“Easy. We found the plane. We did our job. If Christine and the guy are alive and have been captured, that’s not our problem. It’s the CIA’s.”
“You know it’s not going to be that easy,” Spencer said from behind them. “It never is.”
“Maybe not, but I’m finished with this. Let’s go find the Emerald Buddha, and let Collins play spy. We got him the info he was after. We’re done.”
The trek back to the camp was interrupted by a cloudburst that soaked them with warm rain, making the trails more treacherous and slowing their progress. When they eventually arrived, Drake checked the time and sighed.
“Only two hours till dawn.”
Allie took his hand and led him to the tent. Spencer murmured that he was going to use the little boys’ room and wandered into the brush as Uncle Pete opened his tent and crawled inside. Allie lay down on her bedroll and closed her eyes, and Drake hesitated before kissing her. The connection was electric, and Allie’s breathing deepened as the intensity built. She squirmed beside him and Drake pulled his lips from hers.
“Oh, Allie–”
She held a finger to his lips. “Shh.”
The mood was broken by Spencer lifting the flap and entering. Drake moved a few inches from Allie, but Spencer didn’t seem to notice he’d interrupted anything. Drake squeezed Allie’s hand and whispered in her ear, “Good night.”
He could sense her smile in the dark. “To be continued.”
Chapter 36
Five days earlier, 14 miles west of Mong Lin, Myanmar
Christine shook off the haze that clouded her ability to think and forced her eyes open. Bare cinderblock walls wept moisture, feeding the mold that streaked everything dark green. Consciousness had come and gone in waves, and she struggled to recall how long she’d been in the chamber. It might have been hours, or months. Time had ceased to mean anything to her ever since she’d collapsed by the plane after dragging Liu from the cockpit and crafted her pointless attempt to signal for help out of river rock.
Blurred memories tortured her during her few waking hours – that of Liu’s brutalized face, gashed from the broken windows, bright arterial blood staining his shirt. She’d done her best to fashion a tourniquet from one of the cables she’d salvaged from his laptop bag, but had drifted off, the shock too much for her system.
When she’d come to, she’d found herself baking in the harsh glare of the sun, and then a flat Asian face with a nose like a losing boxer’s had blocked it. And…and then everything was a blank.
But something had just awakened her.
A scrape outside the rusting steel door.
Voices drifted on the light breeze that wafted through what passed for windows, really nothing more than gaps below the ceiling where every second block had been skipped. She blinked and tried to sit up, but something was stopping her.
Her wrists were lashed to the frame of a wooden cot.
No. They were bound to something beneath it.
The door creaked open on its corroded hinges and two men entered. One, a short, squat man in his thirties, carried a leather bag. The other, tall and fit, also about the same age, stood back where she couldn’t get a good look at him.
The squat man adjusted his rimless glasses and eyed her with a small frown, as though she’d done something to disappoint him. She was reminded of her father’s similar expression, which was his customary response to most of her efforts, and felt her abdomen muscles tighten at the thought. The man opened his bag and removed a stethoscope, and she relaxed. He was a doctor.
She tried to speak, but the only sound that came from her mouth was a dry croak. The doctor shushed her and proceeded to examine her, probing her chest and then her shoulder, which sent a flare of pain shrieking through her skull. She moaned like a strangling animal, and everything went black.
~ ~ ~
Christine regained consciousness sometime later. The first thing she noticed was hunger. That was good. Hunger meant she was alive. Hunger meant her body was healing. The second thing she registered was the tattoo of rain on the roof. Corrugated steel, like a Quonset hut, she thought absently. And it was really coming down.
Her shoulder felt numb. No. All of her felt numb. Dreamy.
Maybe this was all in her mind, and she would wake up soon, and Liu wouldn’t be bleeding all over her as she held him helplessly in her arms, sobbing to the dark heavens, promising any bargain he wanted to a God she didn’t believe in if Liu survived.
The numbness washed away her concerns, and she was floating behind closed eyes, the world now filled with warmth, well-being…and…sleep.
~ ~ ~
An old woman spooned gruel into Christine’s mouth. The doctor was back, the same look of professional detachment on his face, his chubby hands gentle as they probed her. The warm sense of euphoria was less than…when? When had she last been conscious?
The doctor finished his examination and nodded with satisfaction. This time when he left, the other man remained, standing just out of her line of sight, in the shadows. The crone finished with her feeding and tottered off with the empty clay bowl and a sack filled with rags she’d used to clean Christine, and the man stepped forward. The first thing she noticed was that he had a cruel mouth. The second was his skin, so badly pocked from acne it looked like a shotgun had blasted him in the face.
He approached Christine and said something in what she guessed was Laotian. She looked at him with incomprehension, and he switched to broken English.
“You speak?”
Was he asking her to talk, or whether she spoke English? She tried to nod, but her neck refused to cooperate. She wet her lips and forced a few words.
“Yes. English. And Cantonese.” Her throat felt thick, and her speech sounded clumsy, like her tongue was swollen or coated with tar. “Where am I?”
The man nodded and switched to Chinese. “We rescued you. You’re in Myanmar at my…facility. My name is Lee. I run this place.”
“My friend…”
“Didn’t make it.”
She absorbed the news and everything went gray. Moments, or perhaps minutes later, she returned to her body. Lee was staring at her impassively. Even half out of it, she felt revulsion, as though he was violating her with his gaze.
“You are very beautiful for a round eye. Many will pay a top price to have you. Your clavicle is broken from the crash, and you have some other wounds, but they are healing. When you are presentable, I will sell you to the highest bidder. After I have verified your skills, of course.” Lee paused, studying her. “When the bruising goes down on your face, I will come for you. I prefer it if you fight me. I will enjoy it more.”
“You have no right.”
Her words clearly enraged him, and he moved closer, his proximity menacing. “No right? I take what I want, do what I want. I have every right. I am the law here, which you will discover, and now you are in my debt. You will pay as I wish, when I wish.” His lip curled into an ugly sneer. “I own you. I found you, and you are my pet, like a fat white dog that eats too much and soils itself. Look at you. You sicken me. And you dare to tell me what I have the right to do?”
The fury drained from his expression and his customary placid calm settled over him. When he next spoke, it was as though he were discussing the weather, and he reached out a grimy thumb and ran it along her jawline. “You will clean up well, and once the stink of your Western diet burns out of your skin, I think you will be serviceable. I don’t see the attraction, but my tastes aren’t important. There are many who will pay to abuse an imperialist princess. Now rest, because you will be popular.”
Christine’s scream echoed off the walls as Lee left her to visions of unmentionable degradation at the hands of sweaty men willing to pay for a chance at forbidden fruit. She’d been rescued to serve as a sex slave in a country with no law, and her savior was the devil.
She sobbed until her chest hurt, her throat burning with impotent rage, and when she exhausted herself, she
began calmly calculating how she could end her life before it became a living nightmare in hell.
Chapter 37
Washington, D.C.
Edward Cornett and Collins waited patiently for Senator Whitfield to arrive. Cornett had asked for a special meeting before the business day got underway on the Beltway, and Whitfield had instantly agreed. All parties knew better than to say anything on the telephone – the NSA’s eavesdropping extended to everyone, including elected officials, and caution was the natural state of affairs.
When Whitfield entered he was like a supernova of energy, the aura of power palpable as he strode into his office with a nod at the CIA men. Nobody else was working yet; the building was quiet at six thirty, which was why Cornett had asked for the meeting at such an early hour.
Whitfield set his briefcase on his desk and shrugged off his suit jacket. He beckoned to Cornett as he carefully hung it on a coat rack behind him, and then adjusted the blinds so that they were fully closed. Cornett and Collins took seats where indicated and waited for Whitfield to finish.
The senator sat down and folded his hands in front of him on the desk blotter. “Gentlemen, you mentioned that you had news? I gather it’s important, judging from the hour.”
“Yes, sir. We located the plane. Your daughter’s body wasn’t in the wreckage. Neither was her boyfriend, Liu.”
Whitfield’s eye twitched. “What does that mean?”
“We’re not sure, sir.” Cornett told him about the S.O.S.
“Then they’re alive?”
“Possibly. It’s too soon to make that determination. There’s a distant chance that they weren’t on the plane at all, and this was some sort of ruse.”
“A ruse? What are you talking about?”
“Sir, there’s a troubling aspect to this. Our people tell us that it looks as though the plane was tampered with. Sabotaged. In which case the crash was intentional.” Cornett met the senator’s stare. “Can you think of a reason anyone would do that?”
“It sounds preposterous. Of course I can’t think…unless it was the damned boyfriend. It has to be something he was involved in. Organized crime? Terrorism? Drug smuggling?” Whitfield hesitated. “Did your people find anything in the plane?”
“Negative. Although it had been looted.”
“Then someone beat you to it.”
“Yes, and it’s possible they have your daughter and Liu.”
Whitfield sat back. “Have?”
Collins took over for his superior. “Sir, we don’t want to get your hopes up. In all likelihood your daughter didn’t make it. But there’s now a better chance that she did, and that one of the rebel organizations in the area rescued her…or took her captive.”
Whitfield looked shocked. “To what end?”
“Kidnapping isn’t unknown in that region, sir. Again, it’s too early to speculate, but if one of the armed factions has her, it’s likely because they intend to make money with her. One way or another. There have been reports of tourists being abducted near the border. Usually Caucasian females.” Collins let the statement speak for itself.
Whitfield pushed himself to his feet and began pacing in front of the window. “Gentlemen, if Christine’s alive, you must do whatever is necessary to get her out of this. Whatever the cost, in dollars or in human assets, it has to happen. There cannot be even a whiff of my daughter being held captive, or serious questions would arise as to my motivations and whether I can be influenced. We are at a delicate time in the DOD hearings, and I don’t need to tell you what a story like this could do to the proceedings.”
“Yes, sir. Of course.”
“So break down for me exactly what steps you’re taking. Short of sending in an aircraft carrier and invading the country, it better be impressive.”
“We have an experienced field agent monitoring the situation as we speak. We’ve authorized him to put out the word that he’s interested in locating the occupants of the plane, regardless of the circumstances. And he’s indicated he’s not price sensitive.”
Whitfield’s intake of breath was a hiss. “Wait. You only have one man handling this? That’s it? Did I not make clear how important this is?”
Cornett nodded. “Of course, sir. However, more bodies won’t achieve anything but run the risk of driving whoever has them to ground. If they get spooked, their captors could be as likely to put a bullet in them and bury them in a ditch as get involved with something that smacks of covert ops. Better to handle this surgically.”
Whitfield sat back down, his shoulders slumping as he did. He glared at both men, and when he spoke, his tone was arctic. “If something goes wrong and we don’t get her back, I will hold you both personally responsible. This is your area of expertise, so I won’t meddle, but I want it on the record that I’m highly concerned that the agency isn’t putting sufficient resources behind this.”
“Message received,” Cornett said. “As of right now, all we know is that her body wasn’t at the crash site. We’re only guessing as to why.” He paused and checked the time. “We hope to have more information as the day progresses. But we figured you’d want to know everything we do, as soon as we know it.”
“Yes, yes, of course. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to bite your heads off. But this news is so unexpected, and the ramifications…well, you can imagine what I’m going through.”
“I can. One other thing, though. It wouldn’t be wise to share this latest bit of news with your ex-wife, sir. Not yet. We don’t want civilians complicating matters.”
“Yes, I understand. She was ready to put posters up on every light pole until I talked her down.”
“If your daughter and Liu are alive, we’ll find them and extract them. You have my word,” Cornett said. “And if they aren’t, we’ll obtain definitive proof that they didn’t make it.”
“Very well,” Whitfield said with a glance at his watch. “You better get out of here before the staff begins arriving. Wouldn’t do to have questions raised about why I’m meeting with a pair of agency personnel.”
Cornett and Collins stood and shook the senator’s hand. When they left the office, they walked wordlessly to their car. Once inside, Cornett turned to Collins.
“What’s he hiding?” Cornett asked.
“Don’t know. But you picked that up too?”
“Of course. He’s good, mind you, but not that good.”
“Well, he is a politician, so all he does is lie all day.”
“True. Something’s rotten, though.”
“Can you speak with the director, off the record, and see if there’s another layer to this request we’re unaware of?” Collins asked.
“I’ll give it the old college try, but don’t expect much. If the chief wants to run an op for reasons only he’s privy to, that’s his call.”
“Right. But I don’t like being the pawns in this game. What we don’t know could come back to bite us. Hard.”
Cornett put the transmission into gear and nodded. “We don’t need any more disasters.”
“Coffee?”
“I’m way ahead of you.”
Chapter 38
Reggie shook his head as he hung up the sat phone. He understood the logic, but his control officer clearly had no understanding of the logistics involved in putting the word out that he was on the hunt for the plane passengers. For one, he was in the middle of nowhere, and it would take him all day to make it anywhere close to civilization. For another, it wasn’t like you posted an inquiry on the web and waited for an email. The villages where members of the drug gangs might have contacts were remote, and any direct interaction with their representatives could be fatal.
But he had his marching orders. His trek into the jungle had been for nothing. He’d pushed himself to the limits of his endurance to reach the camp, only to fail to make it in time to join the foray to the plane. It had been midnight by the time he’d had the tents in sight, and he’d been surprised when he’d turned on his phone to discover that he had a
missed call from HQ. When he returned it, he’d been told that the girl and her companion hadn’t been on the plane, and to stand by for further orders.
That had been in the wee hours of the morning. Now it was light, and he’d been handed another virtually impossible task.
Welcome to government work, he thought, as he eyed his stolen bike with a sour expression. His ass hurt from the seat, and every rut in the trail felt like a proctology exam gone horribly awry. Now he’d be pedaling all the way back to the nearest real town, which was…Tachileik. A good thirty miles on the world’s worst bicycle. Assuming he didn’t get gunned down for sport.
He looked back over his shoulder at the peak of the nearest karst formation and groaned quietly. Maybe a desk job wouldn’t be so terrible after all.
An idea occurred to him. He powered on the phone and called his control again. “Do we have anyone in Bangkok who could handle the urban part of this? I’m in position, in deep cover.”
“Not really. I mean, yes, of course we have people on the ground there, but this is a delicate situation. We were hoping to rely on your expertise. Can you not make it?”
“It’ll be this evening, more than likely, at the earliest.” He gave the man his coordinates and suggested he look at a map.
“Stand by.”
Reggie waited for five minutes while his precious battery power drained. He was about to hang up and hope for a return call when his control came back on the line.
“Negative. We want to keep this a closed circle. Do the best you can.”
“Roger that.”
Reggie disconnected and swore under his breath. Closed circle indeed. Easy for some faceless wonk to wave his hand and send Reggie into perdition. It wasn’t he who was trying to make it cross-country in Injun country.
He trudged over to the bike and, after pulling on his backpack, began wheeling the ungainly conveyance down the game trail, the nearest dirt road that he could safely ride it on many miles away.
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