Biowar

26

The helicopter bucked toward the green blanket of fronds, its nose ducking down as if the pilot had decided to try landing on the top of the trees. Karr, sitting in the ancient Huey’s right front seat, watched with growing curiosity as a cleft opened ahead. A waterfall spewed off to the right, a stream dropping a good hundred and fifty feet. The newly risen sun flashed off the water, its glare making the liquid seem like fire flowing from the white heart of the earth. The chopper pivoted and followed the path the water had taken, wrenching itself to the northwest, heading for the border with Myanmar.

“Nice morning,” said Karr.

“Buh,” said the pilot.

“Lot of trees,” said Karr.

“Buh,” repeated the pilot. He seemed to speak neither English nor any of the known dialects of Thai. In fact, based on their conversation since leaving Chiang Mai about a half hour ago, Karr had come to the conclusion that the man’s vocabulary consisted of exactly one word: buh.

“Military camp far?” asked Karr.

“Buh.”

“Just ahead, huh?”

“Buh.”

“You from around here?”

The pilot didn’t answer. Instead he pushed hard on the yoke and threw the Huey into another sharp turn, descending at the same time. The helicopter seemed to move backward, then straight down, then both together. The skids brushed up against some of the treetops. Red clay appeared before them. The noise of the engine caught up and dust flew in a fine mist; the helicopter had touched down.

“You were beginning to make me think I oughta put on my seat belt,” said Karr.

“Buh.”

“Nice flying with you,” said Karr. He held out his hand to the pilot, who looked at him quizzically. Karr gave him a shoulder chuck and popped open the door, sliding out into the dust storm with his two rucksacks of gear and a long case containing his rifle. The two Marines he’d borrowed from the embassy at Telach’s insistence pushed out of the back of the helicopter, gathering their own gear. Both men were dressed in plain khaki uniforms that did not have insignia, though anyone looking at them would spend all of three seconds guessing they were American.

And maybe another millisecond more figuring they were Marines.

The Huey revved and left them standing in the swirling dust.

“Put two of these landing areas together and you’d have almost enough room for a half-court game of hoops,” he said.

“It’s forward base. What’d you expect, O’Hare?” asked Chafetz.

“Have a good nap, Sandy?”

“Dreamed of you the whole time.”

“Where’s the reception committee?”

“Clearing up ahead, on your right. They’re watching you.”

He turned and glanced at his Marines, who’d shouldered their rucks. The men carried early-model M16s identical to the weapons the Thai forces used — another bit of fussy misdirection that would fool no one, but Karr had decided there were better things to do than waste his time arguing with the Marines’ captain, who, after all, was himself only following someone else’s orders.

“You guys ready?” Karr asked the Marines.

“Locked and loaded,” said the shorter of the two men, Horace Foster. Both men were lance corporals, but Foster had enlisted a few days earlier than his companion, Jason Gidrey, and therefore considered himself spokesman for the unit.

“Locked and loaded is the only way to travel,” said Karr.

“I thought these guys were friendly,” said Foster.

“Friendly’s a relative term,” said Karr. “Smile; we’re being watched.”

Karr walked through the gap in the trees, treading down a path too narrow for a good-sized horse. He saw movement on his right, then in front — a pair of kids in fatigues totting M16s jerked up to challenge him.

“Heya,” he said. “Yo, Chafetz, what are my words?”

A linguist back in the Art Room relayed the Thai phrase for “hello,” which sounded something like “sa-wut dee.”

It had about as much effect on them as buh. The two men, members of the Thai Army, squared their rifles. Foster and Gidrey twitched behind him.

“You sure I didn’t say, ‘Shoot my butt off’?” Karr asked Chafetz as he walked toward them. He edged his hands out in as universally nonbelligerent a manner as possible.

“Their major’s en route,” said Chafetz. “It’ll be okay.”

Another Thai appeared behind the two men as Karr sauntered down from the landing patch. Though the man wasn’t wearing any insignia, he was clearly a superior — older and with a more purposeful frown.

“I’m Tommy Karr,” said Karr in English.

The man said nothing as Karr approached, but the Deep Black op interpreted the fact that he hadn’t been shot at yet as a good sign. The Art Room had sprinkled a vessel’s worth of bugs around the jungle camp before sunrise and was also getting an optical feed from a CIA Huron “Eyes” asset; they’d at least know who to come after if he got waxed.

“Tommy Karr,” the agent repeated when he was close enough for the M16s to poke him in the chest. “These are Foster and Gidrey. How’s it goin’?”

“Commander Karr,” said the Thai officer in a thick accent. “I am Major Sourin.”

“Major.” Karr dropped his gear and stuck out his hand, but Sourin didn’t take it. Instead, he spun on his heel and headed into the thicket.

“Here we go,” Karr said to his Marines. “Keep your eyes open for a steak joint. I’m starving.”

Sourin’s camp consisted of two huts, a large tent that appeared to be American surplus circa 1945, and a number of dug-in positions. He had forty-five men divided into two platoons, with a handful of aides serving as a headquarters or command unit. His weapons were old and had seen considerable use before most of his soldiers were even born. Sourin’s force had nothing heavier than 60mm mortars dating from World War II.

One thing it did have, however, was two command laptops and a supposedly secure connection back to the Thai regional command. The unit’s node had been used to send the E-mails found on Kegan’s system — but did that mean the message had been sent from here, or that the system had been compromised? The laptops used dial-up modems over the command’s fiber optics landline, which ran through the jungle back to the territorial capital, which meant that the Art Room had to wait until they were physically connected to look at them. Thus far, only one of the computers had hooked in, and then only for a few seconds, so the Art Room hadn’t had enough time to completely search the hard drive,

Karr had a solution — a dongle that would plug into the modem ports and flush the drive back to the Art Room via a satellite connection. The only problem was getting it onto the laptops.

Karr spotted the units sitting on a small folding desk next to the briefing table in the command tent when the major led him inside; one of the major’s orderlies sat a few feet away, and there was no easy way to grab it without doing so in plain sight.

An option Karr considered but rejected for the time being.

“The guerrillas have camps in the mountains all around us, on both sides of the border,” said Major Sourin, who’d received orders from above to brief the American “terror specialist.” The instructions included a line that might be politely translated as: “Make nice but not too nice to the buffoon before sending him on his way.”

“The guerrillas aggressive?” Karr asked.

Sourin shrugged. “Most are more interested in each other than fighting the Myanmar government,” said the major.

The Thai officer explained that his government’s view toward the guerrillas varied depending on their exact affiliation. Because the Myanmar government was a repressive regime and, more important, was at odds with the Thai government, groups genuinely opposed to the Myanmar regime were viewed fairly benignly. But some of the guerrillas across the border were simply pirates, preying on anyone they could, and most of their victims were Thai citizens. It angered Sourin that he did not have the resources to properly deal with the guerrillas.

What Sourin didn’t say but what Karr had already gathered from his briefing, was that the lack of formal control and governmental infrastructure in the jungle to the northeast meant that anyone with a few weapons and iodine pills to purify the water could operate there. Four or five of the guerrilla camps just over the border were known to shelter radical Islamists, who though opposed to the Myanmar government, were on American watch lists because of their connection with international terror groups. At least two of these had long histories of violence against Westerners and had, in fact, operated in both Thailand and Myanmar for over two decades.

Sourin also didn’t say that with all the activity going on near the Cambodian border, his sector had less priority than Fourth of July picnic planning the week before Christmas.

“Can you plot out the camps for me?” Karr asked. “As many as you know.”

The major said something to one of his aides and a large topographical map was produced. There were xs scattered around.

“We’re not sure how many camps,” said the major.

“Would satellite photos help?”

The major didn’t answer.

“I can probably get some satellite analysis for you,” said Karr. “Help figure it all out.”

“Why exactly are you here?” said the major.

“There’s one group I’d like to check up on,” Karr told him. “I’d like to look at them up close. Probably they’re not going to be very friendly. You help me. I help you.”

“You’re getting way ahead of yourself,” scolded Chafetz. “We don’t even know if they’re on our side, for christsake. Let’s check the computers before we start making deals.”

The major said something to his aides in Thai. All three men left the tent. Karr thumbed the two Marines out as well.

“Why should I help you?” asked the major.

“My enemy is your enemy?” Karr smiled, hoping the major’s English education had included all of the important clichés. “One hand washes the other?”

The major gave him a sarcastic smile. Karr expected a lecture in the realities of jungle warfare, especially for a unit stranded far from support, with limited firepower. But instead the major took a more direct approach.

“What’s in it for me and my men?”

“Better weapons than you have now,” Karr told him. “Minimis for starters — M249s. They’re squad-level machine guns. Belgians make them.”

“I know what Minimis are,” said Sourin.

“GPS locator gear, night goggles, better computers. What are these, from 1960?”

Karr went over to the laptops and picked one up, glancing at the unit. He didn’t recognize the make, but the plug on the side for the modem looked to be standard. There was a serial port, a parallel connection, and a USB bus. He’d have no problem connecting his dongle.

“Hey, you got Donkey Kong on this?” Karr pulled the machine open. “I love that old game.”

The major put his hand on the cover, closing it.

“My commander told me to cooperate with you, but he did not order an attack.”

The NSA op shrugged. “Your call.”

Karr decided Sourin wasn’t the type to suggest a direct monetary bribe and, in fact, was probably even a little put out at the offer of weapons. Which were good things, Karr thought, though they didn’t particularly advance his current agenda.

“Let me ask you a question, Major,” said Karr. He reached into his pocket for the photos of Kegan and Pound. “There a lot of white guys running around the jungle here?”

“Tommy, no,” hissed Chafetz. “If he’s working with them, you’re cooked.”

Sourin made a dismissive gesture. “How would they get up here?” he asked.

“Kinda what I’m wondering,” said Karr. “I have a couple of places I’d like to check out, and your help would be useful.”

“I’ll have to talk to my commander,” said Sourin.

“Great.”

“Why did you show him the pictures?” demanded Chafetz.

“Got to find out whose side he’s on somehow, right?”

“Jesus.”

“So what did he do?”

“So far, all he’s done is tell his commander that you’re looking for some Americans who are apparently working with the guerrillas. That and he thinks you’re crazy.”

“I like him, too,” said Karr. He continued walking along the camp’s perimeter line, avoiding the area to the left that had been booby-trapped. Located on a slight rise, the camp commanded the only road through the border area, but in truth the deep potholes and ruts made it almost unusable.

“There are three possible camps, all connected with Muslim extremists according to Thai intelligence,” said Chafetz.

“Which one do we hit first?”

“We’re still trying to figure out which is our best bet. In the meantime, you need to tap into those computers before you get anywhere.”

“Looks like I have to wait until tonight,” Karr told her. “I may not even be able to get in then.”

“Marie isn’t going to go for any sort of armed reconnaissance mission over the border unless we’re sure they’re on our side.”

“Not her call. It’s Rubens’.”

“I doubt he will, either.”

“Oh, don’t be such a pessimist. Listen, you sure you can’t airlift some Mickey D’s in? My stomach’s rumblin’.”