ATLANTIS

Know Your Enemies

CHAPTER EIGHT 

Even though it was three in the morning, a blast of heat hit Dane as he stepped onto the short staircase pressed up against the plane's door. But more than the heat, the smell brought back a cacophony of memories. An odor of exotic food, human sweat, and the faint tinge of disease and dirt made him feel for a moment that he was back in Saigon so many years ago. 

Dane looked at the lights reflecting off the runway: Don Muang Airport was not that much different than it had been when he'd come here on R & R. Dane felt the same rush of bad feelings come over him that he had then. This was a sick place. Dane had only spent a day in Bangkok, holed up in a motel room before catching the first flight back to Vietnam and, for him, the peace and security of MACV-SOG's base camp. There was too much human misery in Bangkok, too much hopelessness and he couldn’t block it out. 

“There's our man,” Freed said, nudging him and bringing him back to his present circumstance. 

Dane saw the black limousine waiting for them. Chelsea at his side, he followed Michelet, Freed and Beasley to the car. Chelsea leaped in and curled up in the spacious center between two wide leather seats that faced each other. 

An old man was inside. Michelet sat next to him, shaking his hand. “Lucian, it is good to see you.” 

Dane estimated that Lucian was at least 70, if not older. Dane’s guess was that he was one of the original French ex-patriots, booted from Vietnam when the communists took over, and shifted his business two countries west. 

“You've met Mister Freed,” Michelet made the introductions. “This is Mister Beasley and Mister Dane.” 

Lucian turned clear blue eyes on each man and nodded his liver spotted bald head, before returning his gaze to Michelet. “I reported to Mister Freed about what--” he paused as Michelet raised a finger ever so slightly. 

“Is the equipment we requested ready?” Michelet asked. 

Lucian inclined his head. “The plane and helicopter are here at the airfield, fueled and ready. The crews are on standby. The men are with the plane. They are the best I could get under short notice so they may not be as good as you would like.” Lucian seemed ready to say something more about that, then changed his mind. “I had the bomb you requested already put on board the plane. As far as the specialized equipment you asked for, I have arranged a meeting with a man who can supply you with what you require.” 

Michelet's face darkened in the dim glow inside the compartment. “I don't have time to barter. I told you to take care of that for me. The gear should be here!” 

Lucian met his gaze. “I never deal directly in weapons or drugs. That is how I have survived in this part of the world all these years. I might not have much life left in me, but I wish to have it end by natural means. You will not be overly delayed. This man is most efficient. We must make a short side trip to pick up the equipment.” 

Lucian rapped a walking stick on the thick glass separating their compartment from the driver and the limousine began moving. 

Dane reached down and curled his fingers in the hair on Chelsea's rump, slowly massaging the thick muscle underneath. She turned her head toward him and gave a low whine. 

The old Frenchman was hiding something, Dane was sure of it. Whatever it was that he had been about to say when they first got in the car was important, but something that Michelet didn't want Dane to know about. Dane glanced out the back window and noted a pick-up truck following them, three men in the bed, a heavy caliber machine-gun mounted on the roof of the cab. Lucian did indeed have a strong desire to remain healthy.