Temple of Gold

by A. J. Stewart

“He Tan’s man. He bring motorbike.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Lenny. It was Cambodian versus Cambodian, and he knew how that pained her.

  “Oh, he wake up later. Have very bad headache.”

  Lenny smiled. Then he frowned.

  “Where the hell is Lucas?”

  “Here, mate.”

  Lenny spun to see Lucas appear from the trees beside the reservoir hole. He was out of breath.

  “You got out okay, then,” said Lucas, nodding toward the hole.

  Lenny shook his head, and then stopped as the tiger let out one last almighty roar. Everyone looked toward the dark hole and Lenny felt his spine tingle, and then he looked back at Lucas, whose mouth had dropped open.

  “I’ll tell you about it over a beer sometime,” said Lenny.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  The four of them moved quickly back to the trees where Jarani had left the villagers. Then Lucas led the human convoy back into the camp. The chemical storage shed had almost burned itself out, but the structures in the camp still lit the night with their flames. Lenny took the rear in case any of Tan’s men remained, but he saw none. They had either fallen or fled, now that the snake’s head had literally been cut off.

  The trucks sat in the motor pool, silent and waiting. The soldier who had helped Lenny now helped the villagers to get up into the truck one last time.

  As they loaded everyone in, Lucas wandered to the large tent he hadn’t yet been inside. Tan’s tent. Although it was bigger than the others, the interior was hardly a palace. Tan slept in the same sort of cot as Professor Rangsay, and there was a wooden desk that was as scarred and scratched as if it had been hauled through the jungle—which, Lucas realized, it probably had. Unlike the professor’s tent, however, there was plenty of space. There were no books on the desk or on the floor, just an old English valet—a piece of furniture that Lucas remembered his mother calling a lazy butler. A pair of trousers and a coat hung from it, pressed and ready to wear. Perhaps Tan saved it for special occasions, like visits from the CIA or the Chinese.

  Lucas left the valet alone. He looked around the tent and then dropped to his knees by the modest bed. Underneath, he found a small locked chest. Lucas smashed it open with the butt of his rifle.

  Inside he found gold.

  Not bullion or bars, or even chunks or pieces. What he found were vials of gold, like coarse sand. He pulled out a single vial and felt the weight of it in his palm. It was heavier than it looked. He dropped the vial back inside, closed the chest, and picked it up. It was heavy. Not too heavy to carry, but he wouldn’t want to have to haul it too far.

  He was sweating by the time he got the chest to the truck. He dropped it onto the floor of the cabin with a thud that made the suspension bounce. Then he closed the door and wandered past Lenny, who was doing something with the other, empty truck, and jumped up in the bed.

  Lenny had stuffed a length of canvas—cut from the nearest tent—into the fuel tank. He pushed it in as far as it would go, and then he pulled it out, damp with gasoline. Then he pushed the dry end back into the tank. He lit the end of the canvas and walked over to the others.

  The Cambodian soldier lifted Jarani up into the truck bed, where Lucas helped her to sit beside him, and then the soldier offered Lenny the keys.

  Lenny shook his head. “You drive,” he said, and he jumped up into the truck bed with the others.

  The soldier fired up the engine and pulled out onto the track, the headlights offering a tunnel of light through an otherwise dark jungle. Lenny sat in silence at the front of the truck bed, while Lucas sat shoulder to shoulder with Jarani.

  “Why didn’t you leave?” he asked. “You should have left.”

  “We try,” she said. “Your plan not very good. We see Tan go after him,”—she shot a look at Lenny—“and then we see men chase you into jungle. Then we see tiger follow Tan. We think you need new plan.”

  Lucas smiled. “Thanks.”

  Jarani’s face softened for the first time. “You welcome.”

  The soldier didn’t drive fast. There was no reason to, and the track was so potholed that they were bouncing around enough as it was. About two minutes later, they heard the truck they had left behind explode. Lenny didn’t flinch or smile. He just didn’t want anyone chasing them down, should anyone still be out there.

  They pulled into the village. The soldier killed the engine but left the headlights on. Lucas jumped down and helped Jarani out, and then offered a hand to Lenny, who brushed it away. They left the villagers sitting in the truck bed and strode into the middle of the space between the dormant firepit and the huts. The village felt deserted.

  “Komar,” called Jarani. “Komar!”

  Her voice was swallowed by the jungle. She called again, and again.

  Then a small body appeared from the trees. A frail, frightened child, dirty and hungry. Lucas couldn’t say if it was a boy or a girl, but it didn’t matter. The child moved slowly out of the jungle where Jarani had told them to hide and into the beam of the headlights.

  Another child appeared beside the first, and then another. One by one they came, unsure but hopeful, out from the jungle and into the light. Jarani ushered them to the rear of the truck. There were cries of recognition and tears, as the villagers in the truck held out their hands to their children. Some of the children stuck by Jarani—those that had lost their parents and were otherwise alone.

  Lucas wandered away from the people and the light, beyond the firepit, to where the land fell away into the rice paddies. He pulled out his radio.

  “Labrador, this is Husky, come in.”

  He waited a moment and then repeated his call.

  “Labrador, this is Husky. You can collect the groceries. Come in.”

  There was no reply. No static, no sound. Lucas checked the radio and found it turned on.

  Then he heard the sound. The whomp-whomp of distant rotors. Low at first and then building, a sound that had become synonymous with Southeast Asia for all the wrong reasons.

  The throbbing noise grew louder but no lights shone. The Pilot was flying dark, no navigation lights. Just an omnipresent sound that enveloped the darkness and gave away little of the chopper’s exact position.

  Then, the middle of the rice paddies exploded in light as the chopper’s spotlight shot down onto the ground. Like the gaze of a giant eye, it searched out Lucas, who waved his arms like he held glow sticks at an airport runway, and the light moved across him and into the space in front of the truck.

  The Pilot lowered the Huey nice and slow, coming in with the nose of the aircraft to the front of the truck, right where Ventura’s pilot had landed during his visit. He touched down gently and killed the engine, and then he slipped out of the cockpit as the rotors slowed.

  “How’s ya day?” asked the Pilot.

  “Fruitful,” said Lucas.

  Lucas ushered the Pilot over to the truck, where the children and adults all looked at the skinny man without fear or favor.

  “Quite a few,” said the Pilot. “Any bogies about?”

  “I think we’re safe enough. Why?”

  “Trat, you reckon?”

  “That’s what Lenny says.”

  The Pilot nodded. “Two or three trips would be safest. Prefer not to have anyone fall out, and you look like you’ve got a few who might need a lie-down.”

  “Whatever you think,” said Lucas.

  “Got something to do first.” The Pilot ambled back to the chopper and leaned into the main fuselage. Then he came back, casual as a lazy Sunday spent feeding the ducks at a pond.

  The Pilot ripped open a bag of chocolates. They were in little individual wrappers with a picture of a frog on the front. He showed one of the children how to open the little packet, to reveal the chocolate frog. The little guy took it cautiously, but he needed no instruction on what to do with it. He bit into it and savored the sweet chocolate, and then he smiled. The Pilot handed chocolates out to all the children, and then
he passed the remains of the bag to one of the adults and stood back.

  Lucas nodded and smiled.

  The Pilot shrugged. “Kids love Freddo Frogs,” he said. “I get ’em flown in by a QANTAS bloke I know who does the Sydney–Bangkok route.”

  Lenny walked over to the chopper and slipped into the cockpit. He pulled out the digital radio and put out a call.

  Alice must have been waiting, as her response was immediate.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  “All good. We’ve got some incoming.”

  “We’re ready.”

  Lenny performed triage and loaded the helicopter with a few of the frailer adults, who were strapped to the floor of the fuselage, and with the unaccompanied children, who were strapped into jump seats. Lucas led Jarani over to the chopper and offered her the last remaining seat, in the cockpit beside the pilot.

  “No,” said Jarani. “I wait.”

  “No,” replied Lucas. “Better you go now. The other children have people. These kids have no people. They need you.”

  Jarani didn’t look sure, but relented. Lucas helped her into the cockpit and then showed her how to buckle in. Lenny came up beside Lucas.

  “I have a friend who will look after you,” said Lenny.

  Jarani nodded.

  “We’ll be there soon enough,” said Lucas, and before he could move away, Jarani grabbed his hand. She held onto him for a moment, and Lucas nodded. Then Lenny and Lucas stepped away, and the Pilot fired up his bird, and the rotors spun and the sound grew, and as they watched, the Huey lifted off the ground.

  Within a minute the chopper was lost to sight, and the village fell silent. The remaining villagers and children sat quietly, and Lenny and Lucas wandered over to the firepit and sat down.

  “Smoke ’em if you’ve got ’em,” said Lenny.

  “I don’t smoke,” said Lucas. “But you go ahead.”

  “I don’t smoke, either. Most guys do, so . . .”

  “I could murder a beer, though.”

  “Roger that.”

  Lenny lit the fire and stoked it with wood. He wasn’t planning on cooking, and he certainly wasn’t cold, but he wanted to give the Pilot a beacon to hone in on when he returned. As he poked the fire, he wondered how long Tan’s campsite would burn. He settled back beside Lucas.

  “People aren’t going to be happy about what happened here,” Lenny said.

  “What people?”

  “People. Your people, my people, other people.”

  Lucas pursed his lips as if he was thinking. Then he frowned. “What happened here?”

  Lenny shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “A rampant tiger?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Maybe a chemical explosion? That’s what it’ll look like from the air.”

  Lenny nodded. “Will someone take pictures from the air?”

  “I reckon they will,” said Lucas, with a wink. “In a day or two, if I had to guess.”

  Lenny let out a deep breath and ran his hand through his thick red hair.

  “You need a haircut,” said Lucas.

  “I need a shower.”

  “Roger that.”

  “I think I’m getting used to the hair, though.”

  “I had a different impression of the United States Marines.”

  “So do they, I assure you.”

  The two men sat back and waited. They did plenty of waiting. Lenny wondered if it was the waiting that had brought him to this point. Too much time to think. The Marines usually got around that problem by creating work. The Marines had the cleanest boots, the cleanest floors, and the cleanest latrines in the military, Lenny was confident of that. All because they wanted their men busy. But on detachment with Ventura’s group, Lenny had no such make-work. He smiled to himself. Ventura could learn a thing or two from the Marines about keeping his people from thinking too much, and doing something to stay busy instead.

  About two hours later, the whomp-whomp of the chopper filled the night once more. By the time the Pilot touched down, Lenny and Lucas had the remaining villagers and children standing in a line by the truck. The Pilot saw them waiting, so he didn’t kill the engine, and Lenny took the front of the line and helped people in, while Lucas took the rear and made sure everyone got there.

  It was a squeeze, but all the villagers and children fit. Weight was always the biggest issue with a chopper, and these poor people weighed next to nothing. The only remaining seat, however, was in the cockpit, and there were three of them left: Lenny, Lucas, and the soldier who had helped Jarani and the others escape.

  Lenny pointed at the soldier and then at the open seat in the chopper. The soldier shook his head. Lenny pointed again.

  “You go!” Lenny yelled over the din of the helicopter engine.

  Again the soldier shook his head. This time he pointed. He pointed at himself, and then he pointed at one of the children in the chopper. Then he pointed out toward the jungle.

  Lenny took a breath. He understood. The man had a child, or children, still out there somewhere. A family. Perhaps a wife, too. Lenny wanted to offer a smile but couldn’t. The soldier had to search for his family, and Lenny feared he would never find them. Or worse, that he would find them but wish he hadn’t. But he knew that in the soldier’s position, he would do the same, so he let it go.

  Instead, Lenny turned to Lucas and nodded at the helicopter. “You go,” he yelled.

  “Nah, I’m good. Just tell the Pilot to make sure he comes back for me.”

  Lenny nodded again and then jumped up into the cockpit. He spoke with the Pilot and then stepped back down into the dirt. He closed the door and moved away from the chopper. The Huey took off again, banked, and headed for Thailand, and left Lenny and Lucas once more with the jungle’s night sounds.

  The three soldiers stood for a moment in the village that wasn’t really a village at all. Yes, there were buildings to offer shelter, and a firepit to provide food, and although that was sufficient to sustain life, it didn’t seem enough to earn the name. Villages were about community, about shared times, both good and bad. No one here had sat around the campfire and told stories, or played instruments, or sung songs. Children had never played here. It was, they realized, more akin to a prison barracks than a village. And now it was empty, the prisoners freed.

  The Khmer soldier approached Lenny and Lucas. He extended his hand and Lenny did likewise, and then the soldier gripped him with both hands, and he bowed.

  “Thank you,” he said, perhaps the only words he knew in English.

  Lenny said nothing. He just nodded. Then the soldier repeated his bow to Lucas, and offered another halting thank you.

  “No worries,” said Lucas, not expecting the other man to understand.

  The soldier then went to the firepit, and he put a fallen branch into the flame until it lit. For a moment Lenny thought he would use it as a torch, but he didn’t head into the jungle. Instead, he carried the burning branch to the farthest of the huts, and he held the flame against the structure until the gnarled wood caught fire. Then he moved to the next hut, and the next, until every building burned. He returned to the firepit, where he dropped his burning branch. He looked at Lenny and Lucas and nodded, and then he walked away.

  “Hey, Narong,” called Lucas.

  The soldier stopped. Lucas took a flashlight from his webbing and turned it on, and then he tossed it to the soldier, who caught it, held it up in thanks, and wandered back up the track that led to Tan’s camp.

  They watched him until he was gone, and then the two men sat down on the edge of the rice paddies, backs to the memories that were burning behind them.

  They didn’t speak, but allowed their thoughts to wander, across recent events and past deeds and over oceans, to faraway places and choices offered and decisions made. They didn’t say anything even when they finally heard the Huey approaching again from the west. They didn’t move when the chopper touched down and the Pilot killed the engine and t
he rotors slowed and then stopped.

  The Pilot walked slowly over to them, and then dropped some kind of container on the dirt.

  “You boys all right?” he asked.

  “Fine,” said Lenny.

  “Good as gold,” said Lucas, causing Lenny to shoot him a smile. “So to speak.”

  The Pilot opened his container and pulled out two cold beers.

  “Thought you fellas might be thirsty,” he said, handing them the cold bottles.

  “You’re a gentleman and a scholar,” said Lucas.

  “I’ll second that,” said Lenny.

  They each took a long drink while the Pilot opened his own beer. He stood and stretched his back, his muscles tight from hours in the cockpit. He looked over the piles of burned rubble that had been the huts.

  “You boys have a bonfire?”

  “Something like that,” said Lucas.

  “Did everyone get to the base okay?” asked Lenny.

  The Pilot nodded. “Yeah. Safe as houses. In fact, why don’t you come see?”

  They finished their beers in one pull and then tossed the empties back into the cooler. Lenny and Lucas climbed up into the chopper and strapped into jump seats, and the Pilot stowed the cooler and then ran through his well-rehearsed pre-flight checks.

  “Hang on a sec,” said Lucas, who unbuckled and jumped down out of the chopper. He walked over to the truck and opened the passenger-side door. With a grunt, he lifted up the chest from the floor of the cab and hauled it to the chopper, where he dumped the chest onto the floor and pushed it under his seat. Then he strapped himself back in.

  “We right now?” asked the Pilot.

  Each man nodded his head, and the Pilot fired up the Huey, and within a minute they were tearing across the dark sky, the landscape of a place once called Cambodia, now called Kampuchea, flying by unseen and long forgotten.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  The flight took a little over forty-five minutes, and the Pilot dropped onto the tarmac with a fast, fluid landing that suggested he was showing someone down there that this was how it was done. Lenny took off his headset and waited for the engines to stop and the sound to drop to the steady whir of the blades, and then he jumped down.