“No weed? What’s wrong with them?” Drake asked.
“Not their bag, man. But you’ll all be expected to drink some. No way around it, or you’ll seem rude.”
“Where are we going to sleep tonight?”
“They should provide tents. If not, it’s the stars for our roof.”
“Meaning periodic rain,” Drake said.
“No plan’s perfect.” Joe extracted a plastic jug from his pack and held it aloft, his eyes shining bright in the firelight. He said something to the colonel, who first refused, and then acquiesced.
“Oh, brother,” Drake said, and Joe gave him a hard stare before taking a pull from the jug and handing it to Leng, who snapped his fingers at a nearby underling. Moments later a handful of tin cups materialized and Joe nodded gratefully. Leng took a deep drink from the jug and set it down so they could pour themselves portions, and then belched loudly and smiled in appreciation. Joe matched his grin and pointed to the jug.
“Fill everyone’s up, but don’t pour much. I have a feeling we’re going to need all the firepower I can muster here.”
Spencer rose and did as instructed, spilling an inch of the amber liquid into the cups before handing it back to Joe. Uncle Pete stood and took one, and Drake picked two up and offered one to Allie. She made a small grimace and took it. Leng chuckled. Joe held the jug aloft and offered a toast, and everyone raised their cups and took cautious sips as Joe chugged a healthy swallow, blinked twice, and passed the jug back to Leng.
Allie almost choked when the liquor hit the back of her throat, and it was all she could do not to gag. Drake’s reaction was only slightly better, whereas Spencer and Uncle Pete could have been drinking tea.
Drake’s eyes watered as he held the cup. “Wow. That’s gasoline.”
Joe ignored him, now in a hushed discussion with Leng. Allie elbowed Drake. “You want mine too?”
He shook his head. “Don’t want to be rude.”
“Bastard.”
“Have I told you how beautiful you are when I’m drinking?” Drake paused. “Wait, that didn’t come out right.”
Her eyes became slits. “Oh, I got the message.”
“No, I meant it’s easier to say so when… never mind.”
“If you can find anything attractive about me after three days in the jungle, you’ve got a more vivid imagination than even Joe does,” Allie said, and took another small taste of the wine. “God, that’s foul,” she said, smiling like it was wonderful. “I wonder if I’ll go blind.”
Joe twisted toward her. “Leng says he likes you.”
“I hope that’s not a condition for us to go in,” she replied evenly.
“It is now, but let’s see how the night goes. At least we’re horse-trading, not being blocked completely.”
“It’s charming to view me as a dumb animal to argue over,” Allie said, the smile frozen on her face.
“Cultural. Nothing personal. Don’t worry. I’ll work around it.”
“Do that,” Drake said.
An hour went by, and then another, the jug level dropping steadily until it was empty. Both Joe and Leng appeared to be in fine spirits, but Joe seemed surprised when Leng called his lieutenant over and growled an order. The man ran to the command tent and came back with a clay bottle. Joe grinned, and Leng poured everyone another portion, and then tipped the bottle to his mouth and gulped a mouthful. He sighed contentedly and the drinking ritual continued, the only positive that this spirit was weaker than Joe’s knockout potion.
Eventually that bottle was finished as well, and Joe sat forward, now clearly in his cups. Leng motioned into the darkness, and two young men with sergeant’s stripes approached. Joe nodded and turned to Allie. “These are our escorts. Never mind their names. We can call them Dick and Harry.”
“What? Wait. We don’t want these guys to know where the ruins are, exactly — or the plane.”
“Well, that wasn’t an option. And I had to promise to cut him in on the booty. He wants an even share. I told him that’s not a problem — a five-way split seems more than fair.”
“You can’t agree to that,” Spencer protested.
“Too late. It was a condition.”
“And it’s not a five-way split. Uncle Pete isn’t taking a cut,” Drake corrected.
“Oh, I didn’t think he was. I figured you’d want me to have a slice since I’m going so far above the call of duty.”
“Absolutely not,” Drake said. “It’s not negotiable.”
Joe shrugged, and when he spoke, his voice sounded less inebriated. “You want me to tell him you said he can suck it? He might not react well. Fair warning.”
Drake looked to Allie and then Spencer. “It’s your call. Neither of us has as much riding on the outcome as you do.”
Spencer swallowed the dregs of his cup, tossed it in front of him, and stared into the dimming flames. He sat silently for a long spell, and when he spoke, it was barely more than a whisper. “Seems like it’s screw Spencer year, huh? Hell yes, they can have it. Hundred percent of nothing’s nothing, if my calculator’s right.”
Joe grinned and returned to Leng, who beamed at them all drunkenly when Joe broke the news. After much bowing and scraping, Dick and Harry escorted them to a pair of tents, while Joe sat with Leng, a third container of liquor having materialized in order to celebrate the auspicious alliance. Drake, Spencer, and Allie climbed into one of the tents, exhausted from the day’s march, and after saying good night to each other, curled up and went to sleep, the morning rushing at them with the speed of a runaway train.
Chapter 33
Jiao yawned and stretched as he bedded down on a rough wood-framed cot in the tiny farming village where he’d called it a night after a long journey from the river. His source had checked in the day before and alerted the Chinese about where the Americans were headed, and he knew he’d have to tread cautiously if he was to make it without being discovered. His men were camped out in a nearby field — he’d taken pains to avoid being seen with them as a group, as he didn’t want to arouse any interest.
An offer of a few bills to the largest farm had yielded a cot in a rustic room adjacent to the barn, which was more than fine after the previous night in the jungle. Tomorrow he’d be going deeper into hostile territory and would be sleeping on a bedroll, so Jiao stretched and savored the relative luxury of four walls and running water nearby.
The source had told headquarters that the Americans had located the plane deep in Shan Army territory, and were going to attempt to work a deal with that group. Jiao’s intent was to shadow them and, once they were at the plane, to make his move — or not, depending on what the source indicated they found. The informer had a sat phone, as did Jiao, so communications weren’t a problem, although his source had made it clear that the phone would be off until he was ready to share information.
Jiao didn’t like that arrangement, but the informer had been adamant, so he’d backed down and agreed to the terms. He could see the logic — the last thing the snitch wanted was to be found out, and Jiao shared that fear. The man would be of no use if the Americans suspected he was selling them out. That was to be avoided at all costs.
The irony was that nobody had any idea if Liu had been carrying anything, much less whether it had survived the crash. Likely not, he’d been assured, so this whole ordeal was probably for nothing. But even if the odds were only one in a million, they had to be sure — the stakes were far too high to leave anything to chance. The possibility of Liu being in possession of data the Chinese might want had been the only part of Jiao’s final solution in sabotaging the plane that he hadn’t factored in; but then again, he hadn’t had all the information when making the decision.