by Ken Goddard
Stunned by the horrific sight of the huge beast, whose jaws were snapping only inches away from his deflecting left hand and feet, Bulatt continued to fire as fast as he could pull the trigger, sending the last three bullets ripping into the shark’s left eye and brain as the Beretta’s slide locked open against the now-empty magazine.
Working on instinct and adrenaline now, Bulatt scrambled back to the rear of the violently rocking boat on his hands and knees, ejecting the empty magazine somewhere along the way, yanked another loaded magazine out of Kulawnit’s vest, slammed it into the Beretta’s grip, released the slide, and then whipped the pistol around, searching for the nightmarish creature.
But there was nothing on the rain-splattered surface; just the violent swirling of water a dozen yards away.
Go to it, guys, tear him apart, Bulatt thought, gasping for breath and silently cheering on the other sharks as he continued to stare at the churning surface. It was only when he finally managed to catch his breath that he realized he was still being bathed in a dazzling white light.
Wincing against the blinding glare, he looked up into the drizzling rain and found himself staring into the barrel of a machine gun mounted in the open doorway of a hovering Thai Coastal Patrol helicopter some fifty feet from and above the boat.
An amplified voice from the hovering chopper barked out what sounded like an order in Thai, but Bulatt had no idea what the words meant.
“You, in the boat,” the voice barked again, this time in English, “drop your weapon!”
Bulatt blinked in confusion, then looked down at his right hand and realized he was still holding Kulawnit’s empty pistol. He quickly dropped it at his feet — hearing the weapon splash into the water that was close to swamping the badly-damaged boat — and raised his hands high in the air.
As the helicopter moved in closer — now hovering less than twenty-five from and above the boat, the downdraft from its spinning blades churning the water and forcing Bulatt to try to maintain his balance with his wide-spread knees — the distant patrol boat began a wide turn in his direction.
South of Tanga Island, in the Malacca Strait — still in Thailand territory
They were a little more than twelve nautical miles off Tanga Island — Lanyard struggling with the few remaining controls while Gavin worked feverishly to stock the small dinghy with food, water, gasoline and a basic load of survival gear — when the vaguely soothing sound of the rain striking the flying bridge awning and windows of the wallowing Avatar was suddenly overwhelmed by a high-pitched shriek, followed by a concussive roar, that sent Lanyard and Gavin diving to their respective decks.
“What the bloody hell — ?!” Gavin yelled from the foredeck as he struggled to readjust his night-vision goggles.
“F-fives, pair of the buggers, probably flying out of Phuket,” Lanyard yelled back as he stared up at the twin-afterburners of the low-flying fighter jets. He continued to monitor the course of the planes — now just two rapidly dwindling pairs of bright green spots in the viewer of his night-vision goggles — until they finally disappeared in the distance.
“Good,” he sighed. “I don’t think they spotted us.” He looked around at the swirling fog now surrounding the Avatar. “Probably damn near impossible to see anything in this soup from the air, thank God.”
“You really think they’re out here looking for us?” Gavin asked as he scrambled back into the bridge.
“Would you be out flying low-level off-shore recon in this bloody weather, and in the middle of the night, unless some pissed-off general told you to get your arse up in the air and be quick about it?”
“You wouldn’t see me volunteering for the job,” Gavin acknowledged. Then, after a moment: “You think they’re going to care much about whose air space we’re in if they do spot us?”
“I wouldn’t, if I were them,” Lanyard said. “But then I — oh bloody hell!”
“What’s the matter?” Gavin asked, but the sudden shift in the decibel levels on the bridge gave him the answer he didn’t want to hear. “Don’t tell me we lost another bilge pump?”
“Afraid so, mate; down to one, now.” Lanyard stared glumly at the four grouped lights on the control panel, three of which were now glowing bright red.
“How much time, do you think?”
“At the rate we’re taking on water, maybe another twenty minutes; less if we lose the last pump. At that point, we might as well shut the engines off and pull the plugs ourselves.”
Gavin sighed. “Okay, I’d better start heaving the odd bits overboard. Anything you want me to hold back for a last go?”
Lanyard shook his head. “If they’ve got the Thai Navy and Air Force out looking for us, we’re way past a ‘last go.’ Toss everything that looks out of place on a fishing boat — the weapons and ammo first — but bring along extra batteries for the goggles and a couple of the emergency flashers to signal Wallis. We’ll keep that lot with us as long as we can; but the important thing, if they spot us, is to look exactly like a couple of distressed fishermen who buggered up their boat in the storm. Might not do us any good if we get picked up in Thai water, but it’s always worth a try.”
“What about this?” Gavin held up the shredded and bloody burlap sack.
“Toss that, too. Wallis’ll take our word for what happened. And besides, maybe it’ll give the sharks something to poke at instead of following after us.”
CHAPTER 17
Onboard the Thai Coastal Patrol Cutter Sawaeke Pinsinchai — off Tanga Island
Bulatt stood beside Major Preithat at the stern of the Thai Coastal Patrol Cutter Sawaeke Pinsinchai and watched as the paramedic team carefully loaded Colonel Kulawnit — who was now strapped tightly into a transport litter — into the medivac helicopter that had just moments earlier landed on the Cutter’s stern heliport platform.
“Don’t worry, my friend,” Preithat said. “The corpsman assures me the Colonel is stable, and that a team of surgeons are waiting in an operating room for his arrival. Thanks to you, he is certain to recover from his wounds.”
Lost in thought, Bulatt blinked and then turned to Preithat. “What about you, Khun Sat? You’re injured too; aren’t you going with him?” he asked, nodded at the bloodied bandages wrapped around the Preithat’s head and right arm.
“My wounds are minor.” Preithat shrugged. “We’re sending three other Rangers with far more serious injuries in the helicopter with the Colonel. You and I will follow in the patrol boat.”
“You mean back to Phuket?”
Preithat nodded. “Yes, Phuket is where our investigation and my command are based. Where else would we go?”
“How about after those bastards in the yacht? The ones who shot at us and damn near killed Kulawnit; and perhaps the ones who killed his son?”
The understanding smile on Preithat’s face didn’t quite match the frustrated look in his eyes. “Colonel Kulawnit admires you, Khun Ged, because he sees you as an honest and stubborn and unrelenting investigator who devotes his professional life to confronting and destroying the evil forces in this world. Which is to say a man very much like himself; and, I gather, like many of your Interpol peers.”
Bulatt started to say something, but Preithat held up his hand.
“I, too, admire your determination and your courage; and I certainly share your desire for justice and revenge. But I must tell you that being in a small patrol boat south of Ko Tanga during the next few hours would not be a good thing for any of us.”
“Why is that?” Bulatt asked.
“As we speak, every one of our Navy’s counter-piracy patrol boats in the Malacca Strait is in position — or moving there now — to intercept any vessel attempting to escape south into Malaysian waters. The Sawaeke Pinsinchai will be joining them — using her assault helicopter to help close the trap — as soon as we transfer over to our Forestry patrol boat. Also, the Royal Thai Air Force now has six fighter jets in the air who will be acting as a final escape deterrent as well as s
potters.”
“That’s a lot of fire power for a couple of illegal hunting guides,” Bulatt commented.
“Yes, but these men are no longer being viewed as simply violators of our wildlife laws. The shooting down of the Royal Army’s Blackhawk helicopter changed our investigation into a military matter of some complexity, especially since we think foreigners are involved,” Preithat explained. “And the fact that our suspects are apparently heading for Malaysian territorial waters has made things even more complex.”
“In terms of international politics, I assume?” Bulatt nodded in rueful understanding.
“Yes, exactly. And you should also know,” Preithat went on, “that these Navy patrol boats are manned by Thai Sea Rangers who have orders to engage and sink any vessel that fails to obey their orders. These Sea Rangers are an elite group of fighters — very much like your Navy SEALS — who have been made aware of our losses, and therefore are certain to be aggressive in their actions. So you can imagine how easy it would be, at night and in this weather, for an unfortunate mistake to occur.”
“But their boat — the Avatar, I think you said? — surely must be easy to identify,” Bulatt said.
“Yes, all of the boats and planes have her description,” Preithat nodded. “But based on their response to our arrival, we’re assuming these men are perfectly capable of commandeering another vessel, should the opportunity occur. All things considered,” Preithat smiled as he patted Bulatt sympathetically on the shoulder, “I think the seas south of Ko Tanga are not the best place for a few Wildlife Rangers and an American Special Agent in a small patrol boat to be right now; even though I certainly share your desire to be present when these men are intercepted.”
“I see the logic of your words, Khun Sat.” Bulatt nodded. “I will try to be patient and wait for your soldiers and sailors to do their job; but, in the meantime, do you mind if I stay here?”
“On the Sawaeke Pinsinchai?”
“No, on Tanga Island.”
“Why would you want to do that?”
“There’s a crime scene out there that needs to be searched as soon as possible — ideally at first light — and a rifle that I saw one of our suspects drop into the water when I shot at him with Colonel Kulawnit’s pistol,” Bulatt explained. “I know I promised not to intrude on your investigation; but with the Colonel and many of your investigative team injured, you have many tasks to perform, and very few people to do the work. Searching the island for evidence is, perhaps, something I could do to help without getting in the way.”
“Are you saying you intend to go into the water after that rifle, after your encounter with that shark?” Preithat cocked his head curiously.
“Actually, I was thinking of using a rope and hook to drag the area,” Bulatt said. “I know roughly where — ”
“Pardon me a moment, Kuhn Ged,” Preithat said, and then disappeared into the Cutter’s main cabin.
A few minutes later, as the medivac helicopter bearing Colonel Kulawnit and the three seriously wounded Rangers rose up and hovered above the Cutter for a moment before disappearing into the dark sky, Preithat reappeared with two men. One was wearing a set of gold Royal Thai Navy Commander’s stripes on the shoulder tabs of his crisply clean uniform — clearly the commander of the Sawaeke Pinsinchai.
The second man wore a chief petty officer’s insignia on the sleeves of his much less crisp and clean dungarees that almost exactly matched the oil-stained duffel bag he held in his muscular left hand. In his right, he carried a medium-sized black waterproof case.
After introducing Bulatt and the two men to each other, Preithat turned to Bulatt.
“I’ve explained your request to the Commander. He is aware of your actions in saving Colonel Kulawnit’s life, and he has offered to leave one of his rescue boats and three of his men to assist you in your search for evidence; one of whom is Chief Petty Officer Narusan who, among his many other skills and ratings, is the ship’s senior diver.”
“He’s willing to go diving in those waters, by himself?” Bulatt asked, incredulous, as he stared at the smiling sailor.
Preithat translated Bulatt’s comment to the two Navy men, both of whom chuckled in amusement. Then, after listening to the chief petty officer’s grinning response, Preithat turned back to Bulatt.
“Apparently the chief grew up on Ko Tarutao, and has dived in these waters all his life; as do many tourists during daylight hours. And, as it turns out, he was also in the assault helicopter observing when you defended yourself against that shark. He knows you’re an Interpol wildlife officer; but he hopes that since you killed a protected species only doing what it does naturally, you won’t mind if he dives down and collects whatever fins might be left along with the rifle. And he’ll be happy to take you with him on the dive. He assures me the fins of a tiger shark make a delicious soup which he will be happy to share with you and his men, once you’re finished with your crime scene work.”
“I, uh, would be honored, I think,” Bulatt replied uneasily.
“In that case, I’ll send someone to pick you up as soon as you’ve completed your work,” Preithat said. “Now, there’s one more thing.” He nodded to the chief petty officer who stepped forward and handed the waterproof case and the duffel bag to Bulatt.
“What’s all this?” Bulatt asked, juggling the case and the deceptively heavy bag in his hands.
“The case holds a camera and some basic investigative equipment. It belongs to this ship. The Commander is happy to loan it to you, but wants it back; ideally in good condition. The bag contains Colonel Kulawnit’s vest, his radio, and his pistol,” Preithat said.
“But I’m not — ” Bulatt started to say, but Preithat shook his head firmly.
“Your call-sign is CSI-One, and the radio is adjusted to the proper frequency. Use it to notify our dispatcher when you and the chief are ready to be picked up.”
“Ah, American CSI — very good!” The chief petty officer grinned widely, holding his thumb high up in the air, and then said something to Preithat in Thai.
“Chief Petty Officer Narusan says he enjoys watching your American CSI show on Thai television, and hopes you’ll show him how to do this work so he can be the ship’s CSI officer also,” Preithat translated.
“Not a problem.” Bulatt nodded agreeably, and returned the thumbs-up gesture, which caused the chief to grin even more widely.
“The chief also assures me,” Preithat went on, “that he is perfectly capable of protecting you from the unlikely approach of any shark that might appear in these waters during daylight hours. But he’s not so confident about dealing with all of the friends and relatives of the pirate Kai, or the mysterious men on the Avatar, should any of them show up unannounced; and I would not want to be the one to tell Colonel Kulawnit, when he regains consciousness, that the friend who saved his life had come to harm.”
“I think I understand, Khun Sat,” Bulatt replied seriously. “Please assure the Commander that I’ll take good care of his equipment, and that I’ll try very hard to avoid any conflicts.”
“Yes, it is best for everyone if you concentrate on your search for evidence, and leave the hunting of these criminals to the Royal Navy, Agent Bulatt,” the Commander of the Sawaeke Pinsinchai added in halting English. “But if, in the process, you find it necessary to protect yourself — against sharks or any other such creatures who might try to harm you or any of my sailors — please do so with my blessing, and my authority.”
In the cabin of a Grumman Seaplane — somewhere over the Malacca Strait
The Grumman pilot was maintaining a steady low altitude in spite of stormy wind gusts that intermittently toss the old plane around like a toy. Wallis sat in the copilot seat searching the water below with a powerful N/V scope.
“Should have spotted them by now,” the pilot muttered into his headset mike. “You sure about that heading?
“No, I’m not… but I’m certain they wouldn’t have sailed south into a naval blockade
.”
“Speaking of which,” the Grumman pilot responded, “we’re rapidly approaching Thai waters.”
“Is that going to be a problem?”
“Only if we pop up on their radar screens, or they triangulate our location when you make that call.”
Wallis stared down at the satellite phone in his hand.
“I’ll make it brief.”
South of Tanga Island, in the Malacca Strait — within two nautical miles of Malaysian territory
It had taken Gavin nearly fifteen minutes and two hacksaw blades to cut away the Avatar’s flying bridge, giving the stricken yacht a much lower silhouette. He was in the process of tossing the last of the tubular structure overboard when he spotted the first patrol boat, and then the second — in the far distance, their running lights flickering intermittently through the fog — with his night-vision-goggles.
“We’ve got a lot of company out there,” Gavin said as he scrambled down to the bridge. “Couple of patrol boats — maybe three, I couldn’t tell for sure — off the bow and the port beam; definitely between us and Langkawi Island, and probably running the territorial line.”
“What about off the starboard beam?” Lanyard asked.
“Couldn’t see anything, but that doesn’t mean much. They could be a hundred yards out in this bloody fog, and we wouldn’t see the bastards coming until they ran us down.”
“Okay, starboard beam it is,” Lanyard said as he slowly pushed the left throttle up to half-speed, causing the yacht to slowly turn to the right.
“How far to the territorial line if we stay on this course?” Gavin asked, looking amazingly focused for a man who had been fighting against nausea for last hour, and frequently losing the battle.
Lanyard checked the GPS screen. “Maybe another fifteen minutes.”
“Think the pump’ll hold out that long?”
“It might.”
Two minutes later, the fourth pump light on the control board began flashing, and Lanyard made the reluctant decision to abandon and scuttle the crippled yacht.
