Bangkok Burn

by Simon Royle

  I had a plan. It was a crazy plan but as far as options go, it was the best of what remained. Sometimes that’s all we have – the best of a bunch of bad choices.

  I paused, a quick task and sanity check – this is fucking insane! I went to work. I’d watched MacGyver as a kid. The frayed rope I tied one end on a knob of the forklift’s steering wheel. The other to the frame of the forklift. To start the forklift I had to use my hands which meant they weren’t free for steering. I reasoned that the wheels must be straight now, so tying the steering wheel would work. I hadn’t been able to raise or lower the lift and that meant the pallet would drag along the floor of the truck. I had one shot at this. It would probably take too long to get the gear in forward and control braking if the doors didn’t open on the first hit. But that was plan B. There was no plan C.

  I climbed up into the cab and felt around until I found the metal circle that the starter button was encased in. Kneeling on the driver’s seat, facing the doors, the tone of the truck changed and I heard the gear shift down. My body tilted back a little. We were on a steep hill. I waited. The truck with its light load gathered speed in the lower gear. Five minutes passed. My thighs burned. The tone changed as the driver shifted into a higher gear, my body tilted forward, cresting the hill. I hit the starter button. The starter whirred and then caught. I immediately twisted around to sit in the driver’s seat. Lying sideways on the seat, I pressed my feet hard on the accelerator pedal and used my hands to throw the gear into reverse.

  The forklift shot backwards. I braced myself as best I could, feet hard on the pedals, shoulder into the back of the driver’s seat. I hit the doors with a massive bang that echoed in the metal chamber but I was stopped. The wheels of the forklift screeching on the metal floor to no effect. I took my feet off the pedal and put the gear back in neutral, listening. The noise from outside had changed. I could hear the container trucks tires on the road surface more clearly. The echolike quality of the container had changed as well. The truck braked hard. I was thrown against the steering wheel, the knob hitting me right between the shoulder blades as I heard the tires skidding on the road.

  The forklift slid forward, as I struggled to keep myself upright. We slammed into the far end of the container and again I was thrown against the steering wheel. We had stopped. The forklift motor had stalled. I pushed with my chin on the seat and pushed until I got my thumb onto the starter. I heard the doors of the cab slam shut outside. The starter motor caught. I threw the forklift into reverse. My knees slipped and I missed the pedal. I heard footsteps running outside. I got my feet on the pedal and pressed down hard.

  The forklift must have skewed when we slid because I crashed against the side of the container but as the money hit, it straightened and picked up speed. I hit the door and heard it wrench free of the container. A man’s scream cut off. The forklift dropped off the container and landed with a bone-jarring crash. It tilted, and for one moment I thought we were going over but then the front thumped down. I was on the floor near the pedals. I pushed the gear lever into reverse with my hooded head and used my knees on the pedal.

  The loud crack of a pistol within feet of me, the bullet smacking into the metal by my head. The forklift was moving. The crack of the pistol further away. I pressed down, listening to the running feet, the shots, the sound of the wheels and pallet on the road. I could feel rain on my body. The forklift picked up speed, the motor howling. I’d crested the hill. What sounded like, ‘Stop’ shouted further away – no way. Escape.

  The forklift tilted alarmingly, what sounded like gravel crunching beneath me and then we hit something. I was airborne. Dead, I thought, flashing on Pim talking about my funeral. I hit the ground hard. Could hear the crashing of the forklift near me. Rolling, hitting hard objects, head over heels and then airborne again. A long drop and I landed hard. Silence. I opened my eyes. Dark purple sky. It was snowing red spots. I passed out.

  ***

  When I came to, it was cool. Night. It was a struggle to breathe. My throats’ sides stuck together both looking for a drink. The hood was bunched up beneath my nostrils. My hands touched rock, I’d only just missed it. Or had I landed on it? I didn’t know. I found an edge. Desperate to be rid of the hood and free I started working the cable tie against it.

  I worked and passed out, several times, my arm muscles burning beyond endurance. My mind found that special place where a space is reserved for observing the absurd things you are doing to yourself, a space marathon runners know well. Finally the cable gave. I lay on the ground, my last moments with the hood on, darkness, listening to my breathing. My shoulder joints screamed as I lifted my hands up and took off the hood. Darkness. Tree trunks, rocks, leaves. I found a rock and putting my feet on the slab of rock that I had narrowly missed, pounded the cable tie into a quick surrender.

  I woke up as dawn was breaking. Above me the cliff I’d fallen down and a little further up the forklift and the money at the base of a clump of gnarly old trees. I was on a ledge in a steep gulley, the ledge about ten meters wide. The tops of trees were parallel with the ledge and a steep slope ran into an ever narrowing space. I was sure I’d cracked a couple of ribs. Breathing hurt. I hoped there was no internal bleeding.

  I’ve watched Discovery Channel, seen the Man vs. Wild shows but this ledge didn’t offer much of anything, least of all hope. Walking over to the forklift, the walls of cliff steep enough that everything was in shadow, the morning air cool, I listened but couldn’t hear any running water. Occasionally I heard the hum of tires on the road up above. Otherwise birdsong and the chattering of monkeys were my playlist.

  I was sure they’d be back. One hundred million dollars is too much to throw away. They’d be back with climbing and lifting gear. It wouldn’t take much and the equipment was easy to get. I had a couple of hours at best.

  Going up was out of the question. Sideways was a practically a straight drop to another ledge forty feet below – didn’t think I’d survive that. Staying here I was an easy target. Down was the only option, the best of a bunch of bad choices. It had been like that for a few days now. I went and looked over the edge. A bit wobbly on my legs, I stayed well back from the edge. The tops of the trees spread out such that I couldn’t see the ground beneath them. Difficult to judge their height. They were thick though and entwined. At one point the earth on the ledge had slipped and created a step that jutted out. The step was about four meters lower than the rest of the ledge and about two meters away from the tops of the trees.

  I looked around and sighed. Pause, task list, pray, run, jump and sanity check – we should skip the insanity checks from now on. I got into a sprinter’s crouch – my body had given up protesting and turned to laughing hysterically instead. Thighs quivering, I breathed out and sprinted. At the point where the ledge had slipped, I thought – this is really fucking crazy, but I hit the slab at a good speed, without tripping and made a huge leap.

  I hit the branches, caught one, but it was too thin, dropped through, arms flailing. And hit another one hard, bouncing sideways until I fell right across one with my stomach, nearly flipping over it but holding on. If I didn’t have cracked ribs before, I did now. I looked down. Still couldn’t see floor.

  Two hours later, I walked into a clearing, a DTAC cell phone base station tower in the middle of it. A pick-up was parked next to the towers iron fence. Inside the fence, a man wearing coveralls had his head inside the gray metal box he was kneeling next to. I walked up to the fence and called out hello. All that came out was a garbled croak. My voice having a little laugh at my expense. The man turned and his eyes went big in fear, then closed. He grabbed his amulets hanging at his neck and lifted his hands in prayer.

  I swallowed, forcing the velcro’ed sides of my throat apart.

  “I’m not a ghost. I had an accident. Fell down a cliff. I need a cell phone.”

  The man opened his eyes and dropped his hands. Standing up slowly, he looked wary as he advanced crablike around the fence. He
walked over and touched my forearm, pulling his hand back quickly. Relief flooded his features.

  “You scared the shit out me,” he said, laughing and removing the pakama he had tied around his waist, giving it to me. I put it on. He took me to his truck. I sat in the passenger’s seat. It felt cool and soft. He handed me a phone. I called Mother on her home phone – the only number I could remember.

  Ba Nui answered on the third ring.

  “Ba Nui get me Mother,” I heard a scream and the phone dropped. The man handed me a bottle of ‘Red Bull’, cap off. I gulped it down feeling the sweetness pouring energy into me – the best thing I’d ever drunk.

  “Where are we?” I asked him

  “Bang Yai,” he said.

  “What province?” That caused his eyebrows to go up.

  “Ranong.”

  “What’s the number of the base station?”

  “Ranong-Bang-Yai-31.”

  “Chance?”

  “Mother.”

  “Thank Buddha, you’re alive. Where are you?”

  “At a DTAC base station Ranong-Bang-Yai-31.”

  “I got it. I will send help. Can a helicopter land there?”

  I looked over the car park.

  “Yes.”

  “Stay there. What’s your number?”

  I turned again to the guy.

  “What’s your number?” I held the phone to his mouth. He spoke his number. I put the phone back to my ear.

  “I got it. Thirty minutes. Don’t move from there.” She hung up.

  A Lucky Break

  19 May 2010 Chumphon 9:45 am

  Mother was true to her word. Twenty-five minutes after we’d spoken, an army helicopter landed in the car park of the base station. It flipped Pi Sila’s pick-up over. He hitched a ride with us. I told him I’d buy ten more pick-ups.

  In front of me, a detailed survey map showed the area of Bang Yai. I worked out, judging distances from road and the base station, roughly where I had crashed over a cliff. I showed Colonel Paisarn, alongside me, the younger brother of a general married to Aunt Malee’s cousin from her second younger aunt. His skin was the color of cognac, stocky, hair clipped short military style, greying at the temples, a green beret on his head.

  “You reckon here, Khun Chance?” His finger prodded the map.

  “Yes. No doubt.”

  “Okay. I’ll put a team on the road. How long will they need to be there?”

  “It’ll be about four hours until we can get our people there.” Chai, Cheep and the boys were on the way but it’d take them time to get there by road from Phuket. Mother was trying to arrange, with the help of the army relatives, a helicopter from Surat Thani. Either way it would take at least a few hours.

  “Consider it done.”

  “I’ll be joining them. When are we leaving?”

  He seemed surprised and a little disappointed. He wanted a look at what we were protecting. “But Chance, you’re badly hurt, dehydrated. You should rest. Don’t worry I’ll take care of everything.”

  “The general would be disappointed if I didn’t go…”

  He straightened up, his eyes angry, but obedience training and a quick calculation, no doubt, of the powers of leverage, prevailed.

  “Of course, Khun Chance. We must do what we can for the General.”

  We took off in the Bell 206B-3. Designed to carry four passengers, it was holding five: a lieutenant, a sergeant, a radioman, a private and me. It took us thirty minutes to fly to the spot, the soldiers all armed to the teeth. This was very close to Burma, and border incursions by Burmese soldiers hunting Mon rebels were not unknown. The colonel, at my request, had loaned me an US army issue Colt .45 and an M-16. A large part of me was hoping that Lisp and his gang would be at the site of the crash.

  They weren’t. The road was too narrow for the helicopter to land. We had to jump the last ten feet. It hurt. I checked out the crash site. The broken, twisted end of a metal barrier the work I’d done the previous evening. From the edge of the cliff a drop onto a steep slope of about ten meters. No wonder I hurt all over. The whole area was quiet. I checked the GPS coordinates and sent a SMS to Chai. Further up the road, we found a shady spot and the soldiers set up camp. I eased my back against a tree and fell asleep.

  About three hours later I woke up. The lieutenant and sergeant were asleep next to me, the private boiling water over a fire. The sun was almost directly overhead. It was baking hot. The soldier threw a packet of Mama Noodles into the pot. My mouth watered. I heard vehicles and looked up the road. They were coming from the direction of Thailand. To the west of us, the Burmese border. I picked up the M-16 checked that the safety was off and it was on full automatic. The soldier gave a wistful glance at his noodles and picked up his weapon.

  The vehicles pulled up fifty meters away and Chai got out of the driver’s side of the Cherokee Jeep holding up his arms. I dropped the muzzle of the gun and nodded to the soldier. He smiled and went back to his noodles. Priorities.

  Weariness hit me like a wave. I leaned back against the tree as Chai and Cheep walked over. Chai squatted on his haunches in front me, studying my face.

  “You look like hell,” he said.

  “Don’t worry. I feel a lot worse than I look,” I said and smiled.

  He handed me Lilly’s phone. “It’s rung five times since late morning.”

  “Checking to see if we’re back together. Any sign of them?”

  “The guy on the Hatteras was hired four days ago in Pattaya and joined the yacht by speed boat from Krabi. They told him they had urgent business and asked him to drive the boat to Yacht Haven to wait for them. Paid him in cash. Russian, he thought, but wasn’t sure. The guy asked to be called Alex. No sign of Uncle Mike or the woman. The cops found the truck in Kra Bhuri. They could have crossed the river and be in Burma.”

  “Possible. Possible that they’ve been here all the time. So far my guesses as to their actions have been fairly off-base. I’ll just play it step by step for now. First step is to recover the goods. See down there, where the railing is torn away. That’s where I went over with the forklift. There’s a steep slope for about ten meters, then another fifteen meter drop, then there’s a ledge. The goods are on the ledge.”

  The Lieutenant and sergeant had woken up. They were pretending to look out over the gulley, but their ears were pinned back, listening.

  Cheep moved off, shouting to his boys. The road was sectioned off and the soldiers put on guard duty. Cheep's boys hooked up and climbed down. Within minutes shouts came up that they had found the goods. The first of many bright blue thick plastic bags was hauled up using the winch on the front of the Cherokee. I sat and watched from the shade, Chai by my side. He handed me a packet of Marlboro red. Chai doesn’t smoke, doesn’t approve of me smoking; what friends are made of.

  I drew in deeply, watching as a blue bag bumped its way over the cliff and was dragged a short distance before the winch stopped. A guy untied the cable and dropped it back over the edge for the next bag.

  “Do you know how much shit Mother gave me in the last twenty-four hours? No one has ever made me feel so bad about myself.”

  “I’m sorry, Chai. It was my fault. I underestimated them.”

  “No. Joom is right. What you do is your business. What I do is protect you. That’s my business. That’s what Joom and Por trained me for. Not to listen to you,” he turned sideways and grinned at me, “and your crazy plans.” He shook his head slowly side to side. “You are really are crazy you know. Driving a forklift out of a moving truck and over the edge of a cliff. I haven’t dared tell Mother that part yet. Anyway, I’ve learned my mistake. From now on, my only job is making sure you stay alive. Okay? I don’t want Joom talking to me like that again – reminded me of when I was five.”

  “When you were being bullied and Joom told you to fight and stand up for your name or she’d cane your legs till you bled to death, if you didn’t die of shame first? You mean that time?”

  Cha
i stared at the ground, squatting, tapping his combat booted foot on the tarmac. “Yeah, that time.”

  “Wow. I’m sorry, Chai. That’s pretty scary.” I tried but couldn’t keep the grin out of my voice. He smiled at me and punched me on the shoulder. It hurt.

  Last to come up were the guys who had climbed down, pulled up by the winch, the last man all smiles. Money loaded. Ropes pulled up. Cables tied away. Barrier on the road taken down and the soldiers put in the front two vehicles. Time to move.

  I walked over to the gap in the safety barrier that I had flipped over in the forklift, Chai by my side like a shadow. I had the feeling the shadow would always be watching my back.