Missing Louise

by Nicholas Frankcom

  “Come on! Let’s get after her.”

  There was a tone of raw desperation in his voice. Kae was driving the jeep with his head out of the window. Heavy rain blew into his exposed face, preventing visibility to little more than a few feet. Vig was witnessing a side to Kae not previously seen before. Alarms were rattling off within him. His paymaster would always remain composed to the extent of detached coldness, whatever the situation. On one occasion he faced an opponent in a western style gun draw, sinking his 9mm burning lead into the guy’s neck before the opposing hand had drawn. That took guts, gaining long-term respect and admiration from Vig. This was so different. Perhaps Kae was putting too much on the line. Whatever the prize hanging off the end of this one, it must be colossal given what the Thai was gambling. Colossal prizes came with big complications coated in danger. The way he was acting he was likely to drag them all into danger head-first. Vig would need to keep an eye on things and act accordingly. If Kae was losing the plot and taking them all with him, Vig intended on having the option to jump first. Loyalties would come a far off second. Once they had Kae he could not see PC38 coming for others down the murky chain.

  Whilst his attention was still fixed on Kae, the Thai produced what looked like a Glock pistol and fired into the air. Vig was incredulous. The idiot might as well run on ahead and shout warnings to any waiting Hmong that they were well and truly here.

  “You must stop her!” Kae shouted. The pouring rain tried to muffle much of what he was trying to say. “Keep after her and I’ll fire over her head this time. It should scare her into freezing up.”

  Before Vig could even shout back what an ass he was becoming, two further shots rang out. The ridiculous commotion had taken away his attention. Without realising he had slowed his fast sprint to a trot. Turning back he could see that far from stopping her in those muddy tracks, Kae’s shots looked to have pushed her forward into warp speed. Unless she fell it was now pointless trying to beat her to the corner up ahead. Once she took the bend even a blind bat would know that she was on her way. Any Hmong hanging back with the stranded truck would be sure to see a blond New Zealander pelting towards them.

  With leg power no longer an option, Vig hoped Kae might at least be able to cut her off in the jeep. He was wrong again. With his attention focused purely on Jean, the jeep careered sharply to the right, the deep ruts hauling the wheels sharply. Kae lost control as the jeep spun around, bouncing its irate passenger as it went.

  With little alternative, Vig made his way towards the stricken vehicle. Now that Jean was firmly out of sight, her newfound Olympian legs carrying her on her way to awaiting allies it was time to rethink the situation. Short of wanting to strangle Kae, he figured that he ought to report back and unleash a few thoughts on how not to pursue a captive. The Thai had fucked up in a major way and needed to learn some form of lesson from all of this, arrogance being a point high up the agenda. As he approached he didn’t even bother helping the Thai out of the stricken Chinese jeep. His generous salary covered many things, but bailing out Kae from this situation was not included in his terms.

  “We nearly had her Vig, so nearly.” Kae was still climbing out from the driver’s seat. He was clearly out-of-breath, the brief excitement of the moment having taken its toll on ragged nerves. “My fault back there for getting carried away. I was just so keen to stop Jean getting away like that. I wasn’t expecting her to pull such a trick.”

  Kae’s apology put a stop to Vig’s intention to potentially walk away from the current seemingly doomed mission. He still felt in the ascendancy, occupying much of the professional high-ground, estimating that this could be a good time for Kae to run down what the hell was going on and why it was worth all the high profile risk. It would also provide for a good opportunity to renegotiate some of those terms.

  The others caught up as Kae emerged from the jeep. He waved them to huddle around, once again a figure of authority.

  “Right, we know that there is a truck just down the road with some Hmong aboard, presumably armed. At this moment we have to presume that Jean has reached them. Let’s face it, they can hardly miss each other. We’ll also have to presume that they will be alerted and be waiting for us. At this stage they will not know who we are. They will be high on suspicion but will not know our true intent or danger. In order for this to work we need Jean back. Our best plan is to outflank them, using the deception that we come in peace. Their hesitation should buy us time. Vig and myself will walk down the road, arms raised in a peaceful gesture, whilst you other guys cut through the forest and open up on them. We want a show of fireworks, not bodies. I want to capture that truck in one piece, which includes the occupants.”

  “Any questions?” Kae continued, challenging his audience to pick fault in his plan.

  “Yes, just one,” it was Vig.

  “Go on.”

  “What the fuck is this all about?”

  Twenty Eight

  The bullet wasn’t meant to kill. The low aimed shot forced it into the steel frame over the truck’s cab and ricocheted directly below the ear, piercing the skull as it continued its violent tunnelling route.

  Rusty had been looking down the darkened road where he earlier heard an engine being screamed in low gear followed by gunshots. Afterwards there was only a heavy silence. Even the crickets ceased broadcasting their nightly verse, subdued by the sudden outburst. An eerie calm descended where everyone waited to see what might happen, knowing that the violent noises just out-of-sight were sure to involve them. As the seconds ticked by they could see a shape taking form beneath the gloom of the trees. John looked over at Rusty. Despite the darkness it was clear there was fear in his eyes. Neither man held a gun; they were still to be trusted. Instead their security rested on the shoulders of strangers, the Hmong either side, plus a driver up front in the antiquated cab. Their lives depended on how the next few seconds panned out.

  Waiting anxiously, they had watched as the shape gained definition. The Hmong lowered their rifles in anticipation, centring their targets for a probable fire-fight. Wary fingers pushed safety catches carefully forward. Out here on the dark jungle road any unexpected confrontation was going to be bad news. The atmosphere remained sharply intense, the wait becoming insufferable as they watched the figure take shape. The person was clearly running, moving closer towards them. Until they could be certain the Hmong would not shoot. Others might have fired by now, loosening off rounds into the darkness; take down the silhouette they could see before finding out what it was about. Eliminate the danger. But Hmong were taught to hold their nerve. Many learnt their trade in the thickest and dirtiest fighting seen in Laos during the revolutionary years, much of it hand to hand. Under pressure they could be trusted to react quickly and calmly, focus on what was needed above the panic and clutter of battle. It was a nature so ingrained it became innate.

  They heard the voice before they could recognise the running shadow. Rusty had known immediately. The accented “S” bespoke of her South Island drawl, a soft sounding Scottish twist to her voice. It was only a couple of days but could have been weeks since he heard that excitable Kiwi twang. How good it sounded. He quickly cried out to stop any possible bloodshed, pleading for them to lower their guns.

  “Stop, stop! It’s Jean, she’s coming, don’t shoot boys”.

  If the Hmong were offended by his reference to them as “boys” they showed little sign. Their grasp of English was strictly limited to Dan’s short-wave radio, though they got the gist of Rusty’s shouting very quickly. Undoubtedly Pin would have made them aware of the missing backpacker called Jean. They lowered their aim, though only marginally. Seconds ago they were listening to gunshots and panicked driving. The situation was far from explained and needed neutralising.

  Surprisingly John was the more vocal one. He shouted out towards the New Zealander emerging from the night shadows.

  “Hey Jea
n, you’ve done well to find us all the way out here. Keep going and we’ll haul you aboard. Heard much about you. The introductions will have to wait until later. Seems like we’re a little stuck here.”

  Without any hesitation Jean was at the truck and jumped straight up. Rusty was quick to haul her aboard, gripping her tightly. With his help she vaulted the side easily, her legs still pumped up from her terrifying run.

  “What in the hell....we thought you were well away? Figured you would be tucked up in the city long ago.” The sudden appearance of Jean had left Rusty incredulous.

  Jean took a few seconds to take a few large gulps of air. Her lungs ached from the extremities of exercise and sheer terror.

  “I thought I was! On the coach I don’t know what happened. The glass was coming in and shots were tearing the seats up. It was hell. Even now I remember very little. I recall being lowered through the window. I was standing there and there was all this smoke. All I could hear were explosions and then I saw the bus was on fire. The smoke then became quite black. I have no idea what was going on, I couldn’t even see. A hand took mine and guided me away. I don’t know who I figured it to be, it was just re-assuring to be led away from that nightmare.”

  “Who was it Jean?” Rusty prompted. “We saw you with some Chinese guy. It looked like he was helping you which was why we didn’t panic. By that stage we were away from the bus but had lost you in the mayhem.”

  “Well, that’s where much of the story starts. We don’t have long at all. Wait a minute....”

  Rusty followed her gaze. Out of the darkness he could see two figures, one slim and the other shorter and stocky with a determined walk. Without a good view he could already swear that the Chinese man was out there. If he were right the heavy-set image he could make out looked a formidable foe. The body language alone spoke out boldly, as if it were taunting them, his measured walk displaying no sign of intimidation as they walked before the Hmong aim. Rusty’s gut tightened involuntarily. The two men appeared to be waving their hands, presumably in a bid to stop the Hmong opening up with automatic weapons.

  “That’s them, that’s...”

  This time Jean pointed, her heart sinking with despair. Once again she was stopped mid-sentence, this time with an intake of breath as the slimmer man spoke.

  “Hello there. Don’t shoot; we’re here to help you. Do you understand me?”

  The instruction came in English, a hint of public school brushed in. Had they yelled over a Laotian greeting they might well have been shot down. Bandits scouting the night roads were common place close to the plains. But the polished middleclass accent confused the Hmong; it was out of place on the isolated jungle track, in a language they barely understood. Their immediate thinking was that it was Jean’s travelling companions. They knew that she must have come with others; it was dangerous and unpredictable taking the road by night. But was she not just running from them? Just earlier the unexplained shots must have come from the twilight travellers, but where were the guns? The momentary hesitation bought Kae time.

  “Don’t trust them. I’m not sure who they are yet.” It was Jean with the warning. She played with her hair nervously as she looked on, her hand unwittingly pulling clumps of straw blond strands free from their roots.

  Kae and Vig continued to cautiously walk forward, hands still clearly visible in the air. It was hard to tell, but they might even have been smiling.

  “No, no, what am I thinking. Where are the others? There were more of them.” Jean’s voice rose slightly, reflecting a rising panic. Rusty thought how she looked and sounded so much younger when confronted, much the same as the last time he saw her aboard the ill-fated Vang Vieng bus. He was unable to follow these thoughts for much longer. Movement in the bushes disrupted his attention.

  With the Hmongs firepower centred on the apparently passive figures of Kae and Vig, shots rang in from the thick undergrowth to the side of the truck. It caught them all by surprise. No one saw anything; all they heard were the sharp booms as several bullets landed around the truck. Rusty was aware of a sudden spark marking the path of a deflecting bullet. A short whistling sound followed. He felt sudden movement. A heavy weight fell against him, warm and very still.

  “He’s down, I think he’s hit!” Rusty wasn’t sure who he called out to. He wasn’t even aware that the shooting had stopped.

  There was blood between his hands as he cradled John’s head. The matt lifeless eyes told their own story.

  An extended barrel from the shadows came with one of the hired mercenaries. By now the previously passive Kae and Vig had produced pistols and were closing the gap with the truck. Their arrogant confidence grew in stature as the balance fully turned their way. With little alternative the Hmong slowly raised their hands, anxious to avoid a close quarters fire-fight. The simple trap had worked.

  “You were supposed to shoot to miss, you fucking clown!” Kae was quick to pour his wrath on the nearest mercenary.

  “We’re not here to start a blood-bath, this is simply about insurance, the collateral.” Although he addressed the mercenary, the way he threw his voice ensured the words were meant for all. “We need walking, talking hostages. They’re valuable. I’ve invested so much time in this and have lost so much already. Would you have me walk away now? I need something; I need to make up for all of this and you’re all going to help me get it.”

  “What now boss?” Vig asked.

  “We’ve just taken on some new guides. Our new found friends are now going to lead us to Nirvana.”

  Twenty Nine

  Mike was impressed by the size. The Pha Bang towered far above his head, like the ancient stone Buddhas in Chang Mai gracefully surveying the temples they watched.. The Buddha sat smiling serenely at all below; an expression of solemn peace. Except the Pha Bang was not carved from stone. The main ingredient was gold, more precious than all of the communist reserves in the vaults of Vientiane. It had an ancient darkened aura, much of it the result of centuries’ worth of curious hands touching the smooth body. A main ingredient was copper, further giving the gold a rustic finish, a look of aged majestic beauty. Mike could now understand why so many sought to take it for themselves. It was Laos’s own jewel, an item beyond national importance alone. As he admired the fine carving and studded rubies his eyes noted the ragged edge and faded print. Condensation from years of monsoon had attacked the bottom, black mould slowly creeping towards the centre.

  “Is it the first time you have seen it?” Louise enquired, keen for Mike to understand its beauty. She leaned in closer, the sweet scent of fresh sweat a welcome diversion from the musky outpost.

  Momentarily distracted, Mike looked back at the ragged wall poster. They were in a faceless utilitarian building on the edge of the Plain of Jars. Its last incarnation served as a government run information post at a time when tourism was geared strictly towards small parties of NCO workers and occasional backpackers with a more adventurous taste for Asia. For several years now a more welcoming tourist centre stood several miles away close to Phonsavan, the town catering for those wishing to visit the jars. The original settlement was blown apart during vicious fighting in the war. Much of the land was still suffering from the conflict over three decades earlier. Unexploded bombs rendered much of the plain off limits to all but those equipped with battery operated detectors and an ear for sonic wave lengths. Only three large expands from the plain remained clear for the rambling tourists foot print. Many diced death by walking through areas still to be swept, some paying the price of such imprudent excursions by stumbling across mines and unstable shells volatile to any movement. New signs littered these areas with warnings in the wake of recent deaths. Dead tourists proved bad for business.

  Mike was aware they were close to one such area Metal poles supported a rusting sheet iron sign with a skull and cross-bones against a blood-red background. The message was clear enough
. Although it might keep most others away, it failed to stop Pin in his tracks as he led them here. Mike figured that their search in earnest would begin in a remote spot, somewhere far from prying eyes. What he did not count on was that they would have to negotiate minefields and smouldering battlegrounds in their quest. He hoped Pin’s knowledge of the plains were enough to keep them from meeting an explosive ending. His eyes returned to the poster and then back to Louise, aware that he must look lost in thought.

  “Believe it or not yes, it is the first time I have seen it. Before coming to Laos I had not even heard of the Pha Bang. Now I’m here and close to touching it. It looks so beautiful, so much history and mystic surrounding it. I can imagine how powerful its pull is, for others tempted to take it for their own.”

  “It’s not the real one though Mike,” Louise went on to explain.

  “I can see that, it’s only a picture!”

  “No, not the poster Mike. Wake up! The photograph. It’s taken of the Pha Bang now sitting in full public view in Luang Phabang. The city takes its name from this majestic Buddha. The thing is it’s a fake.”

  “I figured that much. Why else would we be here?” Mike replied, hoping Louise would paint more detail in elaborating further.