In almost any other situation, Wallis would have been perfectly content to sit and watch and wait until the unknown entities brushing up against his highly-sensitive survival instincts became evident, no matter if it took hours or even days. But time was starting to become a serious issue for his team, and he knew he didn’t have days or even hours to spare.
Not with twelve dead bodies waiting to be found and linked together, the gypsy pirate Kai on the loose, and possibly several hundred increasingly alert and angry Thai police investigators and patrol officers out looking for their missing comrades.
He glanced down at his watch. The flight to Narita would start boarding in less than an hour; which meant he either had to begin going through the security process in a few minutes, or walk away.
Wallis took one last look around, started toward the terminal entrance, hesitated, and then walked over to the far side of the walkway where a small number of tables, chairs and large umbrellas had been placed for the convenience of waiting passengers.
He placed the suitcase and briefcase under one of the tables, sat down beneath a large umbrella to avoid the misting rain, pulled the encrypted satellite cell phone out of his raincoat, punched in a memorized series of numbers, and then waited.
“Gecko-two, go.” Lanyard’s voice, sounding calm and professional, as usual.
“Gecko-one, what’s your status?”
“Fair to decent,” Lanyard replied. “We’re anchored off Tanga Island. I’m stretched out on the deck, enjoying a frosty one, and Jack’s doing a spot of diving off the bow, looking for dinner. I think he’s feeling better. Say’s we’ll have to settle for lobster if he can’t find anything better.”
“What about Kai?”
“No sign of him or any of his pirate mates yet. Figure it’s a bit early for those lads to be up and about; especially if they’re planning on mucking us over tonight. Which reminds me, did you tell Kai we’d be using the bright green visible flashers to mark our location for the swap?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Good, then we’ve got a proper surprise all laid out for the little buggers.” Lanyard hesitated. “How did things go with our rainy day fund?”
“It’s all moved over to the Caiman account,” Wallis replied. “I’m transporting our hard assets in carry-on, including a nice last-minute contribution from Yak and Boon-Nam.”
“Bless their rotten souls. How’s your six looking?” Lanyard asked, using the military pilot’s terminology for the ever-vulnerable rear — or six o’clock — position.
“I’m clear so far, but we may have a problem. I spotted Colonel Kulawnit in the Bangkok International airport this morning.”
“Heading out to Tokyo to attend his bloody Interpol meeting, I trust?”
“No, picking up someone who looked and acted very much like a covert American or Canadian law enforcement officer, and who almost certainly came in on the Tokyo flight. They drove back into the city together.”
“So, he’s probably one of Kulawnit’s Wildlife Interpol mates.” Lanyard was silent for a moment. “That doesn’t sound good,” he finally said.
“No, it doesn’t,” Wallis agreed. “I’m still at the airport and there doesn’t seem to be an alert on, so I’m assuming they haven’t found any of the bodies yet. But something is definitely on; something serious enough to pull Kulawnit away from a Pacific Rim Interpol meeting that he never fails to attend, and to possibly bring in outside help from North America.”
“And you’re thinking it might involve us, or Hateley?”
“We’re not the only ones taking advantage of the Thai wildlife preserves, by a long shot; but if Kai was the one who informed on us, and he and Yak were conspiring, and the police are at Yak’s home now — ”
“Too many paths starting to cross,” Lanyard agreed. “What about Kai? You want us to walk away, so to speak?”
“No. If he and Yak were actually cooperating with each other, instead of just conspiring, then he knows too much about us; especially if he’s got other police contacts besides Choon. Carry on with the plan, but be prepared to break off and disappear if the Thai police show up.”
“Five hours of darkness and the weather gives us some wiggle room, but not much,” Lanyard said. “I don’t mind playing coastal tag with a pack of Thai and Malaysian patrol boats at night. But come dawn, if we’re still in open water, we’re going to be a right proper sitting duck.”
“Yes, you will, which is why I’m changing my flight,” Wallis said. “Stay close to the satellite phone. By the time you’re finished with Kai, I’ll have a new back door waiting. Gecko-one, out.”
CHAPTER 8
The Genetics Section of the Draganov Research Center
Intent on initiating his latest set of experiments, Sergei Draganov’s eyes swept back and forth from his lab notebook to the rack of ninety-six vials, smoothly pipetting micro-amounts of genetic material with robot-like precision until he realized that the rack of pipette tips on the lab bench next to his right hand was empty.
He blinked, looked up at the glass-paneled storage shelf overhead where he kept his pipetting supplies, saw that it too was empty, and sighed.
Leaning over to his left, the pipette still clutched in his right hand, he activated the wall-mounted intercom that was the primary communication tool between the administration office where the old woman sat, and the widely scattered buildings of his research center operation.
“Where is Borya? I need more pipette tips and vials from the supply shed.”
“I don’t know,” the old woman responded, her raspy voice echoing throughout the genetics lab. “At MAX I think.”
“Why would he be there now?”
“Because he has become crazy. Why else would anyone want to be there with all those evil things?”
Draganov rolled his eyes. “Borya has not become crazy and the animals in MAX are not evil. They are just… damaged. It’s not their fault.”
“No, it is our fault. All of us. We caused their grief.”
Draganov sighed. “We have discussed this many times. They are experimental lab animals. In any other research facility, they would have been sacrificed after the data was gathered, but I want to learn more from them so we keep them alive and well cared for. That is Borya’s primary job, to help me care for them.”
“But you have been gone too much, Sergei Arturovich. Left to himself, Borya becomes more distant every day. He hardly talks with us anymore, not even on the intercom. And Aleksei says that Tanya — ”
“Borya drinks too much, and Aleksei fills your head with nonsense.”
“But Tanya not getting better and Aleksei says we could all be in danger if — ”
“Tanya will be fine and Aleksei is wrong. Our work is very safe. You have no need to worry.”
“But — ”
“Enough. I’m tired and I need to sleep. Find Aleksei and — ”
The voice of Aleksei Tsarovich, the Center’s burly veterinarian, suddenly boomed out over the intercom.
“I’m here, Sergei. What do you want?”
“Where are you? I’ve been trying — ”
“At the medical clinic with Tanya. Her fever is worse, and the x-rays — ”
“What x-rays?”
“The ones I’ve been taking of her. You must come see for yourself.”
Tanga Island, Malacca Strait, Thailand
Lanyard was leaning back in his deck chair, sipping at his beer and contemplating the contours of Tanga Island and the positioning of the other dozen or so boats anchored around the popular diving spot, when a pair of dark-green-shelled abalone arched up out of the water and clattered onto the deck.
Moments later, Jack Gavin climbed up the stern ladder, set his scuba tank, mask and fins aside, caught a chilled can of beer tossed by Lanyard, and settled into a second deck chair with a squish of warm seawater.
“Ah, this is more like it — a bloody patch of water that stays flat and calm.” Gavin popped the tab on the can and took a deep swig of the cold brew. “So, how are things going in the planning department?”