Borneo’s silver moon slid behind clouds like it was auditioning for a horror flick. Dark shadows crossed the valleys like evil spirits. We hiked to a hill near the Pak Uban’s village and set up an observation blind on an overlooking ridge.
Mercury said, Did I mention what a terrible idea this is?
I said, What’s wrong?
Mercury said, All the things you yell at Ms. Sabel for, homie: no intel, no recon, no plan.
I didn’t feel like arguing with an immortal reject. I examined the terrain with my thermal binoculars. On the first pass, the scene felt wrong.
“Hey, Diego,” I whispered. The Post’s Singapore-based station chief slid next to me. I handed him my binoculars. “I don’t see the Pak Uban or anyone else in the village. Where would they have gone?”
He studied the scene for a long time, then adjusted his position. He looked far to the right, then back. “Where you showed me is not where he lives. That is a Melanau village. He’s a Kayan, one of the Dayak tribes. He lives over that ridge, in the longhouse.”
“But I saw him in that village. His injured son was there.”
“The Kayans were headhunters a generation ago,” Diego said. “This Pak Uban is a known racist who enslaves the Melanau. He’s been disavowed by the other Kayan tribes but some young men follow him. The village you went to is deserted.”
“And my last translator belonged to one of the Dayak tribes,” I said. “That explains it.”
Emily’s paper had the connections to get us a guy with some ethics. Newspaper ethics, thin as they may be, are more reliable than tribal alliances. This time, I could count on more reliable answers without cutting someone’s fingers off.
Miguel smacked my shoulder. “Explains what?”
“Bujang belonged to a cousin tribe of the Pak Uban. He sided with his tribal buddy and sold me out.”
We moved our position to a new hill to get a better look at the Kayan village. Definitely a better place than the Melanau ghost town. Several small homes lined a walkway paved with stone that led to the longhouse. Smoke wafted from a hole in the roof. Plain and unadorned, it sat on stilts, four feet above the ground, and had the traditional veranda for meetings. There were other shacks and buildings scattered around it. People milled about the village, talking, kicking dogs, yelling at children, carrying chickens. Every male was young, tough, and carried a rifle.
Emily twisted around, looking over her back. “Does this body armor make my butt look big?”
I glanced at Miguel.
“It makes you look perky,” Carmen said. She gave the reporter a playful spank.
“Tough fight ahead, bro,” Miguel said.
“Did you bring darts or bullets?” Carmen asked.
“Two magazines of darts per person, the rest are bullets.”
Carmen felt her pack and counted the twelve magazines I’d allotted her.
I’d planned for the same scenario I saw last time: a wide separation between hostiles and civilians. Most of the people I could see were children. I could be a mean son-of-a-bitch in a war zone, but I wouldn’t traumatize kids by killing their parents in front of them.
“Well, then,” Miguel said, “it’s time for Operation Movie Star.”
I nodded and turned to Diego. “Ever been in a firefight before?”
“Before wha—?” His voice stopped working. He shook his head.
Miguel headed down the hill and disappeared into the brush.
“A lesser man would probably pee his pants doing what we’re going to do, but you’re a stud, Diego. I can see it in your eyes.” I slapped him on the back.
He smiled as if he were about to puke.
“Hold on,” Emily said. “You never said anything about a firefight. I got you a translator, where’s my scoop?” She searched my eyes. “What are you … do you mean … I’m not going—”
“You’re going to stay right here with Carmen. Actually, you’re going to move ten yards away from Carmen, in case they have an RPG.”
“You’re going to take on the Kazakhs?” Emily asked.
“The Kazakhs wouldn’t be dumb enough to stick around after the grave was uncovered. But the Pak Uban can lead me to them.”
“That’s it? That’s my scoop?”
“It’s a good scoop. Embedded with Sabel Security, you’ll have war correspondent credentials. Investigative journalism at its finest.”
Emily shook her head, her eyes bugged out. “What good is all that if I get killed?”
Carmen put an arm around her. “Don’t worry, we’ve been through nastier shit than these guys can dish out. We got this.”
Emily nodded and sniffled.
Carmen gave her an extra squeeze, then leaned against a tree and closed her eyes.
I pushed Emily back to a hardwood tree. “Get some rest. Shooting won’t start until 0300.”
Emily turned white and stood motionless. I tugged Diego’s sleeve and led him down the hill.
The road to victory requires careful timing. March in when everyone’s fed and awake, and you die. Sneak in when everyone’s drunk and bored and asleep, and you win. We had a few hours to kill to get the timing right. I found a nice place about three hundred yards downwind from the village. Diego sat and stared at me while I stretched out and closed my eyes. A Kayan patrol came near us a few times, scaring the bejeezus out of Diego, but they never saw us. A dog sniffed his way to the Milk Bones in my pocket. He went away quietly after I gave him one. His doggy pals heard about it and came for a treat of their own. I went through half my stash before shooing them away.
I was drifting off into a nice dream about walking into a Starbucks where a hundred hajjis waited in ambush when a text came in from Ms. Sabel. “Bio-attack planned on Philadelphia. Find those Kazakhs fast.”
I thumbed out a reply. “Stepping it up, ma’am.”
At 0300, my phone alarm vibrated and I opened my eyes. I checked in with Carmen and Miguel on the comm link to find them both sleepy but waking fast. Diego and Emily hadn’t slept at all.
The Malaysian police in Kuching didn’t answer the phone, so I left a message with our coordinates.
My translator followed me toward the village like a condemned man and almost ran into me when I stopped to give out more doggy treats.
On the outskirts of the village, a lone guard manned his post with heavy eyes. They opened plenty wide when I touched my assault rifle to his face. He surrendered in silence, and I shouldered his AK-47 for a spare.
Pushing my hostage in front, I strolled into town on the central path while Diego flinched at every leaf flapping in the warm breeze.
Mercury said, Look at you, marching like a boss down the middle of the street.
I said, Movie star. You could help me out by telling me how many are in there.
Mercury said, Dude, always with the jokes. You got this.
Praying to gods can be more confusing than it’s worth. I was within an inch of firing the pagan jerk.
Our reluctant tour guide assured us the Pak Uban slept in the longhouse. I pushed him ahead of me with my rifle in his ribs. Diego clung to my back. A sleepy kid near the entrance jumped to attention and bobbled his weapon. I popped a dart into him with my Glock.
The main room was half the building. On each side were smaller rooms separated with curtains. The silencer was effective, but a loud pop in a small space is alarming. Five guys jumped off their mats and shook themselves awake.
When the old man showed himself, his boys started spreading wide. I popped two of them and traded my hostage for the old man before they knew what happened. That left Diego in the center of the room, shaking like a leaf. The four remaining men eyeballed him like fresh meat.
Miguel coughed behind them, having slithered in the back while I held their attention. He had Diego order them to get on the floor, facedown, hands stretched out in front. They didn’t move fast enough so he shot one in the leg. The others dropped quickly.
Then it was my turn. “Pak-man, how ya been, buddy?”
Diego translated but our captive didn’t speak. He wasn’t that old, maybe late fifties, but his eyes crossed with confusion as he contemplated how he’d been overpowered so quickly.
I pulled an 8x10 picture of Kaya’s corpse out of my pack and held it in front of him. I dropped it on the floor. I pulled out another picture, a wide shot of the grave with several bodies on the top layer. I spun it and let it twirl to the floor. I pulled another picture. And another. Ten in all. “Ever heard of Nuremburg? World Court? Crimes against humanity?”
He said nothing.
“Do you know what the USA does to terrorists who plan a bio-attack on Philadelphia?”
His eyes flickered wide open when he processed my accusation, then he slipped his poker-face back on and said nothing.
“How about murder?” I walked around him. “Malaysian authorities are on their way here from Kuching. They’ll question you about the Kazakhs and the mass grave full of your Melanau neighbors. Do you want them to find you alive?”
The old man turned to look at me when Diego translated.
Bullets whizzed outside: Carmen’s sniper rifle. We heard a body drop on the veranda. He moaned loudly.
I raised my voice. “Your choice. Tell me what I want to know and you’ll be alive when they get here to arrest you. Clam up and I finish the job Ms. Sabel started.”
Diego translated and the old man replied. Diego said, “He wants to know what you mean, ‘the job Ms. Sabel started’?”
Outside, the dying man moaned and called for help.
“She cut your son’s dick off. That was before we found out you were selling the Melanau to the Kazakhs. I don’t like that kind of thing. I’ll make sure none of you can reproduce ever again. After I fix your boys, I’m going to fix you. Problem is, I don’t work with a knife.”
When Diego finished translating, but before the old man could speak, I had one of his young bucks stand up. I drilled a dart in his groin. My victim fell hard on the wooden floor. The shock value was exceptional.
Even Diego gasped.
The old man spoke fast.
Diego said, “He would like to answer your questions now.”
On the veranda, the dying man gasped again. Three more bullets whizzed outside and another body fell on the veranda. Her aim had improved—this time there was no moaning.
“How were you going to pay off my first translator?”
Diego translated. “He knows the boy’s village. He was going to deliver payment to his mother.”
“I took all your money. How were you planning to pay him? With money from the Kazakhs?”
“Yes.”
“How will you get in touch with them?”
“They will come here whenever it suits them.”
“You expect me to believe the Kazakhs will come back to Borneo?”
Miguel dragged another young buck to his feet and I put a dart in his groin.
Diego said, “He wishes to revise his answer. He has a phone number to call, but the nearest phone is two villages away.”
I tossed him the phone I’d brought for this special occasion. When his call connected, it would upload the Sabel tracking virus to the other end and we’d have the location of our Kazakh mercenaries.
The old man dialed.
Carmen took out a third man attempting to sneak in.
She reported on the comm link. “Headlights in the trees, half an hour out. Gotta be the Malaysians. Fifteen hostiles out front, ready to charge. I can’t get them all. Make a snappy exit.”
Diego listened in to the Pak Uban’s call and confirmed the old man’s sincere attempt at extorting more money from his Kazakh masters. They would send a courier to the Melanau village in two days. We darted the Pak Uban and the remaining Kayan and slipped out the back way.
With two of their own dead and one wounded on the front veranda, and what appeared to be a bloodbath inside, the men massing for a frontal assault were slow to chase us. Carmen gave us updates while we put half a kilometer between our pursuers and us. Diego was no athlete yet he rose to the occasion, staying ahead by ten yards.
Miguel was too big to run fast in the jungle, so he brought up the rear.
Mercury said, Save yourself first, brotha.
“Problem,” Carmen said in a whisper. “Three tangos in the trees. Rendezvous at Charlie.”
Three tangos, wartime slang for targets, would not be a problem for Carmen if I’d left her alone. We could hear her through the comm link, trying to move Emily out of the sniper nest and down the hill. Emily had succumbed to fear and wouldn’t move. Carmen coaxed her gently for a moment before raising her voice a notch. The comm link picked up bullets whizzing by.
Emily shrieked.
Making loud noises while enemies try to shoot you is counterproductive. From the sounds coming over the comm link, Carmen gave Emily a swift kick in the ass that landed our reporter five yards down the slope.
The worst feeling in the world is knowing your friends are in deep trouble. Miguel’s face rippled with fear and anger.
“We’re coming,” I said.
“Negative. Meet at Charlie,” Carmen said.
Mercury said, Did you hear me? I said, save yourself. Dead guys can’t save the team.
I said, Shut up, I can’t concentrate.
Mercury said, Listen to me! Remember that teamwork speech you gave the boss? Run now so you can save the team later!
Miguel and I already passed our Bravo rendezvous point and could either turn east for our last-resort meeting point Charlie, or north to help Carmen.
I stopped and sniffed the air. I smelled a wet dog.
Miguel tugged my shirt. “I’ll get the women. Meet you at Charlie.”
“No. We’re in this together.”
Mercury said, You fucking idiot. Run! Now!
Movement behind him caught my eye. Shadows passed through a sliver of moonlight. At the same time, Miguel’s eyes widened and focused a short distance behind me. On my left, Diego raised his hands in surrender.
Two Kazakhs stood behind Miguel, rifles aimed at his head.