank very little, while bandana guy was happy to guzzle most of
the bottle.

When
the bottle was empty, bandana guy stood up on unsteady legs and stumbled to the
bank of the stream where he took a long, wobbly pee. Then he wove his way back
to the sleeping area, fell unto the tarp and passed out.

The
Hmong flipped his cigarette into the fire, checked on the boy one last time and
joined the bandana guy on the tarp to get a couple hours of rest before his
midnight shift.

Mac
remained where he was until he saw the boy climb off the packs, walk over to
the Hmong and shake him awake. The boy and the Hmong exchanged places, the boy
on the tarp and Vanquish on the pile of packs. The Hmong lit a cigarette, took
a deep drag, and settled in for the rest of the evening.

Mac
gently backed out of his position and quietly returned to the boulders where
Culler was waiting. “It’s about time you got back here,” said Culler. “You
missed dinner.”

“What?
You ate without me? Shows what kind of a friend you are.”

“Okay,
tell me what happened out there while I was laying in the dark on this God
forsaken rock protecting your sorry ass.”

Mac
briefed him while munching on a granola bar and drinking from his Camelbac. He
suggested they try to get some rest before heading for the campsite at zero
three-thirty.

Chapter Eighty-Six

T
hey
dozed, but neither one of them could sleep. They were actually relieved when
three-fifteen finally rolled around. They were anxious to get on with it.

They
left everything behind with the exception of their weapons, night vision gear
and the vials of ricin. The night was cloudy with a half-moon, and the only
sounds were created by the light breeze rustling through the branches and the
occasional scream of a monkey.

The
night vision gear illuminated their way, and the “green line of death” of their
assault rifles danced in front of them. They moved stealthily in the direction
of the campsite with Mac in the lead.

When
they reached a spot near where Mac had done his earlier observations, they
dropped into the prone position, side by side and surveyed the campsite.
Vanquish was sitting on the packs smoking a cigarette.

“There’s
the campsite,” whispered Mac, indicating the area at the south end where a
small campfire was burning and the tarps were strung. They could see the two
guards sleeping and could clearly hear the drunken snores from the older man.

“Sounds
like that bottle of Mekong was put to good use,” whispered Culler.

“I
like Vanquish. He’s bold, resourceful…a terrific asset. Charly got herself a
real good one this time. Let’s make sure we pull this of without a hitch. I
wouldn’t want anything to happen to him.”

Culler
turned his attention to the makeshift corral where the horses and donkeys were
tethered. “Things look pretty quiet on the other end as well. The animals make
less noise than that drunk over there.”

They
laid there quietly for a few more minutes, observing the campsite and waiting
for their watches to slowly tick down to three-thirty.

Vanquish
did the same and at exactly three-thirty he took one more long look in both
directions and then removed his hat in a sweeping, theatrical motion and wiped
the inside of the sweatband. He replaced the hat on his head in another
sweeping motion and stood up stiffly by the side of the pile of packs.

They
watched him for another few moments while he squinted in their direction,
clearly not seeing anything.

Mac
nudged Culler and they stood up quietly, advancing slowly toward Vanquish,
weapons at the ready with green infrared laser lines, visible only to them,
bouncing around the site.

They
spread out and approached Vanquish from two sides. With the darkness of the
trees behind them, he did not notice them until they were less than fifteen
feet away from him.

When
he finally saw the two shadows moving toward him, he jumped back and shouted a
startled whisper at them: “Damn, where did you guys come from? Whew, you are
like a couple of ghosts.”

Holding
up a hand, Mac moved closer to him and whispered. “It’s okay. We got your
signal. Everything looks great. The other guys are asleep, and it looks like
one of them is going to have a huge hangover in the morning. Good work.”

Culler
waved at him, gave him the ‘okay’ sign making a circle with his thumb and index
finger, and moved silently to the pile of packs and dropped to his knees.
Sliding the pack containing the boxes of vials from his shoulder, he looked up
at Mac and Vanquish.

Mac
put his arm around the Hmong’s shoulders and guided him back toward the corral
area. “Let’s go over there so the animals can get used to us and let him do his
work in private.”

“Scrapings,
right?” said Vanquish with a smirk.

 “Right.
Scrapings.”

Culler
worked rapidly and methodically. The heroin bricks were individually sealed in a
heavy plastic wrap. They were then wrapped, twenty bricks to a pack, in heavy
burlap-like plastic material. Each donkey carried two packs, one on each side,
in a heavy leather saddlebag-like sling which fit over the donkey’s back.

While
Vanquish and Mac chatted quietly near the corral, Culler began sliding the
packs up and out of the saddlebags one by one to prepare them for their
injections.

Moving
to the first pack of twenty kilos, he began injecting each of the ten bricks on
the outer side with one cc each of the ricin. He plunged the needle through the
outer plastic burlap wrap and through the heavy individual plastic wrap deep
into the center of each chalky brick to allow the poison ample room to be
absorbed without a trace.

He
worked rapidly, emptying one ten-cc syringe in the outer ten bricks of the
first pack and placing the empty syringe carefully back into its Styrofoam
container.

He
decided it would be quicker to do only the outer bricks; after all, the entire
shipment of heroin would be sent to Hong Kong where the chemists would mix it
in exacting proportions with acetic anhydride and ethyl alcohol in vats to turn
it into pure heroin base. He slid the first pack back into its saddlebag pouch
and reached for another, repeating the process with the next pack.

At
first the needle slid easily through the heavy plastic burlap outer covering
and through the plastic wrap deep into each brick, but while he was working on
the third pack the needle almost broke off while he was trying to push it
through the thick burlap-like outer packing.

He
cursed under his breath. His greatest fear was to break off a needle and spew
the highly toxic ricin on his hands. He remedied the situation by taking out
his knife and poking a small hole in the outer wrapping with the point. The
needle then slid easily into the center of the chalky heroin brick.

Santos
continued to work silently and methodically, using his knife to open a tiny
slit in the outer burlap-like wrapping before injecting the ricin into the
bricks, while MacMurphy kept the Hmong occupied in light conversation while
petting the horses at the edge of the corral.

No
one noticed when the heavy snoring stopped.

Chapter Eighty-Seven

K
hun
Ut and the Cambodian listened intently while Paiboon briefed them in the dimly
lit local restaurant. They were drinking cool Amarit beer served in frosted
mugs and enjoying a light lunch of
Tom-yan
soup, sticky rice and
Phat-Thai
noodles with assorted curries.

Paiboon
had hardly touched his food but Khun Ut and Ung Chea ate ravenously as they
listened, shoveling the aromatic spicy food into their mouths by the spoonful
and guzzling their beers.

Paiboon
gestured with his spoon. “Noi hates the
farangs,
that is why she is so
talkative. We can use that to our advantage.” He thought a moment. “Actually,
to be more precise, she only hates one of them. She described him as a big
brute with a scar on his lip that turns red when he snarls, which is often, she
said.”

“She
actually likes the other guy. She said he is polite and speaks some Thai and
knows Thai customs very well. She said he is taller and slimmer than the other
guy and handsome for a
farang
, with grey hair which makes him look older
than he is. He is the one who is in charge. He acts like the boss.”

“What
is General Sawat to them?” asked the Cambodian between loud slurps of his
Tom-yan
soup.

“He
is like some kind of liaison. They picked up heavy boxes of guns and ammunition
and other military type gear at Sawat’s villa in Chiang Mai. All that stuff was
shipped ahead to General Sawat. That was the first time Noi met them.”

Khun
Ut pushed back from the table and lit a cheroot. “So that is where they got
their fancy weapons, through Sawat. Hmmm. What else?”

“The
next day Sawat took them on a tour of the Golden Triangle in his plane. They
flew over Ban Hin Taek and our warehouse in Mae Chan.”

“How
does she know that?” asked Khun Ut.

“She
was with them. The General takes her everywhere. She is always at his side,
along with her Shih Tzu named Ling Ling. That is why she hates the big
farang
.
He threatened to kill her dog.”

The
Cambodian laughed. “I’ve seen that yappy mutt. I understand why he would want
to wring its scrawny neck.”