Death in the Kingdom (33 page)

We flew up the northern side of a flat-topped, jungle-covered hill and came over the crest low enough to send dust flying. We were here. The Huey hovered back down below the crest of the plateau as our pilot set up for landing.

Bang Sai Deng hadn't been sited on a hill by accident. The occupants enjoyed the 360-degree panoramic view—a view that was a prerequisite for a village whose cottage industry was processing raw heroin. The top of the hill was about the size of a football field and pear-shaped, the thick end facing southeast. The jungle on the hilltop had been cleared back to where the flat but slightly sloping plateau dropped away towards the valleys below. There were half a dozen large trees left standing, either to provide shade or to make landing anything other than a single chopper really difficult.

The village itself was typical of those anywhere in the north. I could see a dozen bamboo and thatch huts of various sizes on stilts. The only building to break the mould was a long, low corrugated-iron shed situated at the top end of the village on the narrow neck that pointed up into Laos. It was as far from the rest of the village as it was possible to get. A fringe of trees grew around the shed, breaking its outline from the air. I didn't need a degree to figure this was one of Sami's drug labs. It was the place where the raw opium tar was cooked before being sent south for further refinement and cutting.

Beyond the lab the terrain dropped away steeply, and the green carpet of bush rolled back towards the Mekong five or six miles in the distance. The river was effectively the border between Thailand and Laos running down to cut through the heart of Cambodia into Vietnam and then to the South China Sea. I'd seen a lot of that particular piece of water over the years gone by.

There was a welcoming committee of half a dozen hard-looking guys, each bearing a semi-automatic weapon. They were standing motionless in a loose knot by the hut nearest the landing zone. The only things in motion apart from the debris thrown up by Jet Ranger's rotor blast were a few dogs and some scrawny-looking chickens. Upon our arrival, pigs squealed indignantly from half a dozen pens scattered around the plateau. I figured the families had already shipped out otherwise the place would have been swarming with kids.

As soon as we had unloaded our gear with the help of Sami's resident team, the Jet Ranger took off and slid back down the northern side of the hill to be replaced at the landing site by the Huey.

Alex's team was ten, including him as leader. They were a hardened, competent-looking group of young men. As usual they were dressed in the Special Ops mish-mash of casual clothes and combat gear. The common denominator for them all was a pair of dark glasses which each man wore. We were all wearing them but these guys made them look like part of their uniform.

Using my usual method of categorising everyone and everything, I decided Alex's lot were from
The A Team.
Thank god there wasn't an obvious Mr T amongst them, and as for the George Peppard character, there wasn't a cigar in sight. These guys would be using real bullets and there wouldn't be a Hollywood temper tantrum to be seen.

The A Team all had the look of guys who had done a lot of time out in the hard lands. Each of them carried a big pack and wore a sidearm. They didn't talk. They didn't have to because they'd obviously done this many times before. They laid their kit to one side of the chopper and returned to the Huey to haul out several large olive-green, hard-shell holdalls. Within two minutes both helicopters had gone back towards the border. I knew they would skirt the hills and split up, the Huey heading due south to its Bangkok base while the CIA Jet Ranger would head for Udon Thani, fifty or so miles to the southeast where it would remain on standby in case we needed it. That was reassuring to me.

Sami had gone into the village followed by Jo. Each of them wore a holstered pistol and a belt knife and Jo had an M16 over his shoulder. Instead of a carbine, Sami carried a long wrapped bundle of leather and cloth. I had no idea what he had in it. Given the speed of our final preparations, I'd concentrated on what I had needed to do. As personal armament, in addition to the Walther, I carried a Colt Commander, a shortened, telescopic-stocked version of the M16.

While Karl went to consult with The A Team, I walked to the edge of the drop-off where the dirt road started or ended, depending on your point of view. I found a convenient log, checked it for wildlife, then sat and started scanning the countryside with the binoculars I'd borrowed from Sami.

The road, or rather the track, dropped away out of sight immediately below me as it passed into the jungle. It reappeared on the valley floor three or four hundred feet further down. Here it followed the black ribbon of the stream that split the valley floor on its way to join a larger river maybe four miles further down. A hundred yards before the rivers converged there was a village and a crossroads of sorts. A crude log bridge carried another dirt road across the river. This track ran left to right across the foot of the valley. Anyone attempting to reach us by road would need to cross the bridge.

As I sat contemplating the lay of the land and the logistics of the whole deal, I could make out an old green and blue bus rolling away from the bottom village, east in the direction of Vientiane. ‘My people taking a holiday,' said Sami as he sank onto the log beside me. ‘Nice long approach road,' he said.

‘He won't just drive on up here when he comes,' I replied. ‘Not Chekhov.'

‘No he won't, Daniel,' Sami said. ‘I figure they'll come at night on foot from the bridge and use the bush and the ridge.' He almost chuckled. ‘Just like old times, eh?'

‘Yeah,' I replied. ‘Just hope we do it right this time.'

‘We will,' he promised. ‘Hopefully by coming in the way we did, any spies he has in the village won't have seen or heard us. There's a lot of aerial traffic up this way. So, with luck, Chekhov won't know we are anywhere up this way until tomorrow when you call Sir Bernard.'

‘You got home base covered?' I asked. That had been nagging at me. I was nervous about who in turn was minding the store.

‘Oh yes,' he replied. ‘Uncle has added significantly to my garrison.' I relaxed a little at that and we sat there in companionable silence and waited, two old friends at ease with each other, each contemplating the hours ahead and his own mortality. At least I was. I had to surmise that Sami was as well, but with Sami Somsak, who could tell?

I glanced at my watch. It was only a few minutes before 15:00. We had time to kill. Right on cue a pig squealed. Sami and I turned. Up at the drug lab two guys had one of the village's many pigs by its hind legs and were wheelbarrow-walking the indignant beast down towards a bamboo and thatch shed that sat alone at the edge of a plateau.

‘Dinner,' said Sami simply. ‘And breakfast and lunch tomorrow,' he added. ‘Shall we get ourselves organised?' I agreed. We stood and strolled over to where Karl and The A Team had gathered in front of the veranda of the largest hut. Karl and Alex were on the deck and a large photographic satellite image of the entire immediate area was attached to the thatch wall.

‘Jesus,' I muttered under my breath as I got up close to the photo image. The detail was incredible. It had been taken in the middle of the day because the shadows were short. We were looking directly down on the plateau. I could count the chickens and pigs and virtually name the dogs. There were people in the garden plots and smoke or steam was rising from the lab chimney and cooking fires. The road showed as a vivid brown–yellow slash through the jungle to where it met the black of the stream.

‘Delivered half an hour before we were airborne,' Karl told me. ‘We know Chekhov won't be able to get detailed current reconnaissance when he identifies this location.' The CIA man gave Sami and I a wolfish grin. ‘We can't rule out an intelligence agency from a friendly country requesting up-to-date imagery from our birds. However, should such a request come in the official story is that we have a malfunctioning satellite.' I grinned at that. Karl had effectively shut down any thoughts Sir Bernard might have had about supplying Chekhov with up-to-date images of Bang Sai Deng and its surrounds. ‘So here's the plan,' he continued, nodding to Alex who stepped up to bat. I paid attention. I was the bait, but my life might depend on knowing as much as I could about the trap.

The plan the Special Ops man outlined was simple. In the first instance, his team was preparing to put out sound and heat sensors, cameras, decoy devices and Claymore mines at strategic locations on the probable jungle approaches to the plateau. They would install their monitoring equipment in the big hut they'd designated as HQ. They would also check and, where necessary, augment the system of bunkers and trenches Sami had created around the perimeter and under the huts as a defence against drug bandits.

‘Given that Chekhov doesn't know where Dan is at this time, we'll set up a basic perimeter defence tonight,' Karl told us when the Special Ops man had finished. ‘Tomorrow Alex and his team will load for Russian bear.'

The upshot was that once all of this had been done, the waiting would begin. I confirmed that I would be phoning home in the morning and the party broke up. There was to be a briefing at our evening meal. For Sami, Jo and I that was it for the moment. The A Team dispersed to where their equipment was neatly laid to one side of the landing zone. Several of them proceeded to carry green, hard-shelled cases into their designated HQ, while others began to open the other containers and assemble their high-tech weapons of war. I recognised two long cases amongst the pile of gear.

‘Stingers,' I muttered to Sami. ‘Nothing but the best!' He nodded his agreement. The ground-to-air shoulder-fired missiles were probably the most sought-after technology of their kind by bad guys worldwide, and we had two of them at about a squillion dollars apiece.

‘Just in case Chekhov's got a Hind or two,' Sami replied, referring to the Russian's flying battle tank. Even that would be no match for our missiles. ‘Let's sort out our accommodation,' he continued. ‘Three of my guys will sleep up in the lab, the others will be on watch, while we three will share a hut.' We detoured to where our packs were stacked and Sami led the way to the hut he had selected.

In the shade it was at least fifteen degrees cooler than out in the sun. I still wasn't used to the humidity. There wasn't a sea breeze or any breeze of any kind to stir things up. Nights could be cool up there but the days stayed hot unless there was a blessed breeze. Sami and I found spaces and angles to sling our hammocks, while Jo elected to use the hut's sleeping platform. ‘The old men have gone soft,' he joked.

‘But wiser,' Sami replied.

‘Absolutely,' I agreed, stripping off my shirt, kicking off my sneakers and trying my hammock for comfort. It would do, I concluded. Jo vanished outside again and Sami went to stand at one of the window openings while I just sprawled out where I was. The perspiration beaded on my skin and the air was like breathing water. Despite that I lit a cigarette and lay looking out at the world from deep in the shadows.

In the bright afternoon sun and the intense heat, chickens continued to scavenge for morsels of food while dogs, smarter or just lazier, merged with the shadows under the huts and trees. It was a peaceful Thai hill village dozing in the sun, but for how much longer?

Several of The A Team troopers bearing what looked like brutally heavy packs passed across my line of vision heading for the jungle below. I stubbed out the remains of my cigarette and closed my eyes.

Dinner was a communal affair held in the lean-to off the cookhouse set just behind the designated HQ. A huge wok was suspended over a large gas burner. It turned out that one of the lab guys had been a chef in another life. In my experience Thai cooks, like many other nationalities in Asia, could produce such a lot from such limited ingredients, and this was another case in point. The rich, spicy pork curry was served with rice and vegetables and washed down with beer. It was an excellent meal. Just about as good as it would get.

The six members of Alex's team not on watch loosened up a bit after the food and beers. They talked in general terms about their experiences in the mountains of Pakistan and Afghanistan. They said it was a tough, dirty war as they hunted down Al-Qaeda. Now the team welcomed the chance to fight a different fight and the change of venue, even if it were just for a week or two. I realised that these guys were young, very young, most in their early twenties. They still had a lot of learning to do in many things, but not when it came to killing.

The A Team members left and Karl produced a briefcase the size of a pilot's document case. He opened it and handed out communication headsets to Sami, Jo and yours truly. The unit was pretty standard comprising an earpiece, stem microphone and a small battery pack with a switch and a dial, all attached to a simple adjustable elasticised headband. ‘Essential you keep it with you at all times,' the CIA agent was saying. ‘Four channels selected by the dial. Stay on four unless told otherwise. Three-position switch on the battery pack and a pressure button on the microphone stem,' Karl explained. ‘First position on the switch is off, the second is stand-by mode which is monitor-only mode, so when any other individual so equipped presses the button on the mike stem, you will hear but can't join in. Three is full live, send and receive, just push the stem button to speak but release it when done.'

We all played with it for a moment, setting the channel and adjusting the headband. ‘Stay on stand-by,' Karl instructed. ‘If the shit hits the fan you're on four. Control is in there,' he said, indicating the HQ hut in front of us. ‘Call anything in to them, anything at all, and because we're a mixed lot of military and civilians we'll talk in plain English, no military speak or codes. That puts everyone on the same page. Some of Alex's people will be on another channel at times,' he added. ‘Range is ten clicks line of sight and good for three in the bush.'