Sea of Lies: An Espionage Thriller Read Online Free PDF Page A

after the first step. What was that old Aussie expression? Stiffer than a honeymoon prick. He walked into the lobby, wincing at every step. The well-dressed locals politely ignored him. He found the concierge counter, hoping they’d understand English.
    “My friend had an accident. He has cut his wrist very badly. He has lost a lot of blood. We need to get him to a hospital.”
    “Sir, I call ambulance.”
    “No, we need a hotel car to take him to the hospital. He is from the United Nations. I will go with him.”
    “Yes, sir. Would you like deluxe car Mercedes Benz for only US$30 per hour or would you like Toyota Camry at—”
    “I don’t care. Just get a car and driver out front now by the white Toyota pickup truck past the entrance. I will meet you there.”
    “Sir, I will need credit card—”
    “My friend needs a blood transfusion or he will die. I’ll pay you when I come back from the hospital.”
    “I still need credit card or cash.”
    Nolan handed him a card in silent contempt.
    It took the attendant, hotel driver and Nolan to pull the unconscious Kyaw out of the pickup and into the Camry’s back seat. Kyaw was a sight with so much blood on his shirtfront and pants he looked like he had been shot. Nolan told the attendant to park the truck somewhere in the back and that he would return for it later.
    On the drive to the hospital, he let his mind unwind for the first time in seven hours and tried to figure out the next move. He’d entered Burma under his own name, giving the Traders Hotel as his address. If Teller were working for the Army, he would have ready access to Immigration Department records now that they were computerized. He needed to get a new room under a different name at another hotel, pronto.
    If Millie had put her name on any of those reports, she was also on Teller’s list. Although Agency standard practice used work names and Foreign Service staff signed off by job title, she’d given him her card. He felt physically ill and clawed for his wallet. Upon opening it, he saw Samuel Hecker, Police Liaison, United States Drug Enforcement Agency, Burma. Millie’s card— Millicent Mukherjee, Research Associate, Economic & Political Affairs, United States Embassy, Burma —was nestled behind it. His stomach was still knotted, but at least he could start breathing again.
    They pulled up in front of the ER entrance at the Alexandra Hospital. It dated from the colonial era and sat on an impressive piece of land. The hotel driver gave the horn a blast and orderlies came running. Nolan watched them slide a limp Kyaw onto a gurney. He played the ugly American by shouting, “United Nations! United Nations! This man is very important. Get more doctors.”
    A British-accented voice replied over his shoulder, “Your friend is in shock and needs a transfusion. Can you donate blood? The hospital’s supply may be contaminated with hepatitis.”
    He turned around to find an ethnic Chinese doctor in his forties clutching a clipboard. “Yes. I’m O-negative.”
    “Wonderful, a universal donor. Please follow me.” The doctor spoke Burmese to the ER staff and Nolan’s vein was soon draining into a big bag. The needle sticking into the inside of his elbow hurt like hell. Ten minutes later, he stepped out of the curtained cubicle to find Kyaw gone.
    “Where is my friend?” he asked two attendants, but the Brit doctor wasn’t in view, and no one else spoke English.
    Admissions was down the corridor. He commandeered the phone on the desk and someone picked up on the second ring.
    “Sam? It’s Bob Nolan. We met last night at Walt’s . . . yes, that’s right. Sorry to trouble you late on a Saturday night, but I’m in big trouble. I’m at the Alexandra Hospital with a US embassy driver who’s been stabbed. I think the people who did it are after us. I don’t want to talk over an open . . . . Right. Got it. I’ll look for Travis in thirty minutes, white Toyota SUV. Thanks.”
    Police—or