The Worth of Souls Read online

  Oddly, there were no servants or hints of concern other than the two posted guards and a third roving guard. The unstated elephant in the room was they had an extremely false sense of security. Therefore, they were very lax in their guard responsibilities. Perhaps the two crucifixion posts just outside the gates helped outsiders fear what was inside. The chains and eyebolts were stark, vivid reminders that crimes against Quyen Phuc would be dealt with quickly, finally and without appeal or remorse.

  The diesel generator could be heard from the other side of the compound at the rear of the kitchen/barracks. Mohamed Rayyan must have forgotten that detail. Perhaps it was new. This could be one of the weak points of the compound and if power was terminated, could make it easier to launch an attack. Its destruction could also ensure no electricity would be able to power the fence; an important tactical issue.

  Other scenarios flooded Spoke’s mind. He knew he would be the driving force in planning and determining how to get into the compound and neutralize Quyen Phuc’s men. If there was an alarm system, it did not appear obvious at first glance. There weren’t dogs to provide a back-up alert system. True, the fence was a deterrent, but to the uninitiated, an electric fence had to be felt in order to be a deterrent. Where too were the dogs Mohamed mentioned that finished off the corpses? No, there were many questions that needed answering before any kind of effective plan could be made.

  Spoke reflected that it had been extremely difficult to leave Fang and Mei-Li in Bangkok, but both Bee and Spoke knew Fang would be useless as long as Mei-Li was distracting him from the primary mission. It would have been helpful to have his advice, but it would not be the first time the team had been on their own. Yes, his interpreting skills were a luxury, but from Mohamed Rayyan’s description of matters, this time it probably would require more force than diplomacy.

  Near the front gate, three men appeared to be effecting some sort of changing of the guard. Men drifted in an out with a casualness that screamed ‘amateur operations.’ One man even laid down his weapon, an AK-47, scratched himself and then picked it back up. Another looked around complaining and talking to someone, but got no response. What a comedy of errors. Next thing, they would be doing Three Stooges or Marx Brothers impressions.

  Spoke looked at Bee. There was an unbelievable appearance of detachment associated with these guards. If they were guarding a prize, they were really doing it badly. One of the guards turned and urinated on the fence. That would have been most eventful if the electricity was on. That answered another key question. The warnings on the fence complete with pictographs didn’t apply tonight.

  Perhaps the entire tone of the camp screamed “We are above the law!” Each SEAL looked at the other and motioned to Bee that they wanted to begin their part of the surveillance.

  Bee looked at Spoke and nodded. Three men moved silently forward and then around to where the generator hut was located. It would be their job to provide a distraction away from the hut that held the captives. They would maintain radio silence until in position and then only three clicks on the mike would signify they were in position. Despite the lax appearance of security, the compound still might have a more elaborate system of radio interference and reception.

  Radios had been checked to ensure no interference on their frequencies. The gear for the raid had been located some 100 yards into the jungle. Two more SEALS provided security at that location in case there was a roving patrol outside the compound. At first blush, due to the appearance of conditions in the compound, this did not seem to be a concern. Fighting complacency would be the highest worry.

  The distraction was simply to create an unidentifiable sound with enough merit to draw the guards to investigate. The old ‘crying rabbit’ call would make the perfect distraction. The sound of a crying rabbit gets everyone’s attention. It resembles a badly scared and seriously hurt human infant. It draws on one of the most primal instincts known to man. At night, it was horrifying. First time exposure brought on a “hair-raising case of the screaming heebee jeebies.” Even those who had used it before almost stopped breathing. Someone would look for the source.

  Bee, Spoke and Obermeyer would make their way to the fence. Next, they had to make sure the fence was turned off and there weren’t any additional circuits that could spell another layer of security. Then, cut the fence wire including electric wires. Lastly, they would see if there was any way to get next to the storage/holding hut.

  The sounds of the night jungle had begun. The calls of night birds and other animals. The drone of mosquitoes. The popping of flying insects drawn with the almost magnetic appeal to the lights around the compound. All of these sounds contributed to the cacophony needed to make night movement easier. This meant start moving.

  Ideally, the best place to cut the wire and yet not be discovered was at one of the fence posts with a long straight run of fence. Cutting the fence tie wire that secured the fence mesh to the post would allow the men to pull the fence out like a fan and slide under the wire mesh. This would be followed by using a new tie wire upon completion of this intrusion. It would then cover their egress except to the most trained eye.

  There still was a problem. If the young women they sought were not there, this was an exercise in futility. Sure, they might rid the world of another peddler of hell to young lives, but they were getting farther from the ideal timeline and the possibility of operational success.

  Three clicks on the radios. The sudden cry of the wounded rabbit call was a gut-wrenching sound. It broke up the stillness of the night. All jungle night sounds seem to come to a complete stop. Monkeys who had been asleep were instantly awake and fiercely screaming. The whole place came alive. Even prepared for the sounds, both Bee and Spoke felt the skin crawl up their backs, necks and arms.

  Obermeyer moved quickly toward the fence when he saw the guards head around the far side of the hut. Four snips later, the tie wires were cut. The fence could be pulled out far enough to force it up to permit human entrance.

  Both Bee and Spoke moved to the breach. Sliding under the lifted fence, they moved toward the hut. Obermeyer stayed at the fence to provide over-watch and help when they returned.

  A burst of gunfire from one of the guards tried to silence the sound of the rabbit call. Everything went quiet again.

  Then it started about 20 yards to the left of the fence line. Once again, the sounds of the night were broken by a burst of 7.62×39mm rounds. Again, this sent a scurry of activity farther from the prisoner’s hut. The guards laughed and commented how they had driven off the horrible beast. Of course, no one knew what the beast was, just that it was the worst sound they’d ever heard.

  Spoke carefully looked in the crack of the window shutter. Bee moved farther down the dark side and did the same. Both quietly signaled that they were sure this was the holding hut. Neither could positively say their target was there, but they were sure it was a place where young hostages were being held.

  They quickly returned to the fence, slid under the wire and Obermeyer then repaired the tie wires and did his best to camouflage the repair. Within an hour, all personnel were back and accounted for. Senior Chief LaMonde was still chuckling about the horrible monster the guards were afraid of.

  “That sounded like the Death Banshee,” Obermeyer muttered.

  “Pretty good distraction, huh? I always knew that little gadget would come in handy someday,” Senior Chief chuckled. “Now how can I top that?”

  “We’ll recon the facility at first light and watch for any weaknesses,” said Bee. “There has to be some way to get in without alerting the whole world we’re here. Get some shut-eye and let’s look at it tomorrow. Warren, take the first watch. Senior Chief, one hour watches. You figure out who’s next.”

  Bee hung his head. He had to do the right thing, but with the intelligence they had, how could he be sure they were in the right spot. True, informants specifically assured them that there were two Anglo girls, one blonde and one red headed. They also said there
appeared to be a boy or possibly two with this group. Well, time would tell.

  Chapter 22

  Depravity in Bangkok

  2030, Same Day, Bangkok Waterfront

  Fang motioned for Mei-Li to stay close to him. They wandered through the red-light district near the waterfront of the port. Once her presence was obvious, the hookers pretty much left them alone. They walked down near where Mohamed Rayyan said for them to make contact. One girl stepped forward and propositioned them wanting a ‘three-way.’

  Fang looked at the girl. She could not have been more than 14. Once eye contact had been established, she persisted. “You like me? I make your honey look good? I charge you half price.”

  Fang shook his head and looked past her. Mei-Li wanted to trounce the little brat. She flashed back to Hong Kong and remembered she had been that age having to do the same thing a million years ago.

  A pimp walked forward and demanded why they were not enjoying his girls. Fang just looked past him and then said they were looking for a particular girl.

  “You want Anglo? How about Negro? You want three-way? You want boy? What you want? I got it.”

  Mustering all the finesse she could, Mei-Li stepped forward and said she wanted a Chinese girl named Lian-Na. She was shaking inside and hoped her concerns would not be flashed to him. Fortunately, the light was dim enough that the pimp could not see her fear. The lustiness of her voice did not give anything away.

  “I know no Lian-Na,” he muttered. Calling to two of his girls, he asked them. “You know a Lian-Na?” They responded with a negative shake of the head.

  “Who might know?” purred Mei-Li. “She was very good with us. Much money to have her again. You are interested in money, right?”

  The pimp recognized a potential deal and said he’d check around. He asked them to return the next night. Same location, and bring money.

  0600, Near Sattahip, Thailand, at the compound of Quyen Phuc

  Morning. K-rations finished, the seven SEALS and Spoke buried their containers and cans. It never ceased to amaze Spoke how little could be crammed into so few containers and still have it taste so bad, hardly even palatable. True, there were some things that stood the taste test of time, but darned few. Most of this food was left over from Korea, but word had it that there was a new freeze-dried food coming out. Word was it even had freeze-dried ice cream. He thought how anything could be worse than the K-rats. He was sure the military would devise a way.

  It was obvious that the guards did not do roving patrols outside the wire, so they continued to remain where they were.

  Even though Spoke and the others operated about 50 yards inside the jungle wall, it seemed they might as well be on the moon. No one seemed to care.

  Spoke’s mind wandered. He wondered how Fang and Mei-Li had fared in Bangkok. He was more than confident in Fang, but Mei-Li was an “unknown quantity” in the world of espionage. His thinking was that the only way to find out was to let her sink or swim. She did have a great partner.

  Bee moved over to Spoke and quietly reminded him that sooner or later the girls had to come out for fresh air and sun. He wanted everyone at the jungle line to watch and then compare notes so they could determine a strategy.

  The eight gathered together. Bee assigned Obermeyer and Spoke to accompany him with Warren, Todd, LaGarde, Maxwell and the Senior Chief to move to a different position about 100 yards left and right from Bee’s position to see if any changes in the guards would occur. This way they had three points of observation. They would rendezvous after the first change of the guards to compare notes.

  The shutters opened and exposed screened windows with bars. This had a sobering effect on the men. Yes, in fact, these children were prisoners. The men were sure it also reminded the victims that to try to escape was a futile effort.

  A woman in a red flowered sarong departed the storage building and walked to the kitchen hut. It probably was the guard’s living quarters and accommodated the kitchen for the camp. The smoke from a tilted stovepipe gave the impression that it must be breakfast time.

  One of the guards walked over to the woman and it was obvious he was saying something nice to her. Perhaps they were friendly, or perhaps he was barking up the wrong tree. It didn’t matter since she turned and walked away from him. Shortly, she returned with the bucket much fuller than when she left him.

  Again, the guard called a soft comment to her. She turned, smiled and moved toward the prisoner quarters. Bee was sure that what she carried was not scrambled eggs, hash browns and sausage. Spoke thought that whatever she had, it probably was just slightly higher than slop on the food chart; maybe even higher than their K-rats.

  Several minutes after the ‘red-sarong-woman’ entered the prison hut, there was a stirring among its occupants. The men could hear crying more from fear than from being hurt.

  Another woman wearing a blue sarong came to the door carrying a bucket that either was a honey-bucket or wash water. She walked toward the fence line and deposited it through the fence. She headed back toward the building.

  Movement inside the hut was perceptible and all eyes strained to see one of the occupants. A young girl walked close to the window. She appeared to be Oriental.

  Another movement caught Bee’s eye. A young girl came to the window. Her reddish blond hair gave her an obviously different appearance. Quickly he looked down at the picture he had in his notebook. While it was not positive, it looked very close.

  Several others came to the window over the next 20 minutes. All appeared fair skinned, but only one had reddish blond hair. All total, they’d counted two women jailers and 7 girls.

  After watching for four hours, they moved back to the rendezvous point inside the jungle’s edge. The report was made. Could they confirm the occupant of the prison hut was in fact Stephens? Not yet. Were there children there? Yes. Were some of them Anglo? Yes. How many of them were there? Not sure. At least 7 they’d seen. There were at least two female jailors. Would it mean getting all of them out together? Now for Spoke to think and come up with a plan.

  Chapter 23

  All Roads Lead to Sattahip

  1930, Following evening, Bangkok waterfront red-light district

  Fang and Mei-Li again made their way through the trash-strewn streets adjacent to the docks in Bangkok. This part of town was unusually dirty and smelled of stale sweat, stale tobacco, stale booze, stale vomit and rotting seaweed. Already the hookers were out to catch the early worms and then make another trip or two before the night was through. Their pimps were also out strolling up and down the sidewalk. Unlike the pimps in other places, they didn’t sport wild extravagant clothing or jewelry, however, they did have devices to instill in the clientele, and girls, a “get with it” attitude. Bulges under jackets were obvious.

  The same girl from the night before approached them. Getting immediately down to business she said, “Go down one block and into the bar.” Then she walked away.

  Fang headed down with Mei-Li close to him. She was used to Hong Kong, but this place was so far down in the sewer of life that it really scared her. Three sailors approached them. “Hey Honey, wanna take us all on?” They spoke in English, but were not American sailors. She pulled Fang closer.

  One block down, the sounds of glass tinkling, horribly duplicated music and again the constantly nauseating smells of the street stabbed wretchedly at their sense of smell. They walked into the dive. There was a booth to the right. The smoke was so thick it was hard to breathe at first. They sat down. Ordinarily, Fang would have taken the seat facing the door, but he wanted to see who was approaching them due to the fact they were obviously expected.

  It didn’t take long. A girl about 13 or 14 approached them and asked if they wanted a drink. Fang said he wanted two Perriers, no ice and unopened. He’d open them here at the table. The girl looked a little surprised and a bit shocked. Immediately, she hustled off to tell her boss that the cops were there.

  Within three minutes, she broug
ht the sparkling water over and a large man followed. He looked like the typical bouncer-type, but had a strange look on his face.

  “You look for Lian-Na?” was his terse question.

  “Yes,” was the equally terse response from Fang.

  “She no here,” he responded. “She go away, now give me money.”

  “No,” was the firm and immediate answer. “The deal was when we find Lian-Na, we would pay for the information.”

  The big buffoon looked perplexed at first. “You pay!” he raised his voice over the juke box.

  “Where’s your boss?” responded Fang, cool as he could be under the circumstances.

  The big man grabbed at the Interpol Agent only to have his fingers broken in the blink of an eye. Standing, Fang thrust his .357 Smith & Wesson revolver into the solar plexus so hard the man didn’t know whether to cry in pain from the broken digits or the lack of breath in his lungs. Fang had deliberately put his middle finger inside the trigger guard, and thus forced his nickeled Smith to become a very narrow and powerful set of brass knuckles.

  The surprise was so sudden that everyone at the bar froze. The big man crumpled to the floor. Mei-Li quickly slid out of the booth and moved behind Fang. The man on the floor gasped for breath and between the excruciating pain of his hand and trying to get his breath, continued to grovel in the dirt of the bar under the booth table. Fang and Mei-Li started to back out of the bar. A more familiar face then made his way toward them. It was the pimp from the previous night.

  He held his hands up, palms facing Fang and about chest high. He motioned to calm down. Mostly he wanted to see what was so important about a hooker they didn’t know. Few, it seems, ever heard the name Lian-Na before and he wanted to make sure this was important enough.

  “I not want to die tonight,” he quietly said. “You really want this information? We never discuss price last night.”