Ken Goddard - Chimera

“I tell you again, we should have destroyed them at birth, Sergei Arturovich. We never should have let them live.”

“But there is so much we can learn from their development, even if it is… abnormal development.”

“There’s a big difference between learning and keeping evidence that can be used against us.”

“Yes, I understand that now,” Draganov acknowledged. “After the hunt is over, and Marcus and his men are gone, we will deal with the animals in MAX.”

In the Phuket hotel suite

Gedimin Bulatt had just drifted into a blissful sleep when the phone on the lamp table near his head began to ring loudly.

He fumbled for the phone, listened intently for about twenty seconds, reached for his Blackberry, quickly checked his e-mail listing, and then said “okay, we’ve got it. Thanks!”

He was starting to type with his thumbs on the Blackberry’s small keyboard when Pete Younger stumbled into the doorway of his small suite room.

“What the hell’s all that bloody racket about… and what time is it?” Younger demanded, trying to blink himself awake.

“That was Achara, and it’s four-thirty in the morning.”

“Achara? What’s she doing up at this hour?”

“Apparently working harder than we are,” Bulatt replied as he continued to type. “Chief Narusan found a latent print on the battery of that remote transmitter when he took it apart. She sent a photo of it to me, and I’m forwarding it to you right now.”

Younger’s eyes snapped wide open. “Christ, one of those bastards may be on file somewhere. I’ll get our Interpol lads on it ASAP.” He whirled around and ran over to his desk, indifferent to the fact that he was still in his underwear, sat down, activated his satellite-linked laptop, and quickly began calling up screens.

Bulatt pulled himself into a pair of jeans and then followed Younger into the living room where he collapsed into one of the stuffed chairs.

“Hell of a bloke, that Narusan. Sounds to me like you created yourself a CSI monster to go along with your princess warrior,” Younger said, his eyes now completely focused on his computer screen, “who, by the way, is an absolute doll, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“I noticed,” Bulatt said with a discernable edge to his voice.

“And?” Younger said, looking up from his laptop quizzically.

“And nothing. She’s Kulawnit’s daughter, for Christ sake.”

Younger smiled. “Feeling a little predatory, are we?”

“She’s a family friend, and a kid who’s deeply upset about her brother and father. I’m not going to take advantage of her emotions.”

“Good on you, mate,” Younger nodded approvingly as he went back to his computer. “Try to keep those noble thoughts in mind when she gets tired of waiting for you to be properly consoling, knocks you silly, and drags you off to a nice cozy cave.”

Bulatt blinked, starts to say something, and then hesitated as Younger visibly recoiled from his laptop screen.

“Bloody hell!”

“What’s the matter?”

“My latent query. I got a negative hit — no match to any of our linked databases.”

“In thirty seconds? That was fast.”

“Not just fast. Absolutely bloody impossible. My input generated an automatic full database scan, but there’s no way in hell our computers could have searched — ”

The desk phone on the lamp table next to Bulatt’s chair suddenly rang loudly.

Bulatt glanced curiously at Younger, who shrugged, and then picked up the handset.

“Hello?”

“Agent Bulatt?”

“Who’s asking?”

“Agent Smith. We need to talk.”

“About what?”

“Your recent latent query.”

“You mean the recent query we made approximately one minute ago?” Bulatt asked, his voice turning cold and dangerous.

“That’s correct. The Phuket Mariott coffee shop in one hour. Be there.”

In the Phuket Mariott coffee shop

Ged Bulatt and Pete Younger sat quietly at a small, isolated table at the rear of the coffee shop and watched as a broad-shouldered and tough-looking Caucasian man entered and walked straight to their table. Two similar-looking men followed, taking seats near the front door.

“I’m Agent Smith. May I join you, gentlemen?” the tough-looking man asked.

“Do we have a choice?”

“There are other options. This one is easier for everyone concerned.”

Bulatt gestured Smith to one of the empty chairs. For a long beat, the three men stared at each other.

“And who might these other ‘concerned’ people be?” Younger finally asked.

“People who are interested in the origins of that latent print.”

“Why would they care?” Bulatt asked.

“I can’t tell you that.”

“Which actually tells us a lot,” Younger pointed out.

Smith shrugged as if to acknowledge the obvious.

“You’ve been monitoring us for a while, aware of our investigation into the Khlong shootings, waiting to see what we found,” Bulatt said matter-of-factly.

“Actually, we’ve been monitoring the two of you ever since you took down the Captain of the Muluku.”

Bulatt snorted derisively. “Are you suggesting that incompetent idiot was involved in the Khlong killings?”

“I can’t talk about that.”

Younger stared at Smith for a long moment, and then smiled.

“Of course, it’s the Russians, isn’t it?”

“What Russians?” Bulatt asked.

“We had intel that a Russian drug smuggler named Gregor was using the Muluku as a cut-out for some of his transactions,” Younger said, “but we never got a lead on the guy.”

“And you never will,” Smith said, “because he’s dead… along with his entire crew.”

“How did they die?” Bulatt asked.

“I can’t tell you that.”

“Pure coincidence, of course,” Younger added, “that we’re looking for three former military-types who are quite good at killing people; one of whom carelessly left his fingerprint on a transmitter battery.”

“You want to find them, and we want to know who they are,” Bulatt pointed out, “so let’s work together, share what we know.”

“I can’t. Info can only go one way on this deal.”

Bulatt sighs, pulls a cellphone out of his pocket, punches a couple of buttons and handed it to Smith. “Here, I think a Major Prethat wants to talk with you. He’s been listening in on a ‘remote’ line.”

Smith stared at Bulatt, takes the phone, listens for a long moment, then slowly places the phone on the table.

“I’m sure you have some kind of diplomatic immunity,” Younger suggested helpfully, “but you should also be aware that the Major has a one-track mind where shooting of Colonel Kulawnit is concerned. He’s not likely to care about that immunity.”

“My guess is he rolls up your entire operation within the hour, then takes his sweet time in responding to your Embassy’s ‘query’” Bulatt added with a tight smile.

Smith stared at the two men coldly for a few moments, and then sighed.

“I can’t tell you much about them. They were in the Australian Special Air Service before they decided to free-lance their skills.”

“With your Agency?”

Smith ignored the question. “They excel at what they do, but not necessarily at staying on point.”

“The Russian drug smugglers — ?”

“Were apparently too tempting.”

“What did they take?” Bulatt asked.

“A yacht and a lot of cash.”

“The Avatar?” Younger asked.

Smith nodded silently.

“So why are you after them?” Bulatt asked. “You can’t possibly care about dead drug smugglers and their missing assets.”

“It doesn’t matter why, Agent Bulatt,” Smith said firmly. “You and your Interpol pals are getting in our way, and that's not going to be acceptable.”