Sea of Lies: An Espionage Thriller by Bradley West Page A

over, and with a red felt marker inked in the runway, holding up the last of Millie’s aerial shots as a guide. He used the marker as a swagger stick. “Pay attention, people. We’ll drive past Airstrip One to the north and come around from the west, well away from where Bob was. We’ll park around here and hike in after we put security in place. Travis, I want you on the highest ground with that Mark 20 SCAR sniper rifle. I’ll run comms and spot for you.
    “If there’s no one on-site, we’ll dig under the fence and look at that building. If there’s anyone around, our first priority will be to observe. Second, we want to collect evidence. Probably infrared photos, but maybe something we can carry off as well. Third, we need to get out without being spotted.
    “To that end, our old friend Police Major Zaw now commands the Irrawaddy State police force and he’s based in Einme. He’s coming and will have six to eight men with him. We’ll join up when we arrive at the rally point. They’ll escort us to the airstrip and set up roadblocks on either end of the access road.
    “If it makes you feel better, they’ll have a bipod-mounted GPMG and a thousand rounds of ammo. And no, Travis, you can’t bring that with you up the hill.”
    Everyone laughed as Ryder shook his head. “I should have married you when I had the chance.” Hecker smiled, all teeth and lips, his stare telling Ryder not to doom this operation with SEAL heroics.
    Nolan located the two likely spots the Hyundai might be found, both where the southern road crossed creeks. Gonzalez worked out the approximate coordinates of the first one and punched them into another handheld GPS.
    “Take this second map. It’s smaller scale but still shows your road. Let me mark the airstrip and the creeks, too.” Nolan thanked Gonzalez.
    By the time the four men came back downstairs, the three vehicles were ready to go. Zeya looked like a ninja as he showed off his black balaclava with the rest of his getup. Ryder gave him a high fist bump as they passed.
    Nolan didn’t recognize the driver of the Toyota. Dara appeared to be a kid of about twenty-two, with the high cheekbones of a non-Burmese tribesman. Nolan gave him the roadmap and showed him the landmarks. In return, Nolan got back his Amex card and an inflated receipt from the hotel.
    “I’ll join you at the rendezvous outside Einme. Sam wants to speak with me on the way.”
    Dara nodded and started the Toyota. A split jute sack now covered the passenger seat, and substantial amounts of blood had been smeared over the vinyl door interior during efforts to remove it. How on earth would Nolan explain this to the farmer? He hoped the last hundred-dollar bill would do the trick.
    Ryder ensured the surplus weapons and gear were divided between the two SUVs, dumping in a few last-minute additions. “Flash bangs and smoke grenades,” he said with the sound of a grin carrying through the dark.
    Hecker gave the sign to mount up. Nolan sat in the back seat, joined by Ryder. Gonzalez and Zeya rode in the second SUV, driven by someone new to Nolan. They ghosted out of the gate with only parking lights on. If they drove like hell maybe they could be in Einme in a couple of hours.
    “Do you need me to talk through anything?” Nolan asked.
    “Not really. You should get some sleep. But I’m curious. Toffer/Teller has your phone. Aren’t there bank accounts or other personal info you’re worried about him gaining access to?”
     “Not a problem. That phone’s locked up tight. Teller won’t be able to read it, unless he gives it to the NSA for a week.”
    “Well, Mark Watermen has some spare time on his hands.” Ryder’s joke drew smiles. Watermen was an NSA IT and security expert turned whistleblower, leaker and fugitive. He was exiled in a Moscow apartment, having been given a one-year asylum by Vladimir Putin. Many Americans considered Watermen a hero for disclosing the extent of the NSA’s spying on US