Death Trip

by Lee Weeks

‘I am in the process of trying to tap into her emails. She has contacts far afield, they cross many countries. Put it this way, I’ve seen the video footage—she doesn’t have boundaries.’

  29

  Jake grabbed the knife from behind the cooking pot and the five ran for the cover of the poppy fields, frantic to get away as the fight turned into a bloodbath and automatic gunfire rattled above their heads, leaving their trace in the night sky just metres away. They used the knife to cut their bonds and then they crawled on their hands and knees across the dried stony earth of the poppy field and headed towards the track at the far side. They crouched in the cover of the poppies.

  ‘We have to run for it,’ Jake whispered as the gunfire stopped. ‘Head diagonally across to the track and into the woods at the other side. We might have a chance in the dark. Thomas, you go the other side of Lucas, we’ll run together. Anna, hold Silke’s hand. Stay together. Ready?’ They all nodded. ‘GO!’

  Lucas staggered to his feet and under the shadow of darkness they galloped and smashed through the poppy heads. Jake looked behind them. He could see the jeeps coming, their headlights searching across the field, heading straight towards them. In the darkness he dropped the knife.

  ‘Keep running,’ he shouted. The darkness made it impossible to see where the poppy field ended. The yelps and howls of Saw’s men went up around the field. Then, ahead, Jake saw the trees rising black and blocking out the stars.

  ‘We’re nearly there! Quick!’ They ran on.

  The forest was half cleared at its edges: sawn trunks and discarded branches tripped them as they ran. They could hear the sound of Saw’s men howling to each other and the jeeps’ engines chewing up the poppy field. Jake looked across—for a second he couldn’t see Silke, and then he saw Anna helping her up. She had fallen.

  ‘Run, run…’ Jake shouted across to the girls. Silke looked behind and gave a small cry of fear. Weasel was within ten metres of them. His long legs were flying over the fallen trunks and the sawn stumps, his head held high like a cheetah, intent on its prey.

  ‘Thomas, take Lucas,’ said Jake. Thomas held on to Lucas. Jake turned back to the girls and he picked up a thick branch. The girls ran past him and he didn’t wait for Weasel to get to him—he sprang at him as he was running full pelt and smashed the wood in to Weasel’s skull. Weasel staggered under the blow and crashed noisily to the ground. Jake threw down the piece of wood and turned to catch up the others but he was blinded by car headlights. The others were on their knees, guns to their heads. Saw was standing over them, laughing. The next thing Jake saw was a flash of light that accompanied the sharp pain in the side of his head as Weasel knocked him out.

  30

  Thailand

  Nothing was moving out of Bangkok airport: the place was overrun by anti-government protesters. The prime minister was in hiding up near the old capital of Thailand, Chiang Rai, just a few hours north of Chiang Mai. Mann knew he was likely to remain there for a while until his safety could be guaranteed. The Thai military would have to do their best to see to it that the northern airports remain open the longest.

  Mann flew direct to Chiang Mai. For one nasty moment, he was kept waiting for his luggage by airport security and he thought they had discovered his shuriken concealed in the lining of his case. He didn’t dare risk losing his entire armoury to a nervous customs officer so this time he had hidden it. He also didn’t want them to look him up and thus announce that he was coming. He was lucky, it was just a random security check and they let him through without a thorough search. The whole airport had turned into a protest centre with people camping everywhere. Their eyes were not focused on foreign threats, they were on the brink of civil war.

  ‘First time in Thailand, sir?’

  The taxi driver turned and grinned at Mann. He handed Mann a mock leather folder full of glossy photos: elephant treks, river rafting, snake farms—details of unmissable trips. Mann idly flipped the pages as they drove away from the airport and then set the book down beside him on the battered leather seat of the old Saab.

  ‘No, it isn’t.’ Mann settled back to survey the scenery. There were no seatbelts but he was used to that. Hong Kong taxis never had them either. Mann would have said that he’d been there before, even if it had been his first time. He’d learned a long time ago never to tell taxi drivers this was your first time anywhere unless you wanted to see how long they could take to drive you the shortest distance and charge you double for it. But he wasn’t lying, in any case. It was seven years since Mann had visited Thailand. Last time he came it was on vacation with Helen. It was there she had cured him of his fear of talking and had undone the legacy of a childhood spent in a boarding school.

  ‘You here on business, sir? You come far?’

  ‘Yes, business. I came from Hong Kong.’

  ‘Ah…Hong Kong…great place, lovely city. No time for relax here, sir, take a trip? Buy umbrella to take home?’

  Mann shook his head wordlessly.

  ‘Please, take a card, sir,’ the taxi driver said when they reached the hotel. He fumbled in the dashboard and extracted a business card. ‘Maybe you find time for a trip. Relax.’ He turned and presented the card by holding it between the tips of his fingers and giving a small bow as if it were made of gold. Mann thanked him and took it with both hands—just the way he would have done in Hong Kong.

  ‘See the orchids. Touch the sleeping tigers, I will take you.’

  ‘I don’t need a trip, but I might need to take a taxi to Mae Sot.’

  ‘Mae Sot, Tak province, sir?’ He studied Mann in the mirror. ‘Very far, sir, over mountains. Take maybe six hours. I cannot go there. This car is too old for those roads. What you make there? That place not for tourists. Mae Sot very dangerous place right now.’ He looked at Mann; he wasn’t smiling. ‘All bad things come to Mae Sot, sir.’

  ‘How much would it cost?’ Mann asked but the taxi driver was already out of the car, Mann’s luggage in his hand, bowing low.

  ‘To get to Mae Sot? Many miles to Mae Sot. Cannot go. Apologies. Mae Sot is not good place for me.’

  Mann walked inside the hotel and across the expansive airy foyer, which was decorated with tropical planters and now eerily quiet. He was checked in by three bowing receptionists wearing matching cheongsams, all very eager to make themselves indispensable as they floated gracefully back and forth behind the desk. Nice room, he thought, as he tipped the porter. He left his case locked for now, whilst he studied the five’s itinerary.

  The first thing on their list was to meet up with an American, Louis King, the official tour guide:

  …where they will get acquainted with the spiritual aspects of their trip and spend an afternoon at the Enlightenment Centre, meeting the monks and learning about Buddhism, one of the three main religions in the camps.

  Mann had already emailed Louis and he was going to be waiting for him inside the yoga centre where he worked.

  Mann checked his email. One from Ng updating him on the situation.

  Your father seems to have documents scattered all over Hong Kong. He had more than one accountant, and what appears to be several solicitors, still holding personal and business documents. It’s not going to be possible for me to access those, you will have to do that when you come home. I will pursue the Amsterdam connection and hope it will be more transparent. Good luck, Genghis.

  He had another from Shrimp to say that he had been on the last flight allowed into Phuket before it was shut down and that he’d get back to Mann in a couple of days once he had the situation sussed. Now the shut-down had begun in the south. They were all marooned until it was settled one way or another. He left his room and went out in search of a tuktuk. He didn’t have to look far, there were several parked at the entrance to the hotel.

  ‘Drop me off near the temple…and the Enlightenment Centre.’

  The tuk-tuk belched smoke and shot off into the traffic. The pollution snatched at the back of Mann’s throat. Tuk-tuks weren�
�t equipped with suspensions: they bumped and grated and jolted their passengers and the fumes choked them as they sat in the traffic. They were the biggest death traps imaginable. If they were hit it would be like squishing a pea between fingers, but it was the fastest way to get up any alley or down busy main roads and, besides, it provided a few thrills. It wasn’t long before they pulled up at the side of the high wall of the temple.

  The tuk-tuk driver dropped him off and Mann walked through the crumbling entrance. Inside the courtyard everything was gold and beautifully ornate. What was referred to as ‘the temple’ was actually three temples of various designs, a small park, and a golden obelisk pointing towards the azure blue sky. At the far end of the park was the Enlightenment Centre where he was due to meet Louis in ten minutes.

  Mann stopped outside the first temple and took off his shoes. He placed them on the steps next to a flailing Buddha who was being eaten by a goggleeyed dragon. Mann had been brought up with the teachings of Buddha. His mum was a Catholic, his Dad a Taoist. Often in Hong Kong, Taoist and Buddhist worshipped at the same temple. Sometimes he had accompanied his father to the temple. Mann had never found comfort in religion, though it was a fascinating obsession for others. But he loved the peace, the tranquillity and the beauty of religious buildings. Ahead, the altar gleamed golden and red and around the walls were carvings and tablets and open, glassless windows. The stone floor was cool underfoot. Mann approached the altar.

  An old monk was sitting to his right, his legs tucked beneath him on a bench. He was writing in a notebook. His head was shaved. His orange robes were wrapped around him and caught over one shoulder, then tucked between the legs to give him trousers. He looked up and studied Mann as he entered. The monk remained still as Mann went to the altar and stood in reflective contemplation.

  ‘What is it you are seeking?’ The monk spoke in good English.

  Mann turned towards him and inclined his head in deference as he answered: ‘Five young people came to this temple six weeks ago. They came to learn about Buddhism, to learn about the culture.’

  The old monk did not answer for a few minutes; he remained passively staring out and Mann turned back to the opulent altar with its young-faced, slim Buddha smiling almost smugly back at him. Then came the noise of a shower of sticks falling onto the stone floor. Mann turned back to see the monk studying the formation of the fortune sticks that he had dropped.

  ‘The five volunteers who have been kidnapped?’ the monk asked, as he bent over the sticks to examine them. ‘It was I who taught them about the writings of Lord Buddha, here at the temple. I spent two days with them. They were willing students.’ He looked up and smiled. ‘I learned a lot from them also. I pray for them every day.’

  Mann walked over to the monk and sat on the mat beneath the bench. It was customary to keep your head below that of the monk’s out of respect. The old monk was looking at the sticks, lifting them each individually.

  ‘Did anything happen here that could explain why they were taken from the refugee camp?’ asked Mann.

  ‘Even before they came here, their fate was decided. Where there is cause there is effect. It is the Buddhist belief. Some bad deeds have been done in the past. Now these young people must pay.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  The monk opened his palm and showed Mann the sticks. ‘I read it in their fortune. I saw it in their fortune sticks. Bad deeds were done, not in their life but in another’s. Those deeds have come back to be paid now.’

  ‘What were the deeds?’

  He shook his head slowly, deliberately. ‘I know only that they are joined on a path that has no end and it was not of their construction. I knew you were coming, the sticks spoke of it. And now I see them again.’ He looked at the sticks and nodded his head as if he had seen something crystal clear. ‘I see that your death is joined to theirs.’ He looked at Mann and his eyes seemed to stare into Mann’s soul. ‘Where is your faith?’

  ‘I lost it a long time ago. I trust no man or god. I believe in people and their power to do good if they choose. There is no heaven and no hell, only the mark we choose to leave on others.’

  ‘Neither fire, nor wind, birth or death can erase our good deeds.’

  ‘What about bad ones?’

  ‘Do not dwell on the past; do not dream of the future, concentrate the mind on the present moment. Where the circle begins, so shall it end in the place where all life and death is represented. In the place where men buy and sell each other’s souls. I see you standing in the centre of your circle, surrounded by Death. I see you surrounded by the five young people. If they die, so will you.’

  31

  ‘Johnny Mann?’

  Mann turned at the sound of a New York accent and saw a tall, curly-haired man entering the temple. He was wearing a faded sarong around his lower half and a bleached-out cotton shirt on the top. He greeted the monk with a low bow.

  ‘Louis?’ The man came over to shake Mann’s hand.

  Louis had a strong handshake and the frame of a man once large and muscled, now devoid of all fat. But still the outline of the strength could be seen under his summer clothes. Mann looked at his arms. Where his sleeves were rolled up there were the faded scars of blue tattoos that had been removed.

  ‘I thought you might get here early so I’ve been looking out for you.’ His hair was a frizzy mass of curls that moved as if on springs as he talked. His blue-grey eyes, rimmed with dark blond lashes, held Mann’s gaze. His face was tanned and handsome, but weathered.

  ‘Please follow me.’

  Louis seemed anxious to leave the temple. But Thailand was not a country that encouraged haste of any kind. It was too hot to hurry, and Buddha’s teachings did not allow for impatience.

  When Mann stopped to bow his head towards the altar and pay his respects to the old monk, the monk raised his eyes from his notebook and held up his palms towards Mann, as if to communicate a message via his hands.

  ‘When you lose your way, go back to the beginning. Go to where all men are equal and there is no one religion. The circle is not yet complete. You can break it. But you must hurry; you are very near to death. You will be faced with a mirror and you will not know yourself in it.’

  Then he picked up his notebook and continued with his writing.

  Mann followed Louis out of the temple. An orangerobed monk was sweeping up outside the temple as they left. In the shade of the golden obelisk a dog lay panting on its side. Louis walked purposefully as he strode in front of Mann and they crossed the open courtyard and passed the two smaller temples. A tan-coloured feral dog roamed hungrily. All the dogs had the same look about them here, Mann thought, like short-haired, short-legged dingos.

  Louis gestured back towards the temple and the monk.

  ‘Crazy, huh? It’s a crazy world. Are you a Buddhist?’

  ‘I’ve had a taster of most religions. I tend to take the bits I like and leave the rest. I haven’t found one that offered me the whole package yet.’

  ‘I converted to Buddhism but I don’t go for the fortune-telling side of it. I try and live by the code of respect for others.’

  They walked back towards the rear of the courtyard, past the sweeping monk and two young monks who were playing tag amongst a washing line full of sheets. They reached the Enlightenment Centre’s doorway at the far end of the courtyard. Just outside the doorway a small altar sat, at eye level, and a sumo-sized Buddha smiled out from a garland of pink plastic flowers.

  ‘Buddhism is the main religion here?’

  ‘Not amongst the hill tribes. They are mainly animists. They make noises about being Christians or Buddhists but they sprinkle it with a liberal dose of their animist beliefs.’

  ‘Animists believe in what—nature?’

  ‘Yes. Everything has a spirit: the river, the mountain, men, and animals. All spirits must be appeased. It is a religion based on fear. They make blood sacrifices, go in for taboos, charms, that kind of thing. The dead worry them more th
an the living.’

  Louis stopped at the entrance and was about to step back to allow Mann to enter first when he held up his arm to stop him.

  ‘Like this mirror here…’ In the entrance to the centre was a circular mirror. ‘It has been left by an animist who is worried about the dead returning to this place. It is supposed to shock the spirit when it sees its own reflection and make him go away.’

  ‘Was it left here because someone thinks the five volunteers are dead?’

  Louis snatched the mirror away from the door.

  ‘Maybe.’ They entered the cool shade and musty darkness.

  ‘Do you know why they were taken?’

  ‘Wrong place, wrong time. That’s the only explanation.’

  ‘The old monk seemed to think someone else caused the trouble.’ Mann followed Louis into a gloomy corridor with that unmistakable smell of the tropics and no aircon—a mildly fizzing, sweetly unpleasant smell of things rotting in the heat.

  ‘He would say that. It’s what all Buddhism is founded on—cause and effect.’ Louis stopped in his tracks and looked across at Mann. ‘What are you getting at?’

  ‘You met them here that first day?’

  ‘Yes, I did.’

  ‘It was your job to look after them for their first week, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Yes. It was my job to shepherd them to the various people and places needed. That was all. My role was to give them an understanding of what the situation is with the hill tribes and their refugee status. I briefed them on what their specific job here would be at the camps—they were going to be helping to build a school. On a practical level, they needed to learn how to use the materials and what skills were involved in the actual building.’

  ‘Where did you go to teach them that?’

  ‘I took them up into the hills north of here. There is a centre for the tribes up there. We stayed there for three nights and they learned how to thatch, learned how to build. We had some fun. We trekked through the jungle and stayed with a remote tribe. They saw the problems, met the people, that kind of thing. The rest of the time they were here, they met monks and social workers and other non-government organisations—NGOs. I’ll show you their classroom.’