Missing Louise

by Nicholas Frankcom

  Vig floored the labouring diesel and swerved in the man’s direction. He clipped the outstretched baton, knocking it clean from the man’s commanding grip. The impact pushed the man back onto the rough sidewalk. Jean saw the uniform, which brought a short intake of breath.

  “What have you done? That was the police! You could have killed a cop! ”Her voice trailing away in shocked disbelief.

  “Stay cool there Jean. “ It was Kae with the reassuring voice. “I would bet good money that he was no cop. You can buy those uniforms at the Friday market. A few yokels jump about dark streets pretending to be the law, dishing out fines to line their pockets. It can be a lucrative industry.”

  Kae knew this happened in India and other parts of South Asia, but suspected the practice were more restricted in Laos. The communist government dealt out tighter controls, preferring heavier chains to reign in the more innovative citizens. The chances were it probably was a lowly law enforcement officer kicking his heels at being sent out to patrol the Vientiane backwaters. The last thing they wanted was to get a tug on their way out of the city by a bored cop. The way that Kae was feeling right now it would be all too easy to panic and put a bullet through the patrol officer’s white ironed shirt. His jitters were far from cured with PC38 still looking to smother him. Vig did well in running the officer off the road. The poor bastard probably got a few trophy bruises out of their encounter. At least he looked to be acting alone and wasn’t sharp enough to get in a few shots at their jeep. To counter any such threat Vig decided on pulling a few sharp weaves over the uneven road. It did little other than churn the occupant’s stomach’s up that much further.

  The remainder of the journey rolling through the north Vientiane suburb passed without excitement. The roads remained quiet, save for a few stray dogs howling as they passed. Kae was aware that they were not in a position to charge ahead and make up time. They were playing third fiddle to a bicycle chase. He was also aware that a call needed to be made.

  As the first serious tree clusters marked the border between city and country he started to breathe a little easier, knowing that the risk for any police chase was fast diminishing. Within a short distance neon lights and plastic chairs indicated a small roadside bar, a crudely erected thatched awning providing cover from some of the elements. Kae got Vig to pull over and ventured in searching for a payphone. He was surprised that a few large droplets of rain caught his head as he sought out the owner. It was rarely wet during the long summer.

  His overseas call was fraught with delays and difficulties. Whilst Kae quietly swore, the others huddled around cups of warm green tea, wondering why their anointed leader was becoming increasingly hot under the collar of his neatly ironed Ben Sherman . Kae was facing frustration on two fronts. Getting outside lines from rural Laos was burning up his patience and when he did finally get through the professional in England was unable to provide much more than was already reported. His rummage through Louise’s room in leafy Portishead did little more than confirm what Kae already pretty much knew. Louise was in touch with the jungle dwelling Canadian pilot who called himself Dad, but whether she knew much more than this remained a blank. Since their last talk the overpaid thief spent more of Kae’s expenses getting a memory stick decoded. During the break-in he was under very strict instructions to leave the PC intact but grab any removable media they could subsequently trawl through. Kae saw little point in letting others know exactly where they were looking. As expected there were downloads of Louise’s CV’s and party pictures, some bank letters and benign messages, but nothing on what “daddy” was up to in the jungle all of these years. It was now all down to the bicycling mercenary and hapless Mike to pull in the goodies. He hoped any groping attempt by PC38 to dig information out from Portishead would be equally uninspiring. He knew that if they had not already been to the Pembertons then they would be very close behind. He wondered what tactic the agents would employ, probably low key. They wouldn’t dare risk drawing attention to a missing backpacker case in Laos. No point wetting the appetite of bored local journalists.

  With their enforced break at an end, Kae called for them all to follow. He was in a decidedly worse mood than before, leaving his temporary following little option but to fall in behind him. Back in the jeep the rain was falling all the heavier. Large potholes filled with murky water, masking the true depth. Frequently Vig hit a deep rut camouflaged by the muddied water. The road ahead became more river than tarmac, slowing them further. Parts of the surface were washing away into the crudely dug channels either side, widening with the increasing torrent of water. The lights were only good for the first few feet.

  “How far?” It was Jean who asked the question, her nerves now returning. The darkness and unfamiliarity with the road were making her edgy. The relative silence during the journey brought with it its demons. It gave her thinking time. For the first time since losing her friends at the ambush she was able to piece together the frightening events. Certain things did not add up. Her current companions were more than eager to help her, which was beginning to bother her greatly. Even in the friendly villages in New Zealand’s south island the residents weren’t so communal in their desire to help. Perhaps the locals in Laos were genuine Samaritans, but they were going out on a limb with this one. They even bought a jeep for her purpose, not a pretty one but it came with wheels and an engine all the same. And why were they so keen to get the search underway in the pitch black? It was tipping down with rain, you’d have to be insane to kick-start a search. Was it to avoid police suspicion? She still found it hard to buy that the baton-waving cop back in Vientiane was nothing more than a cash-strapped local trying his luck. She began to question her sanity for trusting this enigmatic entourage so hastily.

  “With luck we’ll get to where that bus of yours was hijacked before too long. With the weather being so bad we have to take our time. Don’t worry, we’ll find them. I can’t see them straying too far.” It was Kae who came back with the reassurances. He could detect edginess to her voice. He no longer needed her full co-operation now that they were out of the city, but any screaming fit might still pose a danger and would prove a definite annoyance. He forced a smile, thankful that the dimly lit cab would show little of his insincerity. He figured that if they were not so far out of town, Jean might at that moment have bolted and made a run for it.

  The next twenty minutes passed with little small talk. Kae continued to entice Jean along with false promises; “not long now” and “can’t be far” featuring heavily in his curt dialogue. He doubted whether she took much notice, though the fact that she was still here suggested that there was some impact. As Kae was framing something more to keep Jean sweet, the lights picked up a black shape. Vig slammed his foot hard on the brakes.

  “Shit!”

  “What was that?” Kae asked, trying to keep alarm out of his voice.

  “That was our very own spy, sent out on his bicycle to track the Hmong.” Vig replied. “With this weather it’s hard to see. It was nearly his very last ride. The idiot has no lights. I’ll have to check why he’s coming back this way.”

  Vig pulled the jeep over and barked out a few commands. The cycling mercenary stopped at the window. He looked soaked and miserable. Vig spoke with him for a few minutes. With a final grunt he waved the man away. He turned to Kae, speaking in his bosses’ native Thai.

  “He came back to meet us in case we blundered into the other Hmong. Looks like my hunch was right. Our fleeing museum visitor was carrying a package for some Hmong up ahead. I’m not sure what they know of the hijack, but it’s put fear into their bellies. They maintained a base not far off the road up ahead. Looks like they’re ducking out in a hurry, probably shit scared the army will come looking for them. Our contact watched the last truck pull out up ahead. Seems they kept a few rusting heaps hidden off the road. The better news is that not all of them have got clean away. The wheels have become bogged down
in the mud. Sounds like the engine is having problems in all this bloody rain as well. Probably seeped through to the electrics. If I were a betting man I would say that the farang have caught a lift with them. They’re not skilled survivalists. There is nowhere else for them to hide out here.”

  “Good work Vig,” Kae replied, keeping to his mother tongue. “I think you are right. I have worked a relationship of trust with one of them. Once he picks up a signal on his phone he should give me a call. I might drop him a text to prompt him into doing so. That will confirm whether or not they’re cooped up with our friends here. We can then best decide how to use Jean.”

  “Might I ask what it is we’re following them for?”

  “Soon Vig. If I told you right away even you might buckle at the knees under the burden.”

  Vig found it hard to tell whether he was being mocked or not. He felt a burning sensation in the back of his neck and fought to ignore it. He gestured for the cyclist to remount and direct them to a safe spot where they might get close to viewing the Hmong’s truck up ahead. Within a short distance they were directed to stop and he killed the engine. The rain was easing up a bit, but still hitting them hard enough to get a soaking.

  Vig reluctantly left the dry jeep and followed his cyclist on foot. Without the aid of light it was very difficult to see much. They followed a sharp bend and stopped. Vig could now make out the taillights to a truck. Only from here could he hear the coughing engine. The driver was revving hard, burying the near side wheels further into the wet mud. Whoever was behind the wheel was no expert in the craft of driving a heavy vehicle through poor conditions. They really needed to let it tick over, dry it out before using the torque to pull them out. He tried to make a quick tally of those he saw, but gave up. He would have to be closer. Guessing he thought probably only a handful, an easily manageable number. He made his way back to give Kae the news.

  Leaning through the window he could tell Kae was thumbing through the options.

  “We need to know how many there are.” Vig was hoping Kae would respect his greater operational experience. “I think waiting until the imbecile driving works out how to coax a truck out of a rut is going to be our best plan of action. We could then discretely follow where they take us.”

  They were both alerted to a sudden noise. It sounded to Kae like a sound he once heard on a trip to Central Europe, a cross-country skier moving over melting snow. He quickly turned. Jean was running through the rain towards the Hmong up ahead.

  Twenty Five

  “What the fuck did he just tell us? Did you understand any of that?” Rusty was looking to Mike with a growing sense of bewilderment.

  “Don’t worry Rusty, I didn’t really get it either. I know nothing of his language, but I do understand some of his body-language. I imagine he’s beefing everyone up in the same way in the same way he gave us his pet talk. He needs to get them motivated, prepare them for the danger which lies ahead.”

  They had been listening to Pin address the huddled gathering of Hmong. He spoke rapidly in his native tongue, raising his voice several times to emphasise the severity of his point. He needed to instil urgency and emphasise how close to violent danger they were. Anywhere else he might have made a good politician, a man elected to hold public office and dictate spending budgets. Here he made a good leader, a man capable of running into chaos with a gun. One thing was sure; they were getting ready to hit the road. Mike had inkling as to their destination. It filled him with a seeping dread coupled with a nervous excitement. In one sense he could not have felt more alive, though his concerns for Jean tugged further at his knots of tension. There would be little he could do alone in such remote terrain. He needed these tuned in locals, though fully realised that they were down a road of no return. Jean’s destiny now fell pretty much with theirs. Once they completed the Hmong’s long anticipated goal he was sure that there would be no problem in drawing on their help and deep resources. In all probability the china man was currently seated with her sipping herbal tea outside a ritzy international hotel. In his present location he could only push this image to the back of his mind, taking what comfort he could. Ahead in the immediate future lay the climax to a crushing secret buried decades before. Through stumbling on Louise he was now part of that secret, an unwitting party to a challenge of colossal consequences. The adrenalin rush was consuming, washing away knots of fear.

  Just hours before Pin stood telling them about Hmong homelands and the mysterious Pha Bang. He spoke of the revolution in Laos; of how the Hmong were hurt and wronged. His words carried news of betrayal, of value beyond gold and corrupting power, more power than one man could behold. He talked of a sign, a new revelation. Something that would change the Hmong’s lives. Dan’s plane was carrying a steel canister earmarked for a drop on his last mission. The stowed documents were all in Russian, written for a long-lost audience. Their value was overlooked and unknown. Recently an ally came visiting their camp, one who studied Russian at the State University. The importance of the yellowing documents hit them like a sharp physical blow to the body. They were mirrored with archived files in Vientiane’s national museum. If the two were locked they provided a set of references, a key to the caves on the Plain of Jars where revolutionaries hid the Pha Bang, Laos sacred and priceless Buddha. An ingenious replica filled the ancient temple. The keepers of this secret were long dead, murdered before they could tell. Returning home, their once allied translator lost his conscience and with it his life. His trade with darker elements in Vientiane released the once forgotten secret. Now there were unknown players aware of the priceless Buddha within their grasp. These were men who might kill over a few dollars. With such high stakes they would be capable of anything. This scared Mike a lot. It was not only the financial impact; there were huge political implications. Since told this powerful tale he was no longer a guest, free to leave at any time. The backpacking adventure was at an end. He was now part of a select crowd, the keeper of a secret and in it right up to his neck.

  All through the speech Rusty stayed quiet, but Mike could tell he was busting to find out more. He pulled at his shirt, denying his impulse to probe the Hmong with a string of questions. As Mike saw it, Pin was laminating to his wider audience what was now required from them. With the bus hijack on their doorstep the markers were being moved, hurled forward to the here and now. Whilst Mike folded his arms and took in the scene, Rusty jumped around to get the best view and cocked his head so that he could catch every word. He seemed different since they had entered the camp. They were all operating outside of their comfort zones, how could they not be, but Rusty was like a watchful dog scratching around the pack. He seemed to be buzzing with nervous energy. It surprised Mike to see Rusty behave in this way. Before their brush with Louise and her Hmong guardians, Rusty was so cavalier whilst maintaining an aura of streetwise professionalism. He was an essential element and had saved Mike’s hide on two occasions. Without him the mission to find Louise would have ended up with Mike himself lying in a morgue someplace. All the more reason to wonder why he was so out of tune.

  With Pin’s gathering finally dispersing, presumably to collect their worldly goods, Louise and Dan made their way across. Mike couldn’t help but notice how confident Louise looked, how natural. The lack of make-up and unwashed hair failed to bother her. She was already looking like she belonged here with these people.

  “No point in either of you packing your bags. One advantage of not having any I guess!“ Louise held Mike’s eyes with a playful glint as she spoke. She really was looking like she was in her element. Mike knew it would be a long time before she sat on the Pembertons sofa drinking tea once more. The thought reminded him that he had some calls to make; fairly urgent ones. Once clear of the camp he hoped reception might pick up enough for him to call out.

  “Anyway, I’m sure we can sort you out with suitable attire,” she continued. “The news is that we’re leaving within the
hour. The guys keep some trucks close to the road. We’ll follow a path carefully in single file. There are a few pits in the jungle which hold some nasty surprises, so be very careful. They don’t like unwelcome visitors.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll be inches behind you,” Mike replied, already thinking on the journey ahead. Having Louise’s supple rear to follow might at least provide some distraction.

  “I’m sure you will Mike! For once that’s where I want you. You know, I’m glad that you’re now committed to helping our cause. If you skulked out on it they might have needed to kill you.”

  Mike was about to answer back before thinking better of it. It was her tone that caused him to pause. There was a serious edge to what he initially perceived as a flippant remark, the usual sharply honed horseplay Louise was known for. This time she meant it. He wondered if she might have tried to stop them. Would the Hmong turn against him if he threatened to walk? What then, a bullet in the head to permanently close his lips or a quick shot to the leg, keep him hopping all the way to the nearest hospital. Left with his thoughts he closely followed her, very careful to step where she trod. He was aware of Rusty immediately to his rear. The Australian appeared contented to take the back seat for once. He was no longer interested in jovial banter. Instead he looked like he needed to listen, take in all that was going on around him and handle it the best way he could. Mike left him that way as they moved single-file through the jungle. Occasionally as he pushed a vine aside he could make out the silhouette of Pin a couple of dozen yards in front. It made him think all the more deeply about what Louise was just saying.

  It took them the best part of an hour to reach the road. The path they followed was not direct and took many twists and turns. Unidentified lilies and Jurassic leaves from a forgotten era covered much of the way. Only a trained eye might spot an opening that revealed the path through the thick foliage. It was why Pin and his Hmong remained undisturbed for so long. Most rural Laotians would struggle to find such a path; non-locals would soon become lost simply stepping off the road. An endless horizon of dark sky-reaching trees covered the secretive tracks in total darkness. As they moved forward an eerie cloak masked them from the world beyond the road. The size of the forest disoriented and dwarfed them. Few would enjoy wandering far, the invisible insects providing the only sounds of accompaniment.