"What if I say I won't go?" Marcos asked.

"Then I kill you. Though I could not claim the bounties, that would tip my hand. As of now you are worth more to me alive. Will you keep it that way?" Weizza raised an eyebrow.

"Just wanted to know where I stood. When do we leave?"

"Now. Follow me."

They stood and exited the mess hall. Outside, the camp was in motion. Two dozen soldiers had materialized and were disassembling buildings with practiced speed. They saluted as Weizza walked by, then returned to their work separating metal from bamboo.

A pallet of unmarked white cases were all that remained of Weizza's lab. She led Marcos over to the pile and gestured for him to pick up two of them. Ba Kuang fell in behind them, carrying another two.

"Nice detachment you've got here." Marcos remarked.

"The men are a loan, and I am done with them. The next operation requires both speed and deniability." Weizza led them out down a dirt trail through the bamboo.

"And we're going to walk there?"

"Do not be obtuse Mister Oliveira. Ko Ba Kuang, your case."

Ba Kuang set down one of the boxes from Weizza's lab and depressed two hidden latches. Inside was a metal stake, a hammer, and some spider-shaped bots Marcos didn't recognize. Ba Kuang whacked the stake into the ground, pushed a button on the side, then trotted back the way they'd come.

Weizza said something in Burmese that Marcos couldn't catch as the bots skittered out of the case. They dispersed all directions, flowing out in waves like ripples on a pond. Each time one reached a new bamboo stalk it paused to deposit a small package before continuing on. In minutes the crawlers had tagged all the bamboo in some pre-set radius; they scrambled back to their cage and powered down.

"Stand back," instructed Weizza. She grabbed the case and retreated up the trail to meet Ba Kuang, who had stopped just beyond the edge of the tagged bamboo. Marcos hastened to join them. From overhead came the whup-whup-whup of a helicopter headed their way.

A cascade of pops rang out as the micro-charges detonated, slicing cleanly through the stalks they were attached to. Bamboo crashed to the ground, creating a tidy circular clearing. Neat trick.

A military helicopter with a red star on the tail descended swiftly into the opening. Weizza strode to meet it, Ba Kuang and Marcos following close behind. The men tossed the white cases into the back then hopped in. Weizza took the seat up front.

No one spoke as the helicopter lifted off. Marcos caught a glimpse of the camp he had just left. All that now remained were a few large sheets of metal, the rest had disappeared into the jungle.

A noisy hour passed flying low over verdant trees. Ba Kuang had closed his eyes, Weizza stared ahead, trancelike.

Marcos turned the day's events over in his head. Weizza was clearly more than some local tinkerer, but who did she work for? Not one of the big corps. That left the political factions. Maybe Wa State? They were big in the contraband tech trade, it would be hard for Weizza to operate without their blessing.

The forest below gave way to an emerald lake dotted with islands. This in turn yielded to rice paddies and red-roofed houses. Finally a runway appeared underneath them, signaling the end of Marcos's sightseeing trip.

The helicopter alit near a mid-sized hanger, set back away from the main terminal. Weizza cracked open a different white case and retrieved a small bundle. She handed it to the pilot, who gave a slight bow in return. Ba Kuang and Marcos unloaded the cargo onto the tarmac, then they all watched the helicopter fly away.

"What was that?" Asked Marcos.

"Payment," answered Weizza without elaboration. "Welcome to Vientiane. Don't get attached, we won't be staying." She turned to the hangar and punched an entry code. The steel door swung skyward, revealing the plane within.

Marcos recognized it as a Gulfstream, but couldn't place the model. Definitely a recent vintage; it had swooping lines and considerably more glass than any Marcos had seen.

"Meet Punya, one of my few indulgences." The door on the plane hinged open and rolled smoothly down. "She will take us to Budapest."

An elderly caucasian man stood inside the plane door, smiling beatifically at Weizza. "Welcome back my lady. Will you be taking tea today?" With his unruly white hair and tweed jacket he looked more tenured professor than servant. There was something naggingly familiar about the man.

"Perhaps once we are cruising Oliver. Tell the captain to prepare for departure."

"Of course Madam." He disappeared into the front of the plane.

"Who is he?" Marcos asked.

"An old acquaintance." Weizza evaded. "Bring the trunks in, we have wasted enough time already."

The interior decor screamed old money. Anything that wasn't glass was covered in oak paneling and gold leaf accents. A polished oak table filled the front of the cabin.

Weizza slid into a chair on the far side, Ba Kuang swung into the one next to her. Marcos sat down across from them, feeling vaguely as if he was about to be interviewed by panel.

The rumble of the engines began immediately. Marcos watched as the hangar slid away and the jet taxied onto the tarmac. He buckled the belt built into his swivel chair.

"I'll go out on a limb and guess we're not waiting for air traffic control today?"

"Correct. I have an arrangement with the local authorities." Definitely a smuggler.

"If I'm working for you now, I need to know about the job. No more evasion. What's your plan?" The plane roared as it accelerated down the runway.

Weizza tented her fingers, waiting for the noise to pass. "As you have surmised, I have import arrangements with several autocrats. I provide the latest implants, they look the other way when I come and go. A useful cover for my other projects.

"Myanmar was once the great power in this part of the world. Then the British swooped in with superior technology, annexed the country and plundered our resources. We've had two centuries of anarchy as warring factions squabble over the scraps.

"I will reverse the fall. My preparations are nearly complete, Myanmar will be ascendant once more. Though the arrival of Lynch's space weapon changes the calculus. I must have Petbe, or destroy it."

"Okay, so it's a smash and grab run. Break into a warehouse, steal the control hardware, then bounce back to Myanmar. Sounds simple."

"There are complications. SumatoTek also wants Petbe, and they're the ones who found the controller. I have been working to slow their advance, but their defenses have proven formidable. At best I have negated their head start.

"The Jobbik government kicked out the corporations after they took power. SumatoTek doesn't have a legitimate way in, and they don't have time to build a covert network. It is my belief they will strike with force. And soon."

The plane had leveled off. Oliver emerged with tea-service. "Earl Grey and local croissants," he announced at he set the tray on the table.

"That will be all." Weizza flashed a half smile at him. The look of rapture that engulfed Oliver's face was both immediate and disturbing. He walked away grinning, a bounce in his step.

"There is something wrong with your man Weizza."

"You offend me, I worked hard on Dr. Robinson."

The pieces clicked into place: the distinctive hair, the professorial bearing, that signature tweed jacket. Oliver Robinson, the Maestro of Cambridge. He'd just won his second Nobel for brain-computer interfaces when he vanished without a trace. That was twenty years ago.

Weizza drank in Marcos's dawning comprehension. "Oliver had a taste for - how to put it? Imported delicacies. Myanmar has a sad history of human trafficking, and a series of droughts were hard on my family's farm.

"Luckily for me, Oliver also couldn't resist teaching an eager student. I proved adept in more ways than one." Weizza shrugged. "In the end, I made some adjustments to him. The things you own end up owning you. Remember that Marcos."

Marcos reached his hand toward the hole in his skull. Did he feel any different? Would he know?

"No touching." Weizza smiled.