Missing Louise

by Nicholas Frankcom

  Although prepared for a jolt, the fall took him slightly off-guard and he lost his balance. Fearful of putting his sitting figure up as a target, he rolled forward, which further distanced himself from the bus. He could now see why there was so much commotion from the bus roof. A lone figure with his head carefully wrapped in a black and white chequered scarf held a jerry can, which he was using to pour gasoline over the hijacked vehicle. Vig watched as the man jumped off, before throwing a lighted rag up. He thought about shooting him, the man was close enough for his deadly Swedish pistol, but knew that the considerable firepower held the other side of the bus would all be trained on his hunched figure. Those immediately around him paid no attention to his naked Glock. He knew it would be unlikely that the farang would spot it either. Everyone was looking elsewhere, their lives at stake.

  As the bus went up in flames, a deluge of passengers fought each other in a desperate scramble to get out. Finger-nails ripped as frantic farmers fought fellow commuters for any space to squeeze out. Vig could smell the acrid sent of burning paint and feel the heat blast warm his face. The scene depicted a battlefield, confusion and bloodshed fusing together with a terrifying intensity. With the smoke and mass of panicking people he melded further into the background. He could tell from the lighted fire that soon the flames would smoulder out once the gasoline was burned through. The hijackers were looking to stir things, make some kind of big visual impact whilst ensuring that there were numerous survivors to tell the tale. A few unfortunates lay slain at the scene, but this was a fraction of the total number of passengers on the once over-crowded bus. If they had wanted it, they could have blown everyone away, burnt the coach to a cinder and make off with all personal belongings. They didn’t, which made this political.

  The chaos allowed Vig to peer into the smoke and take a good look at the hijackers. Most wore their chequered head scarves, partly to protect their eyes from the smoke, though mostly to conceal identities. The gunmen wanted witnesses, but no individual identifications. They wanted their actions as a group to be recognised. It was clear that they weren’t looking for martyrs in the process. Though not a native to Laos, Vig was up enough on things to be aware that rural spots out near the jungle were strong enclaves for the Hmong. The hijack would almost certainly be pinned on them, given their strong grievance with the establishment in Laos. The thing was why they would want to take credit for butchering a few people on a bus; it would more likely turn world opinion against them. The city dwellers would hate them for it. There again, Vig pondered the idea that less scrupulous elements within the government might wish to make it look like the Hmong were up to their old tricks of terrorising the population at large. It would certainly kick up enough dirt to release a few safety clips from the rifles stacked up at the Vientiane police HQ. A new Hmong war could be on the cards. At the very least there would be a crackdown on Hmong villages and camps, a sweep of the area backed by the sanction of outraged public opinion. Land and processions might even be legally confiscated.

  Knowing that he should move, Vig took a glance around to see where his farang might be. Happily he noted that they were making moves to escape the bus. The girl was already being lowered out through the sliding window. He could see that she was zombiefied by the unravelling events around her. If a stray bullet came her way she would probably swallow the thing without realising. He saw an opening whereby he could cut in and aid the girl whilst perhaps having a dig at what Kae’s true intent was at the same time. He felt sure she would lucidly tell all she knew to a kindly ear. It could be a two in one deal so to speak. For all that he knew the welcoming committee hijacking the bus could be there solely to intercept the farang. He needed to know what their interest was to Kae. Currently he had no idea and he hated that. He was really being kept in the dark over this one. Besides, he reasoned if he took no action in helping out with the girl there was a very good chance that she would soon be toast. A dead farang would be no use to anyone, especially Kae. He hoped that bastard knew nothing of the hijack. Without a second thought he made his way over and stretched out his arm.

  “Hello. Follow me. You must get away from here.” It was hard not to shout, with all the choking carnage surrounding them.

  He could see that she was not responding, so took her hand. She complied, without any general realisation as to what she was doing. He expected this. If she looked up she would see that the man taking her hand had old scars running up his arm, darkened tattoos bringing the tongue of a large snake down to taste his wrist, a nose long broken with a piercing gaze that would normally see her running. Instead she went with him.

  Vig led Jean along the coach, sheltering them from much of the shooting. Her two companions were too busy saving themselves, still to realise that Jean was no longer vagrantly seated nearby. With his Glock still drawn, Vig moved on with the determination that anyone getting near them would take a bullet. He was prepared to make no distinction between either fellow passenger nor hijacker. At any cost he now needed to evacuate his newfound care. The two of them went virtually unnoticed. The layers of blackening smoke and ensuing chaos helped wrap them in a cloak of invisibility. He thought they were nearly clear. The nearest trees and relative safety were tantalisingly close. He was so focused on reaching this goal that he nearly missed it. If the assailant’s gun were not out of ammo they would both be torn apart for target practice. A hijacker walked out of the smoke to their left. He was hastily removing the magazine to his Kalashnikov, ready to discard and replace with the familiar curved one from a canvas bag hanging at his side. There was a distinct Chez look in the way he appeared. Vig mussed that even terrorists followed the fashion houses. The Hmong would never go to such trouble. They were rural terrorists, living and fighting from the jungle. These terrorists looked urban chic, the revolutionary style shown through news programs throughout the world. With this being a strong Hmong enclave, it was becoming crystal clear to Vig that someone out there, someone big, wanted this to resemble a Hmong attack. They wanted the world to take notice, to be horrified at what they saw. A long and vengeful finger would then be pointed firmly in their direction.

  As the terrorists eyes met his Vig instantly realised that the other had seen his Glock. A spark of doubt passed, the assailant caught off guard and in the open. There was a split second of indecision. Knowing that he could not reload in time, the man charged. Keeping his eyes fixed on the charging figure; Vig raised the gun and fired. He sensed a distortion around his personal space as time slowed, a one dimensional sensation that it were only the two of them. He savoured the gladiatorial feel as all else faded accept him and the man before him. He watched the bullet as it pierced the man’s mouth. Every sense was now razor sharp. The terrorist fell five feet from where Vig stood. At no time had either man felt fear. A man able to run at an armed adversary with no panic was a pure professional. Only someone trained to the highest standards could keep their nerve. These guys would surely have seen time in the army, some elite unit rather than running logistics in a rear guard. It puzzled Vig all the more.

  Knowing that more danger lay all around, Vig clasped Jean’s arm all the harder and pressed on. He quickly made the tree-line. A few feet in he checked back over his shoulder. All attention was still firmly fixed on the bus. No one had noticed them move into the trees. He allowed the girl to briefly flop onto the floor, all energy spent from the terrifying ordeal that she had endured. Her body was probably still in deep shock, shutting down to prevent further emotional damage and the onset of panic. Vig decided to allow her a few moments down time, though knew that they were still far from safety. He judged that the pantomime would be ending very soon. With their point made the terrorists would scatter back into the jungle long before any government troops could be mobilised. The coast would soon be clear. It would take an entire army to search the area, which was possibly what they were after. If he kept their heads down he could get the girl back up on the road and wait for the eventua
l cavalry. The authorities would be quick to jump on this one. He very much hoped that her two friends were nimble and fast enough to outrun their armed pursuers. His benevolent attitude towards their fate came more from the fact that Kae was keen on them and attached enough importance to place him on their tail. He felt that he didn’t know them to care otherwise. Their only attachment to his life was that he was being paid to follow them. Long ago he had made the promise not to get in any way involved with those he was employed to keep an eye on. Such human concerns could put missions in jeopardy. Other factors that dangerously upset missions included taking a strong interest in what was going on. Kae always insisted that he asked no detail. He claimed that it kept you safer. Vig was quickly deciding that this one case was going to be different. He was consumed by a burning curiosity. Kae was especially keen on the farang. Although he knew not to probe further he was at a loose end. With the girl at his side it would be too tempting not to ask a few carefully concealed questions. He only intended to scratch at the surface, though instinctively knew that this whole thing ran very deep. He sensed he had plenty of time to discover why a young backpacking New Zealander could possibly be of such great interest to a ruthless Thai racketeer.

  Seventeen

  A frustrated arm pushed the plate to the middle of the table. Red snappers, dressed in a light chilli sauce with chives and garlic was normally a favourite dish for Kae. Today even the Chang Beer accompaniment could do little to take away his seething anger. The burning chilli barely lifted his mood. Normally the combination invigorated him through its assault on his senses. Today he was hardly aware. For the past half an hour he had been pushing the fish around, playing with it as he seethed over the phone call.

  Vig rang his personal mobile number forty minutes earlier. Few had access to him this way, the contract was logged under the pseudonym of a past school friend. Kae was not in the habit of giving bait for local investigators. The Chinaman was one of a very select few with an entry in his contacts list. He would never raise a voice or show any display of agitation, but for once Vig came close. He recanted all that had taken place on the highway to Vang Vieng.

  At first Vig was sketchy. He wanted to draw Kae out on how much he knew. There was suspicion in his voice. He needed to know what Kae had been up to and what his level of involvement was. The true answer was sod all. Kae felt a true body blow when he learnt that two of the subjects were missing. In particular, his golden boy Mike looked to be currently AWOL. He held high hopes for the Englishman to deliver them to little miss riding hood. Now those hopes were somewhat dampened. From Vig’s description and analysis, there was nothing to suggest that golden boy had met with an untimely end. The chances were good that they were currently running blindly amongst the trees like panicked squirrels. What he didn’t like was that Mike was currently off his radar. He optimistically thought that this should be a temporary setback. So long as Mike took care with the snakes and bullets, he should turn up anytime soon. Any missing farang swept up by the state police would soon be brought to his attention. It would be big news in this part of the world. Even if the Laotian cops should miss a skinny white backpacker, he was sure that the shit scared Mike would be on the phone as soon as he reached some form of habitation out there in the wilds. He just hoped that he kept his head down in doing so. A dead Mike would be no use to his plans whatsoever.

  What Kae liked less was the coincidence of the whole bloody thing. It reeked of the stooges from PC38 and their secret policing methods for keeping agendas open. The road to Vang Vieng was known to cut across rural areas crawling with Hmong, but the tribes and villagers tended to leave things in a state of natural harmony. If they bothered nobody, nobody bothered them. It would never be in their interests to attack a public bus. Even if they had a tendency to openly blow unarmed civilians apart, doing so with no obvious political point was astoundingly stupid. And what were the chances for his faithful servant and boot-boy Vig to be riding along the same bus with a bunch of farang backpackers sitting under his nose. Probably about as big a chance as the communists in PC38 opening up Baptist Sunday schools in America.

  Unlike many of his countrymen, Kae harboured a vicious temper. He needed things to go his own way at any cost; much of it was about control. He would shout and then threaten. Most of the time he got what he wanted. Few who knew him would ever go against him. They knew that his violent threats were no idle talk. History had witnessed gruesome encounters when Kae’s world fell off tilt. Now his carefully orchestrated plan was slipping badly away. That bastard PC38 captain had something to do with this. He thought that bringing the Laotian on-board was a shrewd move. The spoils on offer could so easily be shared. With the corrupt agents knowledge and far reaching power things could be controlled. He could marshal unwitting troops and plentiful resources, military muscle Kae needed for when he came up against it. He knew that they had to throw a large web over the hills and jungle. A few mercenaries could hardly cope. Without key information he was patiently waiting on they needed an entire army. Now he was ruing the day he ever took that captain’s ear. The idiot was moving too soon. He probably wanted to take out a few Hmong on his way, use this bus fiasco to take on a bit of ethnic cleansing into the deal the PC38 way. Bastard! This carefully hatched plan was Kae’s baby. They had to tiptoe at first and follow the farang. Later on they could charge in blowing the fuck out of everything. Through jumping too early they risked sending months of work straight down the pan. To top it all, he had not been consulted. The whole thing stank of a cesspool in need of flushing out.

  He was unable to take the full vent of his anger out on Vig. The Chinaman was still several hours away and wholly blameless, which in itself would not have stopped Kae sliding into a shouting rant. Vig knew of Kae’s temper and would let abuse soar over his head. He was paid well to do so. Kae once told Vig that if he did not like and admire him so much why would he raise his voice. Although only partially true, it did not stop him needing an outlet right now. He needed a face to scream at. He would love to grab the tie from that jumped up patrol officer and force it against his windpipe. Thinking of the overweight captain only caused even greater outrage. He was fast reaching the point where the valve on his pressure cooker temper was set to blow big time. How dare they cross him, Kae! Even more infuriating was the fact that he now needed to place an urgent call overseas. There were still others with a common interest. Resources and information was pipelined his way with the high expectation and price that he would honour these interests once the time came. They would not like the changing situation, not one bit. He still needed to keep them pretty, at least whilst he was still visible and within their clutches. Later he could once again become the nameless man who did not appear in the telephone directory. His disappearance would be so meticulously planned that a pig scratching for truffles wouldn’t sniff him. For now he would once again have to speak with that Saigon bastard and tell him that things were not quite going to plan. How he hated this. How he hated everything right now!

  Two boys passed the entrance to his restaurant, daring to peer inside with an eye to selling Vientiane postcards to customers. The locals charged a dollar each, which was a comfortable mark-up and paid better than being extorted in a manufacturing sweatshop. They provided the ideal vehicle for Kae’s anger. Pushing himself up with one arm he made rapid progress across the dark tiled floor. He quickly made the stone entrance steps before either boy was aware what was happening. They fled before the flaying arm of Kae could make a grab for them. Cursing, he gave chase, feeling the weight of older legs and Marlborough lungs as the young hawkers sped before him. The lunchtime heat ensured he made heavy going of it. The hot season was yet to arrive, but the climate was still more than oppressive for any physical exertion. Droplets of sweat burst onto his forehead from nowhere. Within several yards he found himself gasping as he drew in gulps of the heavy warm air. He could only watch as the kids made good their escape, dodging cycles and tuk-tuk’s as th
ey scampered across the old French boulevard.

  Blinded by rage and frustration, he failed to notice a black Fiat pulling to a frenzied stop in front of his restaurant. It was an old and tired car. On hearing a screech of tyres he turned to pinpoint the commotion. He was just in time to witness the tip of a white grenade launcher protruding from the window. A roaring tail of smoke accompanied the missile as it smashed through the double doors. A brief fireball enveloped the corner where he had just been sat. A thunderous roar accompanied a white flash. With the impact his ears screamed from the sound of the explosion. Close witnesses spoke of a rumbling vibration, like a violent earthquake. Kae stood in dumbfound silence. The black Fiat screeched away, inconspicuous in the aftermath of carnage. Kae stood and watched a suited businessman stagger down the steps, his face black with soot. One arm clasped the other in a futile attempt to stem the flow of blood. Most of the limb was missing below the elbow. Dumbstruck, Kae took in the scene. So easily they could say that zealots from the inner Hmong were behind this. How wrong they would be. Kae was not so stupid to suppose that this was not meant for him.

  Eighteen

  “What the fuck are you doing here Louise!” Mike exclaimed.

  He couldn’t help himself. He wished he could have been more articulate. Just the sight of her was enough. How he would have loved to have come out with some speech, something even half-meaningful. A couple of mumbled words that meant nothing would have been better. Instead the sheer surprise of seeing her took over his mouth. Seeing her here of all places. He was taken right back, pushed into near speechless shock. Those grey eyes of hers pierced straight through him, questioning his motives and presence. Right now questioning his very being.