Sea of Lies: An Espionage Thriller (5 page)

Nolan started with the basics, but was talking at twice his usual sedate pace. “Thanks for bailing us out. We were in a bad way. This afternoon we were one hundred fifty miles to the west, checking out an airfield. We found a new runway that’s over two miles long—” Nolan interrupted himself midstream. “Did they find MH370 yet?” In the excitement, he’d forgotten it.

“Nope. As of a couple of hours ago, no trace. It’s a real puzzler, that one.”

“Well, I found the airfield that was showing on a sat photo an embassy researcher gave me earlier today. That’s where we’re headed now—to pick her up so we can find out more.”

“Sounds like you’ve met our Millie, then,” Ryder said. Nolan thought he detected a leer.

“The landing strip is surrounded by a ten-foot fence and razor wire, and guarded by Special Forces types in green camouflage uniforms. Their boss is someone I met back in 1985 in Thailand. Ex-Army Ranger and CIA in Vietnam, founded an arms trading company in Bangkok after the war, ran guns across Southeast Asia, Africa and Iran before he disappeared mid-1985 when his business partner was found hanged.”

“Never to be seen again?”

“A few traces, but nothing concrete. His name’s Robin Teller and he’s lived in Burma since 2007. He said he provides security to Khun Sa’s children. I think he’s helping the Army ship drugs. Whatever he’s doing, he’s using that airstrip. He let Kyaw and me go before he saw the aerial photos of the runway. I’m certain he’ll try to kill us to shut us up.”

“Well, on that happy note, here we are,” Ryder said. They were outside the embassy annex in Dubern Park where the CIA and DEA had their offices. As in the morning, the wrought iron gate was closed and there was an armed guard on duty.

Nolan pulled out Millie’s card and asked Ryder to call her. Spotting the name, he handed the card back. “I already have this one.” Ryder dialed and spoke briefly. “She’s on her way.”

While they waited, Ryder took a call. He hung up and said, “That was Hecker. We’re all meeting at a safe house we set up off the books. No one outside the DEA knows where Club Avatar is. Have you told this story to Matthews or anyone else?”

“Not a soul. That’s exactly what I told Millie. We could well have a leak in the embassy or even the Agency,” he said.

On cue, a breathless Millie exited the embassy annex at a trot with a shoulder bag on one arm and laptop case on the other, breasts heaving. She opened up the passenger door and took inventory. “Bob! You look awful,” was followed by a distinctly cooler, “Hello, Travis.” The door shut and the light went out, but Nolan could see Ryder’s smirk hanging in the air. He decided Ryder was a better male bonding buddy than boyfriend.

Within five minutes Nolan had no idea where they were headed, only that it featured plenty of alleys. Twice their driver stopped, shut off the engine and killed the lights, windows down, listening.

Ryder rattled Nolan’s already frayed nerves when he jumped out at the first stop, dropped the rear gate and racked a magazine into a tactical rifle. Ryder slid back into the passenger seat, weapon and night-vision goggles in hand. “Just to be safe,” he said.

“What are you carrying?” Nolan asked.

“It’s a SCAR Standard, basically a more accurate AK. I used it in the SEALs and it’s my favorite for urban work.”

“Today at the airbase, the soldiers carried what looked to be the same guns the Rangers packed in Iraq when I was posted in Baghdad and Ramadi in oh-six,” Nolan said.

“Yeah, that would be Ranger standard issue M-4 Carbines. They’re about a decade behind the other Special Forces when it comes to guns. Did the weapons have anything on the ends of the barrels?”

“No, I’m positive they didn’t.” Nolan didn’t share that he’d been staring at those weapons with morbid fascination, and the barrels were clean save for the front sights.

“Good. If the first bullets don’t kill us, at least we’ll know we’re being shot at.”

For more on Burma’s geography, Stuxnet, the Phoenix Program and many other topics raised in Chapters 1-3, download the fact-and-photo-packed
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CHAPTER FOUR

CLUB AVATAR

SATURDAY NIGHT, MARCH 8, RANGOON

A half hour later, they pulled up to a closed gate on a darkened residential street. An indistinct figure opened the gate and the SUV parked around the back. As soon as Millie, Nolan, Ryder and the driver exited, more unseen hands pulled a tarp over the SUV. Ryder kept the SCAR and goggles with him as they went in.

“Welcome.” Sam Hecker was there to greet them, at least in voice. Through the dark they followed a trail of glow sticks laid through the kitchen, dining and living areas, and up the stairs. “Mind your steps and no flash photography, please,” Hecker quipped.

Upstairs they edged sideways through a door into what had been a large master bedroom. The windows were shuttered from the inside and overhead fluorescent lights blazed. There were chairs, two PCs on tiny desks and a big-screen TV with a large conference table as the centerpiece. The BBC ran on mute; the crawl noted that MH370 was still missing. The map indicated the Gulf of Thailand as the likely crash site.

“Sit, everyone. Bob, take us through it piece by piece. Leave nothing out.” Hecker was a different man from the softball pitcher with a highball glass Nolan had met the night before. Clean-cut features, short brown hair and a choirboy's smile made Sam Hecker appear soft until you actually saw him in action.

Nolan took a chair. “Sure, Sam, but I haven’t eaten all day. Millie hasn’t eaten dinner, either. Can we get some food?” On cue the housekeeper entered the room. In short order, Nolan was smearing peanut butter over saltine crackers, sampling Cheetos and raisins, and washing it all down with a warm Dr. Pepper. Millie was less impressed and picked at a couple of items. He surmised that the safe house grocery shopping took place at the Rangoon American Club’s expatriate comfort food commissary.

Nolan spent an hour taking everyone through the story, including interruptions and retelling. Hecker was particularly interested in the four-vehicle convoy, but Nolan couldn’t do any better than a general description of the dark gray SUV and brown K-Line containers. It wasn’t much. Three-quarters through his tale, Ryder pushed away from the table and placed phone calls from the corner.

Hecker’s second area of interest was the airfield. Millie was the most help there. Hecker’s irritation at the dual indignities of the DEA’s being grounded and the absence of imaging satellite capacity rankled. He cursed Matthews.

Nolan's bugbear Teller was Hecker’s third focal point, and Hecker had a different take. “Robin Teller, a.k.a. Jay Toffer, is well known to the DEA as the head of Khun Sa’s family’s security, most specifically chairman Myat Noe and her Golden Elephant group. Toffer hires and trains ex-Burma Special Forces operators, puts them in uniforms and pretends he’s running his own Ranger unit.”

Hecker massaged his temples with his thumbs as he gathered his thoughts. Despite graying sideburns, at first glance he looked to be in his late thirties. Only the fine crows’ feet and an old man’s eyes belied the impression left by the even white teeth, firm chin and ready smile.

“But Toffer and Golden Elephant are clean on the drug front. DEA had people inside GE for over a year when I arrived two-plus years ago. In early 2013, we moved our agent out as it was dead quiet. And why not? The Opium King had already made and laundered billions, so with hundreds of millions left, why would the children risk losing it all by jumping back into drugs? Finally, I’m not convinced MH370 landed out there. We’ll interview a sample of people under the likely flight path and find out if they heard or saw anything.”

“Sam, you know those peasants wouldn’t say shit if their mouths were full of it. The Army has them terrified,” Ryder said.

“Fair enough, but the provincial police chief is my friend and you know him, too,” Hecker said. “Zaw runs a good operation. He used to be in Lashio but made so many drug busts that the generals promoted him to run Irrawaddy State where he wouldn’t be in their way. Maybe no civilians heard or saw anything, but the officers on the ground will speak up if Major Zaw asks them."

"That's where Zaw ended up? Hell, no one told me," Ryder said.

“We know that at night the civilian radars are turned off. The generals almost were caught last year when the police and DEA put that sting on them. Those corrupt bastards sabotaged their nation’s defense readiness rather than risk providing more incriminating evidence via radar tapes. My hunch is that GE built a new strip for the junta. Maybe as an escape route if it all goes pear-shaped in a hurry, or merely as another place to run their drugs and money in and out.”

Millie jumped in. “If that’s true, then what about the convoy? That could contain people or cargo off MH370. And why would Teller care so much about an airfield GE’s built for the Army? I mean, he’s lurking on a Saturday, threatening Bob and stabbing Kyaw. The Army has three or four bases just like it upcountry and Teller doesn’t hang out there. It doesn’t add up. We’ve got to go back out and look.”

Ryder said, “She’s right.”

Hecker replied, “Fine, but there’s nothing that ties three containers and an SUV to the airstrip, much less MH370. Bob didn’t see any uniforms. He didn’t get any plates or photos. We'll have to find those containers. As for the rest of it, let’s aim to visit tomorrow before noon.”

Nolan added, “If we’re going at all, make it tonight. That airfield is hot regardless if MH370 was there or not. There will be activity out there, but precisely what, I can’t tell you.”

“We need to get Matthews involved and I’ll also call Captain Abrahams,” Millie said. “Even shorthanded, we can probably get fifteen men out there if Sam can spare a few of his agents.”

Hecker's boyish features contorted into something uglier than a scowl. He slammed the tabletop with his open palms. “Whoa! There’s no way Toffer/Teller has been in-country since 2007 with a private army of US-equipped, Ranger-look-alike mercenaries and someone in the embassy didn’t know about it. Given that Teller’s last known job was arms dealer to the CIA, you’ll pardon me if I think someone in Rangoon station is in on the secret. What better candidate than the COS?  There’s no fucking way we’re telling Lloyd Matthews anything until we know what we’re dealing with.

“As for embassy security, Abrahams and his Marines are good men, but anything you tell them will be on Matthews’s desk tomorrow. We’ll work up a cover story for Kyaw’s injury to justify the need to have him under guard at the hospital. For now, we keep the circle small.”

Nolan didn’t disagree with Hecker’s professional judgment, but wondered how much was colored by the DEA head’s palpable hatred of Matthews. There was plenty to dislike based on Nolan’s two prior meetings since the COS’s arrival in Burma in 2012. Over the fifteen or so years Matthews had been on the payroll, he’d demonstrated sharp elbows and sharper ambitions. With the physique of an underweight volleyball player, his 6’3” height might have been his best feature. Matthews lacked the grace that marked a true diplomat. To go with his gelled, swept-back sandy hair, his face was a mismatch with a perfect pointed nose, bleached even teeth and ears that jutted out. “Looks like someone left the doors ajar on a Land Rover,” Nolan once remarked at an off-site. That Matthews had been right behind him had cemented their mutual disdain.

Matthews sported a phony interpersonal charm that most people could see from across the room. Seeing him work a cocktail party was like watching a street magician perform tricks after you’d already spotted the sleight of hand. Nolan couldn’t understand how people like Matthews prospered in any organization, much less the CIA, where reading character was part of the job description. Matthews’s peers could have long ago leaked his name and real job title on
jihadi
websites and let the terrorists take care of the rest.

Turning to Nolan, Hecker said, “When the dust settles, we’ll need you and Kyaw to sign off on the same fairy tale. The usual DEA undercover sting. It went wrong. Bad guys hurt Kyaw. You escaped, but they got a look, so now we’re being careful.”

“That’s fine. I agree with everything you said. But we have to get back before Teller destroys whatever evidence is still around,” Nolan said.

Ryder looked at Hecker, who nodded. “We hear you. We can mount up in the next ninety minutes and get there by 4:30 a.m., maybe sooner. It gets light at six, so we’ll want to be in-and-out fast.”

Millie said, “I'm coming with you. I can help find the building near the airstrip.”

Hecker replied, “Millie, if you still have the GPS coordinates, we’ll find it. And besides, if we aren’t bringing the CIA into the loop, what in the hell do I tell Matthews when he wonders where you are?”

Ryder added, “This won’t be capture the flag at the Farm,” and bestowed a condescending look. Millie’s return gaze was venomous.

Nolan had heard enough. Rejuvenated by half a jar of peanut butter and a stack of crackers, he waded in. “We need to get going. I’ve got to go because I’m the only one who knows where the Hyundai is, plus my passport is in that farmer’s sock drawer. We’ll need someone to drive the Toyota over and the Hyundai back. With luck, we’ll find the same turnoff I used when I hiked in earlier—”

Ryder interrupted, “Absolutely the last place we’ll use is the side road you took earlier today.”

“Sorry, you’re right. That was stupid. But at a minimum I need to lead the driver to the Hyundai and get my passport. So we drive out together, the DEA team goes to the runway while I split off and head to the farmer’s house, fetch the Hyundai, and rejoin you for the return leg.”