Plausible Denial (37 page)

He
settled in behind the rifle, inserted the light intensifying low-light
eyepiece, and sighted through the 8 X 32 variable power day/night scope.

The
front of the mountain villa jumped out at him, clear and large. It was a
two-story, dark wood building with a curving, Thai-style ornate roof line.
Darkened floor to ceiling windows ran the entire length of the top floor with
another smaller, higher window under the peek of the roof. The first floor had
an ornate, arched portico over the double-door main entrance with two darkened
windows on either side.

A
paved driveway arched around the front of the villa in a horseshoe which ran
under the portico of the main entrance. The entire perimeter of the villa was
illuminated by security lights, enhancing Mac’s view of the building through
the night scope.

Mac
adjusted the mil-dot recticle in the scope at thirteen hundred and seventy-four
meters and scanned the area in front of the villa. He saw two guards patrolling
the front of the building and one dozing in a chair at the front door. He set
the recticle crosshairs on the chest of the guard at the front door, and slid
back away from the gun.

“We’re
in good shape,” he announced.

Santos
had set up a small campsite in a wooded area behind them. It had a covered sleeping
area with the two sleeping bags laid out neatly on each side. That done, he
went to work setting up the tactical spotting scope next to Mac.

“This
thing’s a dream,” he said, looking through the scope. “I can count the nose
hairs on that sleepy dude at the front door.”

“Yep,
Barker really came through for us. And to think I almost didn’t bring the
sniper gear on this trip.”

“I’m
hungry,” said Santos.

“What
else is new? And I’m tired. How about you take the first shift and eat your
fill of our gourmet granola bars, and I’ll relieve you at daybreak.” He checked
his watch. “It’s almost three-thirty now. The sun will be coming up in another
couple of hours.”

“Okay,
I’ll wake you if Khun Ut comes out and wiggles his ass at us.”

“Yeah,
that reminds me.” Mac dug into his backpack and pulled out a notebook and
pencil and handed them to Culler.

“We
need to keep a detailed account of what goes on at the villa from this point
on. Everything. Light patterns – when lights come on and go off in each room –
movements of the guards, people coming and going, visitors, everything that
happens should be noted in this book. I have a feeling we may be here for a few
days and we’ll need to get a good grip on the routine of the place. Tomorrow
we’ll find a target someplace at the same range and do a little target
practice. Nothing beats actually seeing where the bullets land.”

Chapter One Hundred-Seventeen

S
antos
let Mac sleep until he awakened by himself at almost seven-thirty.

“Why
didn’t you wake me?” asked Mac, rubbing his eyes.

“You
were sleeping like a teenager. Par for the course. I didn’t have the heart to
wake such a sleeping beauty.”

“Yeah,
yeah, yeah. Anything happening?”

Santos
glanced down at his log book. “A car arrived at six-twenty and pulled around
back. There’s probably a parking area back there. The light went on in the top
left window at six-thirty. The guards changed shifts at seven. All the first
floor lights went on just a few moments ago. That’s it so far.”

Mac
walked to the far end of the campsite to relieve himself. When he returned,
Culler said, “Don’t forget to sprinkle some of Barker’s animal repellent on
your pee. We don’t want anything sniffing around here and we definitely don’t
want to attract any hound dogs…”

Mac
nodded and did what he was told. “You’re right,” he said softly, “we can’t be
too careful up here.”

Mac
ate a granola bar and sucked water out of his Camelbak. “Why don’t you go get
some rest and I’ll take over here. When you wake up we’ll zero in the Lapua.”

“I’m
okay for now. Let’s get it over with so we know the thing is going to hit what
you’re aiming at. I’d hate to miss an opportunity if one presented itself.”

“You
got it. I’ve got it set at 1374 meters. So all we need to do is find a decent
target at the same range in the same direction. There’s a pretty constant
breeze coming down the valley from north to south. We’ll have to fine-tune the
sights for windage as well as distance.”

Mac
got down behind the Lapua while Culler climbed in behind the spotter scope next
to him.

Culler
reduced the power on the Leupold scope from forty to twenty and surveyed the
area around the villa. Mac did the same with his rifle scope.

They
spoke softly, in hushed tones.

See
that grassy field just to the left of the house?” said Culler. “There are a
couple of good rocks sticking out of the ground that you could use as practice
targets. They’re at about the same range.”

“Yeah,
I see what you mean. That could work… But what if we got a whining ricochet off
one of the rocks? That could alert someone.”

    
“What kind of a wallop does that Lapua pack? It’s not like a 50 cal, is it?”

“Actually,
it’s pretty close. The .338 round is fairly new to the sniper community. It’s
the first and only caliber that was designed specifically for sniping. The
bullet will arrive at one thousand meters with enough energy left to penetrate
five layers of military body armor and still make the kill. It was designed
that way. Its effective range is about a mile, or 1600 meters, and we’re just
about three hundred meters shy of that.”

Culler
shook his head. “Wow! So that means at 1374 meters it will still penetrate
maybe…three or four layers of body armor!”

“You
got it. It’s a real killer. For extreme long-range anti-personnel purposes, the
.338 Lapua is the king.”

“Okay,
I got it. No rocks. Let’s see, what’s that a few meters back from the edge of
the driveway there? Looks like a piece of trash.” He increased the
magnification of the spotter scope back to forty power. “Yep, it’s a box. A
cardboard box. Will that do?”

“I
see it. It’s a little close to the side of the house, but I think it’ll work.
Sight the rangefinder on it to make sure.”

Culler
sighted on the box, adjusting the dials. “1376 meters. Close enough?”

“Close
enough for government work. Now, what do you estimate the breeze to be down
there?”

“I
don’t know, five, maybe ten knots. Something like that.”

“Let’s
enter ten knots. The wind kind of sweeps down through the valley. Probably stronger
down there than it is up here. Okay let’s try one. Got the target in your
scope?”

“Got
it, Mac. Take your shot.”

Mac
squeezed off a round and the rifle bucked, but the only sound coming out of the
suppressor was a muffled pssst.

“
You kicked up dirt about four feet high and three feet left of the target.”

“Okay,
we need to bring it down and right.” Mac adjusted the elevation and traverse
turrets on the top of the scope. “Let’s see, one mil-dot right will bring it
over one meter, and, well, let’s bring it down a mil-dot as well.”

Mac
settled back in behind the gun again and adjusted himself.
“Ready?”      

“I’m
ready.”

Mac
sighted, exhaled half a breath, and squeezed off another round. After what
seemed like seconds, the box flipped.

 “You
clipped the top of the box. Almost in the center at about twelve, maybe one
o’clock. I’d leave it right there. It sure takes awhile for the bullet to get
there.”

Mac
thought out loud, speaking to no one in particular. “Windage is okay. We’ll
have to adjust when we feel more or less wind up here. But the wind will always
come from the same direction during this season, and we can’t anticipate gusts.
Range is good too, but I could bring it down one click, one-tenth of a mil-dot,
to make it better. Then all we have to worry about is windage. Okay, down one
click. Let’s try one more.”

The
last round hit the box just a few inches to the left of center.

“We
may have gotten a little gust that time, but the elevation is dead on. I think
we’re good to go.”

Santos
scooted back away from the spotter scope and stretched. “Man, that’s good
shooting, Mac. I’ve really got to hand it to you. I never saw anything like
that before.”

“With
the right equipment, you can accomplish anything. This rifle is a dream.”

 “How
far does that bullet drop at this range?”

“Well,
at fifteen hundred meters the bullet will drop about seven or eight meters. So
you’re actually shooting in a big arch. That’s why the ammo is so important. It
has to be perfect in every way to get the proper consistency. The trajectory of
the bullet depends upon so many factors – distance, wind, humidity, weight of
the bullet, muzzle velocity, all those things. Even the rotation of the earth.”

“No
shit! The rotation of the earth?”

“Absolutely.
That’s why I always try to sight my rifle in at the spot where I’m going to be
shooting. It doesn’t matter much over short distances, but when you’re talking
a mile or so away, it definitely affects the trajectory of the bullet. It’s
called the Coriolis effect. The earth rotates from west to east, so at this
range firing almost due east like we are, the target drops away from you
slightly by the time the bullet arrives. That means you have to aim six inches
lower; six inches higher if you’re firing due west. Get it?”

Culler
shook his head and laughed. “And I’m supposed to be the engineer…”

Chapter One Hundred-Eighteen

T
he
Cambodian reported back to Khun Ut on his meeting with Colonel Sunthonwet. Khun
Ut was not pleased. The two
farangs
were back in his neighborhood, and
this made him very uneasy. He felt the same mixture of fear and anxiety he felt
when Thai government forces attacked his father’s headquarters in Ban Hin Taek
more than twenty years ago.

That
raid brought down Khun Sa’s narcotics empire, almost totally destroyed his
village mansion, and resulted in the death of his only legitimate son. The
wounds Khun Ut suffered in the battle kept him from fleeing with his father,
and left him with a permanent limp as a constant reminder of the betrayal.

Khun
Sa was forced into permanent exile in Burma where he and the remnants of his
two thousand man strong Shan United Army had to keep constantly on the move to
avoid the relentless pursuit of Burmese army. Finally, after ten years of
living in the jungle, with attrition and desertions of his men, he surrendered
to Burmese forces and spent the rest of his life in a Rangoon prison.

While
Khun Sa was in exile, the twenty-one year old Khun Ut, by then a seasoned
veteran of the opium trade, remained in Ban Hin Taek where he nursed his wounds
and quietly began to rebuild Khun Sa’s empire from his father’s mountain
retreat overlooking the village.

His
greatest fear was to suffer the same fate as his father. Indeed, he did
everything in his power to assure that a repeat of that raid would never
happen. The money he spent on bribes to the Thai military and government
officials far exceeded what were paid by his father.

The
influence he wielded within the pinnacles of Thai government in Bangkok
virtually assured there would be no large scale attacks planned against him or
his operations, and his control over local law enforcement, military and
government leaders permitted him to operate in and around the Golden Triangle
without interference.

But
now the American CIA had entered into the equation. He knew the CIA was behind
the downfall of his father – they had forced the Thai Prime Minister, Prem
Tinsulanonda, and the commander of the Thai army, General Chavalit Yongchaiyut,
to launch the Top Secret, large-scale assault that had driven his father out of
Ban Hin Taek and into the jungle.

Something
like that would never again happen. Not under his watch. Since Khun Ut took
control he had made sure of that. But now it appeared that the CIA was taking
matters into its own hands – was working against him without the consent and
cooperation of the Thai government.

Could
that be possible? Khun Ut didn’t think so at first. But now…now he couldn’t be
certain. Certainly his prisoner, Charly Blackburn, the CIA base chief in Chiang
Mai, would know the answer to that question, and many more as well. Ung Chea
would extract the information he required.

Those
two
farangs
had caused a lot of mischief. They had attacked his
warehouse, killing several of his men in the action, and had poisoned at least
one of his heroin shipments.

Now
his heroin distribution network was in shambles, buyers were shunning his
product, the chemists in Hong Kong didn’t want to refine his heroin for fear it
would taint other shipments, and worst of all, his competitors were salivating
at the thought of his demise, hovering over him like a flock of vultures
waiting to pick his bones.

But
if his father had taught him one thing, it was that offense was the best
defense. Retreat was not an option for Khun Ut. He was always more ruthless
than his enemies – that had kept him at the top of the heap – and now they
would feel his wrath like never before. He would start with the CIA – those two
farangs
and their all-seeing, intrusive Porter spy plane.

And
perhaps, if necessary, he could use the CIA woman and the Hmong as bargaining
chips. He just had to figure out how to use them in the most effective way.

Chapter One Hundred-Nineteen

U
ng
Chea and Paiboon discussed their game plan for the enhanced interrogation of
Charly Blackburn. In the end, they were convinced that Khun Ut was right.
Humiliation and fear would work on this woman.