Emerald Buddha (Drake Ramsey Book 2)

by Russell Blake

  Allie desperately wanted to speak, but held her tongue. She didn’t dare provoke their captors, and didn’t want to risk a gun butt slam to the head. She limped along, her ankle sending spikes of pain up her shin, but ignored the discomfort as her mind frantically searched for some way out of their predicament.

  Eventually the heavy brush gave way to terraced fields, and the going got easier as they trod along a hard-packed dirt path. The cloud cover melted away and starlight shone through the remaining haze. It was obvious they were now in an agricultural area, the plots bordered by jungle, but large expanses of the land cultivated.

  They drew near a collection of thatched huts grouped at the base of a mountain, and she saw firelight flickering in the near distance, where a gathering of men and women sat in an open area between the structures. Torches flamed around the perimeter, lending an otherworldly quality to the scene.

  Several of the gathering rose when the group drew near, and Allie spotted at least a dozen armed gunmen in the shadows, guarding the village. A tall figure stepped forward, and Allie gasped in astonishment – it was a Caucasian man in his sixties, wearing an olive tank top and camouflage pants. She could see in the orange light that despite his age he was trim and athletic, with tribal tattoos snaking down deeply tanned bare arms. He moved closer and she could see intelligent eyes beneath a thicket of unruly dark hair, a goatee lending him the appearance of a devil in the firelight. After a brief glance at Spencer, his eyes fixed on her.

  The man said something in the native dialect and then in Thai. Spencer shook his head, and the man tried again in English.

  “Well, well, what have we got here? Backpackers lost their way?” He sounded American, but Allie remained silent, preferring to let Spencer do the talking. One of the members of the armed patrol held up Spencer’s AKM, and the man’s tone changed. “Not with that, you aren’t. What’s the story? Trying to make a connection in the Triangle?”

  “Our helicopter went down a few miles from here,” Spencer said.

  “That was you? Scared the hell out of my people here with that racket overhead.”

  “That wasn’t the intention.”

  “What happened to the helo?”

  “Mechanical. We’re lucky to be alive. The pilot didn’t make it. Only reason we’re walking is because we hit a river instead of the ground.”

  “Well, you’re right about being lucky.” The man looked Allie over and then turned to Spencer. “What were you doing in a helicopter out here? You’re risking somebody blowing you out of the air in this area.”

  “The pilot said most around here knew the markings and wouldn’t.”

  The man shook his head. “The pilot was stretching the truth. There are at least three groups battling it out for the Laos side of the Mekong at present, and on the Myanmar side you’ve got the Shans, a splinter group that hates them and is at war for their own slice of turf, several warlords with hundreds of men and nasty attitudes, and forays by the Myanmar military, which is as crooked as a silly straw.”

  “We have permits,” Allie said, and the man’s eyebrows rose.

  He laughed harshly. “Look around here, missy. You think anyone I just described gives two shits about some permits? Did the head of the Shan army sign it? You see any drug lords mentioned as giving their blessing?”

  Allie looked down, embarrassed for her naïveté. The man continued, his tone only slightly softer.

  “Out here, the only permits anyone understands are bullets. It’s the Wild West, little lady. The only rule is there are no rules.”

  “Then what are you doing here?” Allie fired back, bristling at his condescension.

  “Saving your ass, for starters. If my men hadn’t brought you in, you’d have likely been passed around like a joint by whoever captured you, and then tied over an anthill or fed to the crocodiles for sport.”

  The truth of the stranger’s words stung. When she looked back up, a tiny tear was working its way down her cheek. “Who are you?” she asked softly.

  “Name’s Joe. Who are you?”

  She sniffed. “Allie, and this is Spencer.”

  “And what brings you to my jungle?”

  “Your jungle?” Allie repeated.

  “This patch sure is. Now answer the question,” Joe snapped. “You mentioned you got permits. Permits for what?”

  Spencer cut in. “We’re archeologists. We’re looking for ruins.”

  Joe looked him straight in the eye. “You’re about as much of an archeologist as my boot is.”

  “She’s the real thing. I’m the hired help,” Spencer explained, his tone neutral.

  “And you’re flying around one of the world’s most infamous drug-producing areas, looking for ruins? You must be out of your minds.”

  “Yeah, that occurred to me about a minute after the chopper hit the water.”

  Joe grinned. “Sounds gnarly,” he said, suddenly sounding more like a surfer than a renegade in the Laotian hills. “Oh, well, I suppose if I’m not going to sell you into slavery or cut you up and eat you, I might as well offer you some grub. How long you been wandering around out here?”

  “All day,” Allie said. She looked nervously back at the gunmen. “Do they have to point those at us? What if one of them sneezes?”

  Joe nodded and said something in Laotian. The men grumbled but lowered their weapons. He shifted his attention back to Spencer. “If you don’t mind, we’re keeping your popgun, sport. Just in case you feel frisky later.”

  “You’re the top dog here?” Spencer said, more a statement than a question.

  “You could say that. Part sheriff, part rainmaker, part spirit guide, part entrepreneur.” Joe called out in Laotian, and two of the women near the fire stood and moved to one of the huts. “Take a load off while they’re fixing up some vittles. You look beat.” He strode back to the fire.

  Spencer and Allie accompanied him and sat on a log where Joe indicated.

  “Do you have any water?” Allie asked. “I’m parched.”

  Another command, and one of the men entered a different hut and returned with a half-full five-gallon plastic water bottle and two clay mugs. “Have at it,” Joe said. “It’s safe to drink.”

  The man poured both mugs to the brim, and Allie took one with trembling hands and drained it greedily. Spencer followed suit. Joe said something else, and several of the nearby men laughed while the women averted their gazes.

  “What did you say?” Allie asked.

  “Nothing important. A little humor at your expense. But what you don’t know won’t hurt you.”

  After another refill, Joe poked at the flames with a branch. “So what kind of ruins would get you to risk your lives like this?”

  “It’s a legend. We’re following up on it to see if there’s any truth to it.”

  “A legend? I’ve been here for thirty years, and I’ve never heard of any legendary ruins.”

  “It’s a temple. A temple that’s been lost for centuries. In a hidden valley,” Allie said.

  “Well, don’t that just take the cake. Here I’ve been eking out a living in these hills half my life, and nobody told me about the lost temple.” Joe’s eyes locked with Allie’s. “Anything valuable in this temple?”

  She nodded. “Could be. That’s what we’re here to find out.”

  “There a living in that? Really?” Joe asked skeptically.

  Allie shrugged. “Sometimes.”

  “It pays pretty good, does it?”

  “Depends,” Spencer cut in.

  “If someone was to help you find this hidden temple, you might be real generous, would you?”

  Spencer’s face was a blank. “Could be. Why?”

  “What’s your plan now that your helicopter’s a submarine?”

  Allie snorted. “We don’t really have one yet. Probably try to get another helicopter.”

  “Good luck. One goes down, you think anyone else is going to sign up for that duty?”

  “It was an acciden
t,” Spencer said.

  Joe rolled his eyes. “Yeah. Right. Like anyone’ll believe that.” He sat back. “Trust me. You’re grounded. There’s nobody going to risk their lives ferrying your happy asses around.”

  “How can you be certain?” Allie asked.

  “Easy. I’m a pilot.” He looked up as the women emerged from the hut with some earthenware containers. “And I’m the only one crazy enough to be willing to give it a try – if the price is right.”

  “You have a helicopter?” Spencer asked.

  “Nah. Those are for sissies. Got my own plane.”

  “Where?”

  “Dirt strip about a quarter mile away. Comes in handy sometimes,” Joe said, but didn’t elaborate.

  “We lost two others in our party,” Allie said. “Before we could do anything, we’d need to try to find them.”

  “Where did you lose them, and how?”

  “When we crashed. They wound up on one bank, and we swam to the other. Then the shooting started and we took off.”

  Joe’s eyes darted to Spencer. “Shooting?”

  Spencer told them about the chase and their night crossing of the river. When he was done, the women put the containers down in front of Allie and Spencer before moving back to where they’d been sitting.

  “It’s pretty good. Stewed fish. Spicy. There are some wooden spoons in there somewhere. I love the stuff. Goes down easy with some rice wine. You want some?”

  “Oh, um, no, thanks,” Allie said.

  “None for me,” Spencer echoed.

  “Don’t know what you’re missing.” Joe looked back over his shoulder and spoke a few words. The water bearer darted into the hut and returned with a jug. Joe uncorked the top and took three long swallows and then burped contentedly. “You want some grass?”

  Allie and Spencer shook their heads in unison.

  Joe raised an eyebrow. “Finest kind. Home grown. All organic. Give you a buzz like a mule kick to the head.”

  “Maybe some other time,” Spencer said.

  Joe shrugged. “Suit yourself. So, last you saw of your buds was on the other side of the river, and some unidentified baddies were shooting at them?”

  “That’s right.”

  “What would it be worth to find them?”

  Allie let Spencer answer that. “You could name your price,” he said quietly.

  “Really? Like…ten grand apiece?”

  “Done.”

  Joe took another drink. “Shoulda asked for twenty. Oh, well. Part of my journey on this plane of consciousness is to let go of the material. It’s only money.”

  “Pays for fuel, though, huh?” Allie said, and then regretted the barb.

  “Guy’s got to earn a living, you know? Judge not and all that. Turn the other cheek. Be bigger than your hunger. But a word of warning – one of you stays with me until I get the money. That’s not negotiable. I’m trusting, but I’m not stupid.” Joe closed his eyes and then reached into his pocket and withdrew a joint. “Sure you won’t partake? Loosen you up…”

  “Not tonight,” Allie said.

  Joe poked the branch he’d been holding into the fire for a few seconds and then used the flaming tip to light the joint. He took a deep drag and held the smoke in, and then blew it through his nose, like a bearded dragon. “Whoo! Hot damn, that rules!” He blinked a few times and then called out to the gunmen. At least twenty of the men around the fire leapt to their feet and went to get their weapons.

  “What did you say?” Spencer asked when Joe sat back down heavily.

  “Told them your associates are out there, and whoever finds ’em will get the mother of all rewards. They’ll put the word out to everyone we know, which is most of this territory. Even the warlords up the river will hear the tom-toms. It’s your best shot.”

  “How much did you offer them?” Allie asked, curious.

  “As much as it takes,” Joe said, smiling enigmatically.

  They sat in silence while Joe smoked his marijuana and drank. When his eyes were glazing over, Allie slid a few inches closer to him. “So what’s your story? You said you’ve been here for thirty years?”

  “Yeah. I came for the dope and stayed for the living.”

  “There’s got to be more to it than that.”

  “Oh, sure. There was a girl.” He grinned crookedly and for a moment looked a decade younger. “Isn’t there always a girl in one of these stories? Anyway, I fell hard for her in Thailand and took her out of the life there. We moved here, to her village, and the rest is history.”

  “You still with her?” Allie asked.

  “Nope. She’s part of the cosmic dance now. Died in childbirth. Neither of them made it. So she’s gone on to her next incarnation while my tired white butt is still here, learning whatever lessons I can until I get called away for my next chance to get it right.”

  “I’m so sorry, Joe,” Allie said.

  “It was a while ago, although I’d be lying if I said it didn’t still hurt. But that’s life, right? Bittersweet, and nobody knows when their clock runs out.”

  They were quiet for a long moment, and then Spencer spoke. “You’ve been here all that time?”

  “Sure, off and on. You know, sometimes you get sucked into the world, whether you want to or not. But I like it here. It’s simple. Real. People live, they struggle, they celebrate when they win and commiserate when they don’t, they honor their old, and they don’t fear death. What would I go back to that’s better than that?”

  “Sounds like you don’t miss it.”

  “Part of the lesson I’m learning is that nothing is to be missed. It all happens for a reason. The good, the bad, those are just two sides of the same coin. Everything’s an illusion, and our job is to see through it to the real stuff.”

  “Very existential,” Allie said.

  “Yeah, well, maybe so.” Joe yawned, the alcohol and drug hitting hard, she could see. He gestured vaguely to one of the shacks. “You can crash in that hut, if you want. Or you can come keep me company. I’ll show you my etchings. Or give it the old college try.”

  “The middle one there?” Spencer asked, saving Allie the embarrassment of answering.

  “That’s the one. We get up with the chickens, so see you when I see you. I’ll be doing my tai chi at dawn.”

  “Seriously?” Allie said.

  Joe stood unsteadily and grinned. “Depends on the cosmos. But that’s the plan.”

  Chapter 26

  Drake stirred as dawn broke over the clearing. He eyed the sky and noted sourly that it was gray with clouds, so he could expect to add rain to the list of indignities he was subjected to. He looked around for Uncle Pete, but didn’t see him, and debated calling out before rejecting the idea. Last thing he needed was to draw enemies to their location – the little Thai was probably performing his morning ablutions.

  He scratched the mosquito bites he’d acquired overnight and tried not to think about the illnesses that were endemic to the area. Malaria, yellow fever, dengue fever, and a host of other nightmare plagues lurked in the rivers and the parasites that swarmed the jungle, and with the way his luck was running, he’d come down with all of them concurrently.

  Drake sat up and rubbed a tired hand over the stubble on his chin. He’d only gotten a few hours of sleep after his last watch; his imagination amplified every sound from the brush to be a portent of imminent doom. Eventually he’d drifted into a restive doze, replaying the seconds of the helicopter’s drop over and over, the grizzly image of Daeng’s head lolling at an obscene angle frozen in his mind’s eye.

  Movement drew his gaze to a nearby clump of bushes, and he gasped when he spied an undulating length of a snake, easily five feet long. He leapt to his feet and moved away, and the Malayan pit viper’s menacing triangular head rose as its cold black eyes regarded him. The viper’s tongue darted out, and it began to coil. Drake stepped back, giving it as much of the ground as it wanted.

  Drake was about to yell for Uncle Pete when t
he Thai’s head poked from around a tall fern.

  “There’s a really big snake–” Drake began, but he stopped mid-sentence when he saw the expression on Uncle Pete’s face.

  Uncle Pete took another step forward and Drake noticed his raised hands just as the barrel of a Kalashnikov appeared behind him. Drake stood rooted to the spot as Uncle Pete neared. “We got trouble,” the Thai said, and three more gunmen stepped into the clearing.

  Drake slowly raised his hands before dropping his eyes to the snake, which appeared to have lost interest in him and slunk back into the underbrush.

  The gunman in charge of the group snarled an order, and Uncle Pete responded in the same tongue. The man said something else and Uncle Pete nodded.

  “He say we go with them.”

  “Where?” Drake demanded.

  “Where they want.”

  “Are these the guys in the boat?”

  “Don’t think so.”

  “Why not?”

  “We alive.”

  “Ask them what they’re after. Why are they taking us?”

  Uncle Pete shook his head. “No. Don’t want get shot.”

  Drake had no rebuttal for that, so he resigned himself to a forced march. “I need to use the bathroom.”

  Uncle Pete said something and the entire group exploded with laughter before the leader spat a few words. Uncle Pete translated. “He say make fast.”

  “What did you tell them?”

  “That farangs make dirty pants easy.”

  “In this case, you may be closer than you think.”

  After relieving himself under the watchful gaze of one of the gunmen, Drake and Uncle Pete formed a ragged column with the rest, the leader walking swiftly ahead and his henchmen following with guns at the ready. Thunder roared overhead and it began raining. The water was a lifesaver for Drake, who caught what he could with his mouth, his head held at an angle with his tongue out. The pace up the long slope was brutal. After two hours Drake was struggling to make it, and his legs were rubbery from heat and hunger. He staggered several times, and the leader finally called a halt. After a twenty-minute pause they continued their journey, the men unruffled by the distance or the conditions even as Drake pushed himself to the limits of his endurance.