Ballistic(24)

Court Gentry knew of no real trouble that could be quelled with a whistle and a stick.

Three brown roosters wandered the garden as well; their patrol seemed oddly similar to the unarmed cops. A small pack of mixedbreed dogs of different sizes lounged close to the diners, begging for scraps. Court related to their primal motivations. He was, more or less, doing the same thing here.

Captain Chuck Cullen sat at the head of the row of non-uniform tables, his back to the kitchen and a big charcoal grill alongside the back of the house over his right shoulder. Long black lizards scampered up and down the white stucco wall behind his head.

Court had been placed at the opposite end, facing Cullen; the old man stared him down silently for long periods of time. On Gentry’s right were Elena and her in-laws, and he did his best to stay out of their conversation. Instead he dug into an excellent grilled marlin, more fresh salad and vegetables than he’d eaten at any one time in his life, and he drank beer so cold the bottles stung his fingertips.

Court imagined there had been many dinners just like this, right here, with Eddie Gamble sitting in the chair that Cullen now occupied.

Court noticed the American geezer staring intently at him again, across the length of the tables, over thirty-two big plates of food. Court did his best to ignore him. Instead Gentry found himself gazing at someone.

At Laura.

She was midway down the table on his right, sitting between her two aunts and constantly running back to the kitchen for more plates and bowls and bottles and pans filled with food and drink.

She glanced his way once, maybe twice. Surely, she’d caught him staring at her. He hoped he did not look to her like Cullen appeared to him, overtly eyeing everything he did.

This was no fiesta. The conversations were subdued and hushed; the attendees were sad and angry. Court’s training in reading people was employed as he went up and down the table, trying to discern exactly what was going through each person’s head.

He was good at this. He was so good at it that it was sad, divining the individual misery and fury of thirty people, most of whom had just lost someone important to them. Someone strong and fearless. Someone better than the rest.

Court looked down to his plate, scooped up a forkful of his fried plantains. He told himself he’d drink another beer and hit the road.





LAOS





2000





“You hurt?” asked Eddie from the front seat.

Court checked his body for bloody holes. Finding none, he replied, “I’m fine.”

He then pulled himself up in the seat to look out the remnants of the back window. “They’ll be close behind, but this weather will help. It will keep choppers out of the air.”

But Gamble’s mind was on something else. “Please tell me you had sanction to kill those guards? I don’t want to escape out of here just to go straight to Leavenworth.”

“I have sanction.”

“So you can just whack whoever you want, no questions asked?” He couldn’t believe it.

“Stay on my good side, and you won’t find out.” Gentry mumbled it as he lay back on the seat; he was so tired and weak he found himself nauseous, and even holding himself in a sitting position was too much. He’d spent 110 percent of all his energy in the escape, even with Gamble carrying him part of the way.

He was no use to anyone now.

“Seriously. Tell me we’re okay.”

“We’re okay. You haven’t killed anybody.”

“I sure as shit would love to know who you work for. I mean, I’ve run with the CIA, and they don’t look or act like you.”

“I think you need to concentrate on the road, Eddie. The Laotian Army will have roadblocks set as soon as they can.”

The DEA man sighed in frustration but did what he was told.

They’d gone no more than five minutes when the road ended at a T-intersection. Gamble turned right, making for the Mekong River.





Court had nodded off, but he awoke when the car stopped in the road and began backing up. After a few seconds they turned around.

“What is it?”

Eddie answered with a grave tone. “Roadblock. Military. A quarter mile up. Four vehicles. Fifteen dismounts easily.”

Court looked out the window and noticed the rain had stopped. “Okay. Find a place to dump the car. You need to go overland. It can’t be too far. You can make it to the river if you go south. Find a guy with a boat, stick your gun in his face, and ask politely for a lift across to Thailand.”

It was quiet in the car for several seconds. Court said, “You’re going alone.”

Gamble clearly had been worrying about the same thing. “Look, Sally, maybe we can—”

“No. I can’t walk, and you can’t carry me. I’m not going anywhere.”