Sea of Death

by Richard P. Henrick

  This was the thirty-two-year-old lexicologist’s first visit to Southeast Asia. She had studied the area extensively while in college, and had jumped at the chance to experience it firsthand when offered this assignment a week ago. So far, she wasn’t the least bit disappointed.

  She had spent the first two days of her trip in Bangkok, as the guest of the US embassy. Thailand’s capital city was a bustling, exciting place. Not only was it a modern, thriving commercial center, but it was also filled with dozens of magnificent temples and fascinating museums.

  Miriam had especially enjoyed visiting the Chapel of the Emerald Buddha. Built in 1785 and situated within the walls of the Royal Palace, its noteworthy treasures included a stunning jasper image of Buddha that was reputed to be more than six hundred years old.

  And just yesterday afternoon she had explored the city’s numerous canals. Bangkok was situated on both banks of the Chao Phraya river. This site was a natural flood plain, and the intricate canal system provided a convenient transportation network for the capital’s inhabitants.

  Afterward her escort, a handsome, young Californian assigned to the embassy’s military staff, had accompanied her to the infamous Patapong district.

  Here an entire square block of the city was filled with nothing but nude bars and massage parlors. Though they hadn’t visited one of these dens of iniquity, they had eaten at a nearby restaurant known for its fresh seafood. The Thai cuisine was superb, and Miriam had eaten her fill of spicy shrimp, scallops, and lobster.

  She’d boarded the helicopter the following morning, shortly after dawn. Doing her best to accustom herself to the constant chopping whine of the Huey’s rotor blades, Miriam now anxiously awaited the conclusion of the long journey that had started out three days ago in Fort Detrick, Maryland.

  Knowing full well that her ultimate destination was less than a half-hour distant, she grabbed her restraining harness when the Huey’s cabin began to shake violently.

  Outside, the midmorning sky remained clear, and Miriam wondered if they were having some sort of engine problem. Her fears were alleviated with the approach of the helicopter’s systems operator. Lieutenant Charlie Kirdyo.

  “Don’t worry. Doctor. It’s only a little turbulence. It will pass shortly.”

  Lieutenant Kirdyo’s prediction soon came to pass; the shaking stopped as abruptly as it had started.

  Miriam caught the Thai airman’s kind glance.

  “How much longer until we’re there?” she asked.

  Kirdyo peered out the open hatchway and pointed toward a tall mountainous peak just visible on the northeastern horizon.

  “That’s Phu Bia, the highest mountain in Laos.

  We’ll besetting you down at its base, at the village of Ban Son on the mountain’s southern flank in another ten minutes or so.”

  Like Miriam, Kirdyo was dressed in a dark green flight suit and helmet. The only noticeable difference in his attire was the.45-caliber pistol he had strapped to his hip. The mustached airman had a calm, easygoing manner. He spoke perfect English, and had a face that reminded the lexicologist of a Thai version of the actor Stacey Keach.

  “Have you landed at Ban Son before. Lieutenant?” she queried.

  “I’m afraid not. Doctor. That’s Pathet Lao country.”

  Miriam peered out the hatchway and absorbed this curt response. Back at the embassy in Bangkok, she had been briefed on the current activities of the Pathet Lao. This militant Marxist organization had been fighting to control Laos for decades. Responsible for the deaths of untold thousands of innocent civilians, the Pathet Lao were notorious for their violent, unconventional methods of political persuasion.

  As Miriam looked out to the slopes of the distant, nine-thousand-foot peak that had called her halfway around the world, she pondered the deadly epidemic that awaited her below. The initial reports, though vague, told of a mysterious disease, of unknown origin, that was ravaging the countryside. Hardest hit were the inhabitants of Ban Son, where dozens of men, women, and children had already succumbed to a fatal sickness that had no known treatment. As a toxicologist, Miriam Kromer was to root out the source of this deadly epidemic and eliminate it, so that it would kill no more. This urgent, allimportant task would be far from an easy one, and she could only pray that her extensive training would prove sufficient in the difficult days to come.

  The high-pitched whine of the Huey’s rotors changed pitch as the helicopter began losing altitude.

  Less than a thousand feet of airspace now separated them from the rolling terrain below.

  As they passed over a narrow river valley, Miriam spotted a dozen or so figures emerging from the tree line. On the back of each of these shabbily dressed individuals was a large wicker basket, and they all seemed to be following afootpath that led up into the surrounding hills.

  It was Lieutenant Kirdyo who identified them.

  “Those are Hmong tribespeople, most likely from the village of Ban Tian Ca.”

  “What’s that they’re carrying in those baskets?” asked Miriam.

  “It’s raw opium poppy,” answered Kirdyo matter-of-factly.

  “Welcome to the Golden Triangle, Doctor!”

  It had only just turned nine a.m., and already a wave of humid, oppressive heat blanketed the village of Ban Son. The naked bodies of the handful of children who ran down the rut-filled, muddy thoroughfare serving as the town’s main street were long ago drenched in sweat. Even the scrawny dogs they played with were affected by the warmth, which sapped the very volume of the occasional feeble yelp one let out.

  From the shaded interior of a large, wall-less open-air clinic. Father

  David Goss watched the playing children with envy, for a few blessed seconds escaping the death and suffering that had been his constant companions for more days than he could remember.

  He did his best to wipe off his wire-rimmed glasses and pat dry his forehead with a soaked handkerchief.

  On this scorching morning, he felt every one of his fifty-three years and then some. Weariness weighed down his limbs and clouded his thoughts.

  Earlier, for a terrifying, lonely moment, he had lost sight of his purpose here. This crisis of faith had been very real. Fighting the temptation to give up and abandon his healing mission, he implored the One Father to give him the strength to carryon It was through prayer that he eventually retapped the spiritual light needed to reaffirm his faith.

  Shamed by his moment of weakness, he had set out on his morning’s rounds with a renewed determination to share this healing light with his patients. For even if he couldn’t cure the sickness that consumed their fever-racked bodies, at least he could prepare their souls for the heavenly realm that lay beyond.

  With a heavy sigh, Goss took a last fond look at the lively children before returning to his morning duties.

  Each of the makeshift clinic’s twenty-four cots were occupied. His patients ranged from mere infants to wizened elders. All displayed similar symptoms, and each would share the same fate.

  Though death had yet to visit them on this particular morning, Goss felt its cold presence hovering close-by. With such a morbid thought in mind, he joined his young Laotian nurse, Mei, who was in the midst of her rounds.

  Like the true angel of mercy that she was, Mei stood before a cot holding a sunken-cheeked, emaciated old-timer. Bloody spittle ran down the patient’s chin, and he appeared to have fallen asleep with his eyes wide open. As she reached out to feel for a pulse, Goss signaled her not to bother.

  “Forget it, Mei,” he advised.

  “His time of earthly suffering is over.”

  Goss closed the old man’s eyelids, made the sign of the crossover his wrinkled forehead, and covered the fresh corpse with a white sheet.

  “I feel so powerless,” Mei declared, her voice quivering with emotion.

  The priest’s response was interrupted by a low-pitched, monotonous chant, emanating from the opposite aisle. There, beside a cot holding a white-haired woman, stoo
d a baldheaded middle-aged Laotian in an orange robe. It was from this wide-eyed individual’s lips that the chant came.

  Both Goss and Mei watched as the man began stroking the old woman’s body with along, white feather.

  Next a censer of incense was ignited, and a pencil-thin stream of pungent smoke was waved over the prone patient’s head. The chant intensified.

  “So, the shaman has returned. Shall I get him to leave?” Mei calmly asked.

  Goss shook his head.

  “Why bother, Mei? He’ll only return in an hour or so. And besides, who’s to say that his methods are no sounder than our own.”

  The distinctive clatter of a helicopter could be heard, and the priest expectantly looked up to the tin ceiling.

  “It appears that our long-anticipated visitors have finally arrived. Now we can only pray that they can come up with some sort of answer to this madness.”

  The priest turned and somberly led the way outside.

  Mei accompanied him, and they both followed the excited villagers heading to the broad clearing at Ban Son’s southern outskirts. The ragtag group arrived at its destination just as the helicopter landed. The wash of the still-spinning rotors kicked up a blinding whirlwind of choking dust, and they protected their eyes as best they could.

  The dust settled only when the engine was turned off and the rotors spun to a halt. Father Goss wiped off the clouded lenses of his glasses and then looked on as a soldier emerged from the helicopter’s hatchway.

  This alert, mustached figure carried an M-16 rifle.

  After a hasty scan of the clearing, he beckoned toward the Huey and another individual climbed out of the cabin. The priest could clearly see from this one’s shapely build that she was female. This was affirmed when she removed her flight helmet and shook free along mane of thick red hair. She carried a black medical bag, and Goss eagerly stepped forward to initiate the introductions.

  “Welcome to Ban Son. I’m Father David Goss, the head of the local clinic, and this is my nurse, Mei.”

  “Pleased to meet you. I’m Dr. Miriam Kromer.”

  As they traded handshakes, the priest hastily sized up his visitor. She was certainly younger than he had expected. She had soft blue eyes and natural good looks that required a minimum of makeup. He liked the way she directly returned his appraising stare and got right down to business.

  “Father Goss, I read your initial report with great concern and interest. Are the symptoms you detailed still prevailing?”

  Goss nodded.

  “That they are. Doctor. And so is the death rate. If this disease isn’t checked soon, we could lose the entire village by the onslaught of the rainy season.”

  Kromer responded while studying the collection of locals huddled behind the priest.

  “The symptoms that your report mentioned — headache, vomiting, high fever, and internal bleeding-could be characteristic of a fungal infection. Perhaps a natural-growing my co-toxin has entered the food chain here.”

  “That possibility has crossed my mind,” said Goss.

  “But I’m far from an expert in such matters.”

  Kromer’s glance returned to the priest.

  “Well, hopefully I can help. My doctorate’s in toxicology.”

  “May I ask what hospital you’re affiliated with, Doctor?” asked Goss.

  “Of course you can. Father. I’m currently working for the Armed Forces Intelligence Center at Fort Detrick, Maryland.”

  This revelation caused the priest to flinch with abhorrence.

  “I never dreamed my report would reach the military.”

  Surprised by this reaction, Kromer did her best to be as honest as possible.

  “You have nothing to fear from me. Father. I’m only here to help.”

  The buzzing, mechanical drone of a small plane sounded in the distance, and all eyes went to the blue heavens. It was Lieutenant Kirdyo who pointed out alone propeller-driven aircraft lazily approaching from the cast.

  Dr. Kromer identified this single-engine plane as a Piper Cub. It certainly looked innocent enough. Yet with its continued approach, the local villagers turned and ran back to town as if the devil himself were on their tails.

  “What’s gotten into them?” asked the puzzled toxicologist.

  It was Mei who answered.

  “They’re afraid of chimi, the yellow rain that is said to often follow such overflights.

  Many of the Hmong feel that this is the substance responsible for the plague that has struck this village.”

  Kromer’s eyes opened wide with interest.

  “Do you happen to have any samples of this chimi?”

  The priest reacted with instant disgust.

  “So that’s what you’ve come for. I should have guessed your real motive. You don’t believe this socalled yellow rain is real, that it’s aman-made toxin being utilized to kill innocent men, women, and children?”

  “Father Goss, that is only one of the things I’m here to determine,” Kromer answered directly.

  “Then let’s get on with it,” said the priest with a heavy sigh.

  “Though I begged for medicine and some decent equipment, all they send me is another spy.

  There was a yellow rain reported as early as yesterday, beside a stream only a few kilometers from this spot.

  I’m certain there is plenty of evidence left to keep you and your friends back in the Pentagon busy for months to come.”

  Kromer sensed the hurt and disappointment in his tone, yet readily accepted the priest’s offer to escort her to the site. After relaying her intentions to the helicopter’s flight crew, she followed Father Goss down a narrow earthen track that led away from the village.

  Included in this group was Lieutenant Kirdyo, who brought up the rear with a two-way radio and his trusty M-16 in hand.

  The trail led down a steep hillside. As the sun continued to rise high in the clear sky, the heat intensified.

  Her flight suit already stained with perspiration, Kromer tied a bandana around her forehead to keep the sweat out of her eyes.

  The priest seemed oblivious to the torrid temperature and kept up a blistering pace. As they continued their rapid descent, thickening bands of vegetation signaled that they were entering a river valley. Though the humidity persisted, the tall palm trees that now lined both sides of the trail helped block the incessant sunshine.

  The exotic cries of jungle creatures filled the air with song, while the constant crash of swiftly flowing water echoed in the distance.

  Dr. Miriam Kromer subconsciously absorbed these alien sounds, yet found her thoughts pondering a vastly different matter. What was the reason for the priest’s disgust upon hearing of her military affiliation and interest in the yellow rain? And why washe so reluctant to admit that the Hmong could bethe victims of a deliberate biological attack? Perhaps he didn’t think man was capable of such a dastardly thing. Kromer knew otherwise, and looked forward to gaining his trust so that she could present her case at a later date.

  The crash of flowing water intensified, and as they rounded a broad bend, they were forced to halt at the spot where the trail crossed a shallow stream. Father Goss pointed to the thick vegetation hugging the other side.

  “The yellow rain was said to have fallen over there, on the opposite bank.”

  Kromer reached into her pack and removed three gauze face masks. She distributed them with the briefest of explanations.

  “I think it best if each one of us wear one of these.”

  Lieutenant Kirdyo watched the toxicologist don her mask and carefully copied her procedure. The priest seemed somewhat reluctant ashe halfheartedly put on his own mask and then led the way across the stream.

  It didn’t take long for Kromer to discover a dark green palm frond covered with tiny yellow spots.

  Under the watchful eye of the priest, she utilized tweezers and scissors to cut off several samples, which she sealed in aplastic bag. The surrounding vegetation was similarly spotted, an
d as Dr. Kromer proceeded to gather more samples. Lieutenant Kirdyo’s two-way radio activated with a burst of static. This alien electronic noise was replaced by a deep amplified voice that Kromer identified as belonging to Captain Samrong, the Huey’s pilot.

  “Lieutenant Kirdyo, it’s imperative that you and Dr.

  Kromer return to Ban Son immediately. We have just received an order to return to Bangkok with all due haste.”

  Before Kirdyo could respond to this directive, the lexicologist took the radio out of his hands and spoke into its transmitter.

  “Captain Samrong, I’m afraid you don’t understand. I have much work to do out here.

  I’ve not completed it.”

  The captain’s amplified voice responded firmly.

  “No, Doctor, I’m afraid it’s you who doesn’t understand.

  This order directing you to return to Bangkok comes from your very own ambassador.”

  Not about to question such a supreme authority, Kromer tempered her defiance.

  “Very well, Captain.

  We’re on our way back.”

  She handed the radio back to Kirdyo and bent over to take one more leaf sample before stowing her gear and following her escorts back to the path. As she was crossing the stream, aloud buzzing noise caught her attention. She looked up and spotted several massive hives built into the branches of the overhanging trees.

  At that very moment, a huge swarm of bees passed overhead and she found that she was virtually showered with tiny yellow droppings. A wide grin turned the corners of her mouth as she ripped off her mask and addressed her two companions.

  “I believe it’s safe to remove your masks, gentlemen.

  And by the way, I think I’ve just solved the mystery of the socalled yellow rain. It’s nothing but bee defecation!”

  As she pointed to the nearby hives, Lieutenant Kirdyo questioned, “Could such a thing be responsible for the sickness at Ban Son?”

  “No, Lieutenant,” replied Kromer.

  “It’s not the yellow rain that’s responsible. Most likely it’s a natural fungal infection exacerbated by cholera, malaria, and the Hmong’s chronic malnourishment. We just have to see about sending plenty of medicine and food up here, and getting Father Goss some additional medical help as well.”