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

citizens. The majority thought him a traitor.
    The DEA men ran through their checklist. It turned out they'd left their infrared lenses at Dubern Park, rendering their camera gear useless at night. Hecker overrode the request to go get the optics. The caravan got rolling, parking lights barely illuminating the vehicles until they were well away.
    Ryder partially unrolled their best map and examined the various roads abutting Airstrip One. Hecker said, “Save that for later. Zaw’s people know the area well. What I need you to do now is fingerprint Bob.”
    Nolan was half asleep. “Huh? Fingerprint me? For what?”
    “I need you to dust the door handle where Toffer/Teller opened it, and the hood, too, around Kyaw’s bloodstain. See if you can lift prints. We’ll need Kyaw’s and your fingerprints for screening purposes. If we can get a positive ID on Teller, that would help.”
    “Help? Help where? There’s no extradition treaty between the US and Burma, or Thailand and Burma. And he already admitted to me that he’s Robin Teller. So why do you need his prints?”
    “There’s what you know and what you can prove. If Matthews is shielding Toffer/Teller, the first question I’ll be asked is where is the proof of identity? Being able to show that Toffer is Teller will make Langley and the Pentagon pay attention. Rangoon is a long way from the home office. You wouldn’t believe the shit that goes on out here.”
    “Yeah, and we’re in the middle of some of it right now,” Ryder said.
    “Great. Just what I need: almost fifty-five and added to the DEA’s global drug fingerprint database.” With a sigh, Nolan accepted the briefcase-sized kit.
    “The instructions are inside. It’s pretty easy as long as the wind isn’t blowing,” Hecker offered. “Do the best you can. At worst, don’t touch anything, drive back to the rally point and we’ll handle it. However, a dust storm or rain on the way wouldn’t be good.”
    Nolan woke up when the vehicles stopped. It wasn’t even four o’clock. They had flown down the main road. His mouth tasted like roadkill, and his neck had a couple of new cricks to accompany the aches in his feet, knees and legs. His torn clothes still stank. He added the Getting Old Ain’t for Wimps bumper sticker to his mental shopping list.
    Hecker and Ryder bounded out to exchange hugs and handshakes with Zaw. He was quite a sight: aviator Ray-Bans, yellow polo shirt, gold watch and khaki pants accentuating his muscular 5’8” frame. The police major could have been Ryder’s Burmese twin, only fifteen years older. Zaw’s men weren’t dressed in uniform and the cars were private. Hecker was cashing in favors.
    Nolan followed Gonzalez’s lead by sliding coveralls over his existing clothes and finding a dark ball cap to round off the ensemble. He passed on the body armor, gloves and SCAR. Just having a 9mm automatic hanging off his belt made him feel like a sham. What’s an old geek doing packing a Glock? Hell, he was still on vacation. The entire scene was surreal. He should have been carrying a paintball gun at a preretirement boys’ weekend on Phuket.
    Hecker, Ryder and the major concluded their discussion over the hood of the Range Rover with lots of gesticulations. Nolan reconfirmed that the rendezvous point was this spot at six o’clock. Any trouble, get on channel nine of the walkie-talkies Gonzalez had handed out.
    “Don’t forget this,” Ryder said as he handed across a GPS unit. “Gonzalez entered the shed coordinates, the first possible Hyundai location and the rally point here at this vacant lot. Are you sure you’ll be OK? I can give you Zeya.”
    Nolan said, “You need every swinging dick in the field.”
    “Thanks. We do at that."
    “How about an escort from a couple of Zaw’s men?”
    “While you slept, Hecker and I talked it over. If Teller or his people spot either the pickup or the embassy car with a police escort, there will be a ruckus. We think you’re