Missions from the Extinction Cycle (Volume 1)

by Mark Tufo

  “You’ll never catch him,” she said, her voice sandpaper rough.

  “Who?”

  “The monster.”

  “You mean the killer? What do you know about him?”

  “He’s not human. He’s a devil—a demon walking the earth.”

  “You speak in riddles, old one.”

  The woman shook her head and waved a gnarled hand. “The streets are buzzing if you know how to listen. They say the same thing: it’s a devil among us.”

  “Why haven’t I heard this?” Sunan asked, humoring the crone.

  “Nobody will talk to the police. You should know that. Bunch of thieves.”

  “Thank you for the kind words, Mother.”

  “Word is it’s a demon. A white devil. You can no more stop a devil than you can hold the wind in your hand.”

  Panit and Sunan exchanged a glance. “White?” Sunan repeated.

  The woman began shuffling away, finished with the discussion. Panit rolled his eyes. “Crazy hag.”

  Sunan pulled away from the younger man and followed the woman. “You say he’s a white devil? What do you mean white? Caucasian? An American?”

  She kept walking. Sunan grabbed her arm to stop her, and she spun with surprising agility for as old as she was. “Leave me be. I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “Why do you say he’s white?”

  “It’s just what people are saying. I don’t know. I haven’t seen anything.” She glanced at his face and then averted her eyes. “Leave me alone. I can’t help you.”

  “Who’s saying this? That he’s white?” Sunan pressed.

  “Just people. You know how it works. Someone tells someone else. I hear it over the laundry.” She shrugged. “You’re the only ones who don’t know.”

  She resumed walking away, and this time Sunan allowed her to leave, his face clouded as he slowly turned, his mind churning at the implications of the old woman’s words.

  — 3 —

  Bangkok, Thailand

  Pounding at the door echoed through the cheap hotel room. A man peered from beneath the covers, hair awry, and glared at his watch. The caramel leg of a woman slid from under the sheets, and a brunette head peeked over the edge of the pillow next to him.

  “What that?” she asked, her voice sleepy.

  “I…I don’t know,” he said, sitting up and blinking away sleep. He forced himself to his feet, pulled on his underwear, and then wrapped one of the paper-thin towels around his waist and moved to the door. “Go away,” he called, his tone annoyed.

  “Chief Warrant Officer Four Shaw?” a muffled voice asked. “CWO4 Hal Shaw?”

  Hal rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand and glanced at a half-empty bottle of rum on the table by the bathroom. “Who wants to know?” he demanded, in his pronounced West Texas drawl.

  “Military police, sir.”

  “Barking up the wrong tree, boy,” he said, and opened the door.

  A pair of MPs stood at attention, seemingly unfazed by the half-naked apparition before them. “Sir? Sorry to bother you, sir.”

  “I’m on leave. This better be good.”

  “I’m afraid your leave’s been canceled, sir. We were sent to give you a ride to Pattaya.”

  “Pattaya? Are you nuts?”

  “I was told to give you this cable, sir,” one of the MPs said, and handed him a yellow sheet of paper folded in half.

  Hal opened it and scanned the contents. He reread it and sighed, and then handed it back to the MP. “I’ll be ready to rumble in five. You boys wait downstairs. I’ve got company.”

  “Yes, sir. Sorry. Wasn’t our first choice.”

  “Yeah. Sure.”

  Hal swung the door closed and padded to the bathroom. The woman tried a smile, but it looked more pained and confused than inviting. “You go now?”

  Hal nodded. “Come on and shower off. We have to clear out.”

  Fifteen minutes later Hal made it to the lobby, where the men were sitting, their expressions blank as Hal’s young companion pushed out the front door and onto the busy Bangkok street. Hal strode toward them, his bearing ramrod straight, his face tanned, eyes cobalt blue, his uniform crisp, a bag slung over his shoulder.

  “Lead the way, gentlemen,” he said, and followed them to a waiting Jeep parked in the red at the curb.

  “You take shotgun, sir,” one of the men said, and climbed into the back. Hal tossed his bag beside the man and slid into the passenger seat while the driver eased behind the wheel and started the engine. Soon they were zigzagging through Bangkok morning traffic—a byzantine maze of tuk-tuks, racing motorcycles, honking cars, and bicycles, all apparently suicidal and hell-bent on meeting their maker before lunch.

  Once clear of the city, Hal relaxed and considered the message he’d received. His friend and mentor at the Pentagon, General Reynold Scott, had requested that he investigate the death of Senior Airman Samuel Scott—his grandson, who’d been gruesomely murdered in Pattaya three days earlier.

  While it was highly irregular for a marine to investigate an air force murder, General Scott had considerable pull and was obviously taking a personal interest in the case. His telegram had indicated in a few sentences that he felt he was being stonewalled by the commanding officer and the air force investigator and had arranged for Hal to take over. Hal was one of the corps’ best, a criminal investigation division specialist who’d ascended through the ranks over the prior ten years to become an expert in every aspect of military criminality.

  The general had offered precious little in the way of background—his grandson was the fourth generation of Scotts in the military and had started at the bottom, determined to work his way up. He’d been stationed at U-Tapao Royal Thai Navy Airfield for over a year when he’d met his untimely death—but beyond that, the general had no further information and had instructed him to meet the commanding officer for a full briefing: one Colonel Alexander Hedges.

  The trip south took three hours, the roads clogged with tired vehicles on their last legs. By the time the Jeep rolled up to the air base gates, the sun had climbed directly overhead and the heat was broiling, the humidity adding to the discomfort as a pair of Thai guards approached them.

  Clearing security took five minutes, which Hal was accustomed to from prior forays at other bases. Because of the nature of the American presence in Thailand, the Thai military was chartered with operating the bases and securing them, and the U.S. forces were technically guests who occupied a section of the airfield and kept to themselves. The Jeep cruised past rows of fighter jets until it reached the headquarters building, from which the Stars and Stripes flew.

  The MPs escorted Hal to the front administrative offices, where a young man with a stern expression looked up from his work at Hal’s arrival. He took Hal’s information and instructed him to sit on a bank of chairs along the wall, which radiated heat like a furnace, making the ten-minute wait miserable.

  Eventually the young man called Hal’s name and motioned to the door at the end of the hall. Hal passed through it and found himself in air-conditioned comfort, where another young man sat behind a metal government-issue desk.

  “The colonel will see you now,” the man announced, and indicated another door. Hal entered the colonel’s office and found himself facing a trim man in his late forties, his hair buzz cut, his face all angles, his eyes steel-gray and hard.

  After introductions were complete, the colonel invited Hal to take a seat while he told him what he knew.

  “We’ve lost three good men so far,” he began.

  Hal’s raised eyebrows stopped him. “Three?”

  “Ah. Right. We had another one last night. Sergeant Kyle Walkins. We were just notified a couple of hours ago.”

  “Where did it happen?”

  “In town. That’s all I know so far. I’ll tell you what we’ve gathered on the first two murders, and then you can get to work,” the colonel said. He read from a file and gave a five-minute briefing on the two prior murd
ers, and then sat back as though exhausted. “Questions?”

  “Did the three men have anything in common?” Hal asked.

  “They were all living on base and were air force. Other than that, not that I’ve been able to gather. Walkins was a logistics specialist. Scott was assigned to the medical clinic. Baxter, the first death, was in the security force.”

  “Security?”

  “Yes, he was part of our military police group.”

  “He was a cop?”

  Hedges frowned. “I just said that.”

  “What specialty?”

  “He was working base security, so nothing dramatic.”

  “No investigatory work?”

  The colonel shook his head. “Negative.”

  “Did they know each other?”

  “Other than having seen each other on base, we haven’t turned up any connections.”

  Hal didn’t blink at the carefully worded answer, but filed it away for future reference. “You mentioned in your report that your own investigators were working the case?”

  “That’s correct. I told them to stand down when we got the…request…from the Pentagon. They’re available for you to interview if you’d find that helpful.”

  Hal nodded. “I would. Could you arrange it?”

  “Of course. I’ll have my secretary schedule something today.”

  “Do you know if they were working with the local police?”

  That drew a laugh from Hedges. “The locals aren’t exactly of the highest caliber.” He paused. “That said, I’ve requested that you liaison with the lead investigator on the Pattaya police force. They’ve agreed.”

  Hal half rose from his seat. “That’s not necessary…”

  “Perhaps not, but we have a delicate balance we have to strike here, and part of it is political. The Thais have jurisdiction since the murders occurred off base. So I’m afraid it’s not optional.”

  “I typically work alone.”

  The colonel regarded him dispassionately. “Not this time.” Hedges stood. “Now, if you’ll step outside, I’ll have my man set up a meeting with our security team so you can debrief them, and then you’ll have full run of the base. Anything you need, just ask.”

  Hal took the hint and stood as well. “Thank you, Colonel. Where should I throw my bag?”

  “We’ve arranged for a bunk in the officers’ quarters. I hope that will meet your needs.”

  “When am I supposed to meet with the local police?”

  “Later this afternoon. I committed to going over there with you as a goodwill gesture, to show our solidarity with our gracious hosts, and to retrieve two of our men who were out with the victim last night.”

  “So there were witnesses?” Hal asked.

  The colonel shook his head. “Not from what I can tell. The Thais are pretty closed-mouthed about things, but it seems as though our men found their buddy dead.”

  “Then why are the police holding them?”

  “Material witnesses. Who knows? But I’m going to get them out of there. I already told Ratana to expect me.”

  “Ratana?”

  “The police captain overseeing things. They don’t want to cause an international incident, and I don’t think he wants me going over his head, so they’ll play ball in the end. I show up, bow and scrape a little, and they save face by doing me a gracious favor. Everyone wins.”

  Hal left the meeting with mixed feelings about the commanding officer. He obviously resented having an outsider—a marine, no less—foisted off on him to handle an investigation on his base, and he’d made little effort to hide the joy he felt when he ordered Hal to liaison with the Thai police. But he’d also seemed on edge and had spent considerable time underscoring that he wanted daily progress reports, which indicated that he was troubled by the murders—more in line with what Hal would have expected.

  He waited as the colonel’s assistant placed calls and arranged a meeting for one hour later with the air force security investigators, and then an airman arrived to show Hal to his quarters. He stowed his gear, washed his face, and sat down to jot his impressions in a notebook that would be his constant companion during the investigation, a habit he’d developed on the police force in Dallas before he’d abruptly quit and joined the marines after a scandal with the chief’s daughter.

  The memory of the girl brought a smile to his lips, and he whistled softly in the muggy air. Had it really been a decade ago since he’d been a civilian cop? It seemed a lifetime, if true.

  He finished his notes and slipped the notebook into his shirt pocket before exiting and making for the mess building. He hoped to grab a quick bite to counter the pounding in his head before interviewing the air force team and continuing into town to meet his counterpart on the Thai police force, who Hal hoped at least spoke some English. He shook his head at the thought as he pushed through a pair of double doors and made for the cafeteria line. Maybe it would be better if the man didn’t. Then Hal wouldn’t have to go through the pretense of cooperating, and could get to the serious business of catching a killer before he struck again.

  — 4 —

  Inspector Sunan wiped his brow with a handkerchief and replaced it in his trouser pocket as he entered police headquarters in Pattaya, a charmless cinderblock rectangle whose robin’s egg blue paint was in desperate need of repair, as was the sorry collection of police trucks and cruisers parked in front. In the administrative office lobby, a creaking overhead fan orbited slowly, only slightly improving the efficiency of an air-conditioning unit that was leaking a stream of water down the wall, ignored by the receptionist and two officers at the front desk.

  After being buzzed in, Sunan shouldered through the security door and approached Captain Ratana’s office, from which a draft of cool air flowed. He knocked politely on the door jamb and Ratana looked up from the stack of paperwork on his desk and beckoned Sunan to enter.

  “Ah, Inspector, the man of the hour. Tell me you’ve solved the case and we can all go out and celebrate,” the captain said, his tone jocular.

  “I’m afraid not, Captain. So far the only lead we have is from a crazy woman,” Sunan said, taking a seat where indicated, a manila folder in hand.

  “Not one of my wives, I hope,” Ratana joked, and they both laughed humorlessly.

  “No. A woman who lives in one of the shacks near where the latest victim was found. She claims that the murderer is a white devil.” Sunan shrugged. “Or a white demon. Same difference.”

  Ratana frowned. “Great. So all we have to do is put out an APB on a white devil, and we’re done.”

  “It’s obviously not the result we’d hoped for,” Sunan conceded.

  “Well, I have some good news. You’re going to get some assistance from the Americans.”

  Sunan’s eyes narrowed. “Why is it I feel like those are the most dangerous words you could have said?”

  “Because you’re a racist pig, of course. It’s okay. I forgive you. But try to be nice to our guests when they arrive.”

  Sunan held the captain’s stare. “You’re serious?”

  “Yes. It comes from the very top. You’re to work with their man. A specialist, they say.”

  “A specialist at what?”

  “That wasn’t clear. But he’s your new partner until you solve this or he gets bored and goes home, so extend some of our famous Thai hospitality and wipe that look off your face. Your English is good, I hope?”

  Sunan’s frown deepened. “If I’m forced to babysit an American, it will just hamper the investigation.”

  Ratana sat forward, an eager expression in place. “Are you making such progress that you’re afraid to slow your momentum? Tell me what you’ve accomplished. I’m all ears.”

  “You should know things don’t work that way in these types of cases.”

  Ratana nodded. “As I suspected. And for the record, I’m not the hotshot homicide detective from Bangkok, so I’m not sure how a serial killer case works. I was under the impression
you investigated until you turned up leads that led you to the killer. Am I mistaken?”

  “I’ve only had the case for a little over a week. He’s left no real clues. Nobody sees anything. I’m not a magician,” Sunan snapped.

  Ratana’s expression softened. “So would it be fair to say that other than bodies piling up, we’ve made no headway?”

  Sunan changed the subject. “I was advised that you have two Americans here you’re holding?”

  “That’s right. Sergeant Prasert brought them in, and Detective Tran questioned them.”

  Sunan’s face fell. “Tran? He barely speaks Thai, much less English.”

  Ratana shrugged. “He did the best he could. He’s filling out a report for you.”

  Both knew that Tran was a buffoon—the cousin of the mayor and a blowhard nobody could stand. Only in a backwater like Pattaya could he have had a career; he’d have been drummed off the force within a week in Bangkok.

  “A report. Well, there’s some good news.” Sunan hesitated. “Why are you still holding them? Did they see something?”

  “No. I told Tran to keep them here until you arrived and read his summary, just in case.”

  The captain’s phone trilled, and he answered it, spoke a few words, and hung up. “They’re here. The Americans.”

  “Oh good,” Sunan muttered, earning a dark look from the captain.

  Colonel Hedges and Hal followed the receptionist into the office and took seats after introductions had been made, the colonel in full uniform, Hal in civvies. After a few niceties and an obligatory complaint about the weather, Hal turned to study Sunan.

  “Inspector, thanks for cooperating. Seems like you’ve got a live one by the tail,” he said.

  “That is one way of putting it,” Sunan agreed, his English from his school years surprisingly good.

  “Three dead within a week. Do you have any theories?” Hedges asked.