Death Trip

by Lee Weeks

  ‘To the fight!’ The mood was sombre.

  ‘To the fallen.’ Alak’s eyes burned as he looked in turn at each member of the group gathered there. Around him his men stopped to join in the salute.

  ‘Yes, to Mongkut and the others.’ Riley raised his glass high. They drank. Mann studied Alak in the dim light. This was a man who never relaxed. His back was strong, but his shoulders were over-muscled from carrying heavy packs as well as tension all his life. He was a man who never slept, who never let his guard down, he didn’t dare.

  Alak brandished the rum, waiting to refill Mann’s glass. Mann drank it down and held out his glass.

  ‘Mongkut died the right way. Born a Karen, die a Karen,’ said Alak. The tension showed in his jaw when he talked. ‘It is the job of every Karen to play his part, to do what he can to fight for our right to exist, to regain our homeland and to live in peace.

  ‘We live by the four principles spelt out in 1950 when the Karen National Union was founded. They are…’ He counted each one off on his fingers. ‘Number one—no surrender. Two—the recognition of the Karen State. Three—the Karen shall retain their arms. And four—they shall decide their own destiny. Nothing changes those principles.’

  Alak leaned forward to refill Mann’s glass and stopped mid-pour as he looked into Mann’s eyes.

  ‘You are a long way from Hong Kong, Detective Inspector Johnny Mann.’ From the corner of his eye Mann could see Alak’s men watching.

  It didn’t surprise Mann that Alak had done his homework. It would represent a big risk meeting a stranger. But Mann had done his homework too. Alak was the man Mann had been hoping to meet. He was the captain whose name was being bandied about as the abductor, the organiser of the attack.

  ‘I owe someone a favour. That’s as personal as it gets—I am here to find the missing volunteers. That is my only reason.’

  ‘You are not here to take up arms with us?’ Alak laughed and sat upright. He spoke clearly, as if making sure his men could hear. ‘To fight by our side? If you are not with us, then why should we help you?’

  ‘You have no choice. They say that you are the rebels who attacked the camp. They say you are taking payoffs from the drug barons.’

  There was a loud intake of breath all around and Riley choked on his rum.

  In the instant Alak reached for his knife, Mann already had Delilah flipped out. Like a chameleon’s tongue catching a fly, she winged silently through the air, her cord still attached to the hilt. She knocked Alak’s knife clean out of his hands, nicking his forefinger, before safely flying back to Mann’s hand.

  As Alak’s men rushed forward, he held up his hand for calm. He looked down at his finger and laughed as he sucked to stop it bleeding. He nodded his head, as if pleased with the outcome. Then he turned to his men, speaking in Shan, and one by one they broke into laughter. He turned back to Mann.

  ‘Pity.’ He grinned. ‘We could do with a man like you.’

  Mann bowed his head in thanks.

  ‘But I don’t think you believe I took the five volunteers, otherwise you would not have come here tonight. But I do believe you need my help to find them. Run Run, what do you know about the attack?’

  Run Run reached beside her and lifted the package she had brought. By the light of the lamp, she unwrapped the cloth bundle and spread out the items one by one on the jungle floor. First, a red bandanna. ‘I took this from around Mongkut’s head.’ It still held the shape of his skull; it was stiff with blood. Next, she placed a knife and a small square of cloth, ragged at the edges, with writing on it. ‘This note and this knife were embedded in his eye.’

  Alak reached over and picked up the note. As he read it, his eyes locked onto Run Run’s. He seemed transfixed by the words he had read.

  ‘This is a personal challenge to me.’

  ‘You know the man who wrote it?’ asked Mann.

  ‘Yes. I know him very well. His name is Saw Wah Say.’

  ‘What does the note say?’

  ‘It says…the day of reckoning has come.’

  61

  Mary watched Mann go with a curious look on her face. He wasn’t sure whether she was worried about the bicycle or about him—both probably. It was late—too late for a tourist to be riding around Mae Sot. But Mann had an appointment to keep and it had to be done under cover of night. Someone wanted to join their party and they wouldn’t take no for an answer.

  Mann cycled past the roaming bands of wild dogs skulking furtively on the roads. By day they pretended friendly indifference to the wandering goats that grazed at the roadside, but by night they salivated at the sight of the young kids inside their bamboo pens. At night they killed each other and anything else that got in their way for the right to feed and fornicate.

  Mann picked up a stick from the side of the road, that would at least serve to give him time to escape if a pack attacked. On either side of the road the restaur ants and bars, workshops and shanty houses, were beginning to disappear and the blackness appeared in their place. It was a straight road to Burma. Trucks were moving along in a constant stream. The nighttime had begun in Mae Sot. The night market would spring phoenix-like from the ashes of the day market and Mae Sot would sell its wares: diamonds, rubies, gold and sex.

  Mann stayed out of the way of the traffic. He had no lights on his bike, which was just as well as he didn’t want to draw attention to himself. As he neared the start of the bridge that spanned the river he saw the place was heaving with activity. Small fires lit it up as hundreds of people stood along the river. A busy market already existed along the banks of the Moei. But now in the night it had taken on the look of a thriving night bazaar. The river was low. By the light of the moon Mann could see the shadowy figures of people floating across on tyres to sell their cigarettes and opium. Roadside kitchens served steaming food whilst men stood around haggling.

  Mann didn’t need to get too close. He was waiting for someone but he knew that person would have no trouble finding him. Ten minutes passed as he watched the constant traffic along the water’s edge as boats pulled up to offload their wares. Then he became aware that he was being observed. He turned to see Gee slouching covertly near the bridge and dragging heavily on his cigarette. His red baseball cap was still firmly pulled down on his head, his gold chain gleaming in the dark.

  ‘Hello, my friend.’ Gee walked over to him. ‘Thank you for coming. I am sorry to bring you to the bridge but I am waiting for my cargo.’

  They walked to the water’s edge where they looked down. Beneath the bridge, a boat was unloading boxes. ‘And I know that you are making plans. Follow me please. We will talk in private.’

  Mann ducked as they entered the covered market. Within was an Aladdin’s cave of treasures. A tall black African with yellow eyes looked up and watched Mann pass, his rubies and sapphires laid out on a velvet mat in front of him. The potential buyer, a wizened man, was huddled over examining them with an eyeglass. Mann could hear the sound of stifled screams, the laugh of excited cruelty, and from the corner of his eye as Gee marched him through, he saw sex slaves being herded into another part of the market, ready for the auction.

  Mann followed Gee as he weaved through the stalls. They exited at the side and stopped at one of the doors in an alleyway of lock-ups. Each one had a notice of which merchant it belonged to and a number. Gee’s lock-up had something extra—a Buddha looked out at Mann from a small altar next to the entrance, where there had once been a window. Incense burned in a brass holder and a plastic elephant joined Buddha next to some nuts. A rat skittered away with one in its mouth as they neared.

  Gee unlocked a hefty padlock. ‘Did you make your arrangements to find the five young people?’ he asked.

  ‘I leave at dawn tomorrow,’ Mann nodded. ‘Did you get your business done?’

  Gee flicked on a light. One bulb hung down from the centre of the space, which was mainly empty apart from a few boxes in the corner. There was a stack of teak chairs and a trestle table
. It had one window, which overlooked the alleyway that ran alongside the market.

  ‘This place should be full. But business is bad. This market is normally a hundred times busier than tonight. Everyone is suffering whilst these troubles continue. But that is not what I wanted to see you about. My village has many troubles. Soldiers have come and they have killed many and destroyed the rice. So many problems there.’ He sighed. ‘It’s worse than I thought. They have been attacked and most of their elephants killed. I must take what I can to help them.’ He stopped and looked at Mann. ‘I am asking if I can come with you part of the way. You will be stopping by my village because it is a central place and all people pass by. I need your protection. I will make a donation to help your cause. I will not be a burden to you. I will provide porters from my village. They will be waiting at the other side and I will organise a boat. I will give directions tomorrow when we meet.’

  ‘You can come, Gee, but any trouble and we leave you. We can’t carry anyone.’

  ‘Ah ha…I understand exactly. I will be no trouble to you, I promise.’ Gee finished securing the lock-up as Mann waited outside. There was no sign of the rat. The Buddha’s fat little face smiled serenely out behind a plume of incense. Above the Buddha’s head was an inscription.

  ‘What does the writing on the altar say?’ Mann asked.

  ‘It says—let me think—in English, “What is in your head, thoughts, good or bad, that is what you will become.”’

  They walked around the outside of the market and down to the river. A boat pulled alongside and Gee nodded discreetly to its captain. ‘I will meet you outside Mary’s,’ he said to Mann. ‘Now I must make my arrangements first. I must get to the night market and buy what I need. You may go now, my friend. I see my cargo is being unloaded. Better you do not stay.’

  He was eager to get rid of him. Mann could see the boxes on the boat. Whatever it was Gee imported, it came in wooden crates with the stamp of the Burmese army on the top.

  62

  Mann was showering when his phone rang. It was Riley.

  ‘Alak will send some of his men to help us. They will meet us at a village a half a day’s walk from the Burmese banks.’

  ‘What do you mean, us?’

  ‘Sue and I will be coming along. People know me, they trust me. We don’t know what state the kids will be in if we find them. We may need Sue to help with any medical emergencies. She can handle it better than we can and she knows that part of the jungle very well. And I have found us a guide—an expert tracker. We will be picking you up first thing tomorrow, five a.m. We’ll wait for you on the road around the corner from the hostel.’

  ‘There is another person coming. His name is Gee.’

  ‘Gee? From Chiang Mai?’

  ‘You know him?’

  ‘Everyone knows Gee. He does nothing unless there is a profit in it. Why is he coming?’

  ‘He needs to get back to his village. He wants protection and he can offer us money, porters and a boat. I figured it wouldn’t hurt.’

  ‘Okay. So long as he understands that once we start we are committed. What goes on is dealt with on the spot. He needs to understand that.’

  ‘He will.’

  Mann hung up and called Ng. Hong Kong was one hour ahead of Thai time.

  ‘We start the search tomorrow, Ng.’

  ‘Do you know where to go?’

  ‘I know where to start. That’s as good as it gets. The only help I can expect here is at ground level. I get more questions here than I get answers, and dealing with the politics is an added problem. What’s the latest?’

  ‘It’s not so good. It seems that the Thai government are headed for a military coup and they are making deals with the Burmese. They are handing over responsibility to Burma to find the kids. They say the Burmese will be intensifying their efforts to track down the KNLA rebels who have abducted them. Will you be able to keep in touch?’

  ‘I am taking my satellite phone but the battery doesn’t last forever. Don’t suppose there are many places to charge it in the jungle…Whatever happens, Ng, I’m out there till this ends. I suspect, one way or another, it will be over fast. Oh, and Ng, did you get anywhere with that other matter?’

  ‘I have started. Deming had stakes in several com panies that no longer exist today or have changed names. It will take time.’

  ‘Thanks, Ng.’ There was a knock at the door. ‘Got to go…’

  ‘Good luck, Genghis.’

  Hillary stood at the door in a cotton sarong, very loosely tied. She had a bottle of vodka in her hand.

  ‘Can I help?’ asked Mann.

  ‘I think I might have appeared rude earlier on.’ Hillary looked very awake for someone about to go to bed.

  ‘Don’t worry about it. I don’t take offence easily.’ Hillary giggled as her sarong slipped down and she clutched at it half heartedly.

  ‘It’s just that NAP have been really supportive. They paid for us to finish our projects here and everyone is really shocked about what happened.’

  ‘Just tell me one thing, Hillary: did you give the five volunteers a ride into Mae Klaw that day?’

  ‘Yes. Riley was ill.’

  ‘But you didn’t bring them back later on?’

  ‘No, that’s the thing. We were sent home early that day. We were doing the run of all the camps in the area. We were on our way back to pick them up when we got a call to say we didn’t need to.’

  ‘From whom?’

  Hillary looked around a little nervously. ‘Look, can I come in? I feel a bit exposed out here. We need to talk in private.’

  Mann got up and checked the corridor before closing the door behind her. The young backpacker who had narrowly missed a death trip in King’s bar was grinning at him from down the corridor.

  63

  Mann waited until Hillary had disappeared back into her own room before he began making his pre parations to leave. He stripped to his waist and strapped his shuriken belt around his chest and another to his arm, which held his throwing spikes. The weapon holders were like a second skin to him. The largest one he owned was the Death Star, a four-pointed throwing star measuring six inches in diameter. It was custom made from steel. Each of its four blades was razor sharp and reinforced with steel rivets to give precision, balance and performance. It was not just a beautiful thing to hold but also capable of decapitating a man in one shot. He slipped it neatly into a leather pouch nestled beneath his ribs.

  He picked up his bag and crept out of the door and went down the stairs. The air had the heavy weight of pre-dawn to it and there was the smell of a new day coming. The darkness was permeated only by the sound of the kitchen staff chatting as they prepared the food for the day. Mann dropped his key behind the empty reception desk, and walked silently across the stone tiles, past the caretaker asleep on a bench by the door, and out the front entrance. As he stepped out onto the pavement, a lorry rattled past on its way back from Friendship Bridge. Frightened eyes stared out at him from the back. A dog crossed the road, its sand-coloured eyes gleaming in the headlights as it stopped and turned to glare at the lorry with contempt, before sauntering to the side.

  Gee was waiting for him across the road. Beside him were two large canvas bags. He was talking to someone; Mann couldn’t make out whether it was a man or a woman. As soon as Gee caught sight of him, the other person scurried off and he came across the road to Mann, lumbering under the weight of the bags.

  ‘What’s in there?’

  ‘My contribution.’

  ‘Couldn’t you have given something lighter?’ Mann took one from him. ‘This weighs more than you.’

  ‘Believe me, my friend, I have brought along the perfect present,’ he said, struggling with his remaining bag as they walked down the road together. ‘All night I have listened to the stories of a group of men who are devils, and the worst kind of Shwit—they slice through the necks of men, women and children, just to hear the sound it makes. These men are not human. They are wi
ld animals. Now, where is our lift?’

  ‘Over there.’

  Mann gestured with his head. They had just turned a corner in the road; ahead, a VW van winked its headlights at them. Riley was in the driver’s seat. Mann and Gee walked over, slid back the side door, and heaved their bags up onto the van floor. Run Run and Sue were sitting in the back with Louis.

  ‘Ah—the expert guide.’ Mann nodded at Louis.

  ‘I got an offer I couldn’t refuse. Anyway, I thought you might need me.’

  ‘Whatever your reasons, it’s good to have you on board. Everyone here know Gee?’

  There were mutters in the affirmative as Gee got into the back. Mann sat in the front beside Riley. As they drove away from the hostel, Mann turned around to look at Run Run. Her hair swept across her face and knotted at the nape of her neck. She was dressed in trousers and a dark T-shirt, with a simple scarf knotted around her head. From a distance she could have passed for a pubescent boy, but up close her beautiful face with its delicate features gave her away. He knew that she was putting her place in the camp at jeopardy; if caught, she risked being kicked out of the camp and being deported back to Burma. Mann turned back to Riley.

  ‘How’s it going to work for Run Run? Were you able to sign her out?’

  He shook his head. ‘Too risky, mate. Too many people would start asking questions. They would want to know why all three of us were going away for a few days. And, who knows, it could be longer. We discussed it but we decided we couldn’t afford to jeopardise the mission. Run Run was the one who had the final say. She knows the risks.’

  But, as Mann looked at her in the gloom and the silence, he could see that her eyes were bright and shining, alight with life. She was out of the camp and she was doing what every Karen should do—fighting for the cause.

  ‘Thank you.’ He smiled at her. ‘Thank you for helping us.’ She did not answer him, but Mann saw a flicker of a smile cross her face as she bowed her head and acknowledged his words.