Authors: Ken Goddard
“Yes, all of the boats and planes have her description,” Preithat nodded.
“But based on their response to our arrival, we’re assuming these men are perfectly capable of commandeering another vessel, should the opportunity occur.
All things considered,” Preithat smiled as he patted Bulatt sympathetically on the shoulder, “I think the seas south of Ko Tanga are not the best place for a few Wildlife Rangers and an American Special Agent in a small patrol boat to be right now; even though I certainly share your desire to be present when these men are intercepted.”
“I see the logic of your words, Khun Sat.”
Bulatt nodded.
“I will try to be patient and wait for your soldiers and sailors to do their job; but, in the meantime, do you mind if I stay here?”
“On the Sawaeke Pinsinchai?”
“No, on Tanga Island.”
“Why would you want to do that?”
“There’s a crime scene out there that needs to be searched as soon as possible — ideally at first light — and a rifle that I saw one of our suspects drop into the water when I shot at him with Colonel Kulawnit’s pistol,” Bulatt explained.
“I know I promised not to intrude on your investigation; but with the Colonel and many of your investigative team injured, you have many tasks to perform, and very few people to do the work.
Searching the island for evidence is, perhaps, something I could do to help without getting in the way.”
“Are you saying you intend to go into the water after that rifle, after your encounter with that shark?”
Preithat cocked his head curiously.
“Actually, I was thinking of using a rope and hook to drag the area,” Bulatt said.
“I know roughly where —”
“Pardon me a moment, Kuhn Ged,” Preithat said, and then disappeared into the Cutter’s main cabin.
*
*
*
A few minutes later, as the medivac helicopter bearing Colonel Kulawnit and the three seriously wounded Rangers rose up and hovered above the Cutter for a moment before disappearing into the dark sky, Preithat reappeared with two men.
One was wearing a set of gold Royal Thai Navy Commander’s stripes on the shoulder tabs of his crisply clean uniform — clearly the commander of the
Sawaeke
Pinsinchai
.
The second man wore a chief petty officer’s insignia on the sleeves of his much less crisp and clean dungarees that almost exactly matched the oil-stained duffel bag he held in his muscular left hand.
In his right, he carried a medium-sized black waterproof case.
After introducing Bulatt and the two men to each other, Preithat turned to Bulatt.
“I’ve explained your request to the Commander.
He is aware of your actions in saving Colonel Kulawnit’s life, and he has offered to leave one of his rescue boats and three of his men to assist you in your search for evidence; one of whom is Chief Petty Officer Narusan who, among his many other skills and ratings, is the ship’s senior diver.”
“He’s willing to go diving in those waters, by himself?” Bulatt asked, incredulous, as he stared at the smiling sailor.
Preithat translated Bulatt’s comment to the two Navy men, both of whom chuckled in amusement.
Then, after listening to the chief petty officer’s grinning response, Preithat turned back to Bulatt.
“Apparently the chief grew up on Ko Tarutao, and has dived in these waters all his life; as do many tourists during daylight hours.
And, as it turns out, he was also in the assault helicopter observing when you defended yourself against that shark.
He knows you’re an Interpol wildlife officer; but he hopes that since you killed a protected species only doing what it does naturally, you won’t mind if he dives down and collects whatever fins might be left along with the rifle.
And he’ll be happy to take you with him on the dive.
He assures me the fins of a tiger shark make a delicious soup which he will be happy to share with you and his men, once you’re finished with your crime scene work.”
“I, uh, would be honored, I think,” Bulatt replied uneasily.
“In that case, I’ll send someone to pick you up as soon as you’ve completed your work,” Preithat said.
“Now, there’s one more thing.”
He nodded to the chief petty officer who stepped forward and handed the waterproof case and the duffel bag to Bulatt.
“What’s all this?” Bulatt asked, juggling the case and the deceptively heavy bag in his hands.
“The case holds a camera and some basic investigative equipment.
It belongs to this ship.
The Commander is happy to loan it to you, but wants it back; ideally in good condition.
The bag contains Colonel Kulawnit’s vest, his radio, and his pistol,” Preithat said.
“But I’m not —” Bulatt started to say, but Preithat shook his head firmly.
“Your call-sign is CSI-One, and the radio is adjusted to the proper frequency.
Use it to notify our dispatcher when you and the chief are ready to be picked up.”
“Ah, American CSI — very good!”
The chief petty officer grinned widely, holding his thumb high up in the air, and then said something to Preithat in Thai.
“Chief Petty Officer Narusan says he enjoys watching your American CSI show on Thai television, and hopes you’ll show him how to do this work so he can be the ship’s CSI officer also,” Preithat translated.
“Not a problem.”
Bulatt nodded agreeably, and returned the thumbs-up gesture, which caused the chief to grin even more widely.
“The chief also assures me,” Preithat went on, “that he is perfectly capable of protecting you from the unlikely approach of any shark that might appear in these waters during daylight hours.
But he’s not so confident about dealing with all of the friends and relatives of the pirate Kai, or the mysterious men on the
Avatar
, should any of them show up unannounced; and I would not want to be the one to tell Colonel Kulawnit, when he regains consciousness, that the friend who saved his life had come to harm.”
“I think I understand, Khun Sat,” Bulatt replied seriously.
“Please assure the Commander that I’ll take good care of his equipment, and that I’ll try very hard to avoid any conflicts.”
“Yes, it is best for everyone if you concentrate on your search for evidence, and leave the hunting of these criminals to the Royal Navy, Agent Bulatt,” the Commander of the
Sawaeke
Pinsinchai
added in halting English.
“But if, in the process, you find it necessary to protect yourself — against sharks or any other such creatures who might try to harm you or any of my sailors — please do so with my blessing, and my authority.”
*
*
*
In the cabin of a Grumman Seaplane — somewhere over the Malacca Strait
The Grumman pilot was maintaining a steady low altitude in spite of stormy wind gusts that intermittently toss the old plane around like a toy.
Wallis sat in the copilot seat searching the water below with a powerful N/V scope.
“Should have spotted them by now,” the pilot muttered into his headset mike. “You sure about that heading?
“No, I’m not … but I’m certain they wouldn’t have sailed south into a naval blockade.”
“Speaking of which,” the Grumman pilot responded, “we’re rapidly approaching Thai waters.”
“Is that going to be a problem?”
“Only if we pop up on their radar screens, or they triangulate our location when you make that call.”
Wallis stared down at the satellite phone in his hand.
“I’ll make it brief.”
*
*
*
South of Tanga Island, in the Malacca Strait — within two nautical miles of Malaysian territory
It had taken Gavin nearly fifteen minutes and two hacksaw blades to cut away the
Avatar’s
flying bridge, giving the stricken yacht a much lower silhouette.
He was in the process of tossing the last of the tubular structure overboard when he spotted the first patrol boat, and then the second — in the far distance, their running lights flickering intermittently through the fog — with his night-vision-goggles.
“We’ve got a lot of company out there,” Gavin said as he scrambled down to the bridge.
“Couple of patrol boats — maybe three, I couldn’t tell for sure — off the bow and the port beam; definitely between us and Langkawi Island, and probably running the territorial line.”
“What about off the starboard beam?” Lanyard asked.
“Couldn’t see anything, but that doesn’t mean much.
They could be a hundred yards out in this bloody fog, and we wouldn’t see the bastards coming until they ran us down.”
“Okay, starboard beam it is,” Lanyard said as he slowly pushed the left throttle up to half-speed, causing the yacht to slowly turn to the right.
“How far to the territorial line if we stay on this course?” Gavin asked, looking amazingly focused for a man who had been fighting against nausea for last hour, and frequently losing the battle.
Lanyard checked the GPS screen.
“Maybe another fifteen minutes.”
“Think the pump’ll hold out that long?”
“It might.”
Two minutes later, the fourth pump light on the control board began flashing, and Lanyard made the reluctant decision to abandon and scuttle the crippled yacht.
The rain had stopped and the dark surface of the Malacca Strait — or at least what little of it they could see through the fog — was relatively calm; which made the idea of taking a twelve-foot dinghy out on the open ocean in stormy weather, in the middle of the night, with a limited store of food and water, and an ocean full of patrol boats looking to blow them out of the water at the first opportunity, seem only foolish instead of suicidal.
*
*
*
Ten minutes later, Lanyard was braced against the wallowing dinghy’s steering wheel, watching the
Avatar
slowly settle into the water, while Gavin hung over the tubular bow and vomited what little food and drink he’d managed to keep down over the past hour.
Then, as the yacht’s torn bridge structure finally disappeared beneath the waves, Lanyard checked his compass heading and accelerated the small boat into the face of the low swells.
Twenty long minutes later, Lanyard’s satellite cell phone finally rang.
“Gecko-two,” he said, and then listened for a few seconds, a smile growing on his grizzled face.
“Right, we’re probably the lads the whole bloody Thai Navy and Air Force are out looking for; but, fortunately for us, they‘re searching west and south instead of east.
They won’t find the
Avatar
in any case.
She’s resting on the bottom a couple miles back.
We’re in the dinghy, keeping our heads down.
Jack’s a little worse for the wear, took a nick alongside the head, but he’s still game.
My navigation’s a bit rough, but I think we’re in Malaysian territory right now.
Hold one.”
Lanyard reached into his life jacket, pulled out a GPS unit, and read off the coordinates into the phone.
“Aye, we’ll put an IR-flasher out.
Water’s a bit of a chop down here; try not to run us over when you come in.
Gecko-two, out.”
Chuckling in satisfaction, Lanyard re-secured the cell phone to his belt, reached for the emergency infrared flasher attached to the transom, turned it on, and then turned to the dark figure of Gavin, who was sprawled on his back in the bottom of the dinghy muttering to himself.
“See, what’d I tell you, laddie?
Just because we sank the
Avatar
and let Hateley’s hundred-thousand-dollar trophy get blown to bits, that doesn’t mean Wallis would leave us out here to paddle all the way to Darwin.”
“That may be true, but he doesn’t know we did all that just yet, does he?” Gavin said morosely.
“No, he doesn’t,” Lanyard conceded.
“Let’s just hope the plane ride put him in a good mood.”
*
*
*
On the Malacca Strait, Malaysia
Ten minutes later, the ex-RAF pilot of the completely blacked-out, fifty-year-old, high-winged, dual-engine seaplane came in low over the water, visually verified the dinghy’s position; and then came back around and touched down, landing into the face of the rolling swells with an ease that suggested a history of many such landings in far worse conditions.
As the pilot kept his engines running, maintaining the seaplane’s position heading into the wind, Lanyard brought the dinghy around behind the plane and up to the open main cabin door where Wallis was waiting with a grappling hook.
Then, as Gavin scrambled up and in through open doorway, Wallis held the dinghy tight against the plane while Lanyard leaned down with a combat knife, punched a few holes in the hull, and slashed the flotation tubes.
Finally, as Lanyard and Gavin pulled themselves into two of the four main cabin seats, and Wallis secured the door, the pilot made a final adjustment to his wind alignment, advised his passengers to hang on, and then firmly shoved the throttles forward to takeoff speed, sending the old seaplane crashing through the swells of the Malacca Strait one more time.
Moments later, they were airborne, the gallant old plane roaring into the darkness several miles south of the line where the Thai patrol boats were maintaining a determined grid search for the missing
Avatar
.