Steers rose and walked unsteadily to her bed.
CHAPTER
11
IN THE DARKNESS THE SEVEN-PASSENGERCessna twin engine jet took off from a runway in India and landed at the old WWII-era runway near Shingbwiyang in Myanmar less than a half hour later, after never going above five thousand feet. Nash just prayed that the pilots had filed a flight plan so they wouldn’t be dodging or slamming into other aircraft, but they touched down without incident. They had been provided expertly crafted IDs and other credentials in case they ran into any trouble, which Nash feverishly hoped wouldn’t occur. However, he also couldn’t see how such trouble wouldn’t happen on such a perilous mission.
Nash and Temple were met by two toughened men with dark hair and muscular builds. Temple’s Burmese was good enough to allow sufficient communications with the pair. Now they climbed into an old all-terrain Jeep with their backpacks and enormous amounts of uncertainty.
After a long drive over backbreaking roads, they arrived at a hut southeast of Shingbwiyang. The four men ate a simple dinner of ngapi, thoke, rice, and ginger. It was one of the coolest months in Myanmar, but it was still a comfortable sixty-eight degrees and no fire was needed in the small, primitive fireplace.
Nash said, “We’ve only been told some of the plan. Can you fill us in?”
The men looked at each another. One said in English, “We get you to a place. Then, we forget we ever see you. That isourplan.”
His friend nodded. “It is good for us this way.”
“What about good forus?” groused Temple.
The men grinned and went back to their meals. When they were finished the pair settled on mats laid out on the floor and quickly fell asleep.
Nash and Temple remained sitting at the small, rough-hewn table.
“This is nuts,” said Temple in a furious whisper. “I thought her plan was going to be super detailed and bulletproof. Not two clueless guys dropping us off somewhere and forgetting they ever saw us.”
Nash rubbed at his injured arm and winced.
Temple noted this. “Wait a minute? Did she. . .?”
Nash had to play dumb since he wasn’t supposed to know what had happened to Temple’s arm. “Did she what?”
In answer Temple slid up his sleeve to reveal a long, jagged scar on his arm.
Nash nodded. “They knocked me out, and when I came to I was bound and she cut me up.” He decided not to tell Temple what else had happened between them. Indeed, Nash was having difficulty processing it.
Temple said, “The bitch did it as a way of telling me that at any time she wants, she could carve me up, cut off my balls, slit my throat, and there’s not a fucking thing I could do about it.”
“You mean she owns us now?” said Nash.
“You bet she does. And now we’re in one of the most dangerous places on earth with those two guys, who either know jack about shit, or have been paid to cut our throats as soon as we close our eyes tonight. God, I would give every damn cent I have to be back in America.”
Nash said, “Steers is treating us like throwaway money. So we have to make ourselves critical to the success of bringing her mother back safely.”
“Right, but how the hell do we do that?” whispered Temple. “And let’s just point out the elephant in the room, namely, we don’t even know if there is a prison, or if her mother’s really in it. So if this is all bullshit, what then? Why are we here, Dillon?”
Nash had no ready answers to any of these questions.
But he had one thing going for him. As Temple’s bodyguard he had been given back his weapons. His Glock was in a shoulder holster, his backup Beretta at his ankle. It wasn’t much in the grand scheme of things. But it wasn’t nothing, either.
He and Temple settled down on mats as far away from the two men as possible. Temple, despite probably his best efforts, quickly fell asleep. Nash did not close his eyes fully until he heard the deep snores of the other men.
As he drifted off to sleep he wondered what tomorrow would bring.
He doubted it would be anything good.
CHAPTER
12