The chain didn’t hit his hand. It dropped into his face, so he blindly snatched at it, and through nothing more than dumb luck managed to wrap one hand around the thick links. He had no time to wonder where the chain had appeared from or what kind of miracle this was, as he threw his other hand above his head and grabbed hold and began to pull himself up.
Lenny glanced down in time to see the motorcycle crash onto the tiger’s shoulder, and he dug his boots into the dirt wall and climbed faster. But not fast enough—not anywhere near fast enough—because when he looked down again, the tiger was already shaking off the impact, and with another guttural growl it turned its eye back on Lenny: dangling just above like the lowest hanging fruit on the tree.
The tiger pounced. And with a jolt that almost pulled his arms from their sockets, Lenny hurtled upward, holding on for dear life as he went flying up to the lip of the hole, the tiger swatting at his heels. He hit the edge hard, but held on, and was dragged up and over the side and onto the ground above.
Lenny spat dirt. With the rumble of a motorcycle engine, Lucas pulled his bike alongside. He dismounted and unfurled the chain from his handlebars, watching the tiger pace below. It was watching them, too, as if assessing whether or not it could make the jump.
“I reckon he could get up here if he wanted to,” said Lucas, but the tiger caught the scent of the goat, finally, and went for the easier pickings. Lucas dropped the chain into the dirt and offered Lenny a hand up.
“I owe you one,” Lenny said.
“Your shout, next time,” said Lucas with a wink.
Lucas got on the motorcycle and Lenny slipped on behind him, and they turned away from the hole and the goat and the tiger.
Right into a line of men pointing rifles at their faces.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“You fellas here for the tiger?” asked Lucas.
They were not. They pulled Lenny and Lucas from the motorbike, took their rifles, and walked them at gunpoint back toward camp. The men were jittery and uncertain, glances darting warily around at the jungle as the night drew in and the jungle sounds grew louder. Lenny wondered if they were, in fact, thinking about the tiger.
He saw no evidence of the big cat. Burning lanterns lit the campsite, giving it an odd, luau kind of feel. Lenny longed for a fruity drink and a beach. They were marched into the center of the campsite, where children sat at the mess table, silently eating bowls of rice. The motor pool now housed a solitary truck; the motorcycles had been left where they lay, and the second truck was gone.
The tall man with the tent full of books stood under his canopy and watched Lenny and Lucas as a fierce-looking guy built like a garbage can barked orders at their guards. Lenny and Lucas were both prodded in the back and marched to the jailhouse.
This was a bamboo cage. There was no door, so two men lifted one side of it and Lenny and Lucas were directed to scoot underneath. It was dropped back down into place and most of the men wandered away, leaving two standing as sentries.
Lenny shrugged and sat, and Lucas followed.
“So escape won’t be too hard, then,” said Lucas.
“I don’t think they’re too worried about it,” said Lenny, sniffing the air. He recognized the scent: goat.
Another cage hung high from a tree just beside their prison. This cage held the remains of a second goat. It was going bad; flies and other bugs buzzed around it.
“Tiger bait?” asked Lucas.
“Let’s hope it’s not dinner.”
“Speaking of dinner, how long do you think we should wait before we get out of here?”
“You think they’ll just let us walk away?”
“I don’t think they’ll have much say in the matter. I can be out of here quicker than those fellas standing guard can turn around.”
“I think they believe the jungle to be its own cage,” said Lenny.
“Fair enough, too, for the poor buggers they’ve got slaving for them. But I got something they don’t got.”
“SAS training?”
Lucas frowned. “A chopper, mate.”
Lenny nodded. “Let’s hang out a bit, see what we can learn.”
“Righto. Wake me when someone’s got something to say.”
Lucas lay back and closed his eyes. Lenny didn’t know if the Aussie was sleeping, but he sure looked relaxed. Lenny leaned against the bamboo bars and eyed the camp. He had a different perspective now, in the cage. He could see pipes on the ground, coming from the direction of the swimming-pool-cum-tiger-trap. They clearly weren’t in use, as they came to an end just north of the camp, where the ground was visibly smoother. It took Lenny a moment to realize it was a concrete slab. It looked like the foundation of a building that was yet to be built. It was a strange thing to see in a place where the most common structure was a tent. In the darkness beyond sat the machinery—what Lucas had called a trommel—and the pit mine. Lenny closed his eyes, but didn’t sleep.
It was half an hour later that he heard the footsteps approach. Lenny slowly opened his eyes to find General Tan examining one of their L1A1 rifles, running his hands along the stock. Then slowly his eyes lifted to take in Lenny. The man looked old but ageless, one of those faces, but his eyes were pinched and mean.
“I know what you are thinking,” said the general.
Lenny didn’t reply.
“You think this cage is nothing. You think you can get out and walk away at any time. Let me dissuade you of the notion.” Tan took a long breath. His accent was strong but his English immaculate. “This cage is not a cage. The jungle is the cage. Landmines surround us in all directions. The road out is guarded. There is nowhere to go.”
Still, Lenny said nothing.
“Where do you come from?” asked Tan.
“Canada,” said Lenny.
“And this is your weapon?”
“You know it is.”
“It is an M16?”
“It’s an L1A1.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes.”
“Where are you from?” asked Tan, again.
“I told you that.”
“Yes, but you told me a lie.”
“What makes you say that?”
“I know this weapon. I know it is called an L1A1 by the British, and some other Commonwealth countries. Not by the Canadians, though, who have their own designation—the C1A1. Not a major difference, but enough to tell me you are not Canadians.”
Lenny didn’t reply.
“We’re British,” said Lucas, who hadn’t even opened his eyes.
“Is that so?”
“Yep.” Now Lucas sat up.
“Wrong again. See, although the British were never officially here, I was educated and trained by them. I know the British. And you are what? Australian? New Zealander?”
“Australian,” said Lucas.
Tan looked at Lenny. “And that would make you American, yes?”
Lenny watched Tan’s eyes pinch even further together as his brain ticked over.
“So I must ask myself, why are Americans sneaking around my jungle? Americans are supposed to be my friends.”
“Let me ask you a question,” said Lenny. “If Americans are giving you supplies and arms, why are you using old Chinese rifles?”
“Ah, I see. So you are CIA. Curious.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“I am the one holding the gun,” said Tan. “And I am trying to think of a reason not to shoot you and dump your bodies in the mountains.”
“Because you don’t want the wrath of the CIA upon you.”
Tan smiled. It wasn’t pleasant. His dental work wasn’t any better up close.
“You think I’m afraid of the CIA? After their excellent work in Vietnam?”
“You’re taking gifts from the CIA but not using them.”
“Gifts? They are not gifts. Gifts are given without expectation. I can assure you, your people expect a return on their investment. But what concerns me right now
is why you are here. Our relationship is built on trust, and it seems you have none.”
“You’re not using what we supplied, and you have a lot of Chinese stuff here. Playing both sides doesn’t engender trust.”
“Both sides? Your enemy is the Soviet Union, as they are mine.”
“And the Chinese?”
“A few old guns. Which we will throw away when we run out of bullets. Then we will use yours. You see shadows where there are none.”
Lenny wasn’t buying it, but he kept quiet.
“Now tell me something,” said Tan. “You asked Rangsay about the yellow metal?”
“Rangsay?” asked Lenny.
“You were discovered in his tent. You mentioned the yellow metal. What is your concern with it?”
Lenny took a breath. Some things were falling into place. Some questions were answered, which posed more questions.
“We wanted you to help destabilize the Vietnamese-backed regime. You seem to be panning for gold.”
Tan nodded. “Panning for gold. Very good. You know that our leader does not believe in currency.”
“Your leader doesn’t believe in a lot of things.”
“Quite. But even in exile, we must work with the outside world. Gold is the international currency.”
“And the Vietnamese?”
“All in good time. We will strike. You can tell Ventura that.”
“I will.”
Tan nodded. “For now, you will remain here. I believe you have met our friend, Shere Khan. You will be safer in the cage than out. My men will escort you out in the morning.”
General Tan spoke to the two guards, who nodded. Then Tan walked away into the night.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“You think he’s just gonna let us go?” asked Lucas.
“Maybe.”
“I don’t trust him.”
“No, me neither.”
“What will your guy, Ventura, say when Tan reports back?”
“He’s not going to be happy. Assuming he knows it was me.”
“Doesn’t have to be a genius.”
“What do you mean?”
“How many flamin’ red-headed sneaky bastards does Ventura have on payroll?”
“Point taken.”
“And we still don’t know what’s making these people sick,” said Lucas.
“As if this place isn’t enough.”
“But it’s not, is it?”
“No,” said Lenny. “It’s not. There’s something we don’t know. But maybe there are some answers coming.”
“How do you mean?”
Lenny nodded toward camp and Lucas looked to see the tall man with all the books walking toward them. He was carrying something in each hand, and spoke tersely to the guards before approaching the cage. The man stopped and looked in at them. Though the sun had long gone down, he was still sweating. It was certainly still humid, but he was by far the sweatiest Cambodian Lenny had ever seen.
“Something to eat,” said the man, passing two bowls of boiled rice between the bamboo bars. Lenny and Lucas ate while they could.
“I am sorry for your situation,” said the man.
“We’ve had worse,” said Lenny.
“I only called the guards because I suspected you were looters.”
“Innocent mistake,” said Lenny. “Your name is Rangsay?”
The man frowned. “How do you know my name?”
“General Tan mentioned it.”
“Oh.”
“Professor Rangsay, am I right?”
“General Tan did not call me that. I do not use that title anymore. Not for many years. Who are you?”
“A friend of Professor Ung.”
Rangsay’s mouth flopped open, and he dropped to his haunches.
“You know Ung?”
Lenny nodded.
“He lives?” asked Rangsay.
“He does. Works at a university in Bangkok.”
Rangsay nodded and his lips spread in some kind of attempt at a smile.
“He thinks you’re dead,” said Lenny.
“And until now, I thought the same of him.”
“He speaks highly of you.”
“He was a good man—is, a good man.” Then Rangsay’s expression changed, like a cloud crossing the sun. He looked at Lenny.
“What did he tell you about me?”
“Nothing much. I just remember he mentioned you as a colleague, an old friend he thought he lost when Phnom Penh fell.”
Lenny watched Rangsay. Professor Ung had mentioned one or two other things as well, but Lenny was still piecing them together in his mind.
“So who are you? Red Cross?” asked Rangsay.
“Something like that.”
“Treasure hunters, perhaps?”
“You think we’re after the gold? It really doesn’t look like that slick of an operation.”
Rangsay glanced into the dark night, in the direction of the pit mine. “Tan’s folly,” he said, almost to himself.
“How so?”
Rangsay looked back at the cage.
“You should not have come here.”
“People are dying,” Lucas spoke to Rangsay for the first time.
“This is Kampuchea. People are always dying.”
“But not you,” said Lenny.
“Even me, one day.”
“Professor Ung said all the intellectuals at the university were murdered. How did you escape?”
“I had something to offer.”
“What could Angkar possibly want from an anthropology professor?”
“Angkar? It had nothing to do with ideology. This—” he said, indicating the camp, “—has nothing to do with ideology. Brother Tan—General Tan—is a pragmatist. He swam with the current because the only other option was drowning. But he was never a true believer in this grand agrarian experiment. Dragging city people out into the fields to become farmers? With no knowledge and no equipment and no money? And most of the time, no seed. Mass starvation was always going to be the result. Tan knew this. I knew it. But disobeying meant death, and death was the greatest folly of all.”
“So why did Tan keep you alive? What did you know?”
“Ung didn’t tell you?”
“He said you were both anthropologists, and that would have been of no value to Angkar, to the state. That’s why he thought you were dead.”
“He would have been of no use to the state. Ung lived for his books—lived in his books. Always stuck in his office.”
“You have a lot of books, in your tent.”
“I’m not against books. Quite the opposite. I was able to save some, so I did. Most were burned. But I wasn’t stuck in them. I worked in the field. Geology and anthropology. I knew things about these hills, for example.”
“Like what?”
“I knew there were things that could be mined.”
“Like gold?”
Rangsay shrugged.
“But the Khmer Rouge abolished currency. Why would they want gold?”
“Angkar didn’t want gold. Angkar wanted everyone to toil merrily in the fields all day and then eat the fruits—or grains—of their labors in the evening. I told you it was destined to fail, and it did. But one must always have a backup plan. And in a nation of no currency, how does one buy freedom?”
“Gold.”
Again Rangsay shrugged.
“You’ve been mining out here for eight years?” asked Lucas.
“Not every trial was a success. But eventually we found the lode.”
“At what cost? The people here are getting sick.”
Rangsay nodded softly. “It is hard work. I wish we had machines, but we do not.”
“These people are dying, Professor,” said Lenny.
“You do not understand. Ung did not understand. In this place, we each do what we can to see another day. Until you are faced with this choice, you will not understand it.”
“We can send medicine, if you tell us wha
t is wrong with them.”
“There is no medicine. The mining is primitive. There is much dust in the air. It gets in the lungs. Mine included.”
“You don’t look like you’re dying,” said Lucas. The man was awfully sweaty, but he didn’t look ill like the villagers.
“We are all dying, sir.”
“Goats included,” said Lucas.
Rangsay glanced at the goat carcass in the meat safe hanging from the tree.
“General Tan is not happy about that. You made him waste a goat. We might have caught the tiger tonight, if not for you. And live animals are not easy to come by in the mountains.”
“Hate to tell you,” said Lenny, “but your tiger can just walk out of that—what is that hole you’re digging there?”
“Tan’s tiger trap, and, of course, if it can walk in, it can walk out. But Tan’s men were going to line the top of the deep end and shoot it from above. Instead, they were chasing you.”
“Sorry to be an inconvenience,” said Lenny.
Rangsay stood. “The rest of the world seems to have been able to forget us. I suggest you leave this place tomorrow and then do the same.”
The professor walked away, back into the village. The guards crept closer to the nearest lantern, as if hoping for any protection from the tiger, who Lenny suspected was now deep in the jungle sleeping off a tiger version of Thanksgiving belly.
Once Rangsay was lost to view, Lucas spoke.
“I’m not much one for maths, but that fella doesn’t add up.”
“How so?” asked Lenny.
“He knows the Khmer Rouge lost, right? He’s not one of the village peasants. He knows.”
“Certainly.”
“So why’s he still hanging around? I walked out to an airstrip last time I was here. But with a bit of prep, and some food, and the maps that guy has in his tent, he could walk to Thailand.”
“True enough.”
“So why’s he still here? Because he’s a geologist, fascinated with gold?”
“You might be more right than you know.”
“You reckon?”
“I don’t know. But I know they’re not winding down operations. There’s a fresh-laid slab of concrete and some pipe that leads back to the hole they dug and are using as a tiger trap.”
Temple of Gold Page 14
