Doing the Dastardly Deed
Chapter 23
Despite being dazzled by the brilliant alliteration, Denny still caught the headlights of Ron’s car about a kilometer off as it wound its way up the curvy road to the guesthouse. The road ended here since no houses could be built higher on the mountainside by royal decree. The household tenders had left much earlier leaving the two alone. He was late and Denny wondered if he’d show up for their meeting. Ron had seemed a little apprehensive about meeting at the house instead of a bar in town. However, Denny explained the discussion would be sensitive with privacy and discretion of paramount concern for both of them.
That explanation had piqued Ron’s interest and suspicion as well. So what’s it all about, Alfie, meaning to think Denny instead. He pondered the possible answers as the old Dionne Warwick song played in his head. Nothing good, he speculated to himself.
Denny double-checked the Sig Sauer 10 millimeter, automatic pistol he always carried for personal protection. It was standard DSS issue for all agents these days, replacing the Smith & Wesson model 66 .357 magnum revolver over a decade ago. That was the revolver that had likely saved Denny’s life and others while assigned to the U.S. embassy in Cairo some years ago.
Driving on the corniche from his residence in the suburb of Maadi to the chancery in downtown Cairo, he was ambushed by a terrorist duo, probably members of a splinter faction of the Muslim Brotherhood. Their car pulled alongside his and the passenger took several shots at Denny and his passengers, grazing Denny’s scalp and wounding one of his passengers in the left arm. Denny had the presence of mind to return fire as the would-be assassins fled the scene. They were never identified, much less captured, by the local police. That was no surprise given the longstanding political tensions between the two countries. Egypt was slowly, but inextricably, turning to the radical side of Islam. Only its military could slow its progress, but its inevitability wasn’t in question.
Denny continued to the embassy and put in a full day’s work as if little had happened. That scary episode in his life taught him the value of always carrying his gun wherever he went.
Denny greeted Ron like a long lost brother. In fact, he thought of Ron as a de facto brother, a brother in arms and another soldier in the war on terrorism, either narcoterrorism or the extremist, Islamic one. It made no matter which because they were becoming more and more one and the same.
“Glad you could make it my friend. I thought you might stand me up.”
“No way buddy, just running a little late, that’s all,” Ron replied. However, Ron remained a bit standoffish and wary.
“What’s with all the mystery and drama, my man?”
“Let’s have a drink and I’ll tell you.”
“Okay, let me fix both of ours,” Ron offered. “Scotch rocks, as I recall.”
“Yep, that’s the one. Thank God the liquor cabinet’s well stocked for VIPS like us,” Denny joked.
The booze arrangement was actually operated on an honor system and the consulate’s slush fund had to be replenished by the guests. Both were aware of the fact and laughed at the bon mot.
“Here’s your drink, cheers! I’m sticking to a Singha. I’m going to miss this stuff after I retire. I’ve gotten used to and have developed a certain fondness for it. Maybe I can buy it in the States, but it’ll likely cost an arm and a leg.”
“Come on Ron, you’re making the big bucks like me. We’ve both topped out in the pay scale so a little extra for something you enjoy shouldn’t be a problem. Life’s too short.”
“You’re dead right about that Denny. It’s much too short for some of us,” Ron ominously mentioned.
“Say, what are you going to do in retirement Ron,” Denny innocently asked to purposely drag things out awhile longer and irritate him with more meaningless chatter. It seemed to be working since Ron was exasperated.
“Cut it out Denny, what the hell is this all about? I didn’t drive all this way to chitchat about retirement. Enough of this banal banter, damn it, tell me what’s on your mind!” Ron had lost his cool composure.
“It’s simple Ron. I think you’re dirty. That’s what this is all about, your culpability in drug trafficking and likely collusion with Kris Amar, according to my friend Dickey Avery.”
“Oh yeah, your friend, so what did your friend have to say about me?”
“He told me you had visited one Albert Wu, a known drug trafficker in Nong Khai.”
“Big deal, that’s what I do for a living. He’s a paid informant, a snitch, and nothing more.”
“That’s not so. You’re fibbing as we diplomatically say in the State Department. Given your own agency’s regulations, you must register Wu as an informant. It’s a stringent rule that can’t be broken. ”
“Otherwise, any unreported contact with a drug suspect would be grounds for disciplinary action and your possible dismissal for cause.”
“I called your boss in Bangkok yesterday via secure voice and asked if he had an Albert Wu as an informant or source or someone employed in any capacity or otherwise associated with the DEA. He said no to each of my queries. I didn’t give you up because I wanted to hear your side of the story first. I guess I have it now.”
“My, my, you’re such an unrelenting, anal retentive sleuth aren’t you Denny. You simply don’t give up, do you? I’m sorry to hear that because it leaves me no choice.”
Ron then quickly reached across the coffee table and zapped the right side of Denny’s neck with the stun gun and then jolted him again. Denny didn’t have a chance to defend himself and passed out, slumping forward in his chair as he did so.
Ron removed the small, plastic baggie from his jacket pocket and went to work. He neatly placed Denny’s suit jacket over the back of the chair and rolled up his shirtsleeve. He removed Denny’s tie and placed the makeshift tourniquet on his upper right forearm and pulled it tight. He then plunged the needle into Denny’s arm and left it in place. The syringe contained an overdose of pure heroin, a hotshot as the druggies called it. Death would be about a minute away, a totally painless one in this instance. The drool from Denny’s mouth ran down his chin and onto his shirt. Ron dabbed it and cleaned his face. That’s the least he could do for a good bud, Ron thought.
Ron understood Denny’s supposed, accidental death wouldn’t stand up to forensic scrutiny. It wasn’t a concern since he only needed a few days more in Thailand to tie things up. The bureaucratic, medical protocols alone would provide him more than ample time to finish his work.
“I really liked you Denny. You were one of the good guys, but you simply learned too much for your own good, my friend,” he spoke to Denny’s lifeless body.
“However, business is business and you were an obstacle that needed to be removed, nothing personal. There’s another one I have to attend to in Nong Khai, Richard Avery. He’ll earn me a small fortune from Amar and I’ll finally have enough money to retire in style. Screw the government pension. I won’t need it.”
Ron concluded his soliloquy to his dearly departed friend.
He’d already laid the groundwork for his retirement. It called for settling in Ecuador where he’d served as the DEA attaché at the embassy in Quito. He knew the country very well and still had many influential friends in the law enforcement community of the government. Most importantly, the country had no extradition treaty with the United States. He’d already located a home there and his new address would be a prominent one on easy street.
The rainy season would soon start which was a good thing since Ron still had a piece of wet-work to finish. Then it would be off to Ecuador and a bright, new life of leisure. God helps those who help themselves and Ron wanted a big helping of what his future life had to offer. After all, he damn well deserved it!