Sword of Allah

Nam Sa River, Myanmar

The BK-117 Eurocopter had civilian markings and was flying a logged civilian flight plan but, being part of the CIA’s air wing, the aircraft was not exactly what it seemed. It had been modified. If the situation called for it, a Browning .50 calibre machine gun hidden away in a floor locker could be lifted out, mounted on a sling and fired through the side opening by the co-pilot. But apart from the Browning, Wilkes, Monroe and Federal Agent Jenny Tadzic were going in unarmed. Wilkes and Monroe were uncomfortable about it but that had been a condition of entry stipulated by their host.

‘There comes a point when you have to shrug and say, “What the fuck?” ’ Wilkes had said to Atticus when the discussion became heated. The what-the-fuck point had definitely been reached and Wilkes was in charge, so that was that. Their safety was in the lap of the gods — that and good timing. At least they had the Browning. As far as Wilkes was concerned, worse than being unarmed was that they were wearing civilian clothes rather than fatigues — jeans and T-shirts. It was like going to work naked.

The jungle slid by underneath in a series of ridgelines that stretched towards the horizon, a green sea with mountainous waves. The landscape had a familiarity about it. It reminded Wilkes of jungles from North Queensland to West Papua to Vietnam; different borders, customs, governments and problems, all of which meant nothing to this giant living band of greenery.

The helo made a course change that Wilkes felt in the muscles of his neck, to bring it low and slow over the targeted cultivated field. It was still deserted and Wilkes breathed a sigh of relief. The aircraft swung around to the right and descended into a narrow valley. The ground rose slowly to meet them as the valley broadened. And suddenly they scudded low over a vast walled compound crowned by an extraordinary building that reminded Wilkes of a Hollywood-style Roman villa: Jed Clampett’s house from The Beverly Hillbillies. He smiled at that, and began to quietly whistle the show’s theme song.

The rotors beat the air with a thump as the helo climbed into a hundred and eighty degree turn and decelerated. Goddam chopper pilots. Wilkes had never met one that didn’t like making an entrance. The helo flared and then lowered gradually onto its skids. Wilkes and Monroe hopped out, followed by Tadzic. They quickly made their way beyond the flickering circle carved by the helo’s rotors. The pilot gave them the thumbs up and then the helo was gone, climbing rapidly towards the ridge above the valley and then dropping behind it.

‘Welcome to my humble house.’

Wilkes, Monroe and Tadzic turned. The greeting came from a fat man with heavily rouged cheeks dressed in jungle greens. He was sitting atop a magnificent white horse chewing at its bit. A couple of Humvees squealed to a halt behind the horse, bristling with soldiers armed with a variety of weapons. The men swarmed out of the vehicles shouting and yelling as they ran. The soldiers snatched Wilkes’s backpack and then forced the three of them onto their stomachs and patted them down for weapons.