Missing Louise

by Nicholas Frankcom

  They were not able to witness Louise’s response. His attention followed her focused gaze. It was hard to read her expression, though it was no longer one of anger. An image was walking towards them with Pin in tow. The sun distorted many of the futures, though from the stride it was clear he was a tall man, anything approaching six-foot was a rarity within the tropics. When dust and haze allowed Mike was able to peer closer, the weathered features confirming his suspicions. He could see the thinning grey hair of a westerner, darkened dry skin from years of exposure to a relentless sun. His lean frame and leathered exterior matched that of an ex-pat strolling the suburbs of Chang Mai seeking out his next business opportunity. An exposed arm below a cotton shirt revealed long whitened scars, testament to a long healed accident. What stuck Mike most were the eyes. They held the same piercing grey intensity as those he had known so well in Louise. Partially mesmerised he waited for the newcomer to draw up and offer his introductions. Seeing a fellow westerner walk into a scene so far from the circuit of guesthouses and bars would intrigue him enough. This guy was up another level though. If he walked into an amusement arcade your eyes would jump seek him out amongst the crowd. His whole demur not so much hinted as shouted that there was one hell of a story to be told. There was that well-worn awe that Mike knew could hold him all day long. This would be a man worth listening to, not simply traveller’s tales but insights smitten with humour and deep observations. Mike could tell all of this the second he looked him over. He wondered if others felt the same. The trick was in keeping it to himself, not allowing the stranger to detect any glowing respect. He was in a very alien country surrounded by unfamiliar people. His whole world had become temporarily unstuck. He would find it hard, but until he heard the entire story he would need to keep the weathered veteran in a box labelled “possibly dangerous” being sure to log it in bright red..

  As the man approached Louise immediately ran to him, a reaction causing Mike instant confusion. Surely he was too old for her? He couldn’t possibly be her type! The man broke through Mike’s confusion with an outstretched arm. He accepted the handshake, all the time working things through.

  “Welcome aboard guys.” Mike immediately picked up a faint North American accent, possibly Canadian. It was both deep and craggy, signs of a life spent smoking strong tobacco and weed between lungfuls of humid jungle air. “Feel free to call me Dan. If Louise here has kept herself pretty quiet then I’ve got some explaining to do. Now, the first question is will you be in on this no matter what? This is a secret you’ll have to keep and protect. When I tell you you’ll understand just what I mean.”

  Both Mike and Rusty nodded their heads in unison. There was no place for walking the sideline. Putting their thirsty natural curiosity to one side, they had a recently acquired problem which required a lot of help. What to do about the now missing Jean? Things weren’t looking too simple for her predicament back at the bus, despite Rusty’s initial take on the situation. Chances were that they might need logistical aid and local knowledge at the very least. If any further help of a more military nature were required, most resources would surely be on tap, given their immediate company. The firepower surrounding them was enough to mount a guerrilla war on a ferocious scale. With nervous anticipation and eagerness they sat down to hear what Dan was about to tell them. The gravity of what they were taking on was well beyond any possible appreciation they had for the situation.

  Twenty

  It was not a room he had ever intended to hole up in. His window looked out on Vientiane’s north side, the unlit streets a long way off the centre pages of colourful real estate fliers. Narrow alleys collected rubbish, flies and rats, bate for the feral cats picking through remains of last week’s dinner. Inside the drab and sparse furniture resting against unpainted walls of stained plasterboard gave testament to an unloved condo, partly furnished and barely finished. The bed was a budget purchase from a market trader, the virgin mattress paper thin and ringed with watermarks inherited from the inevitable monsoon season. It smelt musky, a sour smell allowed to linger by the lack of human habitation. Noisy mosquitoes eager enough to breach puncture marks through the woven netting on the few windows hungrily darted around, finding no food save for each other. Occasional sirens punctured the night air, a reminder of the city that lay outside, with its peddlers and scavengers. Closeted behind his door Kae played a waiting game, fearful of every noise, shit scared for the first time in his life.

  The apartment was set up as a sanctuary he hoped never to use, bought anonymously the year before with blood cash creamed off a downtown cock fighting pit. Kae was unlucky enough to own another in Western Bangkok, such was the risk in what he did. His life dictated that he maintained a safe house or two, places run to in time of need. If ever there was a time it was now. Whores on the shared steps to the upper floors blanked him as another desperate, another soul struggling to find his way and lay down a life on the North Side. Some might even have held a degree of empathy for the sharply dressed Thai. If pushed into providing answers by any inquisitive strangers there would be a wall of silence. Nobody liked to talk. Everyone around here had a history, reasons to forget aspects of their life. It was a good reason for choosing the tired development, acres away from the emerging riverside neighbourhoods enticing the new rich with their cafes and air-con. Far away from people taking notice.

  Behind the triple locked wooden door Kae sat on a hard plastic chair. He was positioned so that he could see the entrance without revealing too much of his own location. A cheap camping table to his side provided the ideal platform for resting an old Smith and Wesson .45 pushed up against a maturing bottle of French Merlot he had been leaving for better days. The gun was good for creaming anyone forcing their way through the door. Given the enclosed entrance hall accuracy wasn’t an issue. The expensive wine helped make the thought of this easier to digest.

  The ear-piercing explosion the day before had rattled Kae to the core. He wasn’t used to being pursued. His game was chasing money and using his influence to push people out. Being at the other end confronting a very formidable enemy left him sick with anxiety and fear. If he had not run after the kids loitering outside his restaurant he would be heavily barbecued, burned to a cinder like the other unfortunates lunching yesterday. It was a chilling thought. He knew that the stakes on this one were high and was just coming to realise what lengths his previous allies would go to in order to claim their ultimate prize. Hidden behind this smoke screen they could now pursue a secondary goal and take out a few Hmong on their way, keeping their true intent to all but a few crooked dignitaries. It would be a seemingly legitimate way of mobilising untold resources. He doubted that they knew anything about the break-in at the Pembertons in sleepy Portishead. They were probably finished with his services and wanted him fried like a chicken, unable to speak. The break-in didn’t give him much to go on. It was force of habit if anything. Getting a hired pro to rifle a few documents and files was a way of staying ahead, of knowing more. This was his craft; you needed these pieces of information as security for when the bartering started in earnest. On the other side of the precarious scale he needed to keep the haughty lady from Saigon interested, with her investments to date she would be signing his death warrant in pigs blood if she knew his intentions to skip country once the prize was taken. Perhaps he should keep her looped in just long enough to enable her promises for taking government heat away from his end of the coal-face.

  With the might of Laotian forces at the beck and call of corrupt officials, there were few rocks under which he could currently hide. He imagined that jumped up terror charges were already levied against him, strict instructions circulating to shoot him on sight. Within an hour of his restaurant going up in shrapnel filled smoke, he had taken refuge and put a plan into action. He would need all his cunning and instinct to keep alive. If he had one thing on his side it was that he knew how to thrive in the murky light of South East Asia’s bottomless und
erworld. With his life already on the line, there seemed little point in playing merely to survive. He was going to do a spot of trophy hunting along the way, expensive trophies. Vig’s news that he was with a new travelling companion pushed a bit of luck his way. Out of all this he could still walk away with something, something worth taking a lot of risks for, even pissing off the lady in Saigon. It was always good to hold a red seal bargaining chip.

  The coded knock though expected caused Kae’s legs to jolt. He raised the pistol and waited once more for the rhythmic knocking. When it came he called out. Vig immediately answered. He could tell from the voice that there was no agitation or strain, so Vig was almost certainly banging on the door without a pistol pointing at his head. As a last precaution Kae took a look through the door’s spy-hole. A telescopic Vig could be seen on the other side. A straw blond stood close to him. Quite understandably she was looking worried and very apprehensive. She would need a lot of talking around, a process that Vig would have already begun. Right now she would still be looking at him as her savour, the guy who dragged her away from the bus. She could not possibly know that he was there to keep a keen eye on her. The story being spun was that the Hmong held her friends and that in a country of uncertain allies he was her best bet for opening dialogue and bringing them home. Naturally he would need to elaborate on Vig’s tale of deceit. Vig held many virtues but was not a man of language. Any uncertainties the girl might hold would be swept away by the time Kae had exercised his craft, a genuine forte of his. Spending so much time in the company of less savoury characters he had developed the skill of spinning a fabrication and making it sound convincing.

  He unbolted the door to welcome them, the chain coming off a second later. With a firm arm he ushered them in, still conscious of whom else might be hovering in the background. Only the green eyes of a nearby cat gave any hint of extra company. With the door being pushed safely behind him he was careful to conceal the gun as best he could. There seemed little point in giving Jean any further cause for concern. She was already reaching a point where she might jump for the window if given any further reason to do so. Vig immediately began to speak in Kae’s native Thai, keen to update him on their encounter with the bus bandits. Kae was quick to silence him. It was essential to settle Jean and further win her confidence. If she did not understand their conversation for all she knew they might be discussing which peppers to marinate in the cooking pot with her or which rope to tie the noose on.

  “I’m glad my friend was able to get you here safely. I’ve been told all about it. It must have been awful for you.” There was a tone of genuine sincerity in Kae’s voice. Expensive lessons taught him how to best accomplish this. With careful constructive body language he fully emphasised with her plight. For different reasons the hijacking had shaken him to. A well-constructed plan was now in tatters and many months of concise planning up in smoke. He was quick to move on before allowing Jean to reply. “There are many here in Vientiane who you should not trust or respect. Some of these men are in the government itself. We think that some of these men may have been behind the ambush on your bus, though it is always impossible to be certain. If this is true then your friends will be in a lot of danger and we must act immediately. I’m not even sure that we can rely on the police. My colleague here will take a message from you to your embassy. You will need to report to them that you are safe and well but that your friends became separated during the ambush. Ensure that their full details are passed on. Whilst he is gone we should prepare immediately. I believe that we should begin looking right away for your friends.”

  Jean was clearly in two minds whether to trust the smooth talking stranger or not. Undoubtedly in normal circumstances she would have smiled at his polite gesturing and jumped out of the first available door. Right now her radar was off and she didn’t know whom to turn to. She was out on her own in alien terrain and needed reassuring. The guy in front of her was doing his best to do just that. What he said kind of made sense. She didn’t know who hijacked the bus and whether the police were behind it. At least he was sending his sidekick off to contact her embassy. He seemed pretty serious. She decided to run with it.

  Before allowing Jean to change her mind, Kae dispatched Vig with a note from Jean pleading her case to the New Zealand Embassy and promising to visit them in person as soon as she possibly could. Kae and Vig exchanged instructions in brusque Thai. The note never would wind its way to the chino dressed Kiwis at Embassy House. Instead Vig was to spend his time pulling in a few resources to put together some kind of eager beaver SWAT team answerable to nobody but the dollar. They were looking for men happy to do anything if they were paid well enough. Vig was very good at knowing where to look for such people. The Laos borders were brimming with ample candidates. Kae knew that a plan needed to be swiftly rolled into action. Events were beginning to overtake them, dictating the speed of their response. The first point of call would be the stretch of road where a bullet ridden Chinese built coach was currently being offered to the camera lens of the international press. The scent was still relatively fresh, so picking up the trail of a couple of lobster pink farang should not be too difficult. The brief extracts of news he gleamed from local media made no mention of any dead westerners, which was something at least. In fact the news bulletins made no mention of any westerners at all, which kind of suggested that the police were not holding Jean’s friends either. Evidently the official elements within Laos’s police department were not yet aware that a group of backpackers had even boarded the marked bus bound for Vang Vieng. That meant that they were either on the loose running around shit scared or were under the secret custody of his former friends within PC38. He very much hoped it was the first scenario. They might then stand half a chance for keeping a track on them and pulling Jean out of the hat. That on its own should be more than enough to soften the farang into being very trusting and compliant to all suggestions he was keen to put to them. He intended to use his time during Vig’s absence to further butter Jean up and spill her a few stories of false serenity. He was currently getting squeezed from two vengeful enemies. To tip the balance they needed her on their side.

  Vig knew there was little time to work with. On leaving Kae talking with Jean inside the damp apartment he quickly made his way to a bar where he could count on a few heads. It was situated down a side road strewn with empty pallets and yapping stray dogs, certainly not a place where any adventurous tourist or party official might visit. The clientele in this backwater hole preferred it that way.

  To save waiting around the drab bar, Vig cut a few corners by getting the bar tender to make a few calls and ensure that the type of people he wished to proposition were both available and sober. After a brief wait he soon solicited the services of two characters he had worked with in the past. Neither showed any interest in asking questions, which was fine by Vig. Both held some military service and would hold themselves in the field pretty well. Vig could also detect a degree of keenness, hinting at a current shortage in their particular areas of work. Tiger economy jitters were seemingly radiated through to those up to their necks enough to call on these types of services. This would push the price down further and make the men less inclined to be over choosy when assigned a task. He decided that two would be enough. Kae wouldn’t be looking for him to recruit a ragbag army easily spotted on any horizon. Just a couple of guys who could shoot straight with half a brain would do. A lot of damage could be inflicted with a couple of well-placed marksmen if the going got rough. Vig suspected that Kae was probably anticipating very stormy times ahead. In his heart Vig hoped that their newly acquired muscle-power could be counted on for a bit of flexing and little else. He gave each man a generous advance and made brief arrangements on where to meet at the end of the afternoon. Kae was quite specific that he wanted to start their secretive journey under cover of darkness.

  With his main duty of the day completed, Vig moved on to locating suitable transport for
the journey ahead. Anything with four wheels that was not going to fall apart from hitting a few potholes had been his principle remit, though the price came a close second. Kae was rarely willing to shell out too much cash if haggling could bring a vehicle down to the bargain basement. The task involved a lot of walking around, going through a number of cheap dealers Vig tended to use whenever the question of wheels came up. Most of the ones in Kae’s specified price bracket were ex-military and looked very much like they were patched together following various encounters with Laos’s plentiful minefields. After a good hour he decided to check on a car lot backing on to the state museum. It was one he was yet to use but held reasonable expectations due to its range of Chinese and Japanese off-roader’s. The city salesman was enthusiastic to point Vig in the direction of some newer models, but Vig was happiest to look at a few with a bit more wear. He chose a Chinese Jeep copy, famous for rust and worn-out shocks. Longevity was hardly an issue. As he was in the process of bullying the man into a near loss making price, he noticed a native Hmong leave the back entrance of the museum. The man did not seem particularly interested in concealing his identity; though neither was he leaving through the front entrance either. He was dressed in simple cotton slacks and a matching black top, hardly the attire for a curator or state administrator. Given his recent hell-raising encounter within Hmong territory he decided that taking a healthy curiosity in the lone tribesman might be a good idea. He noticed the man make his way towards a budget Internet café. Ensuring that he completed his transaction with the minimum of fuss and time, Vig made his way towards the café. Why would a Hmong leave the museum and make their way straight for an Internet café? They were trying to make contact with someone, but whom? The Hmong were renowned technophobes. They were a tribal people, happiest away from the city and all its optic trappings. With a quickly formulating plan, he decided on pulling in one of his recent employees earlier than expected. They would appreciate the overtime and knew that he held hard cash on his person. His instinct warned him that something was afoot. There would certainly be no harm in having the Hmong tailed for a while. If nothing came of it he could simply pull the tail back. He would check which of his new employees owned a phone and send them into the chase. Kae was very explicit about adhering to exact plans but would have to play along with his hunch.