Chapter 72
WEDNESDAY
The black sedan moved through the last gray minutes before dawn, its tires thrumming over damp pavement as the road unwound between rubber plantations and low pockets of morning mist. To the east, the sky over the Gulf had begun to pale and the warming horizon was turning the color of old brass.
Inside the car, nobody spoke. The diplomatic plates had been attached before first light.
The bright red-and-gold diplomatic passports in the glove box were clean and official.
Their weapons were gone, broken down and discarded kilometers behind them.
By the time the sun cleared the hills, they would be in Malaysia.
On the other side of the border, a senior official from the Chinese embassy in Kuala Lumpur would be in place, waiting to smooth their passage and move them quickly beyond the reach of Thai authorities.
Hang Shuo had disposed of his sling so as not to stand out. Sitting in the back seat, he used the armrest to support his injured shoulder and watched the last bits of Thailand slide past.
The road curved along a rise, offering a brief glimpse of the ocean below. For a few seconds, the early light made everything look cleaner than it was—as if the country itself refused to acknowledge what Hang had set in motion.
Then a shadow raced across the road and over the hood of the sedan. It was accompanied by the thunder of rotors as the first helicopter came in low over the trees.
The driver jerked his eyes upward just as the AH-1 Cobra of the Royal Thai Army swept across their path.
Fifty meters ahead, it flared, dropped onto the pavement sideways, and aimed its 20-millimeter, nose-mounted cannon right at them.
The sedan braked hard. But before it came to a full and complete stop, it was overtaken by another shadow from above.
An eleven-ton Airbus H225 from the Royal Thai Air Force descended behind them with brutal precision.
Its downwash tore leaves from the roadside trees and blasted dust, grit, and sand in all directions.
The large helicopter settled onto the road, boxing the car in between two walls of metal.
Hang and his remaining three operatives had nowhere to go.
As the Cobra sat in front of them, its rotors still spinning and the early morning sun glinting off the glass of its canopy, behind them, the H225’s side door slid open.
A four-man team jumped out. They moved hard and fast, their weapons up and at the ready. But they weren’t Thai soldiers. They were Cambodians. And Tevy was in the lead.
Surrounding the sedan, they kept their rifles trained on the occupants—only one of whom really mattered. That was the deal Tevy had made.
Dragging Hang out of the car, he bent him over the trunk, patted him down for weapons and then, slinging his rifle, painfully flex-cuffed him.
As he marched him back to the H225, his men didn’t linger. The remaining three Cambodians opened up on the remaining three Chinese. They fired in quick, controlled bursts and didn’t stop until they were certain the men were dead.
They stripped the MSS operatives of their phones, located and secured the diplomatic passports, and then, sweeping the immediate area one final time with their eyes, helped Tevy load Hang onto the Thai transport helicopter.
The Cobra lifted first and banked out over the water. The H225 came up after it and followed the same path.
By the time the first civilian vehicle reached the bend in the road, both helicopters were gone.