Ken Goddard - Chimera

“Which still leaves one bloody bastard in the mix,” Gavin said. “Unfortunately, it’s the one we we’ve been counting on to ship that cat to Seattle.”

“Change of plans,” Wallis said. “I’ve arranged for a new shipping point. You and Quince are going to be doing a bit of cruising for the next few days.”

“Where to?” Lanyard asked, thinking he already knew the answer.

“Darwin.”

“Oh bloody hell,” Gavin whispered under his breath.

“What was that?” Wallis asked.

“Jack was expressing his enthusiasm for the new plan,” Lanyard said, smiling at his dismayed partner. “We haven’t had much time for fishing lately.”

“I’m figuring about thirty-two hundred miles if you take the Strait down through the Java Sea,” Wallis said. “At twenty-six knots, you should be able to make that in a couple of weeks, if you don’t spend too much time fishing; figure on three if you take the Indian Ocean route. Weather predictions look favorable, and either route’s fine with me. I’ll deal with Hateley and the change in delivery schedule.”

“So we don’t need Kai and his bloody pirates anymore?” Gavin asked.

“No, I think it's time our association with these lads came to a proper end,” Wallis said. “The meet’s scheduled for midnight tonight at Ko Tanga. Pass on my best regards, and try not to attract too much attention in the process; that Ranger station on Rawi is only twenty miles away. Gecko-One, out.”

Lanyard and Gavin looked at each other.

“Two bloody weeks on this tub, all because that bastard Kai opened his bloody yap,” Gavin muttered. “The bloke is definitely going to pay.”

“Which is undoubtedly what he has in mind for us,” Lanyard pointed out. “In which case, he’s going to have a surprise waiting for him.”

Lanyard disappeared into his stateroom, and came back with the five-foot-long waterproof Pelican case.

Gavin’s eyebrows rose. “You really think we’re going to need that to deal with a handful of bloody third-world pirates?”

Lanyard shrugged as he knelt down next to the thick plastic case, unsnapped the locks, opened the case, carefully removed a new 25mm M109 semiautomatic payload rifle, and began to examine the glistening weapon — a modern and even more lethal version of the U.S. Military’s. 50-caliber M107sniper rifle.

After a few moments, he set the stubby weapon aside and picked up one of the low-velocity 1-inch diameter cartridges that had proven in trials to be two-and-a-half times as destructive to armor, vehicles and barricades as a. 50-caliber armor-piercing round.

“Tell you what, Gavin, me lad, you and I may not scare that crazy bastard Kai, but I’ll wager a pint this little fellow will.”

International Customs at the Bangkok International Airport, Thailand

Special Agent Gedimin Bulatt waited patiently for the new customs officer to relieve her counterpart at the booth; and then continued to wait as the new officer took her time adjusting the position of the monitor, keyboard, stamps and ink pads to her liking.

As he continued to stand behind the bright line in the floor, Bulatt glanced at his watch again and wondered for at least the tenth time that morning why his office had suddenly diverted him from his planned flight back home, and re-booked his ticket to Bangkok. Someone would be meeting him at Bangkok International; that was all he knew.

Ah well, he thought philosophically, I’ve never been to Thailand; might as well make the best of it.

Finally, the new customs officer looked up and motioned for Bulatt to step forward. As he did so, placing his official passport on the counter, he realized that she was easily one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen in his life.

Careful, he reminded himself — watching her examine his passport and credential photographs, and then look up directly up at him with dark eyes that were gorgeous; but, at the same time, curious and penetrating — you’re in Thailand now, but it’s undoubtedly the same as in Japan. Politeness counts for everything. Pay no attention to the fact that she’s gorgeous. She’s just a bureaucrat. No big deal.

“You don’t look very much like your passport photograph, Mr. Bulatt,” the young customs officer pointed out in heavily Thai-accented English.

“No, I suppose I don’t,” Bulatt agreed as he reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out his federal law enforcement badge case, and placed it on the counter. “The photograph on my credentials was taken when I was working on one of my undercover assignments. It probably resembles my current appearance a lot more than my passport,” he added as he watched her pick up the badge case, open it up and examine the credentials photo carefully.

“Yes, this does look more like you,” the young woman agreed. “Does that mean you’re coming into Thailand on a covert assignment?”

Bulatt blinked at the unexpected question. “No, not at all; I just completed an investigation yesterday and I haven’t had a chance to, uh, improve my appearance.”

“Your appearance is perfectly acceptable, Agent Bulatt. So what brings you to Thailand?” the young woman asked in what could have passed for Oxford English, her suddenly unaccented voice almost haunting in its softness. “Business or pleasure?”

It took every ounce of willpower that Bulatt possessed to force the imagined images of pleasure in Bangkok into the deep recesses of his mind.

“Just business, I’m afraid,” he said what he hoped was a neutral voice; and then blinked in surprise when the young woman burst out laughing. Instantly, her flawless light-tanned features turned bright red. She quickly covered her mouth, but not before Bulatt saw her absolutely enticing dimples.

Jesus.

“I’m sorry. Did I say something wrong?” he asked, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“No, no, I am so sorry. It was my fault.” The young woman brought the palms of her hands together in the traditional wai gesture that had the unfortunate effect of drawing Bulatt’s attention to her more-than-ample chest that her neatly pressed uniform shirt did nothing to hide.

Bulatt felt his own tanned cheeks flush as he snapped his eyes back up to the young woman’s face, and discovered, to his dismay, that she had observed the movement of his eyes; and that her dimpled smile was, if possible, even more enticing that before.

“It is not your fault, Agent Bulatt. I have been teasing you, and you are doing a very commendable job of being polite. I was just surprised by your surname,” the young woman explained as she reflexively stamped his passport. “It is such an interesting name for a law enforcement officer.”

Bulatt nodded, grateful to be back on what he hoped was neutral ground. “My family name is Bulattus — a traditional Lithuanian name. But when my grandfather immigrated to the United States, he had it changed to Bulatt.” He shrugged his muscular shoulders. “He probably didn’t think much about it at the time, but I do get a lot of kidding from my associates.”

“I’m sure you do. Well, I hope your stay in Thailand will not turn out to be all business,” she said as she handed back the credentials and passport.

“Don’t even think about enjoying yourself here, Special Agent Bulatt,” a firm and oddly-familiar voice said.

Bulatt turned and saw the familiar face of Colonel Prathun Kulawnit standing a few feet behind the customs booth, looking impressively official with his neatly-trimmed gray hair and crisply-ironed uniform.

“Prathun! You’re the reason I was sent here?” Bulatt grinned in delight. He started forward to greet his Interpol friend, but then remembered. “Excuse me,” he said, coming to a halt and bringing the palms of his hands together at his chest and bowing slightly. “Khun Prathun, it is good to see you again.”