Red Tide, стр. 66
Myanmar was the world’s second largest producer of illicit opium, and had been a major player since WWII. Largely thanks to China, which had forced opium production south into the Golden Triangle, rather than let it flourish inside the country’s borders.
Fanon’s role was to buy opium from the producers, process it into morphine, and turn the morphine into heroin—large quantities of which were sold to dealers. But like most men and women in his profession Fanon had to move from place-to-place on a frequent basis.
So, Kelsey took her sat phone out onto the balcony. She placed dozens of calls to contacts, and contacts of contacts, before hearing what purported to be Fanon’s voice. “This is Mickey. Leave your message at the tone. Beep.”
Kelsey was ready. “I represent a group of clients who are willing to pay a large sum of money for certain types of information. Please call me.” After providing the long string of numbers required to reach her sat phone, Kelsey broke the connection.
The wait began. Kelsey continued to follow leads as the hours ticked by, but without any luck. Eventually she took a nap, and was sound asleep, when her phone chimed. She rushed onto the balcony. “Yes?”
A male voice read off an address in Mingalor Zay, which he said was in the Mingalor Taung Nyunt Township. That was followed by the words, “Eight tonight.” Then a click.
Kelsey eyed her watch. It was a few minutes past five. That wouldn’t allow enough time to inspect the meeting place ahead of time. Chaney wouldn’t like that.
But Kelsey was determined to make contact with Fanon. By all accounts the middleman ran small boats in and out of ports throughout southeast Asia. And, if she managed to recruit Fanon, his drug runners might be able to provide information about the Sea Dragon’s whereabouts.
Kelsey called the bodyguards to her room for a briefing. Chaney was adamantly opposed and said so. Kelsey nodded. “Everything you say is true, but we’ll have to take the chance.”
“Okay,” Chaney said reluctantly. “But I want Justin on the team. He can drive and protect our vehicle.”
“Agreed,” Kelsey said. “Let’s gear up and get going.”
The decision had been made to use one of the team’s two vehicles. The van had seats in the back, but no windows, which was just as well.
Kelsey couldn’t see much. But she could catch glimpses through the windshield. Most of the buildings were western in appearance and five or six stories tall. Traffic was heavy. Motorcycles roared as they wove in and out of traffic. A chaotic maze of power, telephone, and TV cables crisscrossed each other thirty feet above the street.
A sickly sun was hanging low in the sky by the time the van passed through the prosperous part of the Taung Nyunt Township, and entered a seedy area dominated by bars, thinly disguised brothels, and dilapidated hotels. Kelsey leaned forward. “Find a place to park, Justin. You know the drill.”
Justin Smith was even featured, had dark skin, and was sporting a two-day growth of stubble. He knew that “the drill” meant a spot where it would difficult to block the van in, there was good visibility, and he could pull straight out. “Roger that, boss. Your destination is coming up on the right.”
Kelsey was watching as they passed a garish bar called “The Lucky Seven.” A couple of what might have been lookouts were lounging out front. They turned to watch as a young woman in a short skirt entered.
A delivery truck pulled out into traffic and Smith wasted no time sliding into the empty parking slot. It was at the end of the block which meant he could pull straight out.
Kelsey had made her way forward by then and was sitting next to Smith. Most of the pedestrians were locals. But she saw Europeans too. Men mostly, looking for sex or drugs. But a scattering of couples were visible too. And that was a good thing if the team was going to fit in. “Okay, Ronda … We need to split up. What would you suggest?”
“I’ll pair with the Hulk,” Chaney replied. “And that puts you with Pretty Boy. You’ll make a great couple.”
Kelsey made a face. “I don’t date guys who smell better than I do.”
She looked at her watch. “It’s 7:45. Let’s de-ass the van and enter separately. Mickey is an Australian aborigine. He’s about 5’8’, and he’s got a thing for tropical shirts. According to what I was told he’ll have bodyguards with him. Questions? No? All right. Donnelly and I will enter first. The dynamic duo will follow two minutes later. Keep your eyes peeled Toolz … If you see anything iffy holler.”
Each team member was packing a radio, a tiny wireless microphone, and a pair of ear buds. Smith grinned. “No prob, boss lady. I’ve got this.”
Kelsey and Donnelly left the van through the curbside sliding door. Both wore jackets, jeans and sneakers. Kelsey’s were red. The first thing Kelsey noticed was the smothering heat. Even though the sun had set, the temperature was still in the mid-eighties.
The second thing Kelsey noticed was the throat clogging smell. Not a single scent, but many odors mixed together, creating a fuggy mix of drifting cigarette smoke, rotting vegetables, human urine, roasted peanuts, and the betel nut juice that both adults and children squirted into the street.
And that was to say nothing of the cacophonous street noise which consisted of motorcycle engines, pop music that drifted out of bars, and the wail of a distant siren. None of that was surprising and the input served to sharpen Kelsey’s senses. She was entirely in the moment, with every sense activated, and her mind racing.
Men stared. Why? Because she was a Euro? Because they wanted to fuck