Missing Louise

by Nicholas Frankcom

  Mike could tell from the shift in Dan’s body language that he didn’t want to go too far with this one. Louise was a strong-minded woman and would not take lightly to having any relationship with her newly found father exposed for public consumption. Mike knew the full impact of any venom Louise chose to vent. Dan was still engaged in a trust making exercise and would need to tread carefully so as not to undo any bond the two had developed. It reminded him that he still needed to contact Louise’s other family, the ones paying for this goose-chase. Explaining anything like the truth would be a tough ordeal, how could you open a conversation that would be harder to close? He tried picturing Pemberton’s face. The next long distance phone call that they received was going to be one that they would remember for a long time. He was grateful that the prospect of currently finding a phone was hovering around zero.

  “I suppose quite a few years went by,” Dan was saying. “But each year my curiosity grew. Then along came the Internet. Even out here we got to hear about these things. I got out to Vientiane once in a while, usually just for a change or environment. Louise was running “Facebook” and I eventually got in contact. I even took the risk of sending the odd letter. It was never my idea for Louise to drop everything and come out here of course. She decided to come running over like an express train all on her own accord, especially once I mentioned Pha Bang.”

  Pin was quick to get to his feet. There was a sudden change, from family chat to something of a higher magnitude. This was where the Hmong took the commanding role on centre stage.

  “What in the hell is “Pha Bang” all about?” Mike asked. It sounded like nothing he had heard before.

  “With patience you are just about to find out,” Pin replied.

  Twenty Three

  The smile revealed expensive white teeth. There was no blackened lead, just bright enamelled contours. The man had money and a good dentist. The creases at the side of the mouth turned upwards in honest appeal. With a very slight nod, the man stepped back allowing ample space for his host to feel non-threatened. He slowly adjusted his Vietnamese silk tie and prepared to introduce himself.

  “Good afternoon. My name is Deng Korat. I am from the Thai Embassy in London. I apologise for not having rung earlier, but I think I was trying the wrong number. Might I trouble you for a few minutes?”

  Pemberton took the time to study the young man’s features. The dark woollen suit added business elegance, a discreet acceptability. The pale blue tie was conservatively matched and looked expensive, as did the pearl set gold cufflinks. Pemberton would have preferred prior warnings from the Embassy chaps, but was happy to accept the man’s apologies and welcome him in. The right buttons had been pushed, all of them green.

  The visitor took his time entering at Pemberton’s invitation. He carefully noted the lock mechanism on the panelled door and a brass fire poker hanging in ornamental guise against red paisley wallpaper. The length would provide a good weapon if either Pemberton might be disturbed at an unexpected hour. If this visit brought pleasing results there should be no need for nocturnal entries.

  “Follow me, I’ll arrange for a cup of tea.” Pemberton replied, happy to formalise the occasion with the family china.

  Pemberton led the official through to an airy lounge room, dressed with a hand woven Moroccan rug and reproduction antique pine furniture. Mrs Pemberton appeared briefly to take his order before scuttling away in the direction of the kitchen.

  “Sorry about any sudden intrusion on your lives,” Deng said, empathy etched across his forehead. “I learnt through a colleague in Bangkok that your daughter, Louise, had gone missing in my country. I am new to my international posting in England and when I heard of your unfortunate news I felt compelled to do all in my power to help you find her. I’m just sorry that I was unable to forewarn you of my visit.”

  He could make out the shadow of Mrs Pemberton hovering by the doorway. Her thinly angular features matched those on the picture he had so recently studied. The advantages the internet provided for all walks of life was remarkable. He wondered if she truly knew too much about her latest Facebook friend.

  “That’s very kind of you,” Pemberton replied. “I was wondering when you chaps might show up, rather hoping it might have been a touch earlier to be honest. We tried speaking with some of your colleagues over in Thailand. They were quite polite about things, but didn’t see that there could be too much that they could do. They put me in contact with the tourist police. All that those boys could say was that they would keep a good lookout, but that young backpackers go missing all of the time and eventually show up none the worse for wear. The thing is that this is not Louise’s style. She is always very responsible and careful. Well, with few other options at our disposal, we had little choice other than to despatch someone to go and look for her, an old friend of sorts. He’s over there now. Pleasant enough fellow and all that, bags of enthusiasm, but probably lacks proper experience and resources for such matters. Could probably do with some extra help to be honest, a bit of diplomatic weight pushed in the right areas.”

  Deng was taking all of this in, absorbing it into his sharpened memory and was keen to draw out more information. He liked what he was hearing concerning their “covert” friend. Before he left he was seeking a few concrete promises mingled with a few leads to chase up. It was what he excelled at in one of his less legitimate lines of employment.

  “That is perhaps where I come in,” he replied, his voice low and reassuring. “It is a shame that previous encounters with my government have brought little in your quest for finding Louise. I have some influence and can ensure that we act as a more proactive partner. If you could initially provide me with photographs and access to her email account I would be most grateful. I will endeavour to get things moving forward immediately. Perhaps also if you have any contact details for this friend of hers? Naturally, please keep me fully updated with all further news, especially if this trusted friend should learn any further information as to her whereabouts.”

  Soon after his tea arrived, a welcome refreshment whilst he listened to Pemberton recount full details since their last contact with Louise. He noted that the tea was served into a gilt edged Royal Worcester teacup, evidence enough that his trust was fully accepted in this quiet corner of English suburbia. The best china in all its glory. When the subject of Louise’s friend came up, Deng listened all the more attentively. The important news appeared to be that this amateur sleuth was already in Laos and was due to make contact any day. If his pitch was working then he too should be privy to any of this news coming out of Laos. Pemberton finished his detailed lecture with the recent distress brought on by a break-in. This caused great surprise to Deng, a shot of adrenaline he did well to hide. Coincidences did not happen. Other parties were thorough enough to follow the motorway to Portishead. They would certainly have been hired hands; professionals. He hoped that they were disappointed with their visit to the English West Country.

  “Might I see Louise’s room? It’s just that there might be some clue to her whereabouts here-to overlooked.”

  Deng ensured that he was polite to the point of formality. His presentation looked to be coming over well, but he still needed to gain Pemberton’s full trust.

  “Certainly. I can show you the way.”

  Deng followed Pemberton up the stairs carpeted with circular motifs. A rosewood cuckoo clock downstairs was busy telling its world that it was two o’clock in the afternoon.

  He was introduced by Pemberton into an airy room exhibiting all of the trimmings a young woman might use to surround herself. The red Bristol City FC poster and scarf clearly demonstrated her allegiance to the local football team. This was tempered with a selection of French perfumes and a rosewood jewellery box. Centrepiece was the flat-screen monitor linked to a Dell PC below the desk. Deng was hoping for this. Two days previously he was a guest speaker at an ethical hacking
seminar hosted by a district council and was known for his published articles on system security. Hacking into a home PC was unlikely to tax his ability to any high degree.

  “Do you mind if I have a look at the PC? It might help us learn more of where Louise might have gone? I’m sure that I can start it up if need be.”

  Knowing that he needed the privacy, Deng added, “It could take a while. If you like I can join you downstairs when I have quickly scanned things.” Seeing Pemberton hesitate, he went on, ”I know that it might seem a breach of her confidence, but believe me, this is the best way I can think of to track down Louise and get her back to you.”

  With solitude ensured, Deng went about breaking into Louise’s files and accounts. He used a simple 40GB-memory stick, something he could safely conceal on his way out past the Pembertons penetrating gaze. Such a useful tool could help pirate away reams of files and directories for later analysis, almost as much as the computer’s hard-disk capacity. Happy after ten minutes of downloads he scanned the room for signs of recent communication. A piece of string protruding from under the pine wardrobe caught his eye. It looked misplaced and unusual in a bedroom where everything had a home. A small tug revealed a neatly bundled pile of envelopes. From various states of discolour it was immediately evident that many were quite old, previous pen friends from the era before email. A couple near the top was much newer. Deng carefully tucked the envelopes in a small executive bag he held close to his side. Taking a visually more legitimate entry into the Pembertons suburban homestead looked to reap far more reward than a simple break and enter. Deng felt pleased that he would have gained far more than the previous intruders.

  Making his way out, Deng stopped to briefly converse with the Pembertons. After some small talk he again pledged to do all he could, handing over a guilt-edged business card with contact details. He believed in the essential expense for professional printers to design and produce his cards. It acted as a final proof to his respectability.

  “Please do contact me if you hear anything at all, no matter how small you might think it to be. Such things can often be so important.” The expensive dental work beamed through the reassuring smile.

  “We certainly will Mr Korat,” Pemberton replied. “Thank you for popping over today.”

  “No problem at all. Anything I can do to be of service.”

  Deng was led through the door and made his way down the tarmac drive. His smile was genuine, very genuine. PC38 would be thrilled with his performance this afternoon.

  Twenty Four

  Kae was expecting a car to pull up outside, something neither new nor sporty. Darkness was close by. It meant that once again Vig was efficiently following his direction. The deep deliberate note from the engine suggested a diesel, presumably a four-wheel drive. They would need it. He pushed the blinds back just sufficiently enough to have a limited view of the parking lot Vig was instructed to use. He heard no accompanying commotion, so was comfortable that the authorities weren’t putting in a surprise visit. Twilight hours were setting in but he could see what he needed. He noted the top-heavy figure of Vig jump out from the front door and kick away some discarded boxes to make space. The parking lot was in reality the rear of a noodle bar, rubbish included. He saw the head of a passenger, only to feel a tinge of disappointment. He was hoping the ever-reliable Vig would have enlisted at least two stooges for their journey ahead. They were likely to require expertise in several departments, muscle and gun-handling a pre-requisite. He now knew what they were up against.

  He turned to watch Jean return to the room. Her hair was cleanly knotted together; matted from the warm shower from which she came. Most Laos hostels only offered cold water, having a hot tap was a temporary luxury. Her spare clothes were still jammed in her discarded rucksack, hastily abandoned beside the bus, probably now being sifted through by forensics in some government compound. Instead she was sporting a long cotton shirt from Kae’s own labelled collection with a pair of pressed shorts. Looking more a camera twirling cruise passenger than missing backpacker she looked comfortable in her new attire. She accomplished a brief twirl, an act bringing a genuine smile to Kae’s tired face. During Vig’s absence he had invested much talk and plentiful charm on Jean. It was important if not imperative that she trusted them. Jean was one of the few advantages they held and he was not about to allow any haste or clumsiness undo their trump card. Her playful twirl brought him real pleasure, for it proved she was now on-board, fully and unwittingly signed up to Kae’s enlarging crew of gold-diggers, albeit very unwittingly. It occurred to him that a harmless piece of flirting might seal the day, something he held little experience of when it came to women. Instead Kae put on one of his entertaining looks and brought his hands together in mock applause.

  “You look good Jean. Who would have thought my thrown-together clothes would suit you so well. Now, any minute Vig is going to arrive. He’s brought with him a friend who will help us. I think that we should lose no more time. I know that it’s late in the day. Once you are ready we will get going.”

  “Do you think that we’ll find them?” Her voice held a plea much like a lost child searching out a classroom on her first day of school. This was very tough for her.

  “Of course we will. We’ll retrace their steps and get you that reunion sooner than you could hope for. You just need to stay brave and we can all work on this together. We’ll get your friends back. As we speak my fellow guests have just returned.”

  The coded knock caused Kae little consternation this time; having witnessed Vig park between the boxes without a flotilla of Vientiane’s finest on his back. He wasted no time in loading the battered Chinese jeep with the few essentials he possessed. On a last run to the apartment he was briefly able to collar Vig.

  “Why only one?”

  “There you’re wrong,” Vig replied with the quiet confidence of one who knew they were in the right. “I have another man already employed, someone with surveillance skills and a mobile phone. A suspicious Hmong left the museum earlier. These guys don’t hang around those sorts of places. They’re tribal people; most of them can’t even read. Why the museum? I can’t see it being a cultural outing. I just have a hunch that it could be tied in. My other man is watching him as we speak. It could be useful. I trust him enough to report what he sees. He’ll be discreet.”

  “OK, but make sure he keeps in touch and doesn’t stray too far. I don’t want the risk of someone cocking up this anymore than it already is. If I give the signal for any reason I want him pulled. He should be watching our asses, not scooting through Laos on a whim of yours.”

  “Naturally Kae,” Vig replied, with formal deference. “You’re their employer and if you pay well can be their king. I’ve told him to keep in close contact. He’ll make sure he’s not seen, like I say, discreet.”

  As they left the apartment for the last time a neighbour’s radio was loudly broadcasting a weather bulletin. A gloomy outlook was being forecast, local flooding and light structural damage possible. Neither man paid too much attention to talk of summer storms. They needed all their focus and wit to get out of Vientiane without PC38 burying them in a lonely ravine.

  With darkness descending, the jeep jolted its occupants whilst reversing over an open drain trench. If Jean felt any fear or discomfort taking a ride into the Laos countryside at night with virtual strangers she showed no sign. Something that would have previously set off deep anxiety pangs tonight caused her minimal concern. All she wanted was to see Mike and Rusty once more. She had no choice but to place all trust in Vig and the man who called himself Kae. She stared blankly ahead, barely curious why they travelled by night. The headlights picked out jumbled roadside stalls and cyclists hogging the road, oblivious to all motorised transport. A buzzing caused Vig to savagely cut one up, causing the man to raise his fist in futile rage. Cursing, he reached into his pocket for his phone. There were few traffic laws and no
ne concerning phone use.

  The conversation was curt; a few grunts from Vig signalled the end. Jean understood nothing but Kae picked up most of it. Vig’s covert tail was earning his money and appeared to have hooked into something. The Hmong was seen peddling away on a bicycle in the direction of a certain hijack investigation scene. It was over twenty miles, a long way on a ratty old Marxist bike. The tail was thoroughly pissed off when told to commandeer suitable wheels and get on his bike. As there were no telecom signals outside of the capital, the luckless guy was instructed to make contact with the ageing Chinese jeep on the road. There would be few vehicles to confuse it with. Most of the population chose to leave the roads alone at night.

  Vig took a less direct route out from the city, one involving more pedestrians and cyclists. The back streets would offer greater protection from PC38 informants. No longer fuelled by time they could relax their journey speed. It was important to keep the cycling Hmong in front of them. He would act as their slow moving beacon. One specific street appeared quieter than most. Part way down a man emerged waving a baton. The peaked hat bore the same emblem as the ubiquitous traffic police.

  “Little fucker!”