Emerald Buddha

Chapter 24

Reggie Waters, former Georgetown halfback and now one of the CIA’s deep-jungle field specialists, stepped from the jet and made his way to the arrivals area inside the airport, checking his cell phone signal as he walked. He’d been on planes for the equivalent of two days, with the connections and the time difference from Washington to Bangkok, and he was anxious to meet the treasure hunters, who headquarters had assured him were already searching for the downed plane.

Reggie had arranged with Uncle Pete to meet up after the day’s helicopter flight, and he checked the time as he strode through the terminal to where a throng of sad little taxis and tuk-tuks waited outside in the shade provided by the roof overhang. He selected the least decrepit vehicle and gave the driver the address of the group’s hotel as he blotted his brow, his skin the color of cappuccino from a Caucasian father and Jamaican mother. The low-horsepower motorcycle engine revved to life and the driver called out to his fellows, presumably announcing when he’d return.

The town had all the charm of a fungal infection, but Reggie felt at home. He’d spent more than his share of time in Cambodia, Laos, Vietnam, and Central America, so he was used to the conditions. Compared to some of those spots, Chiang Rai was Park Avenue.

The trip to the hotel took ten minutes, and by the time he arrived, he was ready to be rid of the tuk-tuk, the exhaust of which seemed to spew directly into the passenger seating area. He paid the driver and carried his bag to the office. He was accustomed to living out of a suitcase and, sometimes, out of a tent; it was often rough duty, but he did a job few could, and it was a necessary one, he believed.

At forty-three Reggie was old by field standards to still have an operational career, but he dreaded the prospect of a desk job — the inevitable future as an analyst, which would pay well but was about as exciting as getting his teeth cleaned. Reggie was an adrenaline junkie through and through, and the idea of sitting in a cubicle made him cringe, so much so that he’d begun exploring retirement to one of the islands he’d set his eye on. Belize, Honduras, Panama, all had the environment he enjoyed — away from his fellow man, living in harmony with nature.

The hotel was passable, and he killed time wandering the nearby streets. When his six o’clock meeting with the group didn’t happen, he began to worry, and by nightfall he was sure something had gone wrong. When eight o’clock came and went with no Uncle Pete, he made a series of calls to headquarters, the last of which assured him that he would receive instructions as soon as anyone knew anything.

Half an hour later his phone rang, and he thumbed it to life on the second ring. “Waters,” he answered.

“Big problem. Air traffic control shows their transponder in the middle of the Laotian jungle.” The dispassionate voice gave him the coordinates.

“Maybe they located the target?”

“Negative — they’re not answering their sat phone, and they didn’t call, which they would have if they’d found the plane. The transponder signal is weak, but it looks like it’s coming from the middle of a small river a few miles from the Mekong. We had a satellite overhead and there wasn’t much cloud cover in that area, so we were able to pick them up on the historical footage from the bird.” Reggie’s control paused. “It shows the helo crashing into the river.”

“Shot down?”

“Not that we could see. The rotor looks like it just froze up. It dropped like a rock.”

“Crap. So how should I proceed?”

“We zoomed in, and four passengers managed to make it out.”

“Then they’re alive?”

“At least they were then. But it gets worse. Drug smugglers are operating in the area, and they went after our gang. So they’re now either dead or stranded somewhere in the jungle. We want you to go in and verify which it is.”

“I’m presuming there’s been no communication,” Reggie said, just to be clear.

“Roger that.”

“Any backup?” Reggie asked.

“Negative. You’re not to wait. Go in ASAP.”

“It’s already dark here. I’ll have to line something up. Might take until tomorrow morning.”

“Understood. Keep the line open and report in when you have the logistics confirmed.”

“10-4. My phone will be on.”

Reggie terminated the call and sat, thinking, for several minutes before retrieving a zipped satchel from the bag on his bed. He withdrew two stacks of currency — one dollars, in fifties and hundreds, the other Thai baht. He’d need to spread some money around to find someone willing to ferry him to where the helicopter had gone down, and that wouldn’t happen instantly. If he was lucky, he could be underway by late morning, after locating a suitable craft with a captain who could exercise appropriate discretion. He checked Google Earth, entered the coordinates his control had given him, and then zoomed out to see where the nearest outpost of civilization was. He spotted what he was looking for and nodded. Surely there would be someone he could sway with his powers of persuasion and a fistful of hard cash. It would just be a matter of pounding the waterfront at dawn.

He peeled off a suitable slug of both denominations and stuffed the wads into the pocket of his Ripstop TDU cargo pants, and then repacked his bag and set off to find someone to drive him north to Chiang Saen, on the Mekong River — a charming little hamlet that was as close as you could get to the epicenter of the infamous Golden Triangle, where the borders of Laos, Thailand, and Myanmar converged. He wasn’t worried about accommodations — there was sure to be at least one fleabag where he could find a room, given the town’s prominent location as a trafficking stop. His only concern was getting up there. Chiang Rai didn’t seem like the kind of place where anyone drove the roads at night if they could help it, and he fully expected to be turned down a number of times before locating a ride.

Reggie’s most pessimistic expectations were more than met, and he wound up spending the better part of an hour being rejected by every working taxi in the city. Eventually he found a trucker in a bar who was willing to brave the road for a couple hundred dollars, and as they set off into the gloom, he wondered what the odds were that a collection of neophytes could survive in one of the most dangerous places in the world.