Tiger by the Tail-eARC

by John Ringo;Ryan Sears

  “And here I thought you were all about hitting it and quitting it. You best watch it, buddy—I might start thinking you’re a man of unsuspected depth.”

  “I try to learn from the best,” Adams said.

  “But getting back to your original question: the other reason is that this is a training mission, remember?” Mike mock-frowned at him. “And mostly because then I wouldn’t have to worry about you dipping your wick every chance you got before they came aboard—like I do now.”

  “Hey hey hey, they have to get a full health clearance from our medic before they get to sample my wares. Momma Adams didn’t raise no fool, you know.” Adams managed to return Mike’s deadpan stare for a few seconds until they both burst out laughing.

  The humor was interrupted a knock at the door from Daria. “Kildar? Am I interrupting something?”

  “If you mean two braying jackasses, then yes you are, Daria, but come in anyway,” Mike said.

  Walking to his desk, she handed him a tablet. “Here is the cost breakdown and profit figure for the trip so far.”

  Mike ran down the numbers. “Chal’s payment put us back in the black, and about two-point-five million to the good so far, even with scrambling Kacey, Tamara, and the girls down here by our private airline.” He stared at the screen again. “With all the running around we do, you’d think we could figure out some way to lease a used jet, or time-share one at least.”

  “The cost versus availability window has never worked out, but I’m still looking for a program that might work for us,” Daria said.

  Adams drained his Mountain Tiger and belched. “At least all this—” He waved his empty at the yacht. “—is on the house, thanks to Uncle Sam.”

  “Yeah, don’t remind me.” Even with his investments in the valley of the Keldara, Mike was comfortable, to be sure, but the money they’d gotten from the “sale” of the chips was certainly welcome. Mountain Tiger beer was steadily gaining market share in the U.S., but it was slow going. If Adams’s contact paid off in China—hell, throughout Southeast Asia—they’d probably have to expand their brewing operation to keep up with the demand. But that would cost money in the short-term before starting to show a profit. All in good time…Mike thought.

  “There is one more thing.” Daria hit the screen to bring up an e-mail. “Chal has set up the initial phone call with your contact in Myanmar.”

  “No rest for the wicked, eh?” Mike pulled out his satphone and dialed the number. With Vanner bouncing any communications off several area satellites, he wasn’t concerned about being traced. Besides, I’m on a motherfucking boat…

  The phone rang four times before it was picked up. “Hello.”

  “This is Mike Jenkins. I was told to call this number regarding a job.”

  “Call this number in three minutes.” The voice repeated an international number twice, then hung up.

  “Very careful,” Mike said as he finished jotting the number down as he committed it to memory. When the allotted time had elapsed, he dialed the new number and waited.

  Six rings later, it was answered. “Yes.”

  “This better be who I am supposed to be talking to.”

  “Who gave you this number?”

  “The first guy I spoke to three minutes and—” mike checked his chronograph. “—eleven seconds ago.”

  “You are Mr. Jenkins?”

  “Yup.”

  “And you are currently sailing off the west coast of Thailand.”

  “Around there, yes.” Mike was getting impatient. “I heard you have a job you need doing, right?”

  “I have many things that need doing. However, for this one, I require specialized personnel.”

  “Well, if you’ve been watching the news out of Phuket, you should know what we’re about.” After delivering video of their op, as well as a few heads in a bag to prove they’d done what Mike had said they could do, he had spent a pleasant hour with the old man. Chal had ended up buying the gems and jewelry for a nice price. However, despite Mike’s polite fishing, the old Thai would not say whom he would be meeting regarding the computer chips. All he would say is, “You probably wouldn’t believe me.” He did, however, tell Mike two things. First, not to use any official currency conversion places like banks in Myanmar, but to exchange any money on the street, as he would get a much better exchange rate. Second, to look him up again the next time he came to Thailand.

  Mike had kept an eye on the news reports as well, and watched as the local media described the remains of the deserted building as being destroyed by a fire of unknown origins. The reporter did say that the police were checking on whether clashing gangs might have been the culprits, but there was no mention of any foreigners being involved.

  Mike had smiled as he’d watched the report. He’d made sure both teams and Lasko had all used brass catchers on their weapons, ensuring no telltale casings were left at the scene. Chal had also assured him that the official report would say that the building was destroyed by fire, with arson suspected, but never proven.

  “Yes. From what I have seen so far, you may be acceptable. Be at the Mandarin Oriental in Bangkok at eleven a.m. tomorrow morning. You will be contacted there.” With that the speaker hung up.

  Mike set the phone down and shook his head. “Why do I have the feeling that I am not going to like this prick very much?”

  * * *

  Bangkok, Thailand is a glittering jewel among the great cities of Southeast Asia. Established on the Chao Praya River in the Ayutthaya Kingdom in the 15th century, the port town quickly became a vital shipping point for foreign traders. It saw its share of ups and downs over the years, including coming under siege in 1688, during the expulsion of the French from Siam.

  The city survived the eventual downfall of Ayutthaya to the Burmese Kingdom in 1767, and the modern city was founded in 1782, when King Buddha Yodfa Chulaloke moved the capitol to the eastern back of the river. Since then, Bangkok had thrived and grown over the centuries, and is now at the heart of a regional megalopolis of twenty million people. Despite its often rapid industrialization, the city always retained links to its past, with centuries-old architectural wonders such as the Grand Palace, Vinmanmek Palace Complex, and Wat Arun still drawing tens of millions of international tourists each year.

  The origin of the city’s name is lost to history. The word “Bang” in Central Thai means “town on a riverbank.” The word “ko” means island, which may refer to the area being divided by rivers and other waterways. Given the constant stream of foreigners in the area, the corruption to Bangkok was inevitable. The city’s ceremonial name, bestowed by King Rama IV during his reign in the 19th century, is listed in the Guinness Book of World Records as the longest place name in the world. A combination of Thai, Pāli, and Sanskrit, it takes more than ten seconds to say, and translates to: “The city of angels, the great city, the eternal jewel city, the impregnable city of God Indra, the grand capital of the world endowed with nine precious gems, the happy city, abounding in an enormous Royal Palace that resembles the heavenly abode where reigns the reincarnated god, a city given by Indra and built by Vishnukarma.”

  Of late, however, it seemed that the gods have turned their backs on the crown jewel of Thailand. The widespread flooding of 2011 caused billions of dollars of damage across the country, and Bangkok had suffered its share of rising water as well. The local government had dithered as to the best way to handle it, infuriating many citizens and merchants who found their streets blocked by lines of sandbags. Protests had swiftly developed, and the police had been called out to handle them. This was not what a city that depended on tourism was looking to show to the rest of the world. Eventually the waters receded, and the city cleaned up and got back to its regular swing of things.

  Mike, Jace, and Arun, however, had no time for enjoying the city’s history or splendor when they came ashore the next morning. They had motored through the night to ensure they would arrive at the Mandarin Oriental early. Judging by Mik
e’s dour expression, Jace figured whomever they were meeting was already rubbing him the wrong way.

  The two Americans were dressed in sport coats, button-down shirts, and chinos. Jace was carrying the case that held the vital motherboards. Arun had gotten outfitted in Phuket, and was dressed in a fawn silk summer suit, complete with a woven straw fedora, ascot, and matching handkerchief.

  Overlooking the Chao Praya River, the one hundred-thirty-five-year-old Mandarin Oriental’s most recent incarnation consisted of three buildings. The main structure was a modern, thirteen-story white building housing the majority of the guests. A smaller, eight-story structure had been built at a ninety-degree angle to the main building, further from the river. Lastly, in front of that was a small, two-story building containing many of the hotel’s famous Author Suites, named after great writers that had stayed there, including Joseph Conrad, Somerset Maugham, Noel Coward, and James Michener.

  While the hotel had modernized its exterior, it had retained and updated its elegant interior. The three men walked through the opulent, hardwood-trimmed lobby to the Author’s Lounge, a large, bright, white room decorated with palm and bamboo trees, with a grand staircase that led to a large second floor balcony. Selecting an empty set of wicker furniture around a low table near the center of the room, they sat and waited.

  When a young woman dressed in a traditional silk dress approached and offered them tea, Jace thanked her and said that they were meeting their party here. She nodded and walked away.

  Less than a minute later, a hard-faced Chinese man with crew-cut black hair, dark sunglasses, and wearing a black suit and a corded earpiece approached the table. He looked directly at Mike. “You are Michael Jenkins.”

  “Last time I checked,” Mike replied, ignoring Jace’s slight wince.

  The bodyguard didn’t move a muscle. “The General will see you in the Royal Oriental Suite. Follow me.” Without waiting for a reply, he turned and headed deeper into the hotel. With an eyebrow raised, Mike glanced at Jace and Arun as they all rose to follow him.

  The security man led them to a private lift and rode with them up to the hotel’s top floor. There he escorted them into a foyer that opened up into a large living room with hardwood floors and floor-to-ceiling windows that revealed a magnificent view of the river below. It was decorated with modern furniture, including a writing desk in the corner, next to a teak round table and four chairs. A sitting space was bordered by a subdued, blue and brown striped couch with two white easy chairs to its left and another teak table, this one square, in the middle, all resting on a beautiful Oriental rug. Soft classical music could be heard throughout the large suite.

  Another suited, sunglasses-wearing man who might have been the first man’s twin walked up to them. Their escort’s demeanor didn’t change as he picked up a handheld metal detector from the side table. “Spread your legs shoulder-width apart and raise your arms to each side.”

  Mike did so, allowing the man to perform a thorough check of his person. He did the same to Jace and Arun, none of whom were carrying weapons. Mike was still using the button wired for video and sound, however; no sense in wasting a perfectly good surveillance set-up.

  The first man started to move the detector toward the metal case, but stopped when he saw what it was. He nodded to the other man, who walked deeper into the suite. “The General will be with you shortly,” the first man said. “Come with me.” Turning on his heel, he led them to the sitting area.

  Mike nodded and followed him. They were just about to sit down when a loud, British-accented voice made everyone look up.

  “Mr. Michael Jenkins!” It came from a short, trim Chinese man dressed in a three-piece navy silk suit. He looked to be in his mid-forties, with the beginnings of crow’s feet at the corners of his clear, cold brown eyes. The rest of his face was either surgically retouched or strangely untouched by age. A full head of black hair was combed straight back from his forehead. “I am General Zháo Cong, of the Army of the People’s Republic of China.”

  Mike shook the proffered hand and nodded. “May I introduce Arun Than, whom we are currently working for, and my business associate, Jace Morgan.”

  Jace nodded at the general. He noticed that the two bodyguards had taken stations in opposite corners of the room. Another man dressed in the hotel’s livery had come in, and now stood by the round table with his hands clasped behind his back. The general snapped an order to one of men and gave a curt nod toward the bedroom. The man headed back there, while Cong turned back to his guests.

  “Sit, gentlemen. Something to drink? Brandy? Cognac? Perhaps a cigar?”

  “Elijah Craig for me. We will see about that cigar once we’ve concluded our business,” Mike replied. Jace and Than both asked for water.

  Cong nodded, his smooth face breaking into a smile that never came close to his eyes. “Of course.” He snapped out another order in Chinese to the hotel’s man, who bowed and headed out the door. Meanwhile, Cong went to the white chair furthest from the couch and sat down. Mike chose the other white chair, and Than selected the left end of the couch, leaving Jace to sit on the right end, with the case on the floor beside him.

  “That is for me,” Cong said.

  They had agreed to let Than handle this part, and the Thai nodded. “As promised.”

  “Put it on the table,” the general ordered.

  Than nodded to Jace, who set the case on the table, turning it so the locks faced the general, who had removed a pair of tubular keys from his inside jacket pocket.

  Jace swallowed when he saw them. Mike had assured him that no one would be able to tell that the case had been tampered with, and he sincerely hoped that was still the case.

  Cong inserted both keys and turned them at the same time. Two barely-audible clicks were heard from inside, and the general nodded after he opened the case and reviewed its contents.

  As he was doing so, the bodyguard emerged from the bedroom behind him, holding a limping young woman by the arm. She was silent, but from her short, tight, disheveled dress, it was obvious what her occupation was. The ripening black eye, split lip, and bruises on her arms and legs made it obvious what Cong had been doing last night.

  The general didn’t even look up as she was escorted out of the room. “Very good, Mr. Than. The payment will be transferred to your Swiss account as agreed.”

  “That is satisfactory, General.” Than sat stiffly on the couch, with his hands on his knees. As Jace glanced at him, he noticed a small bead of sweat at the Thai’s hairline, despite the air-conditioning in the room. He’d better not be pulling a fucking double-cross, he thought, gauging the distance to the fixer’s throat, and then to the door if necessary.

  Cong picked up the hotel’s cordless phone and dialed a number. When he was connected, he had a short conversation with the person on the other end, then handed the phone to Than. “Just follow their directions.”

  “If you all will excuse me for a moment.” Than walked over to the desk, speaking quietly into the receiver. Meanwhile, Cong had summoned one of his bodyguards, who closed and removed the case. At that moment, the butler returned with a tray, bottle of whisky, and four glasses. He showed the bottle to Cong, who nodded, then leaned back in his chair. “You and your people are now free to consider other contracts, correct?”

  Mike nodded. “Depending on the nature of the assignment. And the payment, of course.” He made no move toward his drink yet.

  “But of course. Why don’t you tell me a bit more about these—Keldara, is it?—of yours.”

  “Georgian mountain people. Sturdy and tough, they take to military training and discipline like ducks to water. They are exceptionally capable and exceedingly loyal. I give them an objective and point them in a direction, and they do not stop until the mission is accomplished,” Mike said.

  “Apparently. You also come highly recommended from our mutual acquaintance in Phuket. I did catch some of the satellite footage of that business in the Caucasus Mountains last
year—very impressive. The Russians must be very pleased to have you keeping the Chechens in their place, yes?”

  “They don’t mind.” Mike leaned forward. “But we’re not here to discuss the past, general. What can I and my people do for you?”

  Cong was unphased by Mike’s directness. “I am in need of professional soldiers to escort a convoy of light and medium weapons into the north of Myanmar. With the continued rebel activity up there, I am concerned for the safety of my shipment. However, I hesitate to ask the local military to assist, as they are already stretched thin across the country.”

  “Surely your own nation would provide an escort for a military shipment of arms?” Mike asked.

  The general’s eyes flashed. “If that were an option, I wouldn’t be speaking to you, now, would I? Your only concern is whether your people can do the job I need doing.”

  “Of course. How far, and for how long?”

  “The trip covers seven hundred fifty kilometers. Depending on climate and the road conditions, should take us from between two and four days.”

  “What is the final destination?”

  “I prefer to keep that to myself, to prevent intelligence leaks. You will receive that information at the appropriate time. I require a minimum of twenty-five men able to maintain watch twenty-four hours a day. Extraction from the delivery site is to be provided by you. Expenses will be factored into your final total.”

  “When would you prefer to leave?”

  Cong shifted slightly in his chair. “There is a small matter than needs taking care of here in Bangkok. Part of my shipment has been held up in customs. The first task for your people would be to get it released, however you wish, as long as it is done quietly. Once that portion is transported to Yangon and offloaded, we would leave within the next twelve hours.”

  Mike didn’t bat an eye. “The price is one-point-seven-five million for my team, plus expenses. It is not negotiable. We maintain our own radio equipment and comm channels. My men answer to me, not to you or anyone else in your chain of command. We are to liberate your shipment portion and guard the convoy to its final destination, nothing else. We will have authorization to use deadly force if attacked.”