Uncle Pete bore any discomfort he felt with typical stoic calm, outwardly unfazed by the grueling trek. Drake’s pallid complexion and shaky movement gave his effort away, and by the time they hit a particularly steep area, his stomach was churning with more than hunger. He thought of Allie lost in the wilds, and remorse slammed into him with hurricane force at convincing her to accompany him on what had become a suicide mission. His only hope was that Spencer’s survival instincts would enable them to elude any pursuers and make it out of the rain forest.
Of course, Uncle Pete’s ninja skills had proved less than effective, and now they were being herded like sheep to the slaughter. Drake tried speaking, but the gunmen shushed him. The leader’s dark glare when he looked over his shoulder gave Drake all the warning required.
It was almost noon when the jungle fell away and they emerged into a wide clearing, a scattering of indigenous huts forming a semicircle around a primitive well. Hill tribesmen with assault rifles watched from the shade as the war party filed toward the little village. The poverty was palpable, and even the children who’d stopped their play were as serious as executioners at the sight of Drake.
The lead gunman barked instructions to his men and then abruptly stopped and turned to Uncle Pete. He said something low and fast, which Uncle Pete answered.
“What? What did he say?” Drake whispered, his heart trip-hammering in his throat.
Uncle Pete coughed wetly and spit to the side. When he looked at Drake, his stare held all the warmth of ice.
“He say we meet chief. Say he powerful and–”
Uncle Pete’s translation was cut off by the gunman, who made a curt motion with his hand and patted his weapon. Uncle Pete shrugged and turned away, the tribesman’s message clear.
Drake’s apprehension grew with every step as they resumed marching along the central path, his worst fears now manifest in the cold gaze of a gunman who looked like he’d murder them without a second thought.
Chapter 27
Allie stirred on the woven grass mat that had served as her cushion and reluctantly opened her eyes. The prior day’s exertion had sapped her resources, and she was sore all over from the crash. She probed her ribs delicately and decided that they weren’t broken, and then realized that she was alone – Spencer, who had spent the night across the floor from her, wasn’t there.
She yawned and stood as the sound of women laughing reached her through the window opening. She stumbled to the gap and saw a group of females carrying gourds and buckets vanishing into the heavy ground fog as they moved toward an unknown destination. Allie pulled on her shoes and stepped outside from the raised hut floor and peered around in the white haze, the covering so thick she couldn’t see more than thirty feet in front of her. She spotted Spencer nearing from the fog and sighed in relief. Even though Joe had agreed to help last night, there was a part of her that distrusted him automatically – something about the way he looked at her made her skin crawl.
Spencer grinned when he saw her. “Up already? I figured you’d be out for another few hours.”
“I couldn’t sleep any longer.”
“How do you feel?”
“Like a piano dropped on me. But I’ll make it. You?”
“More or less the same. I wish I had Joe’s recovery time.”
“Why? He’s awake?”
“He’s finishing up some kind of yoga, a tantric something-or-other exercise routine. Talk about an eccentric character, huh?”
“That’s an understatement. But as long as he’s on our side…”
“Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer,” Spencer agreed.
“Where is he?”
“Over by the edge of the rice fields. There’s an old banyan tree there. He says he draws energy and wisdom from it.”
“Probably high as a kite.”
“I didn’t get that. I think he’s really just into the Eastern mysticism thing. Kind of a burnout hippie fascination, for lack of a better description.”
“What do you think he’s really doing here?”
“With a plane and a private airstrip in the middle of the Golden Triangle? Three guesses.”
“That’s what I was afraid of.”
“Oh, I’d say he’s pretty benign compared to the alternatives we could have run into. And he did agree to help. That’s a major positive for us, because I suspect he’s right about the local pilots wanting to have nothing to do with us once news of Daeng’s untimely demise spreads.”
“Let’s hope he can actually remember what all the controls do. He doesn’t inspire a lot of confidence.” She paused and looked away. “You don’t think this is some sort of ruse?”
“Ruse? To achieve what?”
“I don’t know. He just creeps me out. I don’t trust him.”
“Nor should you. But in a war zone, anyone willing to shoot at the guys you’re shooting at is one of the white hats – until they turn on you.”
“I’m not convinced.”
Spencer nodded. “I’m reading that between the lines.” He sighed. “Tell you what, let’s see what he can do. What harm is there? If he can help us track down Drake, that would be major. He made it sound like he knows everybody and is on friendly terms with the local cutthroats. If he is, then things might work out after all. He can put the word out not to kill them, for starters. And with a reward being offered…” Spencer shrugged. “Just because you’re crazy doesn’t mean you’re incompetent. I had an uncle like that.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it.”
“Come to think of it, my uncle was just nuts, not really proficient at anything.”
“That’s very reassuring.”
“He did know a lot of limericks and colorful sea shanties. But he was tone deaf. And he liked to sing them naked.”
“You’re making this up.”
Spencer smiled. “I like to keep ’em guessing.”
Joe’s distinctive shape drifted through the fog, and Allie raised an eyebrow at his outfit – he was stripped to the waist, his body devoid of fat, his abs ridged, and the tattoos that adorned his arms carried across his chest and back. His orange drawstring pants were obviously homemade, and his feet were bare. Allie had to admit that he had a commanding bearing – that of someone to be reckoned with. She could see why the tribe deferred to him; to them he must have appeared to be some sort of divine sage.
“Good morning,” Joe said, his tone calm and flat.
“Same to you,” Allie said.
“You sleep well?”
“I did.”
“Maybe tomorrow you’ll wake up early enough to join me in my sun salutation.”
“I don’t see any sun,” Allie observed.
“Like hidden treasure, the most valuable of nature’s gifts are rarely immediately obvious,” Joe intoned.
Allie and Spencer exchanged a glance that said maybe their host was high after all.
“Tell you what,” Joe continued. “Let me get cleaned up, we’ll have breakfast, and when this burns off, you can check out my plane.”
Allie offered a small smile and studied Joe’s face. If he was suffering from the prior night’s excesses, it didn’t show. “Sounds like a plan. Any word on our friends?”
“If you know how to listen, the wind whispers its secrets.” Joe shook his head. “To listen is easy. To hear is a gift we must earn.”
“So that’s a no?” Spencer asked.
“In the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king.”
“Right,” Allie said with an eye roll. “Good to know.”
Joe made a gesture with his hands from his chest, thrusting them outward and then apart, palms raised. “Open your heart, invite the universe in, and all things will come to you effortlessly.”
“Sounds great,” she agreed, at a loss for any more words.
Joe’s stare took on a faraway quality. “It is the beginning of true wisdom for the wave to recognize itself as part of the sea and not a separate thing. Real beau
ty is to be had in the belonging, in the acceptance and appreciation that we are all as one.”
“Uh-huh,” Spencer said.
Joe seemed to snap out of his trance. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll rejoin you in ten minutes. You can wait for me here,” he said, his tone businesslike. Without waiting for a response, he strode off.
Allie shook her head. “Tell me that wasn’t frigging weird. He’s completely spun.”
“He’s certainly spiritual.”
“Schizophrenia and delusions of grandeur aren’t the first qualities I look for in a pilot,” she said.
“Maybe he’s just feeling particularly metaphysical this morning.”
“Right.”
Joe reappeared, now wearing his tank top and camouflage pants, and smiled. “Hope you’re hungry. We have a delicacy today: fresh rat tail soup with wild dog medallions.”
Allie looked away. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
“Don’t judge our ways. Celebrate them,” Joe said.
“I’m serious.”
Joe chuckled. “Don’t worry. I’m just playing.” He turned from them and called over his shoulder as he made his way toward the well. “You don’t mind beetle curry, do you? Tastes a little like chicken. If chickens were really big feathered beetles.”
Allie leaned into Spencer and whispered, “I think someone watched too many Kung Fu reruns during his childhood.”
“All journeys begin with a single step,” Spencer said, deadpan, eliciting a smile from Allie. “Although he had my mouth watering with the beetles.”
“What do you think we’re actually going to be offered?”
“Beats the hell out of me. But I’m starved. Hope it’s not still wearing shoes, that’s all I can say.”
“You’re almost as bad as he is.”
“Something tells me you’re underestimating Joe in a big way.”
Allie stared after him. “If he calls me grasshopper, I’m going to scream.”
After a reasonably palatable breakfast of rice and a thick stew, they followed Joe around a rise to where a large camo net covered a two-seat prop plane parked by a shack. Joe eyed the aircraft and called to Spencer.
“Give me a hand with the netting. Easiest if we go back to front and roll it as we pull it off.”
Spencer moved to one corner, and they peeled off the cover. When they were done, they found themselves staring at a Cessna 150C that looked like it was held together with duct tape and bailing wire, its paint corroded off in more places than it still covered. Joe patted the side of the plane fondly.
“Don’t let looks deceive you. This baby soars like a proud eagle.”
“What year is it?” Spencer asked.
“1963. One of four hundred seventy-two built. A veteran that’s never let me down. Her name’s Bertha.”
“Bertha,” Allie echoed. “It actually flies?”
“Sure. One of the most reliable planes ever made. Carries a surprisingly decent payload, and sips fuel. It’s the VW Bug of small prop jobs. You can’t kill ’em.” Joe grinned at Allie. “No time like the present. We can buzz around where your friends were lost and see if we can pick up their trail, and maybe take a look-see for your ruins. You know roughly where they’re located?”
“Yes, but I don’t have a map.”
“No problem. Could you find it on a GPS with a satellite photo?”
“I think so.”
Joe opened the pilot door and ferreted around, and held up a handheld GPS unit that looked no more than a year old. Spencer and Allie looked at each other as Joe powered the unit up.
“Okay, I’ll zoom out,” Joe said, moving closer to Allie. “Show me the river where the helo went down.”
Allie studied the image and tapped the screen. “This looks about right. Daeng said we were around twenty-two or twenty-three miles up the Mekong.”
“Oh. Wow. Yeah, I can see why you might have gotten a rude welcome. That’s Shan Army territory on the Myanmar side. Pretty dicey customers.”
“You sound like you know them well.”
“Sure. I mean, when you live out here, you get used to breaking bread, you know? Everybody’s friend, stay neutral, and run errands, whatever.”
“Like flying medical supplies into Thailand?” Allie asked.
“I’m like Federal Express. If you tell me you have two hundred pounds of bandages in your package, who am I to question it?”
“That’s very decent of you,” Spencer said.
“Hey, life’s short, and whatever gets you through the night and keeps gas in the plane.” Joe looked around at the fog, which was burning off. “Looks like a lovely day for a tour. You ready?” he asked Allie.
She gave Spencer an uncertain gaze. “Why do I have to go?”
“You’re the archeologist, aren’t you? Or do you think Spencer here can do the same job you can?” Joe asked.
She frowned, but had to concede the point. “It’s safe, right?”
“As safe as anything around here. Like I said, embrace the universe and you’ll have a happier life.”
“And a considerably shorter one,” Allie mumbled under her breath.
“Let me start her up and we’ll get busy. I’ve got binoculars and a radio in the plane, so we’re ready to go.”
“How about a fire extinguisher and a parachute?” Allie asked.
Joe eyed her. “You have a good sense of humor, I see. That’s healthy.”
“I’m not kidding.”
The engine sputtered to life and Joe adjusted some knobs, and after a few minutes the rough idle settled into a purr. Allie climbed into the small cockpit and strapped in next to Joe. He pulled on a ragged headset, gave Spencer a thumbs-up, and taxied to the edge of the rutted dirt strip.
“Hope there are no mud cows on the damn runway,” Joe said, and Allie shook her head. He grinned crazily again and chuckled. “Don’t know why they like to amble onto the airstrip sometimes, but they do. Haven’t hit one yet, but it keeps you on your toes.”
“Tell me you’re joking.”
“We’ll soon find out,” he said as the plane eased forward. “Not very adventurous considering your line of work, are you?”
“After a crash and being chased by gunmen through the jungle, my adventure quota’s full up for one lifetime.”
They picked up speed, and the plane’s tricycle landing gear hit a particularly ugly rut. The fuselage gave an ominous groan and the whole aircraft shuddered. Allie gritted her teeth, her sacroiliac aching from the pounding, and then they lifted into the fog at a steep angle. “Got to get over the trees or it won’t be pretty,” Joe explained. Allie closed her eyes, not wanting to see her death racing toward her at the hands of a stoned madman.
Thirty seconds later, they were over the canopy and bouncing higher through light turbulence. Joe tapped the compass with his finger as they continued their climb. Allie opened her eyes and stared at the device. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh, nothing. I keep meaning to fix this thing. It sticks every now and then.”
“The thing that tells us where we’re headed? That thing?” she asked.
“I know these hills like the back of my hand. Have no fear.”
“Does the altimeter work?”
“Mostly.”
“That sounds like sometimes not.”
“Glass is half full, little lady, half full. Just put out positive vibes. No need to fret.”
At three thousand feet above the ground, Joe banked and headed north, and soon they were over the Mekong River. Joe pointed at a long barge straining against the current. “Slow boat there. Hell of a way to make a living.”
“Daeng, our helicopter pilot, said that sometimes the drug traffickers shoot at aircraft.”
Joe nodded. “That they do. But not usually, especially not at this altitude. Waste of time with anything but a .50-caliber machine gun, and why blow the rounds? Not like they don’t know my plane.”
“That’s right. I keep forgetting you work for…
who is it you won’t work for, again?”
“So much disapproval. Live and let live, that’s my motto.” He pointed at the river coming up on their right. “That look familiar?”
“Yes. That’s it.”
“Let’s go down some and see if we can spot your friends.”
An hour later, after numerous runs along the river and the surrounding trails, they’d spotted nothing but an occasional ox and peasants working the terraced fields. Joe turned on the GPS and headed west. “Pick the first of your possible ruin sites and we’ll take a gander. They’re all in Myanmar, are they?”
“One is. The other two aren’t.”
“Let’s look at the Laotian ones first, then. Even I get the heebie-jeebies flying over Shan Army territory.”
“We do have a permit.”
“From a government the Shans don’t recognize as legit. Use it as toilet paper, because that’s about all it’s good for.”
They buzzed the first of the locations and Allie shook her head. “That doesn’t look promising, does it?”
“I don’t see anything but jungle.”
“Let’s head for this spot,” she suggested, indicating the second site. Joe nodded and made an adjustment to the controls, and ten minutes later they had completed two passes over the site, with the same result as the first.
“If there’s anything down there, it’s not obvious from the air,” Joe said. “Looks like we’re headed into Myanmar.”
Allie nodded, lost in thought. When they crossed the Mekong, Joe turned to her. “What were you doing at that river? Not really that close to any of the sites, is it?”
Allie frowned as she debated telling him about the plane crash. After a few moments, she decided it couldn’t hurt.
“Someone I know was also looking for the ruins, and their plane crashed. We were hoping to spot the wreckage – sort of kill two birds while we’re here.”
“A crash? When was that?” Joe asked, his eyes narrowing.
“About a week ago. At night.”
He thought for a long beat and turned to her. “Might have heard something about that.”
Emerald Buddha (Drake Ramsey Book 2) Page 16