Sea of Lies: An Espionage Thriller Read Online Free Page B

1978. Teller found the life of an arms dealer too dull, even one who catered to drug runners and was the principal armorer to the CIA’s covert wars in Asia. Teller first took DLT’s flag to Tehran to organize what proved to be a too-little, too-late rear-guard action to prop up the Pahlavi dynasty. Another narrow escape compliments of a CIA rescue squad, but not before the revolutionaries had spent a day experimenting with different wiring configurations involving car batteries, alligator clips and Teller’s testicles.
    Nolan flicked on the overhead light again. Kyaw looked cadaverous. Nolan spotted a red cross and “24 Hours” on a white background on a sign hanging off one of the shophouses ahead to the right. Pulling off the main road, he looked for a parking space near the well-lit entrance. At that moment two pairs of doors opened simultaneously on the vehicles parked side by side in front of the clinic. He accelerated away with tires spinning and gravel flying. This was the first clinic they’d come across: too obvious. He had to get sharper fast, or they were dead men. However, changing cars seemed to have worked, as no one had followed them, best as he could tell. It didn't matter; Nolan had to get out of there in a hurry. He accelerated to seventy-five miles an hour, almost killing them twice while passing. He calmed down several miles later and throttled back. No one seemed to be on their tail. He took a deep breath.
    Teller was maniacal, vindictive and deadly. He was also a well-organized, meticulous planner and implementer, as evidenced by the rapid expansion of DLT to Beirut, Istanbul, Malta and Singapore. Everything changed in late January 1985 when DLT cofounder Daniel Kranz turned up dead in his Oriental Hotel Suite, naked, with his hands tied behind his back and a silk bathrobe belt looped around his neck and a closet door. The Bangkok coroner judged his death accidental via autoerotic asphyxiation. Ex-Director Central Intelligence William Colby’s name was on paper in Kranz’s wallet. There were handwritten lists of who’s-who in defense ministries across Asia with numbers against them in Kranz’s briefcase, alongside Bank Credit and Commerce International (known to Agency wags as “Bank of Crooks and Cocaine International”) account numbers. The international press and Thai newspapers asked questions.
    Teller flew to Bangkok from Singapore and ferociously micromanaged the cover-up. Senior Agency covert operators Ned Windham, Paul Hattemer and Frank Coulter—the few people who could handle Teller—arrived as well to minimize Teller’s mischief and keep matters out of the press. Nolan had been the low man on that particular latrine detail, but just from being on the scene, he knew to take Teller seriously.
     
     
     

CHAPTER THREE
    HELP IS ON THE WAY
    SATURDAY NIGHT, MARCH 8, RANGOON, BURMA
     
    Kyaw was unconscious and didn’t reply to Nolan’s loud exhortations to wake up. Nolan didn’t know where they were headed other than into town. He followed the traffic east looking for a hospital. They crossed the Yangon River, the western city limits. He had no clue as to where the embassy was, and doubted if Kyaw could find it even if he were conscious. Ten minutes later, he drove up to the main entrance of the halfway-decent-looking Hotel Yangon. He put the truck in neutral, then thought better of it and pulled past the main entrance. There weren’t any free parking spaces. Saturday night was in full swing. He stopped and blocked three luxury cars parked in parallel. An attendant was on him before he even climbed out of the driver’s seat.
    “Sir, you cannot—”
    “Forget that. We need a doctor. My friend is hurt. Here.” He turned on the overhead light and the attendant gasped. He handed over the key and ten kyat thousand notes, a little more than ten dollars, equivalent to about three days’ pay. “Wait here. Don’t move the truck. I’ll be back.”
    He appreciated how sore he was