UNSEEN FORCES: SKY WILDER (BOOK ONE)

by Ed Kovacs

  “Let’s do lunch,” Sky announced.

  “Table for three please, with a view,” replied Diana wearily.

  “I very hungry,” lamented Ping.

  As they gratefully unslung their weapons and packs, Wilder saw the mist below briefly part and he glimpsed a geometric splash of brown where only green should be, a harlot flashing her muff to a prospective john. He fished binoculars from his pack and zeroed in, the voyeur wanting to see more, but the vamp had closed her legs in mock piety, the mist wrapping the valley in wispy come-hither vestments of grey-white.

  His eyes narrowed as he wondered what in hell he'd just seen.

  ###

  “Kinda creepy, ain’t it?” Wilder walked point, lasering them through the other-worldly mist toward the secret coordinates, shotgun ready.

  “That it is.” Diana eased off the safety of the M-4 as she slowed, eyes sweeping their flanks and the rear. Even the mules seemed to sense something amiss and slowed their gait, braying in rebellion to Ping’s bamboo caning.

  Sky stopped in his tracks and looked down. The rutted remnants of a hard-packed dirt road, though mostly overgrown, were clearly visible. “This used to be a road.”

  “A road? You mean we could have driven in?”

  “Not from the Thai border.”

  They followed the rutted trail. As Sky skirted a stand of thick bamboo, surprise washed over him. He stood fifty meters from a vegetation-shrouded two-story house. “Well, would you look at that,” he said, shocked.

  The three of them gawked at the structure, half shrouded with tall grass, creepers, and palm fronds. Four facets of bay windows stood under an upper floor turret shingled with dark teak. A-framed peaked eaves looked a bit wobbly, but a stone and brick chimney shot stoutly from the roof. Not all the paint had peeled; the last coat had been pink. The incongruity of the structure’s location and neglect notwithstanding, the house retained its original strength and elegance. The mystery, was an add-on. The front doors loomed open and askew. An invitation, but to what?

  They took cover behind the bamboo as they peered at the strange juxtaposition. Diana’s voice betrayed concern. “What is this doing here?”

  Before anyone could answer, they all flinched from sound and sudden movement. Diana wheeled with her rifle as a Black Bulbul suddenly flapped its wings, flew from inside one of the broken second floor windows and glided off into the mist, disappearing.

  “I don’t like this place. Many bad thing inside, I sure of that.” Ping pulled no punches.

  “There’s a town called May... Maymyo, in the Shan hills outside of Mandalay,” said Wilder, dredging up the memory. “I only visited for an hour or so.” He slung the scattergun and checked his GPS. “In the old days, when England was in control of Burma, the British and Scottish civil servants had summer cottages and villas there. Chinese businessmen own most of them now. But to answer your question, Diana, this is a simple Edwardian-vintage vacation cottage.”

  “My question was what’s it doing here? This far from Mandalay?”

  “Somebody really wanted to get away from it all, I guess.”

  “I think getting away from this house is a pretty good idea.”

  “It’s just an old house,” said Sky.

  “There’s some bad energy in this house.”

  He put the GPS away. “Bad energy? How would you know?”

  “Because I know.”

  “Oh, no. No more ‘trust me, I know.’ Or ‘I’m telling you, I know.’ How do you know? Where are you getting your information? What makes you an expert in intuition and bad energy? You some kind of ghostbuster or something?”

  She hesitated, then, “I suppose I am. But I avoid black energy when possible.”

  Having worked with and studied indigenous peoples for most of his adult life, he didn't discount what she was talking about, he just couldn’t believe it came from Diana, couldn’t believe she might be some sort of shaman. He gestured for everyone to step back, out of sight from the house behind the protection of the bamboo. As startling as the house was, her revelation topped it.

  “I thought you worked in military intelligence? Are you telling me you’re some kind of psychic... spook?”

  “It's highly classified, but yes.”

  He struggled for words. “Don’t take this wrong, but I don’t put much stock in psychics. I do remember hearing about the government doing this kind of thing, trying to keep up with the Russians or whatever. And I saw a news article saying some of the UN inspectors sent to look for weapons of mass destruction in Iraq, were CIA psychics. Is that true?” he asked, incredulously.

  “Yes. Two of those inspectors were friends of mine. Very talented clairvoyants. One of them is dead now, probably killed by an unfriendly foreign power. I’m not saying what we do is one hundred percent accurate, nothing is. There are plenty of fake psychics in the world, not to mention the ones who simply aren't very good.”

  “No offense, but channelers and these people who think the world is going to end because there’s a comet coming or whatever. I think they’re misguided, or maybe trying to make a buck playing on people’s fear. Are ghosts and spirits real? I believe so. I know bush doctors, medicine chiefs, kahunas, and curanderos who work with those kinds of forces all the time. They’ve dedicated their lives to it. They’ve trained, studied and suffered, gone through difficult initiations and tests. They didn’t hang out a shingle after taking a weekend workshop and buying a pyramid to sit under with a crystal in their hand.”

  Diana flushed. “I don’t think it’s up to you or anyone else to judge how someone comes to the gift of psychic vision,” she retorted, “but maybe we should save this conversation for another time. How much further to the site?”

  “Oh, I’d say sixty... meters. The site is somewhere under that house,” he said, matter-of-fact, as he unshouldered his pack and tucked away the GPS. “I wanted to make it clear that, regardless of what you’re feeling, we’re going inside.” He picked up the shotgun and eased off the safety. “Tie up the mules, Ping, then cover us. Diana, you flank right, I’ll go left. We’ll get in closer, and see what we can see.”

  Diana hesitated, as if she wanted to debate the plan. She shot Wilder a look that suggested she wasn't happy, but then silently handed the men two-way radios. They all rechecked their weapons, then darted off into the moving fog.

  Wilder made a running leap over a small creek and took cover behind columns of stately teak. He was surprised to see that the creek ran under the house. That was one way to have running water in the home. He sprinted another twenty meters to more bamboo when he saw them. Fresh tracks. Tire tracks. Large tire tracks, probably from Chinese-made army trucks, leading up to the back of the house. The old rutted overgrown trail wasn’t overgrown on this end of the property.

  “Not good,” he mumbled. The place looked deserted enough, but he couldn’t believe the odds of this happening. He saw Diana crouch down at his eleven o’clock. “You see these tracks?” He released the talk switch on the radio and waited for her response.

  “Roger that. There’s been a lot of recent activity here. I’m right next to two fresh graves.”

  “Graves,” he muttered. He looked around, then, “Can you cover me while I make for the back door?”

  “I got you.” She leveled her carbine.

  He sprinted what seemed like the longest thirty meters of his life. As he flattened against the rear wall he saw her run toward him. In a few seconds they were both panting on either side of the splintered back door.

  “Hard or soft?” he whispered.

  “Soft. I'll go first.”

  The door creaked as she opened it, but Murphy’s Law wouldn’t have it any other way. She eased into what had once been a storage room and he stepped in behind her as their eyes adjusted to the light.

  A snake slithered through a hole in the wallboard. The New York City of spider webs hung proudly in one corner, and plants grew up through broken floorboards. Years of dust covered the window s
ills, but a more recent type of filth littered the floor: cigarette and cheroot butts, empty soft drink cans, and discarded magazines. Burmese magazines. The condition of the butts suggested a very recent vintage. Diana pointed, then eased into the kitchen where they found more of the same.

  As they moved through the kitchen into the main room, it struck Sky that the house must have been a great summer getaway during Britain’s colonial reign. If the dull, faded yellow walls or dirty wood floors could only talk. A water buffalo head still hung mounted over a mahogany fireplace. Teak banisters railed a winding staircase to an open-plan second floor where lizards scurried along the ceiling, rats doing the same along the floor.

  They heard the unmistakable sound of flowing water and he assumed it was the creek below the floorboards. She pointed him toward a door off the main room as she stepped away toward the stairs. As he was about to open the door, they both heard a muffled shout from the direction of the kitchen. The floor creaked beneath their feet as they backtracked.

  Re-entering the kitchen, voices greeted them: distant yet close; sing-song yet full of fear; disembodied yet full of hope. A strange tongue that sounded like a prayer.

  Wilder pointed to a smallish door they hadn’t noticed at the end of a row of disintegrating cabinets. They positioned themselves at the door. An antique iron key rested in the old lock. He turned it, flung the door open... and a scream shattered the gloom.

  “Ping, get in here, quick!” said Wilder, into the two-way radio.

  At the bottom of five moldy steps, three hill tribe village girls huddled in a corner, scared out of their wits. The smell of excrement and urine coming from a bucket in the corner hit Sky and Diana like a train. A clear plastic jug with no more than a cup of water inside sat next to an empty plate that must have once held food. The girls’ hair was matted, their black and red jackets and narrow skirts grubby and torn, their lips parched. They looked pale, sickly, starved. This was a root cellar, no more than three meters by three meters, dark and dank.

  A dungeon.

  Diana lowered her rifle and held her hand palm up. “It’s okay, it’s okay.” The girls recoiled and whimpered, frightened out of their wits.

  Wilder stepped forward slowly, slinging the shotgun. “Sawat-dii-khrap.” He smiled the Big Smile, pressed his palms together in greeting and bowed slightly. “Phuut phaa saa Thai dai mai?”

  The tallest girl hesitated, then bowed her head timidly. “Nit nawy.” She couldn’t have been more than thirteen, but spoke a little Thai.

  “Thai dai nit nawy!” He smiled. “Maa, maa.” Sky gestured for them to come, to step out of that rotten hellhole.

  They stumbled up the stairs into the kitchen, and although it approached dusk on an overcast day, the girls shielded their eyes from the light and had to squint. Diana offered her canteen, and one of them drank deeply as Wilder quickly doled out energy bars to the other two. The girls ripped open the wrappers and ate like animals, but shared evenly with each other. The smallest one started to weep; the other two held her, flashing in their eyes the fright of beaten animals, like dogs whose spirits had been broken. They cowered, as if expecting to be assaulted. Then Ping bounded into the room.

  “Ping, tell them they’re going to be fine.”

  ###

  They made camp at the end of the short valley, opposite the old trail. After giving the girls first aid, they all sat in a circle. As Ping debriefed the girls in a Lahu dialect, Wilder handed Diana his flask and she took a swig.

  “The cover of this fog and all the vegetation should shield our little camp here for tonight.”

  She nodded and handed back the flask. “Ping, what are they saying?”

  “These girls Black Lahu. They taken from home village. Tatmadaw come and steal, burn village. Village finished now. Before, total five girls brought here by soldiers. Two die.” Ping gestured at two of the girls. “Her young sister, her young sister.”

  “How did they die?” Diana asked.

  “Not much food, get beating, rape, sick, no medicine. Soldiers just use for sex.”

  Wilder’s green-blue eyes narrowed. “How old were the dead girls?”

  Ping translated the question. After the girls answered, he said, “Twelve years old. Both girls. They best friends.”

  Sky’s face hardened into a rock of vengeance. “I’d like to get those responsible at the end of my gun barrel.”

  “Those men will pay. In this lifetime or the next, but they will pay dearly. Did DDSI do this to them?” Diana inquired.

  After talking to the girls, Ping said, “No, not DDSI. Regular troops. They guard drug lab, not so far away.”

  As the debriefing continued, the depth of the girl’s misery emerged. Every few days soldiers would come and the girls were let out of their cell to service them on grungy mattresses in the second floor bedrooms. The soldiers usually, but not always, left food and water when they locked them back up, but it was never enough and the girls had often spent days without a bite or a drop. They had kept track; imprisonment had lasted ninety-three days, so they’d been raped or sodomized about 200 times each.

  Diana fought tears as she heard their story, then finally crossed to the three and gently caressed them with motherly hugs.

  Wilder kept the hot food and tea coming. That, and the kindness of strangers revived the girls quickly. Sky vowed to himself that he would do whatever was in his power to help them to safety.

  “These girls are very happy and grateful we helping them, but they still afraid. They know soldiers will come back. They want go, find safe Lahu village that maybe take them. Problem is, they don’t know where is safe Lahu village.”

  The youngest one said something and Ping laughed.

  “She’s cracking jokes?” Wilder asked, somewhat bewildered.

  “She said the soldiers come yesterday afternoon, stay all night, leave this morning. They never come at night, it not safe. Only travel in daytime. So she would like hot bath.”

  “Hot bath? What’s she talking about?”

  Ping translated the question, and the girls spoke quickly, all of them had something to say. “They say there is hot spring... inside the house.”

  ###

  Back inside the strange Edwardian-style home, Wilder found himself opening the door off the living room that he had almost opened before he heard the girl’s voices. And damned if there wasn’t a dank room waiting. Lichen- and moss-covered rotting wood planks and beams around stonework formed a pool, perhaps three meters in diameter. Spring fed, the water circulated constantly, the overflow quickly draining out through a small stone culvert into the yard. Ping held an oil lantern, as Sky bent down and dipped his hand into the inky water. “Nice and warm.”

  “Sounds good to me.” Diana looked eager to bathe.

  One of the Lahu girls spoke and Ping translated, “She say be careful. The water sometime get very hot and will burn.” Then another girl spoke. “She say a drunken soldier go sleep and get cooked in this water. Dead.”

  “She saw that?”

  Ping translated. “No, she hear, from other soldier.”

  Diana looked to Sky. “Is that possible?”

  “Yes, it’s possible. Sudden updraft of super-heated water. Some thermal springs can cook you quicker than a crock pot.”

  “Still, I would really like a bath.”

  It seemed like a ridiculous, but perfect idea, and Wilder couldn’t help but grin. He looked at the youngest girl. “Aap naam?” He pointed to her, then to Diana, then to the pool. The girl smiled and nodded her head. So did the other two. They felt safe. “Ping, let’s stand guard while the ladies get cleaned up.”

  CHAPTER 21

  After a quick soak, Ping escorted the Lahu girls back to camp where the three teens shared Dang’s former tent. Aside from having full bellies and water to drink, they were in seventh heaven, because Diana had given them lotion and a bar of soap.

  In the hot pool, Diana lingered in the water and made no attempt to cover-up when Wilder e
ntered. He’d seen her breasts before at the cabana in Sedona, but she now lounged totally nude, half-sitting, half-leaning on the rocks with water up to mid-thigh. Her shoulders and upper arms were well-developed, though he didn’t know it was from archery. The rest of her lean body appeared firm without being muscular. She appeared more a vision of Aphrodite than Diana the hunter.

  “Why don’t you come in, the water really is perfect.”

  He checked his watch, aware he was growing aroused. “It’s been forty-seven minutes. No change in the temp?”

  “No.” She looked at him demurely. “Come on in, I won’t bite.”

  He knew this wasn’t a come-on. “All right, I will.” He stripped down to his boxers, his manhood a thick center pole tenting out the cotton, and was going to slip in, then thought better of it. She had set the rules, so he removed his boxers as well.

  She didn’t stare, but from the corner of her eye she checked him out. He decided not to be embarrassed; the erection would recede quickly in the warm water.

  “Ahhhhhhhhh.”

  “Can you believe we’re doing this?”

  “You mean the illegal incursion into Burma that could get us executed as spies, or the moonlight hot tub?” he asked, settling into water up to his chin.

  “Take your pick.”

  “Life is full of surprises. I figure some Scottish or British mucky-muck during colonial times must have been a hot springs freak. He decided to build his vacation home right on top of one and must have been friendly enough with the Shan that they let him.”

  “It would be nice to get the girls out of here, to safety.”

  “Yeah, but how? We can’t spare Ping. Somebody’s got to be posted on that trail tomorrow in case the tatmadaw show up.”

  “I’d hate to send them off on their own. They could just get picked up again. They could even bring trouble to us.” She slipped further into the water, up to her neck, and made like she was treading, a warm rippling rushing through her fingers. “Think we could disguise a small encampment for them, away from the main camp and the mules, just in case.”