“Hey, Ken,” Chris said.
“Chris.” They shook hands. “What’s up, gang? Are we ready?” He glanced at Martinez and Lon.
“We’re all pre-flighted and ready to go,” Martinez said.
“Flight plan is done, and we’ve got all our Dip clearances,” Chris verified.
“Great job, guys. I appreciate you taking care of that while I caught up on some sleep. It’s been a long day.”
“Gonna be a long one tomorrow,” Chris said.
“Yeah, that, too. Any word on Jason?” Ken said.
The crew all looked down at their drinks, solemn.
“No,” Chris said. “Haven’t heard a thing.”
“Does our ‘guest’ know what time we’re leaving tomorrow?”
“I talked to him earlier,” Jimmy chimed in. “I told him we had a ten-thirty bus time. He’s been moved to Colonel McClendon’s room.”
Ken’s head tilted. “Why?”
“No one will say, but it looks like he got in a fight with someone in his room,” Jimmy said. “The place is destroyed.”
Ken shook his head. “The wing commander has been giving my boss shit for the past few days. I guess Harris’ wife is going bonkers because he emptied their bank accounts and maxed out their credit cards. She has no money and is going ballistic.”
“Yeah,” Chris said, “I totally understand. I’ve had enough of Ben Harris. I’m ready to give him to somebody else.”
A soft hand woke him. Jason stirred and opened his eyes; Lawan stood next to the bed. He must have dozed off for a few minutes. She smiled at him, a caring smile, not the standard courteous type. The lamp behind her outlined her figure through her robe. It was not the first time he noticed her beauty—he just wished they were in different circumstances. His last relationship had been over for months, and he determined if he got out of this alive, he would get back in the game.
He chuckled at the thought. This Maison guy is aware of who he and his father are. Living conditions improved dramatically in the last couple of days.
“Come,” Lawan said, grasping his hand.
Jason slid his legs off the bed, and she helped him stand. It was much easier than before, and he walked with her to the bathroom. She opened the two double doors, and Jason's mouth fell open.
Several candles placed around the room illuminated the bathroom. He couldn’t identify the scent, but it was pleasant. Soft music played in the background. Bubbles flowed over the edge of the sunken tub.
Jason grinned at her. “A bubble bath?”
Lawan giggled and motioned toward the tub.
“This is good, yes?”
“Oh, yes,” he said. I hope the water is hot, he thought. That will take the soreness out.
She escorted him to the edge of the tub. He saw the steps that led into the tub, and he began to wonder if it was a large bathtub or a small swimming pool. As he stepped into the tub, she stopped him.
“Your robe,” she said.
He hesitated.
“I’m not wearing anything underneath.”
She giggled again and sighed, turning her head toward the wall. Jason untied his robe and removed it. He placed the robe in her right hand, and she switched it to her left, still holding his hand with her right.
He slowly descended the steps into the tub, his eyes locked on her head. Occasionally, she tried to monitor his progress down the steps but turned her head when he saw her staring at him.
When he reached the bottom of the tub, he stood in water that came up to the top of his thighs. The bubbles came higher, hiding his nakedness. She led him across the tub to the other side, where he discovered a built-in bench in front of him.
“Sit here and lean back,” she said.
Jason lay on the ergonomic bench in the center of the bath, allowing the warm water to cover him. This was nice. Lawan walked over to the wall and pressed a button, and the bench erupted with many jets, the sound of the Jacuzzi drowning out the soft music.
He searched for Lawan, but she stood behind him. Closing his eyes, he laid his head back. The powerful jets and warm water soothed his aching muscles. He was not sure how long he lay there, but after a period, the jets stopped. Lawan leaned over and gave him a cool bottle of water.
“Thank you,” he said, sipping the bottle.
“You are welcome.”
Gradually, the background music became audible again. Jason rested his head on the tub and closed his eyes. His body jolted when he felt something on his chest. He realized it was a sponge only after grabbing Lawan’s wrist.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“No, no,” he replied. “I-I guess I wasn’t expecting it.” His eyes locked on hers. She was beautiful. If only he had more strength. How many hostages enjoy a sensual bath from a beautiful woman? He smiled at her as she proceeded to rub the sponge over his chest and along his arms. Gentle yet thorough, it was soothing. His eyes closed while she softly rubbed around his face and neck. After several minutes, she stopped. He thought bath time must be over, but then gentle footsteps moved along the side of the tub.
Lawan stood at the steps of the tub, staring at him. The smile was faint, but he had seen that look before. She reached down and untied her robe, uncertainty on her face. The robe fell partially open, and Jason's eyes instinctively shifted to the opening.
She said nothing as she slid the robe off her shoulders and tossed it to the side. Lawan stood majestically in front of him. His eyes traced every curve of her body. Descending the steps, she edged toward him in the bath. His body stirred, and he realized he must be in better shape than he thought.
Her hands caressed him from his feet to his chest, and she smiled when she noticed he was in much better shape, too. Gently, she placed both hands to the sides of his face and softly kissed his lips. He responded in kind, and her breasts pressed into his chest. Jason’s mind checked out as she climbed on top of him, the soft music playing in the background.
43
October 16, 2003
Sterling MacIntosh stood in the lobby of the CSTH Commercial Bank. Caramel-colored teak walls scaled from floor to ceiling, three stories high and soft music played in the background as if delivering some subliminal message to the employees and customers. Customers, the few that were here, were led like an assembly line through whatever their objective was by men in yellow-ochre coats. Sterling chuckled. They reminded him of Century 21 Real Estate salesmen.
His assistant, David, was getting the contract for him to sign. While he waited, his escort in the yellow-ochre jacket snapped his fingers toward the side of the bank. An attractive young woman approached him with a drink on a tray, her heels clicking on the terrazzo floor. Sterling took the drink with a slight nod. The woman smiled briefly, bowed, and retreated from the lobby.
The outfit was a subsidiary of the Bank of China, Ltd. It was one of the newer banks in downtown Bangkok, but Sterling liked what they did with the place. After three minutes, David approached and handed him a folder.
“The contract is ready, sir,” David said. “You can review and sign it. Then we should be all set.”
Sterling scanned the pages and nodded approvingly.
“I’d like to examine the facility first,” Sterling said to their escort.
“Of course, sir.”
The two men followed the yellow-ochre coat to the back of the bank, where they met a tall Asian. Chinese, thought Sterling. Chinese are the tallest group of Asians. His assessment was correct when the man introduced himself—in Mandarin—as the bank president. Sterling replied in Mandarin, causing the bank president to smile wide.
“I hope my English is as good as your Mandarin,” he said.
“Your English is excellent,” Sterling said.
“I trust the paperwork is in order?”
“It seems fine. I’d like to examine the facility before we sign.”
“Of course, of course,” the bank president said. “Please, this way.”
The three men walked
to the back, through four different secure doorways, before they found themselves standing in front of a large vault, guarded by two plainclothes security officers.
The bank president punched in a digital code, which opened a panel. Inside the panel was a tumbler lock, which he proceeded to unlock. When he dialed in the last number, a series of electronic locks retracted. As the last one slid out of the door, there was a loud boom followed by a hiss, and the vault door partially opened.
“This is a four-ton vault door. The walls and the door are three feet of solid steel. No one can break into this. There are too many safeguards.”
“I’m aware of the security of the vault. That’s why we’re here. I want to physically see the inside where I plan to store my inventory.”
“Of course. Follow me.”
Sterling and his assistant followed him into the vault. His eyes scanned the interior. It was perfect. The width, the depth, the height—everything would fit nicely.
He glanced back at the bank president. “And the second door?”
“Of course.” The bank president smiled and pulled a cell phone out of his pocket. After a brief conversation, he moved to the back of the vault and revealed another hidden panel, which contained yet another tumbler lock. When he finished opening this one, the entire wall moved.
The opening led to a loading dock immediately behind the door, which led to an alley behind the bank. Sterling stepped onto the loading dock and observed at least twenty armed guards in the alley with police vehicles at each end, their flashing lights deterring anyone from attempting to enter the alley.
Sterling smiled. He had reviewed the specs months prior, and his people had done all the coordination to ensure this was a secure bank. Nevertheless, he was a hands-on leader and insisted on personally seeing the vault before moving forward.
“It’s perfect.”
“I’m glad you’re pleased,” the bank president said, as his men closed the exterior vault door. The three walked back through the vault into the bank, the interior door closing behind them.
“Do you have any further questions?” the bank president asked.
“Transportation? You said you didn’t have enough armored cars for one trip.”
“Yes, we’ve worked it out. We’ve contracted the armored cars of one of our clients. We work with the owner often. He’s a casino owner in Cambodia. His name is Maison Andrepont.”
The crew loaded in two separate but identical vans at the hotel. The tinted glass indicated a security precaution not typically taken in American aircrew transportation to and from the airport.
Sarathoon had maneuvered his car onto the street, around the corner, and turned into the alley. The farther the van got from the hotel, the more their options for altering their route increased. He needed to strike right away. Parking his car in the alley, he quickly slipped on the black jacket and wrapped a red scarf around his face. He removed a long Pelican case from the trunk and set it on the ground.
Unlocking the clasps on the Pelican case, he checked the RPG and AK-47. The plan was simple. Blow up the first vehicle. Shoot the driver of the second vehicle. Then shoot everyone still alive inside the two vehicles. American aircrew never carry weapons in Thailand. It would have been easier if they were all in one vehicle, but he could make this work.
Returning to the entrance of the alley, he waited until the two white vans rounded the corner and headed toward him. He armed the RPG and hefted it to his shoulder, placing the first van in his sights. When the van moved into the kill zone, Sarathoon squeezed the trigger. The grenade shot toward the first van, smoke trailing behind it. It impacted the front of the van on the driver’s side.
The explosion ripped through the morning quiet, bringing the small caravan to a halt.
Sarathoon dropped the empty tube and grabbed his AK-47. Leaving the safety of the alley, he raised the rifle and squeezed a quick burst at the first van. He started to aim at the second van to shoot the driver, but when he reached the street, he felt a sting in his left arm as the glass window behind him exploded. The report of automatic weapons fire echoed in the streets.
Someone was shooting at him.
44
October 16, 2003
Remi watched the smoke trail of the RPG and James slammed on the brakes just before the RPG impacted the first van. There was a small flash upon impact. The force of the explosion pushed the van sideways a couple of feet before it stopped. Tiny shards of metal flew outwards through the billowing smoke, peppering the back of their car and shattering the rear windshield. All this happened in less than a second. The explosion brought the small caravan to an immediate halt.
The three SEALs riding in the lead car spilled out of the driver's side with guns drawn. Instinctively, they scanned the side of the street. They were exposed and needed to look for additional threats. The crack of an AK-47 came from the same direction the RPG did, and they turned to face the threat.
"Take ‘em out," Remi shouted as he scanned for threats. Hilts, who rode in back, fired a quick three-round burst from his M-4 at the only assailant in sight, a guy with a red scarf over his nose and mouth, wearing a black jacket, and shooting an AK-47.
The target returned fire, blowing out the side windows of their car. The men ducked as the shattered glass spilled onto them and the streets.
Sarathoon took cover behind a parked car, and men bailed out of the vehicle in front of the burning van. Damn, they have an armed escort. Time to escape. He couldn’t sustain a firefight with these men. He fired a burst at the car and retreated into the alley; bullets pelted the walls around him, flinging chips of brick and concrete. Arming a smoke grenade, he dropped it at the entrance, firing another burst as smoke filled the alley. Jumping into his car, he removed the pin from a fragmentation grenade, tossed it behind his car, and raced down the alley. The grenade bounced along the ground into the smoke billowing at the entrance before it exploded.
Sarathoon made a quick left at the end of the alley and entered a busy street. He drove for a block before taking a right turn. He parked the car on the side of the street, removed his scarf and jacket, and stepped out of the vehicle onto the crowded sidewalk, losing himself in the crowd.
“Uh-oh,” Hilts said. “They just popped smoke.”
Remi swung the muzzle of the weapon back toward the alley and fired his H&K MP-5 into the alley before the smoke covered the entrance. The rotten egg smell of the smoke grenade wafted in his direction.
“They’re bugging out,” Remi said. “They weren’t expecting us. Didn’t want a gunfight.”
Glancing back at the rear van, Remi realized it could not back up due to a traffic jam behind it. The lead van was on fire, and he didn’t see any movement through the smoke. The drivers were too scared to enter the firefight and unable to escape to the rear.
“Hilts, cover me. I’m gonna check for survivors.” Remi began a low-crouch shuffle to the van when another explosion rocked the scene, and he dropped to the ground as the concussion pulsed through the street.
“Grenade at the alley,” Hilts yelled. “You’re clear.” Hilts fired where the attack originated, dashed across the street, and pressed his body against the wall adjacent to the alley opening.
Yep, he’s gone, Remi thought. He got back on his feet and continued in a low crouch to the first van. Thick, black smoke poured out of the grill in front of the driver. When he reached the first van, the driver in the second van opened his door, jumped out, and ran down the street. He raised his MP-5 but quickly lowered it. The guy no doubt, scared shitless.
Looking inside, the driver was dead, so was the crewmember in the passenger seat. The guy behind the dead driver was bleeding heavily, and the girl next to him, unconscious. Two guys in the back frantically tried to crawl out but were trapped by their partners in front of them.
Remi slid to the back of the van and opened the hatch.
“Time to go. Everybody out, this way.”
The two crewmembers scrambled over the ba
ck of their seats, on top of the gear and suitcases stored in the back, and out the door.
“Check on the guys in there,” Remi said, pointing at the second van. As soon as the two reached the van, Chris climbed out and ran to Remi.
“Need some help?” Chris said.
"The two up front are dead. The two behind them are wounded. I'll cover for you if you can get them out."
“Okay.”
Remi moved to the right side of the van, scanning for threats, most of it focused on the alley with the smoke. Chris ripped the door open and pulled Lacey out. He picked her up in a fireman’s carry and scurried back to the second van.
Hilts swung around the front and nodded to Remi, who let his weapon hang in its sling and then reached in and grabbed the bleeding guy who sat behind the driver. He tossed him over his shoulder and followed Chris. Everyone piled out of the second van to make room for their two injured crewmembers.
James’ voice came over Remi’s earpiece. “Should we go after him?”
“No,” Remi said into the voice-activated throat mic. “Let’s regroup. Bring the car back to van two. We’re going back to the hotel.”
The sunshine illuminated the room as Lawan opened the curtains, then sashayed across the room next to his bed. She moved with a grace Jason had not recognized before. She was comfortable around him; he could sense that. That was good. He still did not know much about her other than she was Preeda’s mother and very grateful he had protected her. Extremely grateful.
“It is past eleven o’clock. You’ve slept most of the morning.”
He dozed off after eating the breakfast she brought him.
“Yeah, I had a busy night,” he said with a smile.
Her smile faded. “Please forgive me. My—my emotions got the best of me. I shouldn’t have taken advantage of you.”
The Quiet Professional Page 20
