Mrs. Pollifax and the Golden Triangle

by Dorothy Gilman

  She admitted this. "Except that to find you alive, Cyrus, has raised the most abominable expectations of our having a few more years together... for two days now I've wondered how 1 ever enjoyed life without you."

  He smiled. "Then it's not so bad if we die together, is it?"

  She smiled back at him. "Thank you for that, I think it's a lovely attitude."

  "Afraid of death?"

  She shook her head. "It's hovered very close a number of times, you know. No, I'm not afraid but I admit to some—well, adjustment that it could happen today—so abruptly—in the next hour or so. I did hope to see our house again, and the garden, and another spring, and—oh, I must be tired, Cyrus, I'm sorry!"

  "Can't think why you'd be tired," he said with a smile and held her close, comforting the disappointed child in her until she remembered Bonchoo and drew away, smiled at Cyrus gratefully and turned to Bonchoo.

  He was carefully not watching them. "Bonchoo?" she said.

  "No, I am not afraid either, Koon Emily," he said with dignity. "A Buddhist accepts, and I will die today or not die today, and if I do—well, that is my karma. My regret is that I killed the Shan and drank rice wine with the Akhas, for wine is forbidden to a good Buddhist. In my next life this will be much against me."

  "Nonsense," Cyrus said indignantly, "I'll intervene for you, I'll make very clear that any merit you lost has been bloody well gained back by now."

  "You think so?" He thought about this. "But I feel much out of reach of the phi-spirit who protects me in my village; I have walked too far." Sadly he shook his head. "My wish now is that I had asked the holy man this morning to bless an amulet for me."

  "You mentioned a holy man," Cyrus said. "Having never met a holy man, what's he like?"

  Mrs. Pollifax remained silent. It was Bonchoo who described him as a man who had awakened to his Buddha-nature, and without ego lived in a forgotten temple in the jungle, gathering wisdom through meditation.

  "And did you think him a holy man, too?" Cyrus asked her.

  Mrs. Pollifax hesitated, unsure of herself, wanting to speak of the inscription in his book that puzzled her, but telling herself there was no proof of her bizarre suspicions, and that to speak of them in front of Bonchoo would be unkind to the Acharya. She said slowly, "He refused us help at first, which made me very angry at the time, but for reasons that I think I understand now. Yes, there was something about him, something quite—quite rare," she said, aware of her ineptness.

  Bonchoo nodded. "An amulet from him would have protected us," he said, and with a glance at her wristwatch he added wistfully, "It is four o'clock? My children would be coming home from school now in my village, and my mother-in-law would be waking from her nap, and my wife back from the market." He sighed and then went on, his voice becoming more cheerful. "Because she is very smart, my wife, she would have received good money for the eggs she sold. And in a few hours, by seven o'clock, there would be a good dinner. You have not had proper Thai dinner," he told Mrs. Pollifax firmly. "We would give you Tom-yum—good hot soup—and Gaeng ped, which is curry with coconut milk, and Khai palo or Horn-muk— steamed fish—and melons very sweet and juicy."

  "You're making my mouth water," Cyrus told him. "What are the names of your children?"

  "You wish to know?" he said, pleased. "I have five. The two girl-children are Amporn and Panngham, the three boys are Praphas, Charoon and Pote."

  "And your wife?" asked Mrs. Pollifax.

  "She is called Mi-mi."

  Beside her Cyrus suddenly stiffened. "Listen—do you hear it, too?"

  "The helicopter?" asked Mrs. Pollifax, and learned all over again that the cessation of waiting could be as traumatic as the waiting itself. The soldiers had also heard it and were gathering next to the Colonel under his tree, their guard with them, so that Mrs. Pollifax, pointing to him, said, "Do you think we could make a run for it now?"

  This drew a smile from Bonchoo. "They too can run, Koon Emily, and they have guns."

  "Sensible man," said Cyrus. "Ah—there it is!"

  The helicopter hovered, looking a mere toy in the great blue sky, an impertinent eagle waiting to pounce. It remained poised above the compound and then began its vertical descent, the tops of trees bending under the assault of its backwash, its roto-blades sending up clouds of dust as it touched the ground. The door was lifted away, a man tossed two duffel bags to the turf and then eased himself to the earth. Picking up the duffel bags, he ducked to one side, and once he was clear the helicopter lifted and zigzagged off to the east.

  Mrs. Pollifax gasped, "Cyrus—he looks American!"

  Bonchoo said, "Certainly he is not Thai or Chinese— English?

  "I wonder: good or bad," murmured Cyrus.

  "But American—here? she said.

  Colonel Lu did not go forward to meet the man but waited for him beside the tree. The man strode toward him, lean and confident and looking as if he'd just been snatched from the streets of Bangkok in his white shirt and tie, well-cut jacket and chino slacks. As he drew closer and Mrs. Pollifax could see his face she was surprised by his attractiveness: it was not a strong face but it was certainly a handsome one, boyish in spite of the curly black hair threaded with gray, and definitely he looked American. There was a rakish quality about him and she saw lines of dissipation in his face, but his deep tan enhanced the pale blue eyes and were a distraction from the mouth and chin, which were weak. She thought he looked like a man who would be long on charm and that he would want and need to test that charm frequently on women.

  And this was the man who was to decide their fate; she did not feel hopeful, not with that mouth and chin.

  Colonel Lu bowed, making a formal wai. "Mr. Chollee, is it not?" he said. "Welcome, it has been many years since we met."

  The man stopped, his eyes narrowing as he saw the three of them seated on the bench. "Who are those people?" he demanded. "Where did they come from, what the hell are they doing here?"

  "It has been a private matter," the Colonel said courteously.

  "Nothing's private here, who are they? What I don't need are a pair of tourists and a Thai, damn it, what are they doing here, how did they find the camp?" His voice was almost petulant, high-pitched and urgent.

  Cyrus called out to him angrily, "Didn't find the camp, I was kidnapped and brought here—no choice at all—and this is my wife and this is a friend and who the devil are you?"

  "You see?" said Mr. Chollee to the Colonel. "Americans are like this—curious and demanding. And they have seen me"

  "Yes, they have seen you."

  "We let them go and they talk, which doesn't fit into my plans at all."

  Colonel Lu shrugged. "It's entirely in your hands, of course."

  "Then kill them," the man said dismissingly. "Kill them now."

  "Oh," gasped Mrs. Pollifax.

  "Look here," began Cyrus.

  "Shut up," Chollee told him. "Kill them, Lu."

  The Colonel shook his head. "This I will not do, Mr. Chollee. I fight a war, and to kill in war is one matter. We Shan did not hesitate to kill the Japanese in World War Two when they overran our country, but to kill without reason is to lose great merit. It is due to a mistake of my men that they are here at all. This I will have nothing to do with."

  "You Buddhists," Chollee said irritably. "All right, I'll kill them myself but I hope you're not too squeamish to get your men digging some graves."

  "They will dig three graves for you," the Colonel said stiffly, "but not kill for you. If Americans wish to kill Americans it is not my business." He walked away and his men followed, looking back with curious glances.

  "Oh, how dare you," whispered Mrs. Pollifax.

  He laughed. "Easily! Stand up, now. Line up in a row."

  So it's really going to happen—like an execution, she thought, a hasty one at that, and she reached for Cyrus's hand. A certain calm surprised and dignified her as she took her place between Bonchoo and Cyrus. The Colonel had withdrawn but she could
hear the sound of shovels digging and the soft thud of earth as graves began to be hollowed out of the ground. The sun shone on palms and bamboo and a faint breeze sent dust motes dancing. She held Cyrus's hand, trembling only a little.

  In the forest a bird cried out shrilly.

  She heard the click of his safety catch released.

  He lifted his revolver and aimed it.

  In one second now, she thought... in just one second... She closed her eyes.

  "Drop it, Charlie!" shouted a voice from the trees behind them. "Drop your gun, I've got you covered!"

  She opened her eyes. She caught a glimpse of Charlie's face, saw it register shock and incredulity, and then she turned with Cyrus and Bonchoo to see the man who came limping into the compound.

  It was Mornajay, deathly pale but upright, his revolver leveled at their executioner.

  CHAPTER

  17

  "You! cried Charlie, his pace turned into a mask of hate and fury. "How did you know, how did you get here, damn it, how —was it Jacoby?"

  Mornajay said scornfully, That friend of yours you hooked on opium? No, it wasn't Jacoby."

  "Then who—"

  "Chin-Ling," he said.

  Charlie's eyes blazed. "You're lying, I don't believe you, she'd never—"

  "You broke too many promises to her," Mornajay said evenly. "She told me you're on the run, she gave me longitude, latitude and date, Charlie. I've come to take you back."

  "Back!" Charlie laughed. "On one of your bloody rescue missions again? Well, my answer to that is damn you and damn you again."

  "Yes, you've certainly tried hard enough to do that," said Mornajay. "Drop your gun, Charlie, or I'll shoot it out of your hand."

  "You wouldn't dare," he sneered. "Look at you; if I threw a pebble at you you'd fall over."

  "Don't try me, Charlie."

  'Thank God where I'm going you'll never find me again!"

  "You're not going anywhere, Charlie."

  "Look out!" cried Cyrus as Charlie's hand moved.

  Two guns fired simultaneously, the sound of them reverberating among the hills and returning to them before the echo died away. Dust rose from the impact of a body hitting the ground. In the jungle a mynah bird scolded noisily and subsided. The trees themselves seemed to sigh; the silence after the moment of violence was almost voluptuously complete and silken.

  Mornajay stood dazed, staring at the fallen Charlie. He whispered, "Oh my God," and swayed on his feet.

  "There's blood on your sleeve," Mrs. Pollifax told him, and she went to him.

  "Only grazed me," he said impatiently, and noticing her for the first time, "Mrs. Pollifax again, isn't it? Need a bit of help," he said with a twisted smile. "There's a backpack behind the tree over there—over where the stretcher is." He pointed. "Somebody get it."

  "You persuaded the monks to bring you!"

  "Only way—that or crawl," he said with that same unreal grimace of a smile. His gaze went to the man sprawled on the ground and she saw tears in his eyes. "Help me over to him, will you?"

  Bonchoo said quickly, "I'll get the backpack."

  Leaning on Mrs. Pollifax, Mornajay walked unsteadily to the dead man and stood looking down at him. "Never could shoot straight," he said sadly, and sank to his knees beside him.

  "You know him," said Mrs. Pollifax, speaking the obvious.

  Mornajay reached out a trembling hand and tenderly closed the wide-open staring dead eyes. He said bitterly, "He died still hating, still trying to destroy me." His voice broke. "He's right, you know, I should have stopped rescuing him long ago. The forged checks, stolen money, promises broken, people hurt, but to learn—" He drew a long, shuddering sigh. 'To learn—find out—be told this is what he'd come to!"

  "Who is her she asked.

  "My brother," he said in a broken voice. "My family."

  She looked away, moved by the longing she heard behind that word family, the cry of a lonely man struggling to be loved. She tried to remember the imperious Mornajay of the Akha village, and she discovered that she wanted him back. She could only wait silently and as unobtrusively as possible while he struggled for control; she wasn't sure that any of them existed for him at this moment.

  He said at last, turning away, "I'll take him back with me, I can't leave him here... a grave so far from everything he knows—knew—" He shook his head. "It seems there's nothing left for me to rescue now except the name of Mornajay..."

  "I suppose that's important," she said, helping him to his feet.

  He gave her a glance so sharp that she saw the other man behind the grief, the man accustomed to authority, privacy, success: the Mornajay she'd met earlier was surfacing at last, and she was relieved.

  "In some circles," he said dryly, "it is a name that's known for its integrity."

  "Bonchoo's brought your backpack," she pointed out.

  He nodded. "The Shans, they've gone?"

  Bonchoo shook his head. "They're up on the hill watching."

  "Then help me to that rock," said Mornajay sharply. "There's not much time, we've got to work fast. There's a radio in the backpack—you," he said to Cyrus. "You must be the husband. You look intelligent—"

  "Moderately, yes," said Cyrus with a twinkle in his eye.

  "Set up the radio for me, will you? I've not much strength, damn it. And you—Bonchoo, isn't it? In the backpack you'll find a small tin of lighter fluid, matches and a newspaper."

  I missed seeing THOSE, thought Mrs. Pollifax.

  "Crumple the newspapers, soak them in the fluid and shove them into those bags of morphine for burning."

  "Wonderful—I'll help," said Mrs. Pollifax, and feeling amused now by his return to Mornajay-normalcy, she said, "Are you going to give us time soon to thank you for saving our lives?"

  "No need to be maudlin. Anyway," he added with an embarrassed smile, "I seem to recall that you contributed to mine." He sank down on the rock and mopped his forehead. He looked ghastly; she wanted to ask him a dozen questions, wanted to ask how on earth he hoped to take back his brother's body when he could scarcely walk himself, she wanted to ask who he was, and how he'd persuaded the novices to bring him here, and who Chin-Ling was, and how he happened to know the name of Jacoby, and what he hoped for from the radio.

  Instead, silently, she helped Bonchoo open the tin of lighting fluid, find the matches and crumple the paper while Cyrus lifted the radio out of Mornajay's backpack and handed it up to him on the rock. Crackling sounds ensued, Mornajay reset dials and adjusted volume.

  When he spoke he surprised her. "Callahan?" he called crisply. "This is M, are you hearing me?"

  So he'd not come alone... She exchanged glances with Bonchoo and they stopped working to frankly listen. After a cloud of static a voice answered. "Receiving you, M, you okay?"

  "One casualty—X is dead." His voice faltered and then steadied. "Camp's about five miles farther south than anticipated. How soon can you be here?"

  "Trouble?"

  "Could be."

  'Ten minutes. Can you give precise bearings?"

  Mornajay smiled faintly. "No need, there's going to be one hell of a bonfire here shortly that will guide you in, Callahan. Look for the smoke."

  "Reading you, M ... you okay?"

  "A-okay," said Mornajay grimly, and handing the radio back to Cyrus, he returned the gun to his lap.

  "Drug Enforcement Agency?" asked Cyrus with a lift of his eyebrows.

  "I don't think introductions are necessary," Mornajay said with his usual curtness. "I don't know who you are and I don't want to, although how a couple of tourists got here is beyond me, and who I am doesn't matter in the slightest."

  "Is it a plane coming?" asked Mrs. Pollifax, wanting to be sure.

  "Helicopter. Sorry, there'll be no room for you," he said gruffly, "which is why I suggest that as soon as you light that fire you get the hell out of here, and for heaven's sake stay hidden while you light it. The only thing 1 can do for you is make certain you're no
t implicated in the burning of this stuff—that fire is going to cost somebody close to a million dollars. If Wen Sa is on the hill watching—"

  "Wen Sa?" gasped Bonchoo.

  Mornajay said dryly, "He may have called himself something else but the man I saw here in uniform earlier answers to all the descriptions known of Wen Sa."

  Bonchoo shivered. "Yai—I have met Wen Sa?"

  "Leave now. You've time to reach Tha Ton before dark, Prasert told me you'd been shown the trail."

  Bonchoo nodded.

  "What about you?" asked Cyrus. "I counted eight Shans and you can't hold them even for ten minutes if they rush you."

  "No?" Again Mornajay smiled that twisted smile. "My gun will hold them off—there's Charlie's gun, too—and Callahan is on his way." He checked his watch.

  "Eight against one," Cyrus said doubtfully. "I think we ought to stay until Callahan arrives."

  Mornajay laughed. "Light the fire, will you? What could you do without guns except get in the way? If I die, I die... the one thing I can't do, damn it, is hobble over there and light that fire."

  "We're doing it now," called Mrs. Pollifax, with a nod to Bonchoo, and he struck the first match.

  "Good—and then for God's sake leave before they see any smoke. Move it!"

  Mrs. Pollifax lit the last match, saw it ignite the last sheet of crumpled paper and reached for her purse.

  "Emily? Bonchoo?" said Cyrus, waiting.

  "For this I do not need to be begged," said Bonchoo, and he ran with Mrs. Pollifax to join Cyrus, who turned and led them up the hill at a brisk pace.

  When they reached the crest they stopped for a second to catch their breath and look back. Mornajay made a lonely figure seated in the center of the compound, the gun in his hand, the backpack on his lap. Beyond him smoke drifted lazily up from the pile of dried opium, scarcely discernible as yet, and then a tongue of flame ran up one side, and then another...

  Bonchoo said, "A strange man—a little mad, I think, and very rude, but—we did not die today, Koon Emily— and we return with your sahmee after all!"

  CHAPTER

  18

  Some eighteen hours later, on Sunday afternoon, Cyrus, Mrs. Pollifax and Bonchoo limped into the airport at Chiang Rai, jaded, considerably disheveled and near to exhaustion. It had been Bonchoo who guided them to the village of Tha Ton, Bonchoo who found them food and a place to sleep for the night and Bonchoo who bargained with the owner of a long-tailed boat with a stripped-down V-8 engine, which earned them—as if there had not been enough excitement, thought Mrs. Pollifax—a six-hour race downriver the next morning through rapids, past ominous boulders, through a narrow gorge and finally to Chiang Rai.