They rolled through an open gateway whose rusting barrier had been pushed to the side, and proceeded to where an ancient Bell 206B helicopter waited on the cracked pad, its mottled green paint peeling in spots. The logo of Thai Fantasy Air on its side looked as though a child had drawn it using crayons in the dark. Spencer looked skeptically at the aircraft and addressed Uncle Pete. “Are you frigging kidding me?” he demanded.
“It top shelf helicopter. Finest kind in area. Pilot famous,” Uncle Pete said, but his eyes were glued to the aircraft, and the doubt in his tone betrayed his words.
“That thing’s a relic.”
“Means it work good for years.”
“Uncle Pete, it’s older than I am,” Spencer fired back.
“You still got plenty good game, right? Same with helo.”
The cab driver coasted to a stop and they climbed out. A middle-aged Thai man with a completely bald head approached, his mirrored aviator glasses winking in the strengthening sunlight. Uncle Pete said something in Thai and the man laughed good-naturedly before turning to eye Allie in a way that gave her the creeps.
“Welcome, welcome. I’m Daeng. Nice to meet you,” the man said, offering a courteous wai to the four of them.
Daeng’s English was orders of magnitude better than Uncle Pete’s. He explained the grid approach they would use for the search, pointing to a map he’d ceremoniously unfurled. Each quadrant would receive a thorough inspection at a slow hover. When he was through with his orientation talk, he drew himself up. “Any questions?”
Spencer nodded. “I notice you avoided the section by the Myanmar border. Why?”
“Oh, we don’t want to go there,” Daeng explained. “That’s controlled by the Shan State Army. They’re as likely to take potshots as they are to ignore us. They have serious weaponry — .50-caliber machine guns, RPGs, you name it.”
“But that’s Myanmar. Isn’t it controlled by the military?” Drake asked.
“No. There are a number of groups that operate there, each more dangerous than the other. You have the drug gangs, the Shan State, rogue militia, factions of the Myanmar Army that deserted or are working their own schemes, the works. All armed to the teeth.”
Allie looked from Spencer to Drake. “Nobody mentioned that in Malibu,” she said.
“It appears our friends might have left something out,” Drake acknowledged. “Let’s hope there’s nothing more they forgot to tell us.”
“So what good does the permit do us?” Spencer asked. “I thought it was essential to overfly that area. It sounds like we’re flying into a combat zone.”
“Well, my helo’s known to most of them, so we’ll be okay as long as we don’t venture into this area,” Daeng said, tapping his finger on the map. “We can work around it. I can get us high enough so we should be able to see across it.”
“What’s the point, if we can’t go in to verify what we’re seeing?”
“Don’t worry. I guide on ground,” Uncle Pete said.
“Wait. If you know the territory, you knew about all the armed groups. Why didn’t you say anything?” Allie demanded.
Uncle Pete shrugged. “None of my business. I following orders. Loyal ant, Uncle Pete.”
“How dangerous is it?” Drake asked Daeng.
“Since the U.S. invaded Afghanistan, heroin production there went from nothing to more than the total world demand, so the groups here in the triangle aren’t growing nearly as many poppies as they used to. The drug gangs and the rebel armies have shifted to methamphetamine production, which is way cheaper and easier to deal with. So we’re not in that much danger of accidentally overflying a poppy field, which might provoke an armed response.” Daeng paused. “But that’s still not a complete guarantee that someone doesn’t take a shot at us.”
Allie’s eyes widened and she glared at Drake. “What did you get us into?”
Daeng patted the side of the aircraft. “The helo’s got an inch of steel plate on the underside. Welded it myself. It’ll stop most rounds, so it’s not as bad as it sounds.”
“How about the glass?” Drake asked.
“Bulletproof glass is too expensive. But I have yet to get shot.”
“Then why the steel?” Spencer asked.
“Insurance. It cuts down on the payload I can haul, but it’s like a seat belt — it’s annoying until you need it, and then you’re grateful.”
“Your English is very good,” Allie said.
“My father was American. GI. So I grew up bilingual until he left us when I was ten.”
“I… I’m sorry,” Allie said softly.
“Oh, don’t be. If you knew my mother, who I love like my own blood, you’d think he was a saint for sticking it out that long. I would have been gone years before.”
Spencer eyed the map. “Looks like a lot of the area they could have gone down in is on the west side of the Mekong River. In Myanmar. How do we search that section?”
“Very carefully.”
“You’re kidding.”
“You asked,” Daeng said with a shrug. “Like I said, there’s no other way but to try to stay high enough so we’re not in easy range. But look at the bright side — at least they don’t have anti-aircraft guns or fighter planes.”
“Sky’s filled with silver linings,” Drake muttered.
Spencer moved to the helicopter. “What year is this thing?”
“1977. A good year.”
“Not for music,” Spencer said. “Who maintains it?”
“I’ve got a guy. Ex-serviceman. Pretty good. It’s been trouble-free, for the most part.”
“Where did you get it?”
“Thai air force. They retired her when she turned twenty-five.”
“How many hours have you clocked?” Spencer drilled.
Daeng smiled and removed his glasses. His eyes held no trace of humor. “Your people vetted me. They felt I was more than qualified. You want to look for someone else who’ll fly that area, knock yourself out. I could use the extra sleep. Just say the word.”
“He top good pilot,” Uncle Pete declared enthusiastically, as though his pronouncement sealed the deal.
Spencer shook his head and patted the duffle. “At least we’ve got something to shoot back with, if it comes to that.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t. Nobody wants to start a war. Bad for business. I’m just telling you the risks, is all,” Daeng said. He stared at Spencer for a long beat. “We through with the audition?”
Spencer nodded. “Looks like it. How long will it take to make it to the first quadrant?”
“Maybe twenty, twenty-five minutes.” Daeng checked his watch. “Let’s saddle up. Time’s a-wasting. We’ll burn an hour getting back and fueling up, so the sooner we’re in the air, the more territory we can cover.”
They followed him to the helicopter and climbed in. Drake wrinkled his nose as he tossed his backpack onto the rear compartment floor and took one of the two front seats. “It smells like rot.”
“Don’t forget perspiration. I’m definitely getting sweat,” Allie added from the bench seat in the passenger area. She laid her backpack next to Drake’s and strapped in. “This is gross.”
Daeng took the pilot’s seat and slipped on a headset, and within two minutes they were rising into the air, the cabin trembling like a hobo with delirium tremens. Drake looked back at them over his shoulder with a concerned expression.
Daeng laughed when he caught Drake’s discomfiture. “She’ll smooth out soon. Just temperamental in her old age.”
“Very reassuring,” Spencer said as he unzipped the duffle and removed one of the AKMs.
Allie grimaced. “You really think we’ll need those?”
“You remember how to work yours, right?” he asked, handing her one of the H&Ks after slapping a magazine into place. She looked at the fire selector switch and verified it was in the safe position, and nodded.