When Petsut mentioned Thailand’s Malay Muslim separatist movement, which had set off bombs that had killed and wounded more than three hundred people in the southern cities of Yala and Hat Yai, Anderson quickly pointed out that those attacks were not related to the recent car bombings in Bangkok. Those, he said, had likely been orchestrated by Iranian nationals.
“Yes, yes,” Petsut answered, “but the violence perpetrated by the Malay Muslims should also be a concern to you Americans, because they have specifically targeted civilian foreigners. They’re trying to upset the very active tourist industry in the south.”
“I’m aware of that, Colonel,” Anderson said. “But Mr. Mansfield and his men are here specifically to deal with the men who planned and orchestrated the attacks last month.”
Dinner was served with green tea, rice wine, and white Australian wine. They ate seafood curry, kaeng phet pet yang (roast duck in curry), fried rice with crabmeat, noodles stir-fried with Thai basil, deep-fried fish with sweet and tangy tamarind sauce.
Crocker dined heartily while Captain Jack explained that one of the men suspected of carrying out the attack against John Rinehart and his wife had been wounded in the face. This individual had sought medical attention at a clinic in Khlong Toei, a lower-class, crime-ridden area of the city. The injured man claimed to have been walking in the vicinity of the attack with his girlfriend. But the doctor who treated him became suspicious because he was a foreigner and had recent burn marks on his ankles that looked as if they’d been caused by a motorcycle exhaust pipe.
After several days the injured man recovered enough to take a train to Kanchanaburi. At the station there he was observed arguing with another foreigner, who then let him into his car and drove him to a small farm outside the town.
Members of the Special Operations Unit under the supervision of Captain Jack had placed the farm under surveillance. They had observed four men, all foreigners who looked Middle Eastern, coming and going, but they pretty much kept to themselves. The police also saw two motorcycles that resembled the bikes used in the bomb attacks parked in a barn. A CIA-installed listening device revealed that the men conversed in Farsi.
As Captain Jack spoke, Crocker grew progressively excited. The leads the Thais had developed sounded promising. He knew from a previous trip to Thailand that Kanchanaburi was only a two-hour drive northwest of Bangkok.
With the arrival of dessert, Petsut started to discuss parameters. Because the violence had been directed at American officials and the perpetrators appeared to have arrived from a third country, he said he was willing to allow Crocker and his team to deal with the situation. Ideally, the four foreigners would be detained and quickly flown out of Thailand, and nobody in his country would notice.
He asked that violence and gunfire, especially, be kept to the minimum, only what was required to subdue the suspects. He pointed out that local Royal Thai Police would be forced to respond to any gun battle or loud explosion.
“Can you ask them to respond slowly?” Anderson asked.
“Of course,” Petsut replied. “We can do that.” Then turning to Crocker, he ran a finger along the scar on his face and asked, “Mr. Mansfield, when are you planning to execute your raid?”
“As soon as possible,” Crocker answered, looking around the room to find the source of the terrible stink that had suddenly reached his nostrils. It smelled like an overflowing toilet or broken sewage pipe. Petsut, Captain Jack, and Anderson ate the pastries, pastes, and fruits as though nothing were wrong.
Anderson noticed Crocker’s unease and whispered, “It’s the durian you’re smelling.”
“What’s that?”
Anderson pointed to a plate of light-green melon sections in the middle of the table. “Taste it, it’s delicious.”
Crocker did his best to get past the smell and put a piece in his mouth. The durian tasted creamy and bittersweet. To his surprise, he actually liked it.
“Is there a problem?” Colonel Petsut asked with a very slight smile.
“Not at all,” Crocker answered. “I was thinking about how much time my men and I will need. By end of the day tomorrow I think our mission will be completed.”
“Excellent,” Petsut said. “I wish you success.”
After the meal concluded with coffee, tea, and brandy, the Americans were asked whether they wanted a relaxing massage from one of several pretty and strong-looking women who arrived at their table dressed in white pants and T-shirts.
The offer was enticing, but Crocker declined.
“Work before pleasure,” Colonel Petsut commented.
“That’s correct.”
Chapter Six
We have forty million reasons for failure, but not a single excuse.
– Rudyard Kipling
Forty minutes later Crocker, Anderson, and Mancini sat in Crocker’s room at the Viengtai Hotel, examining a map of Thailand with three of the other four SEALs and Anderson’s assistant Daw, a former sergeant in the antiterrorism unit of the Royal Malaysia Police. Akil was the only one missing.
“Where is he?” Crocker asked.
“Chatting up some Thai babe in the lobby,” Ritchie responded. “Hopefully, it isn’t a dude. I’ve heard some of the best-looking girls here are really guys.”
“Tell him to get his ass up here.”
Daw was pointing out the location of the farm in Kanchanaburi when Akil entered quietly.
“Sorry, boss,” Akil said.
“You’re going to have to stop thinking about pussy until this op is over.”
“I was in the lobby. I didn’t know you were back.”
With a hand missing two fingers Daw traced Route 323 to the farm, which was a few miles east of Kanchanaburi, a rural town and popular tourist destination of roughly thirty thousand people located at the base of the western mountains.
Transportation wasn’t a problem, thanks to the two Lexus SUVs Anderson had at his disposal. Mancini made a quick list of supplies, including automatic rifles and pistols with silencers, stun and tear-gas grenades, explosive material for breaching doors and windows, tie-ties, rope, axes, KA-BAR knives, and blowout patches.
Crocker and his men had raided dozens of buildings, houses, and apartments before, but the logistics and restrictions regarding this particular mission were unique. Turning to Anderson, he said, “We generally attack in quadrants. So if we hit the front first, we have men stationed at angles to cover any escape from windows or the back door.”
Anderson said, “I don’t see that as a problem.”
“No, the problems are twofold. One, subduing the terrorists without a prolonged gunfight. And two, dealing with possible booby traps on doors and windows.”
“Why’s that a problem?” Ritchie asked. “As long as I can get my hands on some C-4, I’ll blow right through them.”
“Because Colonel Petsut wants us to do this as quietly as possible.”
Akil posed the million-dollar question: “How do we accomplish that?”
“How about we have someone posing as a neighbor or local official knock on the door?” Davis asked. “That way we can catch them off guard.”
“Good idea,” Crocker said. “But who do we know who can pull that off?”
“You mean pass as a local?”
“Exactly.”
He was waiting for Daw to volunteer. Cal spoke first.
“I can, boss.”
Cal did look Asian, and could probably pass for Thai.
“You can?” Crocker asked.
“I speak some Thai,” Cal added.
“Since when?”
“Since I lived with this Thai chick when I was stationed in Coronado with SEAL Team One.”