Free Plausible Denial by F. W. Rustmann Jr. Page B

Twenty-One
     
                    
 
    A t
the Avis counter at Chiang Mai airport Mac rented a dark Toyota Corolla in the
alias Bob Humphrey. He and Culler drove north to Chiang Rai along a newly
paved, four-lane highway. On the way they stopped at a roadside local
restaurant and had a lunch of Mac’s favorite Thai gueyteow lad na noodles
with sauce, pork, and vegetables as well as a couple of local Kloster beers.
    They
arrived at the center of the town less than an hour later and pulled up in
front of the modern Wangcome Hotel. Again using their aliases, they checked
into adjourning rooms on the tenth floor overlooking the bustling city.
    Mac
recalled Chiang Rai as the Thai city closest to the famed Golden Triangle,
formed by the confluence of the Mekong and Ruak rivers where Burma, Laos and
Thailand came together. The town was infested with people involved in one way
or another in the drug trade. A modern day Dodge City, much like Medellian in
Colombia. It was equally infested with police—some who were not even on the
take. 
    The
tourist business was also booming in Chiang Rai, with excursions to the
surrounding ancient temples, mountain villages and the poppy fields, and an
abundance of first class hotels. There were also hundreds of low cost hostels
frequented by hippies and youth interested in trekking and hanging out and
sampling Thai gunsha – the best marijuana in the world. There was also
an abundance of heroin in all forms, and more earthy Oriental delights.
    Culler
and Mac chose to pitch up in one of the first class hotels for reasons other
than just comfort. These hotels offered better security and fit well with their
use of tourist cover.
    Once
they had settled into their hotel rooms, Mac used his non-attributable cell
phone to call Bill Barker’s Thai contact, retired policeman General Sawat
Ruchupan.
    While
not perfect security, prepaid cell phones could not be traced back to owners,
and cell phone records were not kept by the companies because there was no
billing. MacMurphy knew that all security was a tradeoff with efficiency, and
the convenience in this case outweighed more stringent security measures.
     Since
it was getting late in the day, General Sawat suggested they meet at his villa
in Chiang Mai the following morning. He informed Mac the shipment of gear had
arrived and was awaiting opening and inspection.
    Tired
and jet-lagged, Culler and Mac had an early dinner at the hotel, took two
melatonin each to assist in getting over the jet-lag, and retired for the
evening.
     
    Chapter Twenty-Two
     
     
    M ac
and Culler arose early, had a light breakfast at the hotel and headed south for
Chiang Mai. They easily found Sawat’s spacious villa overlooking the Gymkhana
golf course in a beautiful residential section of Chiang Mai, located in the
posh southeast quarter. From the looks of his palatial villa, General Sawat Ruchupan
was clearly a man of some means.
    A
thin, balding man in his mid-seventies, he met Culler and Mac at the door.
Dressed impeccably in long white trousers and a long-sleeved, white shirt, he
bowed deeply in the traditional Thai wai with his palms pressed together
in a prayer-like fashion, showing respect to his visitors. “ Sawatdee khrap ,”
he said.
    Both
Culler and Mac returned the wai and spoke the sawatdee khrap greeting in unison. They removed their shoes at the door and left them on the
threshold. The general led them through the hotel-like foyer, padding barefoot
over the polished teak floor, through sliding glass doors at the back of the
house and onto a patio pool deck beyond.
    They
took seats around a white patio table shaded with an umbrella to shield them
from the morning sun. A tanned, bikini-clad young Thai woman was lounging by
the pool nursing a yapping Shih Tzu at the obviously augmented breasts that
threatened to burst out of her bikini top. 
    “Quiet
Ling Ling,” she chastised the mutt, “these are farangs from America.
They won’t hurt you