“I can figure it out.”
Uncle Pete led the way from the camp, and Spencer followed, Allie and Drake bringing up the rear. The valley was enshrouded with fog, and the moonlight lent the white blanket a ghostly glow as they ascended the rise. Joe’s estimate of the time it would take to reach the stream proved overly optimistic, and the two hours had turned into three before they found the river where the plane had gone down.
They stopped at the water’s edge, and Uncle Pete consulted the GPS. He pointed east. “That way. Maybe two hundred meters.” He pushed the goggles up and blinked. “See good with no scope, huh?”
“Yes. Lucky it’s nearly a full moon,” Allie whispered.
Uncle Pete picked his way along the bank, moving slowly, the only sound the burble of the water rushing around occasional rocks. They reached a fork in the stream, and Allie peered at the GPS before pointing to their right. Uncle Pete nodded and they made their way around the bend and then stopped and stared at a shape in front of them. The twisted metal of a fuselage rose halfway out of the water. One wing was wedged into a tree, and the other lay fifteen yards behind the plane.
They stood transfixed by the sight of the mangled tail section, the cabin in surprisingly good shape. Spencer was the first to move and approach the wreckage. Drake and Allie followed, Uncle Pete hanging back as they neared.
The glass was shattered from every window, and the passenger door hung crookedly from a single hinge. Spencer walked to the prop and studied the engine section while Drake and Allie peered into the cabin.
The pilot’s decomposed corpse grinned at them from his seat. Most of the flesh was gone, the jungle’s predators having feasted on it and maggots having done the rest. Allie grabbed Drake’s arm as her eyes adjusted to the grisly vision and she looked away.
“Oh, God, Drake…”
He drew her close and hugged her as he whispered in her ear, “The big surprise is that it’s only the pilot. I don’t see Christine’s or her boyfriend’s bodies. They aren’t here.”
“Maybe they got thrown clear?” Allie ventured. “It looks like the plane came apart when it hit.
Spencer’s voice carried from the front of the plane. “Guys? I think I know what caused the crash.” He rounded the fuselage and stepped toward them. “And it was no storm.”
Jiao crept along, following the Americans after watching the Myanmar soldiers pass out in the camp. He’d arrived shortly after he’d received word from his source that they were at the base of one of the tall monoliths that framed the entrance to a remote valley.
He’d been able to secure a ride on a motorcycle with a young farmhand who had jumped at the chance to make the equivalent of a hundred dollars, and had made it near the camp after receiving the call. His hike from the road in the dark had rattled his nerves, given the inherent danger in the area, but he’d made it without any problems and had monitored the group until four of them had snuck off, presumably in search of the plane. Jiao had followed at a safe distance and hidden in the bushes when he’d seen the outline of the aircraft. The Americans were now having an animated discussion, but he couldn’t make out what they were saying.
He watched as the tallest of them led the other three to the front of the plane and pointed to it. Whatever they had discovered had unnerved them. Jiao crouched motionless in the moonlight as they inspected the wreckage, his fingers on the butt of the pistol in his belt, waiting patiently as the Americans murmured unintelligibly by the twisted remains of the Cessna.
Chapter 35
“What I’m saying is that I’ve seen this kind of damage before,” Spencer said. “Look. There was an explosion in the engine compartment. You can see here and here where the metal blew out. Only a blast from the motor would cause that. It’s pretty distinctive,” he finished.
They studied the area Spencer had identified. He was right. There was no other explanation, given the damage.
“So the engine blew up?” Drake asked.
“Or someone sabotaged it with explosives.” Spencer’s gaze swept the area. “What’s most interesting to me is that there’s no sign of either Christine or her boyfriend.”
“I was thinking they might have been thrown clear on impact. They had to be going, what, a hundred miles per hour?” Allie said.
“Maybe less. And the water would have softened the impact some,” Spencer said.
Uncle Pete walked down the bank a dozen yards and called out softly, “You come now!”
The three of them approached where the little Thai was standing over a collection of pale rocks. They were arranged into letters six feet long.
“S.O.S.,” Drake whispered. “There’s your answer to whether they were thrown free. At least one of them had to be alive to collect these stones and spell this out.”
“Then they’re alive,” Allie murmured.
“Were. We don’t know whether they still are, or how badly hurt they might be,” Spencer corrected.
“So where are they?” Drake asked.
Spencer’s eyes roamed along the bank and the surrounding jungle. “That’s the million-dollar question.”
Uncle Pete returned to the plane and climbed in. By the time they made it back to the wreckage, he was stepping out. He flipped the goggles up and shook his head. “Nothing in plane but dead guy. But someone else been here. Radio stolen. Same-same with other gear.”
“Are you sure?” Spencer asked.
“Course.”
“It has to be the drug gang — they’re the only ones in this area. Remember the intel Collins provided? There aren’t even any hill tribes around.”
“Then it’s possible they have them,” Drake murmured thoughtfully.
“What do we do now?” Allie asked.
Drake’s jaw tightened. “We call home,” he said through gritted teeth. “Uncle Pete, you have the satellite phone?”
“You betcha,” Uncle Pete answered, and dug the device from his satchel and handed it to Drake.
Drake inspected it and squinted at Uncle Pete. “The battery?”
“Oh. Yeah. Here.”
It took a minute to acquire a strong signal. Drake called the number Collins had given him, and it was answered on the second ring.
“We found the plane. Looks like Christine and the boyfriend were alive after it crashed,” Drake said, his voice low.
“What!”
“Yup.” Drake told him about the S.O.S. and the plane being looted.
“Any sign of where they went?”
“No.”
“Did you find anything in the plane?”
“Nope. Just the dead pilot. Or what’s left of him. Everything that was worth anything has already been stolen.” Drake hesitated. “Spencer says that it looks like the plane was sabotaged.”
Collins’ voice turned cold. “How?”
“He thinks explosives.”
“Is Uncle Pete there?”
“Yes.”
“Let me speak with him.”
“Did you hear me? The crash was no accident. What haven’t you told us?”
“You know as much as I do. Let me talk to Pete.”
Drake’s voice hardened. “Collins, we have our asses on the line here. We’re in hostile territory, everyone’s got a gun, it looks like this Red Moon gang knows about the wreck and could show up any time, and we just get the surprise of the century. I think we deserve an explanation.”
“Damn it, Ramsey. Hand the phone to Uncle Pete. You’re wasting valuable time,” Collins snapped.
Drake shook his head in frustration and tossed Uncle Pete the sat phone. “Wants to talk to you.”
Uncle Pete spoke softly as he walked away. Drake turned to Allie. “I think Collins knows something he’s not telling us.”