“You can’t argue against the authenticity,” Mike mused. He reached behind him to grab Jean’s outstretched arm, pulling her closer to him through the chaos. Hurdling collective baggage on the isle, they closed in on Rusty. Two seats over the rear wheel proved all they could muster as the bus disembarked on its snakelike journey through the small northern suburbs of Vientiane and out towards distant hills. The locals had left the seat free due to the jarring vibration and possible damage to any recent dental work. Feeling the urge to smoke, Mike fought the temptation before the realisation that Laos’s standards and tolerances differed from those in Portishead. Pulling out his tobacco tin, he settled back as Rusty duelled with the window latch, eventually sliding the pane of glass forward in the frame to introduce a welcome flow warm wind from the dusty streets they were bumping over.
“Air-con didn’t work anyway!” Rusty commented.
“Imagine how hot this bus will get in a few hours, just with all these people alone ay. Let’s hope that we’re off here before things heat up. Those windows will do little when the sun’s fully up,” Jean commented, adjusting her top in the expectation of a sticky journey ahead.
She then returned her attention to watching the remaining passengers jostle for floor space as they pushed up the aisle. She half expected people to be carrying the occasional chicken and was almost disappointed that they weren’t. Sitting next to her, a middle-aged woman was chewing the green leaves of tobacco. Jean had been busy trying to pinpoint the sweet pungent smell and was ready to attribute it to the tobacco, before noticing blackness around the woman’s mouth. The odour of cancerous decay sickened her less than the thought that she was quite obviously not receiving any medication or treatment. The tumour had been left to bury its own way into her face. It was hard to tell whether it was ignorance that had left her to rot; or a loathing of clinical procedures, ethics even. Perhaps with her state came a degree of acceptance, that fate rather than the tobacco leaf had decreed it. She had never seen anything like it before and felt the need to quickly look away. All thoughts now for borrowing Mike’s trusted tin were quickly dispelled. She grabbed the seat in front as the bus jerked forward, beginning its rambling journey towards Vang Vieng.
Rusty’s take on the scheduled route was one of uncanny insight. Frequent stops heralded the moment for people to jump on and off the bus, returning home from the city or heading into the suburbs from long hours at work. As the stone colonial houses turned to stucco and then to wooden chalets, the stops became less frequent and they found the urban street narrow into a potholed lane heading into the hills and paddy fields. Once past the outskirts of Vientiane and into small rural communities buried in the hills, the tobacco chewing woman shouted out instructions, which were passed forward to the driver. Happily chatting loudly to those around and willing to listen, she walked down the now much emptier isle and stepped off the bus, taking an overgrown driveway to a villa set back off the road. Before getting to the end of the drive she was met by an elderly lady holding out a carrier bag full of the green leaf for her. Accepting the bag like an Easter egg trophy and showing no sign of parting with any money, she climbed back on to the bus, already chewing the addictive herb.
Half-way up the isle Vig needed to move slightly to allow the tobacco chewing woman room to pass. He was very careful to ease forward; ensuring that the Glock 17 pistol clipped to his belt wouldn’t brush against her and raise any unnecessary calls for help. He still clearly remembered Kae’s insistence they keep this low key. His cotton jacket and strapped canvas bag concealed his deadly tool, though anyone still pushing through might inadvertently brush against the cold metal handle. Ideally he wanted to be seated, out of the way from the jam of passing passengers, a luxury denied to him through the necessity to ensure the farang were boarded first back in central Vientiane. As the women passed behind him he caught the sweet aroma, likening it to a perfume of death. He briefly allowed his eyes to train on the seated westerners, currently unaware that their moves were under such a spotlight. Kae had been highly specific on one point; he wasn’t to harm them or threaten them, so long as things didn’t balloon out-of-control, in which case he was to exercise a professional mixture of initiative and restraint. If possible under these circumstances he was to contact Kae before becoming at all visible to the three farang. Otherwise the importance was to become a shadow, secretly watching to see where they went and who they met; especially who they met. In this Vig considered that Kae misjudged him. Although capable of violence that bordered on sadistic, such a path was always taken with a sense of professional detachment, occasionally regret. He had grown up with those who used pain and saw it as a means that need only be brought to bear where necessary. He viewed it as another tool within his repertoire of carefully practiced skills, one to be used out of need alone. His talent bore many other uses.
A young child during China’s cultural revolution of the 1960’s, Vig had spent his childhood in a world where intimidation and violence were encouraged. He was taught to spy on teachers, shout at intellectuals and despise the old authority. The intervening years changed and mellowed in the Peoples Republic. This softer mellowness was not mirrored in Vig’s own life. Whilst others turned from their past, shamefully putting behind them acts carried out against friends and neighbours, Vig philosophically decided that he was a product of an age tinted with aggression, an attribute that he could call on to ensure his own way in life. Memories of beating those he thought were wrong were held within him as lessons, other strings to making things work. The army provided the only possible career path when he came to face the world, a ten year jaunt in the infantry followed by another decade in Special Forces. As missions became increasingly covert, he found his talents and skills were looked upon with greater favour. He became recognised, and was passed missions of a more exotic nature, ones where he could find reward for himself, a payment in kind from his superiors. In turn these took on an international nature; passing funds to groups running guns and drugs. He began to make contacts, names that were not fed back to his superior. Kae was one such name. He became Kae’s eyes, ears and muscle; the action end of Kae’s enterprises. When the small army pension beckoned, a life manufacturing cheap goods for the western world looked to be the only alternative, until the call from Kae came along. Without a family to consider, it was the easiest “yes” he had ever spoken. Knowing his new master’s sexual orientation, he suspected that some of the decision was based on the hope that he might be tempted by a fine wine and soft bed, another misjudgement on the part of Kae. If Kae thought that he was likely to be tempted by any masculine advances, then that was down to him. Vig decided to not necessarily play along, but neither publically state that he would never cross the bedroom threshold with his new bisexual boss. Kae could go on believing what he wanted. It could become useful down the line, a point of leverage if ever one were needed. Controlled by Kae’s expanding wallet, he found himself largely on the exterior of China’s borders, pursuing the Thai’s various monetarist goals, never over ambitious or too risqué; until now.
Vig knew that they were not in this alone, there were signs. He also sensed how important this might be. Kae was agitated, not behaving normally. All phone calls were now taken in private. He was becoming watchful, suspicious to the point of paranoia. Kae was definitely colluding with others. Whoever was orchestrating this was high up and dangerous. For Kae to risk his independence and become involved suggested a very great prize indeed. What kind of prize lay entwined with the three naive farang puzzled Vig, though he was not paid to solve puzzles. The taller one, the blonde Australian, seemed the more astute to his surroundings. He came across as being the tougher one, a guy that would fight his corner; fight dirty if the chips were down. Maybe there was more to him, Vig couldn’t decide. The other two rated more on the placid side of the scale. The other male with the collar length dark hair had the alert interest of an experienced traveller, one who took in his surroundings with busy
eyes but missed what he should be looking for. An underlying hint of naivety suggested he lacked raw clout. He would be unlikely to cause a stir if anything got sticky. Whatever was driving this, Vig doubted that any of them knew how deep the entangled roots went. Kae thought this was big and these guys were certainly not in the category marked “big”. Any trouble and they would surely piss themselves. If Kae gave the word, he would have no difficulty at all in extracting all the information he could possibly want. He could get them singing their bank PIN numbers if he wanted to get it out of them.
As the tobacco chewing lady took her seat, happy with her bundle, Vig briefly allowed one last look at the three farang. The bus moved forward, jolting him slightly. As he steadied himself, he caught the Australian peering in his direction. Their eyes briefly locked. Vig slowly averted his eyes, not wishing to look quickly away in case this triggered suspicions. He hoped this worked, as the Australian looked past him now to the front of the coach. He heard him speak and strained his ears to pick up any dialogue above the rumble of the old bus and clatter of rural commuters, pleased that his grasp of English had now reached conversational level. The accent was clearly distinctive against the local gossip.
“Now we’re well clear of the suburbs and have left the city well behind us the scenery backdrops are going to get even more spectacular!” Rusty was already peering through a dusty window, picking out the dense plumes of green populating the low hills around them.
“Can’t wait! Things are just set to get all the more jaw dropping,” Mike replied. “I’m sure Louise came looking for much the same.”
“Yeah Mike, we’re getting closer. She can’t be too far ahead of us now. With luck she might have ambled up here pretty slowly, maybe spending time in Chang Mai checking out the wood carvings or something! We got here pretty fast, so could well be catching up now. Whatever, I’m sure she’s doing good. You wait, we’ll catch her in one of those rubber tubes out on the river. I hear everyone heading that way likes a spin in one.”
“Maybe fate was getting us Laos via Louise. It’s beautiful here!” Jean responded, her enthusiasm working up a gear as the scenery was briskly moving from Asian suburbia and cultivated farming fields to a rolling road cutting through lush hills. The mountainous backdrops surpassed anything she previously witnessed whilst trekking in Northern Thailand earlier in her trip. What also stunned her was how quiet it was. With the built up French order of Vientiane lying further behind them, fewer communities sprang up. There was the occasional white-walled farmstead, but little else. Around them the mountains and hills remained mysteriously quiet, perhaps lonely.
Vig was digesting the relaxed conversation he was picking up, scrambling the facts into some sort of order. He moved closer to the rear of the coach, allowing himself only a foot, so as not to create excitable suspicion. He needed to learn more of their intentions and was intrigued to hear them talking of a girl named “Louise”. When he was instructed to follow them, he figured that they were probably couriering gems or incriminating documents. Now it looked more like a missing person hunt, a search for this “Louise”. His thoughts accelerated coming to sudden realisation that Kae wasn’t interested in the farang clutching their bags at the rear of the bus. They were the vehicle to this girl, the search party. This girl held something, a thing that Kae wanted very much. He inched further up the aisle, intending to pick up as much as possible for the duration of the journey. He had yet to decide how much information he should relay back to Kae. Much of this eavesdropping was to satisfy his growing curiosity. This was a game he was going to be playing very carefully.
“Sure is,” Vig could hear the Australian again, “its beauty bolsters its mysticism...WHAT THE FUCK!!”
The windows imploded with an almighty crash. Several bullets raked though the cab, slicing through everything in their lethal path. Screams and shouts rang as the bus mounted the verge, crashing over the edge.
Twelve
Kae trusted no one in life. His profession tended to warp you that way. He sensed too many agendas, hidden ideas in personal quests for power. There was too much self-interest for those he traded with to come clean. Everyone kept their best deal hidden, pushed it behind a veneer smile until it was needed. Judging others on his own intent, his core values, he looked to keep things back, always to suspect others to betray. If he ever needed someone, someone to stake your life on, Vig came very close. His ally had always valiantly produced. To date Vig had never shown distrust or even the slightest shred of personal enterprise. He followed what Kae told him to the letter, but that was always apt to change. Each person had their price and Vig could be no different. There’s was a business of high risk, excitement and greed. For the here and now he was the closest ally he processed and besides, Vig was kind of cute. He needed to trust him so far, to use him. Then when this was over his ally would know a great deal. That’s when he would play with him, entertain him and then decide on a future. Depending on his innate feeling, Vig would then either live or die. The costs of a rogue associate left to tell any tales was too great, even if he were cute. There were too many heads on the snake he now meant to charm, too many tongues of venom. He was on the verge of something huge, the size and implications terrified and tantalised his very sense of being. Afterwards he would need to disappear, to go deep and far. In doing so many that knew him were destined to die; they would come looking, scythe in hand. This wasn’t just about the money. The repercussions were apt to get very political. World boundaries meant nothing. They would just keep coming. He needed to be buried very deep.
Taking a sip of coffee, he glanced up in time to welcome his guest. He had purposely selected a quieter table in the café for their meeting. He wanted a spot away from prying ears and potential bugs. The nature of the conversation to follow was to be of a highly sensitive and very incriminating nature. It should be a location in the public domain, one not out-of-place for the entrusted position of his important guest. The Café Metz close to the Patuxai Monument, Vientiane’s own Arc de Triomphe, offered this and more. It was also owned by Kae. No bugs or unwanted ears were likely to eavesdrop on sensitive conversations. The staff were both carefully selected and well trained. When Kae chose to eat with another, be it over business or pleasure, they were to seat all other customers out of earshot. The guest was not to be openly acknowledged, nor spoken of. All knew of Kae’s reputation and far-reaching wrath. They could be trusted with complete discretion.
The man before him sported a receding hairline; the remaining tips reflected their grey colouring in the light, the pale face of office looked out from a body which carried a dozen or more pounds than his short frame truly allowed. Handsome eyes sparkling with the confidence of authority shone from a body of wasted muscle and visual loops of fat around a hungry waste line. Those looking too closely might note a very small insignia on his collar, a red raven belonging to a blooded division of the domestic security services. To notice such a small emblem would be watching too closely; those with big eyes knew not to speak of what they saw in Kae’s employ. All staff were sternly instructed that he was a special guest, one they had to not only please but also forget. The guest’s excess weight bore down on his knees, prompting him to place a hand on the table whilst he eased into the waiting padded chair. Everything but the eyes suggested a man battling through mid-life, unsuccessfully giving way to doses of boredom and mediocrity. The piercing look reminded a knowing Kae that this was a man with an itchy finger on the power button, a man he feared and respected. There had been previous such encounters resulting in both men pocketing considerable profit in exchange for information and favours. This meeting promised to surpass the importance from each of those by some margin. The voice was deep and hoarse, broken down from decades of smoking and barking orders.
“I hear you have been busy my friend. I knew that I could turn to you and your certain skills. A man to be trusted I told them. A man that can be discreet. A man ambitious en
ough for such a great prize. You do well so far. I tell them my judgement in you was second to none. And now I hear the search has finally come to us in Laos. We knew it would come here to us. They will be getting closer. What can you tell me of this?”
“I thank you for your trust,” Kae replied. He was carefully organising the way in which he should portray events. He needed to be both clear and polite. Showing respect was not a courtesy, more a necessity. Being selected to front the job by someone so prestigious and renowned was not only an honour, a life changing opportunity. If he showed disrespect or were to fail, his own organisation could not hide or project him from far-reaching retribution. If he dared fail or chose to take the prize for his own desires he must disappear and leave everything behind. He knew exactly what would be needed for he had spent endless nights sweating through the small hours thinking of just this. Despite the consequences the arrangement was worth the gamble he played with his life, though secretly Kae’s arrogance told him that he would be far too valuable to become anyone’s pawn. Besides this, Kae could not see that failure could be a possibility. They were dealing with amateurs after all. The only weakness would come from his own betrayal. Could he play this game and win?
“I intercepted the farang they sent in Bangkok,” Kae continued. “I fear others to are watching his moves. An attempt was made to scare him, a junkie tried to get at him near the Koa San Road. He’s now made friends, who are helping him find the girl. They are enthusiastic, but unprofessional. Luck has helped them trace her to Laos. As we speak, they are on a coach, closing on her trail. I have a good man close by. When they find her he will be there.”
Missing Louise Page 9