Chapter 46
Koebler didn’t call his handler right away. First, he needed to put distance between himself and the two CIA operatives he had shot in the surveillance van. Distance bought time. And right now, time was survival.
He kept moving. Head down. Eyes alert. He was being hunted by the most aggressive predator on the planet—the United States government. Even a small mistake could get him killed.
The Americans had found his building, penetrated his cameras, and put a team on his doorstep. They had resources, reach, and patience. By now, they’d be working backward and outward at the same time; focused on every single detail. They’d leave no stone unturned.
He crossed another street, checked behind him without looking like he was checking, and kept walking. Still nothing.
Two questions kept circling. How long had the CIA had him in their sights? And what had they been waiting for?
He had to assume that Thai authorities now had both his real identity and the Dutch alias he’d used to enter the country. Soon, his face would be everywhere. He needed to be well on his way out of Thailand before that happened.
At a run-down clothing shop, he paid cash for a pair of cargo pants, a long-sleeved T-shirt, sunglasses, and a purple bucket hat.
Two doors down, he bought a rust-colored backpack.
In an alley a block later, he changed, transferred what he needed into the new pack, and tossed everything else into a dumpster.
The only thing he kept was the surgical mask.
Then he headed for his last fallback—a luggage storage facility at the back of an auto shop off Kasem Rat Road. There, he had left a go-bag with the items he might need if everything went bad.
He stayed on foot for four blocks, then cut through a market lane and flagged down a motorbike taxi on the other side. He gave the driver a phony destination two neighborhoods away and climbed on. Halfway there, he tapped the man on the shoulder, paid him, and got off early.
He walked for a block, making sure he wasn’t being followed, then crossed against the light, slipped between two delivery trucks, and came out on Kasem Rat Road.
The auto shop looked the same—two open bays, fluorescent lights, a pickup on a lift, tires stacked in crooked columns out front. Nothing special. Forgettable. That was why he had chosen it.
Behind the shop, in a fenced yard half-hidden by scrap and old oil drums, was the luggage storage facility. The sign next to the door was so faded it was barely legible.
His locker was in the back, third from the end. He went straight to it, took a knee, and plugged in his combination. When the lock released, he opened the door, removed his bag, and set it on the floor.
Cash. Passport. Meds. Clean phone. Charger. A change of clothes. A compact toiletry kit. Everything was exactly as he had packed it. Taking out the phone, he powered it up.
While it searched for a signal, he opened the passport and checked the photo, the laminate, and the stamps. Then he put it back.
Once the phone had connected, he opened its encrypted communications app, keyed in the number from memory, and lifted it to his ear.
Matías answered on the first ring. “Go ahead.”
“We’ve got a problem. And before you ask, no I am not damaged.”
“Did you achieve the objective?”
“Yes.”
“Have you been compromised?”
“Yes.”
“More Cambodians?”
“No,” Koebler replied. “Americans. They had my place under surveillance. Even managed to tap into my cameras.”
Silence.
“I checked their credentials,” Koebler continued. “U.S. Embassy Bangkok. I’m confident they were Agency.”
Matías was quiet for a half second longer. When he spoke again, his tone had gone flatter. More serious. “What’s their status?”
“Both dead.”
“Any idea how long they were on to you?”
“None,” said Koebler. “But we should assume they have my photo and the Dutch alias.”
“Agreed. Can you still move?”
“For the moment.”
“Good,” his handler replied. “You need to find some place to hole up.”
“With Langley now on my tail? No way. What I need is an exit.”
There was a pause on the line and Koebler read it in the silence. “You don’t have one.”
“Not one I can give you tonight,” said Matías.
“That’s not how this works. I did my job. Now you do yours.”
His handler didn’t rise to it. “Listen to me carefully. We knew Bangkok would lock down tight after the first bombings. It’ll be even worse now. I don’t have a clean route that I can instantly stand up.”
Koebler’s grip tightened on the phone. “How long?”
“One that we can trust? Now that the Americans are in the hunt? Forty-eight hours,” Matías admitted. “Seventy-two on the outside.”
“That’s unacceptable.”
“It’s unfortunate, but that’s our current reality.”
“That may be our reality,” said Koebler. “But I’m the one in the field carrying all the risk.”
“Right now,” said Matías, “the clock is your enemy. Not me. I need you off the board long enough for me to solve this. The moment I have something, I’ll ping you.”
Koebler looked down at the bag on the floor. Cash. Passport. The charger for his burner phone. None of it solved the real problem. Then it came to him.
“The client,” he said.
Matías didn’t respond, and Koebler could almost hear him sorting through the possibilities. He was trying to understand why, after everything that had happened, he’d want to drag the client back into the conversation.
“What about them?” his handler asked.
“They may be our best, and only, option.”
There was one of the longest pauses yet on the line. Finally, Matías asked, “For what? Exfiltration?”
“Yes.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I am,” Koebler replied.
“You’re a liability. You’ve got both the Thais and the Americans after you. Why would they risk exfilling you?”
“Because of what I know. They provided the SIM cards and the Cambodian-signature munitions for the RBSC operation. They wanted that bombing to be linked to Friday’s so all of it pointed across the border.
If I end up in Thai custody—or in the hands of the CIA—and start talking, that narrative begins to fall apart. ”
“Why wouldn’t they simply kill you?” Matías said.
“Because I documented everything.”
“You did what?”
“Notes and photographs,” said Koebler.
Matías was not happy. “That was not part of the arrangement. In fact, it was extremely reckless.”
“It was insurance.”
“It was a unilateral move that could have gotten us both killed. It still might.”
“Only if you don’t play it right,” Koebler replied. “If they move against me, you release it. All of it. You blow their false flag right out of the water. Bangkok learns it wasn’t the Cambodians who attacked them. It was the Chinese.”
Matías wasn’t fully convinced. “You’re asking me to trust the people who were tied to two compromised locations.”
“You don’t have to trust them. You just need to convince them that they’re better off with me alive and as far away from Thailand as possible.”
Koebler looked down at the bag again. Cash. Passport. Charger. Enough to keep moving. Not enough to get out. “Can you do it?” he asked.
“Make the approach? Yes,” said Matías. “Whether they accept our logic is another matter.”
“They will.”
“I want you to listen to me,” his handler replied. “From this point forward, assume two things. First, if the client agrees to help, it’s only because keeping you alive serves them for the moment. Second, that moment may not last.”
“I understand,” Koebler said. “What do you need from me?”
“Discipline. Stay off the grid. Don’t use that phone again unless I tell you to. Find some place safe. Don’t move unless you have to. And when instructions come from me, you follow them exactly.”
“Understood.”
“One more thing,” said Matías. “Until your exfil is complete and you and I are standing at a bar somewhere, approach every person you meet as a threat. Because I guarantee you, more than one of them will want you dead.”