Plausible Denial by F. W. Rustmann Jr.

my baby.” But the dog continued to yap incessantly,
regarding the interlopers with canine disdain.
    “Noi,
my darling, this is Mr. Humphrey and Mr. Callaway.” The dog continued to yap as
they greeted one another with wai ’s across the pool deck. “ Sawatdee
kha ,” she said in a sweet, little-girl voice, “happy to meet you.”
    An
elderly Thai servant arrived to take their drink orders and then disappeared
back into the house. After lighting a local Krong Thip cigarette, the
general blew a lungful of foul smelling smoke up into the air. He didn’t bother
to offer one to his farang guests, assuming all Americans were health
nuts who distained smoking. It was just one more thing he could not understand
about these strange foreigners, but their money was good.
    Returning
with a large pitcher of lemonade, glasses, and cookies on a silver tray, the
servant quietly placed them on the table in front of them. He poured the
glasses and, without asking, he poured one for Noi and brought it and a cookie
on a napkin to her by the edge of the pool where he served her with a bow. She
fed the dog a piece of her cookie and the mutt finally settled down in her lap
contentedly.
    The
general took a long, last pull on his Krong Thip cigarette and crushed
it out in his cookie dish. He spoke in excellent American accented English with
smoke oozing from his mouth and nostrils. “Your shipment arrived two days ago.
I have not opened it but I have seen the manifest. It appears you fellows are
going on a hunting expedition—hunting men, from the description of the
automatic weapons in the box.”
    He
smiled knowingly, lit another rancid Krong Thip and continued. “I hope I
can be of further service to you in that regard. Mr. Barker surely must have
told you that I stand ready to offer a wide range of discreet services to my
clients. I am more than just an arms merchant.”
    Culler,
wearing a short-sleeved Hawaiian shirt, placed his hands behind his head and
stretched, displaying massive biceps and forearms. “Can you get us
transportation, like, maybe an airplane?”
    “That
can be arranged easily,” said the general. “I am a pilot and I own a small
Cessna 172 four seater. It is a very reliable plane for, shall I say,
surveillance of certain places in the area.” He smiled knowingly.
    Mac
didn’t know how far he could take this but decided the general could be useful
in leading him to Khun Ut’s heroin. “What about a helicopter? Can you fly one
of those as well?”
    “Yes,
of course. I have part interest in a Bell Ranger which has room for four people
and some luggage. Very reliable. We use it mostly for tours up and down the
Mekong and around the native hill tribe villages.
    “That’s
good to know,” said Mac. “Bill said you were both trustworthy and resourceful.
It appears that he was right on both counts.”
    “It
goes without saying that all of this has to be held in the strictest
confidence,” said Culler. “We don’t want anyone else knowing our business. No
one.”
    “Understood.
You will not have to worry about me. It is like the American saying, ‘Whatever
happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.’” The general laughed loudly at his own joke,
displaying a mouthful of nicotine stained teeth and gold.
    “Okay,”
said Mac, standing, “Now that we’ve got that out of the way, let’s go see what
Bill Barker sent us.”
     
    Chapter Twenty-Three
     
     
    T he
three men padded in their stocking feet back across the polished teak floor of
the foyer to the general’s study in the front of the house.
    The
general opened ornately carved teak double doors to reveal a warm, paneled room
with masculine leather couches and chairs. A huge, beautifully carved partner’s
desk dominated the center of the room. The room was impeccably organized, but
it reeked of stale cigarette smoke. In one corner, two wooden shipping boxes
were stacked neatly.
    “The
larger box contains the weapons and other gear,” said the general,