Executioner - Tiger Stalk Part 16

"Decide what you need. I'll find a way to make it available." The two Tamil leaders met at Neelan's base, just outside of Pooneryn, thirty miles south of Thamby's camp. A half-dozen large trucks, filled with Tiger guerrillas, waited while Neelan and Konamalai had a private conversation.

"Our brother has strange ideas about the revolution," Neelan commented.

"He's been fighting too long. I am not certain that he really wants to see an agreement to create a separate, autonomous Tamil region," Konamalai agreed.

"This latest reluctance to share the arms in his warehouse speaks ill for the future of the Tigers." The eagle-beaked Tamil nodded. "We shall see how cooperative he is when we arrive at his camp." Words poured from the Tamil with the large facial birthmark. "My men are well-armed. Just in case a" "Wise. So are mine," the other leader replied then looked at his wrist.w.a.tch. It was time to leave for Kaitadi.

The Tamil priest had cleared the dining table after sharing a meal with Bolan and spread open a map. Pointing to a spot twenty miles northeast of the city, he commented, "This is one of Thamby's camps. Kaitadi. It's where he stores his arms and supplies. It was once a village of farmers.

Now it contains at least thirty men trained to kill." "Where is Thamby's hut? Where does he keep his prisoners?" Father Tomas searched through a drawer in a small chest and found a faded photograph, which he placed on top of the map.

The priest was standing next to a tall, hard-faced man. Behind them was a large structure. He pointed to the building behind him. "This is the camp warehouse.

Next to it is where Thamby lives and works." "And the prisoners' quarters?" "Mostly they are chained to metal poles in the warehouse. There is no need for cells, since none of them live very long." Bolan understood. It was cheaper to kill a prisoner than to feed and clothe him.

"What about the American you reported they had captured?" "For some reason they have let him live. He is being kept in a small room with barred windows next door to Rajiv Thamby's quarters.

But," he warned, "guards watch him twenty-four hours a day." Bolan had one more question he needed answered. "Why are you turning against your own people?" "In the photograph I showed you, I stood close to Thamby. We were even closer In real life. He and his partners were idealists. So was I.

"When the STF or the police came looking for him, he and the others would run to this rectory to hide." The priest led the way to the closet, then opened the door. Pulling out Bolan's bag, he kneeled and pulled up a false floor panel. "They would hide in the small room beneath the rectory until the authorities finally left in frustration. We had a common goal. The Tamil people would become independent and whole again." Father Tomas's shoulders slumped. Once again he became the disillusioned Roman Catholic priest.

"Everything has changed. Perhaps not Konamalai, but the other two have.

All they seek now is personal power.

Someplace along the journey, the Tamil people were forgotten." "You could be killed for your views," Bolan warned.

"Too many have already been killed without a good reason. At least if I go, it will be for something in which I believe." A knock at the front door of the small house stopped the conversation.

Bolan took the Beretta from under his jacket and signaled for the priest to open the door.

Chandra Sirindikha, dressed in jeans and a light blue work shirt, stood on the doorstep.

"Can I come in?" she asked.

Bolan eased his hand from the b.u.t.t of the Beretta.

"What are you doing here?" "I thought you might like some company," the woman replied, trying to sound casual.

The soldier was about to reply when he realized that something bothered him about the woman's sudden appearance.

"How did you get here?" "The amba.s.sador was kind enough to give me a lift here in one of the emba.s.sy helicopters." Bolan's respect for the Fres...o...b..rn woman grew.

As difficult as she seemed, she was also resourceful.

He introduced her to the priest.

Father Tomas recognized her voice. "Ah, the woman I spoke to on the telephone. The woman who does research for the American government." "Actually that's not my real job," Sirindikha said apologetically.

"CIA?" Bolan asked.

"Not quite. State Department Intelligence and Research Service." Then she added, "After all, Mr. Vu was a senior diplomat before he resigned. We like to take care of our own. And since you don't speak either Sinhalese or Tamil, Mr. Belasko, and I do, I felt I might be useful." "I may be paranoid, but I think the risk is too great for you to get involved," Bolan warned.

"Even paranoids have enemies, and need all the help they can get," Father Tomas commented.

"It will be dark in a few hours," the priest warned. "I will guide you until you are on the correct road leading out of the city." Sirindikha was curious. "How will you get back?" "We still have buses, and I might even run into a parishioner returning from a drive in the country." Bolan drove the borrowed Armstrong while his companion reloaded her HandK P-5.

"Be sure to fill several magazines just in case you need them," he told her.

The young woman nodded her agreement as she concentrated on pushing rounds into the metal magazine.

The ancient vehicle kept bouncing on the potholed street.

"Could you keep this pile of junk level? I feel like I'm dancing the rumba sitting down." "Tell it to the gravel road," Bolan replied.

Father Tomas, sitting in the back, offered an apology. "Once Jaffna had excellent roads and streets filled with tourists." "This old tub has seen better days," the young woman commented.

"I agree," the priest replied. "But this old girl can still get me to where I need to go." Sirindikha looked embarra.s.sed. "This is your car?" "Yes," Father Tomas said. "But don't feel bad. I trust her more than I would trust one of the new, unfeeling cars from j.a.pan or the United States." Minutes later the priest tapped Bolan on the shoulder. "I'll get out here. If you follow this road, it will lead you out of the city. Stay on it for twenty miles and, just before you reach Kaitadi, you'll see a narrow dirt road on your right. Take that road and you'll reach the Tigers' camp." Bolan pulled over to the curb and watched as the fragile priest got out and started walking back in the direction of his church.

"WHAT KIND of problems do you think we're walking into?" Sirindikha asked.

"We'll find out soon enough," the Executioner predicted, then tried to dodge the potholes on the two-lane highway.

Except for an occasional animal that risked its wellbeing to cross in front of him, he had seen no signs of life. If it hadn't been for the frightened creatures, he would have sworn no living thing existed here.

Bolan slowed the vehicle as he saw the dirt road marked on his map.

"Here we go," he announced.

"I'm ready," Sirindikha announced.

He turned the car into the narrow dirt road. The vehicle rolled and buckled as it bounced on the loose dirt. The bushes that lined both sides of the unpaved path sc.r.a.ped against the fenders.

Bolan glanced around. The fields looked to be starving for water. The thick dark clouds above, heavy with moisture, seemed like the answer to the local farmers' prayer.

What bothered the warrior was the lack of life in and around Jaffna.

Back in the rectory, the priest had explained that this was poya, a full-moon day.

"All Sri Lankan celebrate full-moon days. Especially when they fall on a Monday or Friday," Father Tomas had said. "We take our holidays very seriously. Between the religions there are nearly thirty holidays celebrated as official events. A full five-day work week is a comparative rarity." But from his experience, Bolan knew that farmers rarely wandered very far from their fields. He wondered where they had gone.

The hazy outlines of small, one-story houses were ahead. Bolan knew this was the destination.

In this village he was certain he would find John Vu.

If death hadn't already claimed him.

Suddenly Bolan eased off on the gas pedal.

His companion looked at him. "Something wrong?" "There's something up ahead," he announced.

"We'll stop here and check it out." Pulling the ancient car off the road, he picked up his Zeiss binoculars and studied the area in front of them. A large number of fatigue-clad men were gathered in the open area across from the warehouse.

From what he could determine, the men were on a break, arm wrestling and gambling with dice.

The soldier decided he needed to get closer.

Checking to make sure the Beretta and Desert Eagle had full magazines, he grabbed the Uzi SMG and a handful of clips.

"Wait here," he told the woman. "I'm going to check out the area." Without waiting for her agreement, Bolan moved toward the thick foliage.

"How long do I wait for you to come back?" "No more than an hour," the big American replied. "If I'm not back by then, or you hear shots, get the h.e.l.l out of here." The Executioner decided to scout the village before taking action.

Father Tomas had said John Vu was being held in a small hut next to the one the Tamil leader occupied.

The problem was that Bolan didn't know which of the several dozen buildings was Vu's prison.

A moment later it didn't matter to hima"he felt the b.u.t.t end of a rifle smash down on the back of his skull, and then there was only darkness.

Inside the warehouse Bolan struggled to force his eyes open. The throbbing in his head racked him with pain. Everything seemed blurry.

As the fog lifted from his eyes, the soldier remembered that he had been struck from behind. He could feel the thick blood oozing from an open scalp wound.

He tried to move, then looked down and saw the handcuffs that fastened him to a heavy vertical support pipe. There was no way he could open them without the key.

Bolan looked around the large open s.p.a.ce.

Dozens of opened wooden crates were stacked everywhere, and he could smell the aroma of the oil-saturated packing material that lined the weapons boxes.

He wondered if the standpipe could be sawed through with the edge of the handcuffs. He began to rub his manacled wrists up and down the metal pipe, tearing into the skin around his wrists each time he moved. His efforts might prove useless, but he had to try. The alternative was death at the hands of the Tamil terrorists.

Thamby exploded in anger when his aide, Lalith, told him that the guards captured a stranger and handcuffed him to a vertical pipe inside the warehouse.

"Why didn't they just kill him?" "I was going to tell them to do exactly that. But you know how you get if we do something without your knowing," the man replied nervously.

The Tiger commander was about to issue an order when the sound of vehicles interrupted him. He looked up and saw a pair of Land Rovers leading large trucks into the village. The convoy pulled up to the building and stopped.

Thamby turned to Lalith. "We will get rid of him as soon as they leave," he muttered, then walked over to greet the arrivals.

Forcing himself to be pleasant, the Tamil chieftain embraced each of the other two leaders.

"Let's have a look at the cache of arms we'll be sharing," he announced in a jovial-sounding tone.

Thamby was about to lead the other two into the warehouse when Lalith leaned over and whispered in his ear.

"Don't forget we got that stranger inside." The Tiger commander had forgotten. Quickly he made a decision.

"You and some of the other men haul out a case of guns and a case of ammunition," he instructed his aide.

Looking at Neelan and Konamalai, he added, "You can inspect them outside just as easily as in that hot, stuffy building. And I know you'll want to test them, too, so we might as well do it all out here." Neelan looked around the area. "And n.o.body will hear the shots?" "No," Thamby replied. "There's n.o.body around for miles." One of the guards drove a yellow forklift out of the warehouse. He had already opened the two cases perched on the front end. Thamby reached into the top case, pulled out an M-16 A-2 and handed it to Konamalai.

He wondered if either of the two Tamil leaders remembered his conversation about the former KMS trainer and the cargo of arms he was offering for sale.

"Finest weapon the U.s. Army's ever produced. Relatively light, accurate and it can empty a 30-round clip in seconds. Not only that, it doesn't jam like the Chinese weapons. And it cost the LTTE nothing." "Nothing?" One of his men had found At.w.a.ter's body when he came to deliver the advance payments. Leaving as quickly as he had arrived, the messenger returned the money to Thamby.

The Tigers had accepted the cargo delivered to the Jaffna docks, then killed all the members of the crew before loading the arms onto waiting trucks for transport to the warehouse.

The newspapers had credited the incident to some battle for control of the Jaffna waterfront by different gangs.

The tall, thin Tamil studied the a.s.sault rifle, then handed it to the third leader of the Tiger command. Neelan balanced the weapon in his right hand, then looked at Thamby. "You say it is accurate?" "One of the most accurate at fifty yards." He pointed to a teak tree.

"That tree is just about fifty yards away. Try it yourself." He reached into the case of ammunition and grabbed a handful of rounds.

"We have clips for them inside, but you can single load them for testing." The Tamil area leader gestured for one of his men to join him. He handed the a.s.sault rifle to the slender, grim-looking man and pointed to the tree.

The gunman took the rounds from Thamby and shoved one into the firing chamber.

Aiming carefully, he squeezed the trigger. The bullet chopped away a large wedge of wood from the trunk of the tree.

The Tiger commander told one of his men to get a handful of clips and fill them.

He turned to the two visitors. "Why don't you have all of your men try them? I think they will prefer them to the AK-47'S." Neelan glanced at the other visitor. "Why not?" Thamby's aide pulled him aside.

"I thought you were opposed to sharing our warehouse with the others?" The Tamil commander smiled. "Soldiers are loyal to those who provide them with the best weapons.

If this has to become a confrontation, I want all of the Tigers siding with me," he replied in a quiet voice.

Two of the guerrillas were busy filling two dozen clips with ammunition.

With a nod of approval from the two visitors, their men each grabbed a rifle and loaded it. At first they were satisfied to shoot at the tree, then one of Konamalai's men challenged one of Neelan's to a contest.

Neelan walked over to Thamby. "Do you have any paper targets?" Thamby shook his head. One of his men leaned over and whispered, "How about that prisoner inside?" The Tiger chieftain's eyes lit up for a moment as he considered the idea, then reconsidered. He wasn't sure how the visitors would feel about using a human target.

"We'll take care of him later. Go inside and bring out some crate covers, and find something to paint circles on them." The testing of the M-16's had turned into a shooting party. Konamalai's men kept throwing money onto a pile as they bet Neelan's troops they could outshoot them.

In a mixture of English and Sinhalese, the rebels tried to out-brag each other. First, two of Konamalai's fighters stood behind the line drawn in the dirt and fired three rounds at a painted crate cover.

Lailth had agreed to act as both range officer and judge. "Two hits on the edge of the outer circle," he yelled.

The Tamil who had just fired the weapon gave the rest of his men a thumbs-up gesture as he stepped away from the firing line.

Two of Neelan's rebels were next. Standing a few feet apart, they aimed the a.s.sault rifles and fired a pair of shots, then stepped back. The aide walked over and examined the wooden target.

"One inside the outer ring. The other's a bull's-eye," he shouted.

The two shooters slapped palms and walked away.

Until then, Neelan and Konamalai had kept in the background, content to watch their men testing the new weapons. As the compet.i.tion between the two groups grew more hostile, they began to edge closer to the firing line.