Missing Louise

by Nicholas Frankcom

  The other party came later. They were less gracious in their arrival and far greater in number. Neither was Peter allowed the luxury of becoming a side-line witness. Powerful scopes and binoculars picked him out long before he might have been able to scuttle away to relative obscurity. Attitude and insignia gave away their identity. The secret police, PC38, was a body he preferred not to know. The red stripe on each lapel caused a momentary gulp. These were Blood Ravens, an exclusive renegade unit working to their own budget. Prior to his current contract in Laos he was blissfully unaware of their existence, no need to know otherwise. But perceptions changed with countries. Now his breathing quickened as they approached him along a mine swept track, lucky or knowledgeable in their choice of route. Their totalitarian approach to investigations did not exclude foreign contractors and businessmen. If he pissed them off a trip to their infamous interrogation suite in Vientiane would not be off the agenda. Even his international charity might take a few weeks to trace him before raising any sort of alarm. One charming trick accompanying their reputation was to throw a hooded detainee from a helicopter, arms bound. They were not to know that the helicopter was only flying six feet from the ground. A Ukrainian forger was reputedly being entertained within their premises this week. Probably refused to cut them in on his enterprising bond scam!

  His only option was to watch and wait as a military jeep skirted the mine infected field he stood within and approached with full light beam on, horns blaring. A high calibre C10 rear mounted machine gun reminded him it would be impolite to move away. The aloof officer seated next to the driver introduced himself as Captain Vaenkeo. His excellent command of English suggested an expensive upbringing close to the communist elite; no doubt groomed from an early age to take on a powerful government post. The captain’s position within the notorious Blood Ravens could not have been earned through talent alone. A secretive unit did not advertise posts which were not supposed to exist. Appointment was strictly by invitation only. Applicants were judged on contacts, breeding and temperament. If you were able to sign out death warrants on request you were sure to impress the interview panel.

  Sitting with the heavy sun on his back Peter quickly became a “yes” man. Hell, he didn’t even know who the other group was or what they were about. Why would he want to stick his head out with the ravens walking his patch of the plain.

  Thirty One

  Mike was expecting a single-file trek, a close-knit group of idealistic adventurers hiking through the countryside in a Mao like manner, hacking their way through a scenic backdrop of mountains as they pushed forward. Given the terrain and explosive count per acre he was amazed that they even considered taking a truck, leave alone that they should also follow an overgrown lane he previously overlooked. Two barely distinguishable ruts marked a route towards a cragged cluster of low hills. The route was meant to be that way, lower reaches coated in lime scale and gravel to keep out the worst of the saplings and rough elephant grass. Given the potential waiting load, it was now obvious that a heavy duty flatbed would be mandatory. All along Mike had stupidly presumed that pole bearers would carry the ancient Buddha back to an excited throng of villagers. When he thought about the deeper political ramifications, he wondered whether the beautiful gold face could ever grace the public eye again. It could just be that the Hmong might be better off taking their deity to a new place of solitude, one of their own choosing where dedicated worshipers and admirers could share their moments of awe. He sensed this was what Louise was hoping for.

  A weathered looking elder walked in front of the cab with Pin. From his taunt leathered face and thin grey hair it would be easy to write him down in the seventy plus league, but on the plains life was hard. He was probably still short of fifty, almost certainly if this were the same man who in younger incarnation secretly watched fellow villagers torn down by forces intent on sealing the fate of the Pha Bang with a lasting dark secret. More ghosts and drying blood left to stain the plain.

  Although this was a concealed route, known only to the villagers and those who came many years before, the risk of unstable explosives and shallow mines remained very real. Soil erosion uncovered bombs driven deep into the ground, left behind by the relentless carpet bombing policy so fervently pursued by the B52 raids. They did little to interrupt the supply links of the infamous Ho Chi Minh trail, the network of jungle paths which wound up on the Great Plains of Laos. Leading the truck through what must rank as a leading contender for the world’s most dangerous road was going to be painfully slow and stupidly hazardous.

  In military fashion they cautiously pressed forward, each passenger expected to take on the burden of watch. Further up the road they came to an abrupt stop. Mike could hear excited exchanges as voices were raised, that of Pin amongst them, but was unable to decipher what was being said. He looked to Louise, hoping she might recognise a few of the words, but she only shook her head. The truck then pulled away with an abrupt jerk, pulling sharply to the left. Mike was able to peer over the side and take a glimpse of a crude pit, the sides caving in from years of neglect and weathered decay. Peeking through the foliage were the remains of wooden stakes, patiently waiting their next victim. During the revolution countless pits were dug, secreted along overgrown paths and backwaters, their spikes layered with poison or human excrement to help finish off any who could climb out. To prove the point a skeleton lay close to the edge, the skull removed and pinned to a prominent stake. Should any hapless hiker make it this way, the message was clear. Little wonder the villagers talked of dark spirits.

  Moving more slowly, the group edged on. It was clear that progress relied on a steady footing and watchful eye. A young Hmong remained behind, anxious to warn the following convoy when they caught up. His youthful face was masked behind a stern look of intent, barely covering the teenage badge of self-justice in being singled out. The task for playing messenger in such a desolate place was one he would hate, cut apart from the rest of the team. His head dropping as he listened to the fateful instructions, accepting the order without word to take up position beside the pit. His eyes cautiously scanned the horizon as he nervously played with the safety catch on a well-oiled Kalashnikov.

  As the group marched on, leaving the hapless guard as a small spec behind them, Mike could make out the shimmering outline of some hills. The recent rain did little to take away any of the rising heat in the afternoon sun. Vapours rose from the parched ground around them, giving the hills a mirage-like appearance. The back road snaked on slowly, each turn another notch away from the famous jars.

  When they pulled up in front of the first rocky outcrop Mike could see they were further away than first thought. All around him there were sighs of relief. Not only were they finally close to their fabled destination, but were through what all hoped must be the most dangerous leg of their journey. No mishaps, no mines and no hijack.

  Before them the track petered out in front of a rock landslide covering the steep gradient of the slope. Spear-like granite spikes lay atop sheer drops either side, making the landslide of tossed screed the only passable way forward. Mike jumped down from his position on the flatbed of the truck and made his way towards where Louise was standing, in close dialogue with Dan.

  “What do we know from here?” He pulled short of scratching his head, looking instead at the rocks massed over the foreground.

  “There’ll be a concealed entrance, possibly covered behind some of that screed towards the top of the slide.” It was Dan who spoke. After years of isolation from western influence his native Canadian accent was becoming more pronounced, the “S” pushed through thinly pursed lips. “There might even be a false trail, though it will be hard to make out after several decades of neglect. I doubt if anyone has made it out this way in quite a while. Shame we didn’t have the second piece of that document. It would make things so much easier. We were so close to locating it, the final key. Still, we’re here now. It’s just a case of
hard work I guess, that and a lot of luck that we clear the right entrance way!”

  Mike looked at the bulk of rocks before him. He was no blasting engineer, but could tell by the way they covered the path that this was no natural landfall. Where granite lay sliced into thinner sheets of rock there were occasional blast scratches, black embers of an explosion embedded in the rock. Long ago a mixed party of serious communist prospectors must have blocked the pathway with one last act of violent dynamite, intent on keeping their prized Buddha secret for just long enough to allow some of the eruptions of war to calm down. He imagined that they probably intended to leave it hidden in secret limbo just long enough for safe passage to the nearest smelting plant or state vault. Unfortunately for them the chaos and unexpected twists of war wrecked their pension plans and no return visit ever happened. In their wake was left a wall of rubble and Russian notes on what should lie behind them.

  Pin scrambled ahead atop the landslide before them. His sense of urgency and purpose radiated, this was a climb years in the making. He appeared to scurry over the top and disappeared for a few minutes. On his re-emergence he beckoned the group forward, shouting out short clipped orders as he did so.

  Mike turned around to find Louise now standing next to Dan. The occasional blasts of dusty wind on their journey across the plain had raked her hair with a sexy dishevelled look. The allure for running his hand through the locks was stronger than a simple temptation. Her personal journey through the past months brought out a new sexual confidence in the way she moved, a projection of unassuming beauty, brisk flicks of her hair casually sending unwitting messages to the few male onlookers in rural Laos. There was much he missed in her during their relatively brief relationship played out in the lacklustre background of suburban Britain; much he took for granted never quite penetrating the multi-layer depths that were Louise. Out here in the backwaters of Laos, away from the routines of life, things would have been more exciting, perhaps more spontaneous. Their furthest trip together was a last minute package deal to the Spanish islands, happy hour drinks and throwing balls in the surf the order of the day. They should have talked stuff through, he might then have gleamed her travel aspirations. Exploring Asia together would certainly have planted sharper memories than the ones he now struggled to recall. He wondered what the Hmong must think of her, this their first encounter with a woman from two continents away. As she turned to face on hearing his approach he wondered if she were looking through his eyes and into his thoughts. Quickly looking back up at Pin he threw in a question.

  “What’s he saying?”

  The Canadian voice of Dan answered back in reply. “Looks like there’s a narrow gully at the top. Beyond that more fallen rock and the top lip of a deep, dark cave. We’ll have plenty of backbreaking exercise ahead, but just maybe this could be the ticket. If it is our cave system we can all start smiling very soon. We’ll just need to negotiate any possible tunnels and dead-ends, but I’m confident we can figure that.”

  “Do you genuinely feel that confident? It doesn’t really figure. I mean to think that they stalled the process because of the missing second document. Now we’re here there aren’t too many choices anyway. I guess we don’t know about possible traps or a route underground though. Just seems to be going too smoothly for now.”

  “We can sometimes make life complex,” Dan replied, sounding much like a Goan guru. “It needn’t be a stumbling hike alongside a sandstone cliff, wondering where it might crumble away. Some of the paths get easier. Anyway, we still have to manually heave out a ton’s worth of medieval Buddha and make our way back across a long forgotten path teeming with mines.”

  Mike remained unconvinced, though chose to stay silent until he could get a better lock on what he was thinking. If the two documents needed to be paired together, then they must provide a key, some form of encryption that might explain itself if they had them side-by-side out here on the plain. The document they had was proving very valuable. If the Russian translation were right, the directions were faultless in taking them to this far flung corner amongst the ancient jars. Sure enough, a cave lay buried beneath the debris of dynamited rock, a last act to cloak prying eyes from the final resting place of the Pha Bang. But why then the need for a second veiled document, hidden within the locked chambers of the communists state archive? Any group resourceful and daring enough to make it this far would happily map out any catacombs and tunnels through the caves below. With care and time they could happily overcome any pitfalls and traps, no matter how elaborate. The Egyptian tomb raiders faced whole chambers of ingenious mantraps but still came out with the gold. The confident enthusiasm he saw and admired from their first encounter was swiftly becoming the group’s nemesis. Even Louise appeared to be drawn down the path for this new spirit of unwavering zealot patronage, a belief that the Pha Bang was somehow already theirs and would be solemnly waiting for them in some sacred grotto. What if it weren’t there? Anything could have happened over the past couple of decades.

  Mike looked at the human chain before him; the Hmong eager to begin the strenuous task of rock clearance, anxious to claim their ancient prize. He could see it in their weathered faces, the looks of stubborn determination. In that moment he knew that any disappointment would be too much for many to bear. Oppressed and banished to the inner reaches of the remorseless jungle, pushed back from civilisation, they were looking for new hope, a new future where realities of tough living would be a memory from the past. The Pha Bang could provide that.

  A good fifty feet ahead a collection of excited voices harried each other. If the cave opening were showing at the top of the gully, they could squeeze a small scouting party through with some of the larger boulders dug out of the way. Despite the heavy heat the inviting glimpse of the chasm was enough to motivate the working chain into a rapid pace, eagerness replacing earlier signs of fatigue. Mike looked on from the rear. Even with a temperature approaching the late thirties, a shiver came over him, as if a shadow were deflecting the sun’s warmth. In the face of the pleasant backdrop of the gully and plain, there remained a sinister charge in the air. It was all Mike could do not to chew on his lower lip. He would be happier once in the caves, at least then the darkness might hide them. Out here they were exposed. It reminded him of the lonely road earlier, where their bus was so cruelly ambushed. Some places drew an enemy, like a magnate for chaos. A dark spirit presided over unsettling outcomes. Far behind a sound startled him. A shot! He nervously looked around. Those closest to him showed no reaction. Maybe they didn’t hear? Was it his imagination? Mike shivered as he felt a wave of coldness pass over him. He needed to get away from this place.

  Thirty Two

  The young Hmong lay on his back; a trickle of blood flowing with thick bile from his mouth testament to severe internal rupturing. A single shot wound marked the entry point where a high calibre bullet had torn through, clipping several of his major organs on its deathly passage. He fell where he now lay, tossed back against the overgrowth. No attempt had been made to cover him. Either the culprits were expecting no further company or their arrogance outweighed any fear of pursuit.

  Kae moved an outstretched hand with his boot, clumsily catching a finger. Checking for any sign of life was needless for he knew the Hmong died instantly, dull comatose eyes testament to the injustice of his untimely end. There was no sense that he might be disrespectful, abusing any dignity left to the young fighter. The way that the waxen hand flopped down was indication enough that death was recent, probably within the hour. Kae knew enough about death scenes to figure this one passed over without any fight. The shot almost certainly came from back up the track from the direction they were coming. He glanced around, checking for boot prints and signs of recent life. The ground was dusty and hard, making it difficult to judge who or how many might have come this way. Most of it was covered in thick rye grass, blanketing any evidence beneath. The luckless Hmong was probably on lookout duty. Ka
e figured he was there to whistle in the rear guard once they arrived. What he was unaware of was that Kae had beaten him to it. He was currently trooping the remaining Hmong, with Rusty and Jean to keep them company, down the barrel of Vig’s trusty Glock. Their hands were bound, just in case they fancied their chances for rushing either of his two accompanying mercenaries.

  Earlier on the main road they were riding the antiquated truck towards the Plain of Jars. Following the loose bullet which picked John out, they were able to extract very little from the two backpackers Jean and Rusty. Jean in particular clammed up and huddled down with her own sombre thoughts to the back of the truck. Half hidden under tarpaulin, she chewed absently at her lower lip whilst replaying John’s murder in her mind frame by frame. Rusty appeared more angry, choosing simply to have no dialogue with their captors. His brooding eyes failed to shield brief shades of menace as he slouched close to Jean, arms tightly wrapped around his knees. Initially Kae chose to reason, use a piece of smiling false charm, but faced only the wall of silence. He made attempts to put John’s death down to an accident, though all knew where the bullets had come from. Without reason as an ally, Kae could only now count on fear to keep his captives in check.

  Kae knew the general direction, the few roads scaring the jungle so far east headed only one way. Though any map would reveal the plains were vast, easily absorbing a party the size of Mike and his current hosts. He turned his attention briefly towards the two Hmong they were holding. To his mind they were more expendable, only because he would need the backpackers as his guest calling card further into his quest. The farang would then quickly lose any special privileges. A few dull kicks from Vig did little to get the Hmong talking, pushing Kae into thinking of more adventurous pursuits of forced communication. It was a specialist area where he could exercise an exhaustive imagination. Then the call came. Mike could barely be heard above the static; during their interrupted conversation Kae continually forced him to slow down. He used the friend in need card, wanting to know where Mike was. He got around five words of dialogue, but he got them clearly. It might be enough to hunt down a scent, point to where they could look for signs of recent passage. Some of the blanks on his map could now be accurately inked in. They would soon be able to close in.