Jiao tried to get comfortable on the canvas as his mind went over the next day’s objective. They’d have to make better time than they had today, because they had to cover at least thirty miles. The hope was that he could find a willing driver who could cart them at least part of the way; otherwise it was looking like two full days to reach the site.
That part made him apprehensive. In spite of the impression headquarters had, the roads were little more than ruts. His superiors believed it wouldn’t be difficult to make most of the trip by truck or bike, but Jiao wasn’t so sure.
He and his men were dressed in local garb, the cheap shirts and pants worn by the farmers, and if stopped by the Shan army, they’d likely be ignored. That was the hope, anyway. If all else failed, he could buy his way out of trouble. The population’s love for money was reliable anywhere in the world, just as his informant had been buyable. The only thing that ever changed was the currency and the amount.
Night creatures serenaded Reggie as he lay on the bank of a creek, his theory being that the flat gravel would act as a deterrent to snakes and other predators. He peered up at the glimmering stars and offered thanks for the lack of clouds. With luck he’d be able to sleep without getting soaked multiple times, as he had throughout the day.
He’d made reasonable progress toward the plane, but it had been a tough slog, and he’d ultimately stolen an ancient bicycle to speed his trip. His guilt had compelled him to leave a fifty-dollar bill in its place, easily five times what it was worth. But the theft had proved fortuitous, and he was now only twenty miles from the coordinates he’d been given — an easy ride, assuming he could continue to avoid Shan Army patrols.
Being obviously not Asian was an impediment operating in Myanmar, but he had no choice but to forge on. He’d do his best, and if captured, would have his control pull strings with the Shan troops, who were on a cordial basis with the CIA. That would blow his cover, but if it was either that or torture and death, he was sure the agency would understand. At least, that was his hope.
But it would be better to stay under the radar. They were so close now. The seemingly impossible had come to pass, and the plane would be inspected shortly — perhaps as soon as tomorrow. Then he could return to the world and leave the entire mess behind, his job done, another successful notch in his belt.
The nearby bushes rustled and he inched the barrel of his pistol over to face it. He wasn’t worried about random drug gangs this far inland, but there were plenty of other menaces lurking in the hills, many of them deadly — and hungry.
A small furry form edged from the brush. Two glittering eyes spotted him, and the creature scurried away.
He smiled up at the night. A panther or, worse, a crocodile wouldn’t be so easily spooked. He’d debated trying to find a tree to sleep in, but discarded the idea in favor of the bank.
Reggie could go days without rest if absolutely necessary, but as he’d gotten older, his stamina had flagged. He didn’t want to test his endurance tomorrow, when things got real. What was possible and what was advisable were two different things, and the aches in his body were unmistakable signals that he was no longer the twenty-something dynamo he’d once been.
He opened his eyes and checked the time. It would be light in six hours. If he got two of sleep, he’d be happy.
Chapter 34
Joe marched toward the hidden valley at the head of a ragged column. Dick and Harry followed directly behind, and the rest trailed in a rough procession along the game trail. Joe gripped a machete in one hand and his AK in the other, and occasionally hacked his way through a tangle of vines and branches, the track only clear to knee level.
“Boar,” Joe had explained when he’d found the path. “We’ll follow it as long as it leads in the right direction. Better to stay away from any human-sized trails as we enter the contested zone. Don’t want to draw enemy fire.”
“That would be bad,” Drake agreed.
“Total buzz kill,” Joe said.
“How will we know when we’re out of Shan territory?”
Joe held out his machete toward Dick and Harry. “Just watch their body language. When they look like they’re going to piss their pants, we’re in no-man’s land.”
That had been just after dawn, and they’d been hiking southwest ever since, the ground fog thick for the first three hours. The going was slow due to their choice of routes, but Joe had insisted on staying in the densest part of the jungle, using the GPS for guidance as they worked their way toward the twin spires.
They took a break for lunch by the bank of a brook that gushed down the side of a mountain, dining on a rice pudding that Joe assured them would hold for a week without spoiling. Once they were done, they continued plodding toward the valley, climbing steep slopes and traversing rocky outcroppings, the peaks barely visible in the distance when they reached high points above the canopy. It drizzled all afternoon, making an already unpleasant route even more difficult, and everyone was exhausted by the time they reached a stream several miles from the karst peaks.
They made camp with the last of the fading light, and Joe had a hushed conversation with Dick and Harry. Drake had discussed how to distract the pair so that they could sneak away and inspect the wreckage during the night, and Joe had agreed to take one for the team.
A fire was out of the question, given their circumstances, so after the tents were pitched, they sat in the moonlight, which was bright enough for them to see each other clearly, and munched on their dinner. Dick and Harry had some sort of foul-smelling fish concoction they spooned down with mess kits, and every time Allie got a whiff of it, her gorge threatened to rise in her throat. They seemed happy with their meal, though, and smacked their lips and burped continuously as they wolfed it down.
When they were finished, Joe held out a joint the size of a cigar, brandishing it like a magic wand. The men’s eyes lit up at the sight, and after a token refusal they were passing it back and forth.
Joe leaned toward Drake and gave him a crooked grin. “I laced this with a little opiated hash for extra pop. You want a taste?”
“Um, no, thanks. I think, given what I’m going to be up to, I’d rather be straight.”
“Total downer, man. Maybe it’ll help you see in the dark. It definitely sharpens my intuition, you know?”
“Yeah, well, good for you. I’ll pass.”
Joe took a long drag and held it in as he handed the spliff back to Harry. “Smooth, daddy-o. Lemme know if you change your mind.”
The three of them smoked the joint down to a nub, and soon Joe was yawning, his eyes glazed. Dick and Harry looked like they’d been shot with a tranquilizer dart, and were out cold within minutes of staggering to their tent, their snores a rumbling drone through the thin fabric.
Joe whispered theatrically to Spencer as he stood. “Good luck, dude. Watch out for gremlins.”
“I need the GPS,” Drake reminded Joe. Joe looked around and then stumbled to his tent. He stepped back out with the GPS in one hand and a pair of night vision goggles in the other.
“Leng lent me these in case we had to move at night. You ever use them?” Joe asked.
Uncle Pete stepped forward. “I know how.”
Joe handed the goggles to him, and Uncle Pete slipped the strap over his head. Joe regarded Allie. “We’re about three klicks from the wreckage. Take you a couple hours each direction if you’re lucky. So no rest for the wicked tonight,” he said, offering the GPS to her. “You know how to work it?”