"We still won't know where the dude went, boss," James commented, "but guess we've gotta examine every angle, every possible lead."
Adler directed the penlight's beam in a circle around Bangkok, moving it farther away from the city as he searched. "Here it is. Looks to be about 50–60 miles west of Bangkok." Grant kept his eyes focused on the map. Adler recognized the look he'd seen so many times over the years. "You think he's figured out who destroyed his operation?"
"Yeah. Our targets. He's trying to track them down. Except, he's one step ahead of us."
"He knows where the goddamn factory is," Adler stated.
"Roger that, Joe."
"We'll find out where it is when we run our G2 on whoever's at the barge, boss," James said, pounding his knees with his fists.
Stalley added, "We'll find it for Frank and those sailors." The men all nodded in agreement.
"I hear ya, guys," Grant finally responded, before reading the rest of Mullins' note. "Jesus! They identified 'Hawk'!"
"Are you shittin' me?!" Adler leaned closer, reading the note. "DEA?!"
"Was DEA. He left the agency a few years ago. His name's 'Sonny Holcomb.'" Grant read the intel to the men, ending with, "Guess this photo was from his ID." He handed the paper to Slade. "Everybody take a good look."
"All this intel means squat, though, doesn't it?"
"Yeah, Joe. Right now we've just gotta concentrate on that barge." He put the message in his chest vest, and glanced at his submariner before putting on the helmet. "We've got another three hours of flying. Try and get some rest." Welcome words for the men of A.T.
Chapter 21
Grant looked toward Milton, hearing his voice inside the helmet. "Sir, we're approaching the coast of Burma. Lieutenant Gore's gonna start flying NOE for about another 30 miles. I'll inform you when we're over the Gulf."
"Roger."
After previously reviewing sat images and maps, it was decided to fly the current route. Most of southern Burma and Thailand was forested or only had small villages interspersed across the countrysides.
Keeping the same speed, Gore adjusted the altitude and began flying NOE, barreling across the countryside, avoiding treetops, power lines, hills. Rice stalks swirled violently as the chopper tore across the fields.
The men of A.T. took the "rocking and rolling" all in stride, keeping their eyes closed, either asleep, or just mentally preparing for the mission.
Grant glanced at his watch. They were ahead of schedule. There should be plenty of time to do a thorough recon around the target. They hadn't gleaned much from examining maps and sat images. Were there guards around the docks? The UFs had to have at least one of their own standing watch. Even though Novak said only three were left aboard the Huey after the attack on the shacks, that didn't mean there weren't reserves hiding in Bangkok or aboard the barge.
The barge. Apart from it being a helipad, was it being used for any other purpose? Grant bumped a shoulder against Adler. "Joe!" Adler removed the earplug. "Joe, remember the intercepted calls from Saigon?" Adler nodded. "Didn't Mike say he saw an M16 on the chopper?"
"Don't forget the Uzi."
"Yeah, but where'd they get that shit? Where'd they get the barge? And the Huey?!"
The two friends were on the same wavelength again, as Adler said, "You're thinking Nam's black market, and knowing you, you're thinking weapons are stowed on the barge, weapons and ammo they brought from Nam."
"Am I crazy?"
"No more than me!"
The chopper banked to port just as Milton announced, "Over water! Heading north!"
"Copy that!" Grant acknowledged.
Reaching the Gulf of Thailand, Gore adjusted direction and headed north, continuing to fly low. Where the Bay of Bangkok met the gulf, the distance between Thailand's East and West Coasts was over 60 miles, plenty of space to remain undetected. Then, at the entrance to the bay, Gore would fly on a northwesterly heading until they were over land, when he'd change course again, heading east to the LZ.
Grant nudged Adler, then pointed to Slade. Sound asleep. Grant kicked his foot.
Slade's eyes popped open. "Huh?! Are we there, boss?!"
Grant announced, "Time for final gear check!" His eyes went from man to man, watching as last minute inspections were made, confirming all gear was in order, weapons ready. Shades of green and black camouflage paint streaked their faces. Watch caps were pulled low, before NVGs were put in place.
Grant's thoughts returned to the barge. He leaned forward, resting his arms on his thighs. What the hell would they be up against if his assumptions about additional men and weaponry were correct? Would they have a chance to run a G2 on anyone?
Not realizing his men were watching him, he continued deep in thought. They knew his brain was working overtime. The slight upward curve to the right side of his mouth told them he'd resolved at least one of his issues, but it had to be a helluva big one. They'd learn what it was soon enough. Grant adjusted the wire mike then asked Milton to relay a message to Gore and Feith.
Chapter 22
Smells of raw fish, fried fish, fish stew permeated the entire area. Along the waterfront of the Chao Phraya River, fish markets thrived.
One-story shanties lined the road leading to the river, some with nothing more than pieces of material or canvas covering roofs, or doorways. White cloth bags, filled with rice and grain, were piled alongside entryways. Scooters and tuk tuks (three-wheeled transport vehicles) were parked haphazardly along the lane.
Holcomb parked three blocks from the river. Banyon squinted, unable to see much along the darkened street. "How'd you find this guy's place? Did you follow him?"
Holcomb pulled the key from the ignition. "Yeah. After our first meeting, I followed him to the factory, then here. Let's go."
They walked quickly but cautiously, trying to keep themselves in shadows, but heads still turned as the two walked through the rundown district.
Walking past the shanties, Holcomb led the way onto a dirt path, heading closer to the waterfront. Taking a quick look behind them, seeing they weren't being followed, they continued on. He pointed to a small, one-story, Thai-style house, erected over a slab of concrete. The twin-sloped roof was covered in faded red sheets of corrugated tin. The only access was through the front door. Two windows were near the door, one on either side.
Not seeing any lights, Banyon whispered, "What if he isn't here?"
"Then we'll wait. He'll show eventually."
With their weapons drawn, the two crouched low, heading toward the door.
Holcomb took up a position next to the door, while Banyon leaned near a front window, trying to see inside. "Can't see anything; too dark."
As Banyon started to reach for his flashlight, Holcomb whispered, "Let's get it over with." He was ready to grab the door knob, when the hinges squeaked. The door opened a few inches. He unhooked a flashlight from his belt, gave Banyon a nod, then he led the way into the pitch black room.
Before Holcomb even turned on the flashlight, they knew something was very wrong. A foul, pungent odor permeated the enclosed space.
Banyon closed the door, as Holcomb moved the beam slowly around the room.