Assignment Bangkok (14 page)

“What a hell of a name for a Buddhist monk,” she said. “I don’t know why I came up here with you.”

There were posters of Mao Tse-tung and a number of signs in Chinese calligraphy, and a propaganda flag calling for the death of ah Western imperialists, plastered and painted on the village houses. Obviously, Bangkok’s security forces made no effort to penetrate this stronghold of the insurgents. The trail turned left, past a tall grove of bamboo, and went down toward the distant valley and the even more distant gorge. Durell heard the old man still shouting as they left the village behind them.

The village smelled of burned oil, cordite, dead bodies and offal. Xo Dong had died violently, the victim of a terrorist raid that had burned houses and fields and sent bullets smashing into women and children. Half the houses were razed, and provisions and river boats were stolen. Everything was stripped. Only a few rags moved forlornly from a rope of washing down by the river. It was nine o’clock in the morning.

A small tributary stream ran along the main village street and emptied into the wider river that came out of the gorge, three miles east along the border. This time, the absence of villagers was permanent. No one challenged them as they carefully entered the wrecked town. Not even a dog or a chicken had been left alive.

“Why did they do it?” Benjie murmured.

“Maybe because of Mike.”

“I don’t understand that.”

“Maybe they gave Mike shelter and help,” Durell said.

“Don’t think about it. It’s a good place to make our headquarters.”

“Here?” She was appalled at the desolation.

“Nobody will come back here for a long time. We’ll be safe enough.”

He discovered several houses that had escaped the raiders, near the river behind a screen of tall bamboo and banana trees. Durell chose one that seemed cleaner than the others, a wooden house with a wide veranda on poles built over the water. Most of the primitive furniture still remained, and a ruined motorcycle testified to a certain amount of affluence for the family that had lived here. It had been a long hike over the mountain from the tea plantation where they had hidden the plane, but if the sound of the Apache’s engines had made any alarm among the smugglers farther up the valley, there was no hint of it. Durell saw that Benjie’s face was too tight and too pale, and he distracted her by suggesting the use of the charcoal stove to make them a decent breakfast during the respite.

“Yes, there’s some rice. Even some bacon.”

“Leave the bacon. It’ll probably be spoiled. Rice and tea will be fine,” Durell said.

“I’m not hungry, though.”

“I am. Go on, Benjie.”

“How do you plan to locate Mike?” She stood on the veranda of the abandoned house and squinted east into the morning sun that glittered on the muddy river. “Mike could be anywhere in these hills. Anywhere. There are a hundred trails going in every direction. Nobody pays attention to the borders here. Savag’s troops are supposed to maintain checkpoints in this district, but I haven’t seen anything of them.”

“I’m sure they’re around,” Durell said.

“But what about Mike?”

Kem said quietly, “I will find him. You two can stay here. I will be back by noon, I promise. It will be safe enough for me. The villagers will help me—especially the women.” The
bhikkhu
grinned. “If Mike is alive, I will learn where he is.”

“He must be dead,” Benjie said, discouraged. “The whole valley is swarming with Muc Tong and Red forces.”

“If he is dead, then it is important to learn that, too,” Kem said gravely.

He left his pack in the house and made Benjie a wai, palms pressed together serenely. Durell watched him for a minute or two as he lifted his orange robe and waded across the shallow stream that emptied into the river nearby. The bright robe flickered against the green of the jungle. There was another sign nailed to a teak tree on the other side of the river, which also read
‘Ham’
—forbidden. A board under it was scrawled in Thai script, announcing the territory as belonging to the People’s Liberation Army of the United Thai Front. They always used attractive names and slogans, Durell thought grimly, and they always meant the opposite of what they said.

He did not like the waiting. Patience was a prime necessity in his business, and waiting and watching and learning was part of the game, and sometimes to keep alive simply by sitting still and out-guessing the enemy in silence. But he didn’t like it. He was not happy that Flivver had gone out alone, while he remained here with Benjie, but it made sense to let the monk do the scouting.

Benjie made the tea and rice and they ate together in the shade of the veranda, under the overhanging thatch roof. A hot wind blew off the river and kept the smells of the destroyed town from touching them. The girl was distant, thinking thoughts that Durell could not guess.

“You look tired,” he said quietly.

“I am. I don’t often admit it. But it’s not just from last night and today and all the things about Mike. It’s just all the years in the past.”

“Are you worried about your losses at the logging camp?”

She shook her head. In the shadows, the planes of her face were softened. She had tied back her long hair with a stray piece of bright green ribbon that made her eyes look more emerald than before. There was a rip in her shirt

Assignment—Bangkok 115 that exposed one sun-browned shoulder. Her lower Up was full. Her mouth drooped.

“All these years,” she went on. “What for? What’s it gotten me? I thought I had to take care of Mike, my little brother, and play the mother role to him. But he’s a big boy now, and I ought to accept it, Sam. I’m not his keeper any more.”

“He doesn’t want you to be his keeper.”

“I suppose not. I suppose he’s always resented the way I’ve tried to boss him around.” She smiled ruefully. “It’s not been easy, playing mother and father to him all these years.”

“And you never paid much attention to yourself.”

“I’m afraid I haven’t. I’m a mess, I guess. Not the sort of girl you’d take to a New York cocktail party, eh?” She laughed a little. “It isn’t that I don’t like myself the way I am. But I wonder if it’s all been worth it—the fighting for business advantages, keeping accounts, looking for new opportunities, competing with men in their world—well, I’m suddenly tired of it. I’d like to stay right here, forever, where no one would ever find us.”

“We can stay only until Flivver comes back.”

She said, “Do you trust him?”

“I have to.”

“But you don’t trust me?”

“I think I do.”

“But you’re not sure,” she persisted.

“No.”

She said, “You make me feel dirty, with all your suspicions. I feel as if I need a bath.”

He smiled. “We both do. And there’s the river.”

She was startled. “Now?”

“Why not? It’s the last peaceful moment we’ll have for a while,” Durell said. “We ought to enjoy it.”

“Are you making a pass at me, Sam?”

“Yes.”

She made a low whistling sound, laughing uncertainly, and said, “Wow. It’s been a long tune.” “Too long, I think,” Durell said quietly. He took her hand. “Come on.”

Her pale body moved smoothly in the clear water of the mountain brook that tumbled down above the ruined village of Xo Dong. Sunlight dappled the quick-moving surface of the stream, and tall bamboo and wild flowers brightened the rocky banks. There was only the sound of the rushing water and the occasional murmur of the mountain wind, accented by the clear notes of brightly colored birds that flitted in the trees. Durell watched the girl swimming naked and alone in the brook. Her long hair streamed wetly behind her. She lifted a sun-browned arm that formed an abrupt white line above her breasts. He was surprised by the richness of her slender body.

“Come on in, Sam. The water’s fine.”

He left his clothes and gun on the bank, within quick reach if necessary. The dynamite and Benjie’s haversack were in the abandoned native house, only fifty yards away. “Sam . . .”

She swam toward him, her hands reaching. They felt cold, colder than the water. Her green eyes were brilliant. Her smile was uncertain, and he thought he saw fear in her.

“It’s such an awful thing,” she whispered, as their bodies touched.

“What is?”

“With all this destruction around us—all the tragedies of these poor people—for you and me to spend the hour doing—doing—”

“Making love?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Do you want to?”

“If you do.”

“Why? There must have been some men.”

“No.”

“You turned them down?”

“I—I was too busy. There was no—no—”

“Profit in it?”

She pulled angrily away. “Oh, you are cruel!”

He swam after her. The bright birds flickered in the foliage that overhung the pool. There were no other sounds. The sunlight made soft shadows under the bamboo trees on the bank.

“Don’t think about it,” he said.

“I can’t help it. I’m confused, Sam. I—I don’t know what I am, any more.”

“You’re a woman,” he told her. “And a beautiful woman, at that.”

Afterward, she sat by herself, naked in the sun, and combed her long hair, watching her reflection in the brook. She still smiled, but there were no secrets in her face now. She looked open and drowsy, and as she bent over the water, intent on her hair, Durell retrieved his gun and looked toward the deserted, broken village.

“Get dressed.”

“Why?” she asked. “There’s plenty of time.”

“Kem is coming back.”

“I don’t hear him.”

“He’s coming. Get dressed.”

She splashed toward him, her hips heavy with the effort of wading through the water. She was changed. Durell kept watching the village street, his gun in his hand.

“What is it, Sam?”

“It’s all right.”

“Are you angry with me?”

“Why should I be?”

“I wasn’t very good, was I?”

“You were wonderful,” he said. “Please get dressed, Benjie. Kem is a devout Buddhist, a monk, and he shouldn’t see you like this.”

“What could he see?”

He smiled. “It’s in your eyes.”

She went toward the bungalow they were using. He thought he heard her singing. A moment later, the saffron robe of the monk appeared at the end of the ruined street.

Kem sat down in the dust, his feet tucked under his thighs, his hands resting palms upward in his lap. His slanted eyes regarded Durell gravely. Without eyebrows, his thoughts were difficult to perceive. There was sweat on his shaven scalp, and his robe was stained with dust. Durell sat down facing him. “Did you find him, Flivver?” “Yes, I found Mike.”

“Alive?”

“He is alive. I did not see him. I only learned where he is hiding. But he is hurt. A small thing, only a turned ankle, but he cannot walk very well. He is alone, in the hills over there.” Kem did not use his hands to gesture. He simply looked beyond Durell, down the valley toward the distant, hazy gorge. “It is a very big caravan, Sam.”

“The dope smugglers?”

“There are two hundred, maybe three hundred men. They have gathered all the crop, and even some of the stuff that has been refined in village factories. There are jeeps, trucks, mules and horses. Some of it will be rafted downstream toward the Ping River. They are very open about their work.”

“When will they leave?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

“Then we’re on time to stop them,” Durell said.

“Against three hundred men? Not very possible.”

Benjie came out of the bungalow, dressed in her denims, boots, and man’s shirt. Her hair was brushed out and tied back with another bit of ribbon. She walked lightly, smiling.

Kem said, “So the lady boss is a woman, after all.”

“Yes. I told her you were perceptive.”

“I remember my school days in the States. They were good times. But I do not regret devoting my life to Buddha.”

“First, pay your debt to us,” Durell said. “Are you sure Mike wasn’t in contact with the Muc Tong?”

“I was told he was alone.” Ken turned his shaven head and studied the ruins of the village. “The people of Xo Dong fled into the hills. Some of them helped Mike. Others are working practically as slaves for the Muc Tong. Those who helped Mike did so out of loyalty, from when they worked on the tea plantation. They may be with him on the mountain.”

Benjie joined them, and Durell told her about Mike and the smuggling caravan, and turned back to the monk. “Are the Muc Tong well armed?”

“They get paid in arms, they use the black market in weapons in Bangkok, Saigon, Vientiane—everywhere— and pay the insurgents with part of their weapons, too. Only the caravan masters and the bosses get paid in gold. The others are merely mercenaries.”

“And the Thai Third Army?”

“They never come here. They are suppose to check the border, but they never do so in this area. However, some of the villagers have seen General Uva Savag. They hate him. He has been cruel to the mountain people, and because of this, they almost prefer the Muc Tong and the Communist rebels.”

“How do we get to Mike?” Benjie interrupted.

Kem stood up. “We must walk.”

The trail led downriver for a mile, then crossed the stream on a sandy ford. The valley bottom was now hot and breathless, although a few puffy clouds had appeared to the south. Durell held them back until he had scanned as much of both banks of the muddy river as he could see. The foliage was dense, green, impenetrable. Nothing moved on the ground. Birds flashed in the trees, and once he thought he saw a monkey. There was no sound except the splashing of the river.

“Let’s go,” Benjie said impatiently.

“Wait.”

“But Mike needs help.”

“Keep your voice down. When you cross the ford, move fast. Don’t look back. Get on the other side and sit down. You and Kem go first. I’ll cover you. I think we’re being watched.”

Benjie looked at the silent forests around them, squinted at the sun, wiped sweat from her forehead, then waded into the water. Kem tucked his robe up between his legs and followed. Durell stood in the shadows of the bamboo trees, his gun in hand.

He was finished with Kem. He did not need the monk any more. The best course would be to send him back to Bangkok, to go under cover again, before something exposed him as a sleeper agent. He might be useful again, in the future. K Section would be pleased, if he did this. But he did not think Kem would quit now. Kem was enjoying himself.