Assignment Bangkok (18 page)

The sounds of rioting in the camp increased. Fires sprang up, and now there was angry shouting between two factions of the caravan men—those who considered the old
bhikkhus
holy, if mad, to be treated gently; and those more hardened types who would just as soon cut them all down for disturbing their sleep with their religious fanaticism. It would be touch and go, Durell thought. In either case, the issue would be decided in a few more minutes. There was no time to lose.

He touched Kem’s shoulder and got up and ran in a crouch across the road toward the bunker. A single guard was toned the other way, watching the commotion that spread up and down the trail among the trucks and jeeps. The man went down with a single blow, and Durell caught him and lowered him silently to the ground outside the bunker entrance. A rude plank door had been built, covered with pieces of sod. He pulled it open, his gun ready. Faint light came from inside, down a flight of steps cut in the hard, dry ground.

“Stay on watch out here, Kem,” he said quietly.

The monk’s fingers twitched. “I used to like a good fight, in my college days. You know that I was boxing champion of my class at Williams.”

“Just hope you don’t have to do anything.”

Durell went down the earthen stairs. There was a large bunkroom, with planked walls and teak posts holding up the ceiling. An electric battery lamp lit up the disheveled place. It smelled like an animal’s lair. Cans of food were strewn about, empty and battered and rusty. A timbered doorway led him on, across the guard room. Sharp and angry voices came from within. Durell paused, saw a wooden case shoved under one of the lower bunks, and crouched, never taking his eyes from the inner door. He felt within the box. Grenades. He took one, saw it was a Russian GK-51, anti-personnel type. It felt solid and heavy in his hand.

As he straightened, an officer in a Thai-type uniform came hurrying from the inner room of the bunker. His surprise was brief. Durell hit him with the butt of his rifle, and sent him sprawling across the bunkroom. But the man’s mouth was open, yelling an alarm, seeing what he thought was a half-breed, strange Chinese. Durell’s makeup was still intact. Durell hit him again, but now there was a commotion from inside the bunker, and although he had knocked out the officer, there was no longer the element of surprise in his favor as he pushed quickly down a wooden-shored tunnel to the inner quarters.

“Hold it,” he said. “Don’t move.”

General Savag was there. And two officers in black Pathet Lao uniforms. One of them wore steel-rimmed glasses. The other was older and bald. Between them sat Benjie Slocum.

They were seated at a long plank table, in the glow of a fading battery lantern, and on the table between them was the money Benjie had taken from Mike. There was a bruise on Benjie’s forehead, her hair was tumbled down around her face, and her hands were tied behind her back. Her shirt had been tom, exposing a long scratch across her shoulder and more bruises on her arms and chest. Her eyes were dull and defeated. She did not seem to recognize Durell as he filled the low doorway to the command room.

Savag started to lurch from his chair, then halted halfway to his feet as he looked into the muzzle of Durell’s rifle. The other two men, the Pathet Lao, stood silently, and a fourth, a man of indeterminate origin, perhaps Viet or Thai, did not move from his position in a corner. He had been smoking a cigarette, and now he dropped it and crushed it out and smiled and said in English:

“So this is the American imperialist spy? The one you told us about, General?”

“He is the one. A madman.” Savag’s eyes were red with fury. His mouth looked wet. “It seems I have been betrayed.” He looked at Durell from black, slanted eyes that were utterly venemous. “Was it Major Luk? The man has foolish ideals. Perhaps you have such ideals, too. But money can change things, eh?”

“Shut up,” Durell said. He glanced at the girl. “Benjie?”

She drew a shuddering breath. “I’ve been stupid, Sam.” “Did you tell them anything?”

“N-no. They tried—they beat me—and threatened me.”

“How did they get you?”

“I—I thought I could make a deal. To save Mike. 1 wasn’t sure—I thought he was with them. I don’t know. I’ve been mixed up since you—since we ...”

“All right,” Durell said. “Can you stand up?”

“They hurt me, but—”

“Try,” he urged.

She wavered to her feet, then fell against the table. The two Pathet Lao did not move to help her. Her hands were still manacled behind her back. Durell said to Savag, “Get those cuffs off her.”

“Do it yourself,” Savag snarled.

“If I have to take the keys,” Durell said, “you’ll be a dead man, General. You’re as good as dead now. You’re a traitor, conspiring with insurgents, taking bribes from smugglers, betraying your country. Unlock Miss Slocum’s cuffs.”

Durell’s voice was quiet, but Uva Savag saw something in his face that convinced him. He got up reluctantly from behind the table, and Durell saw that he wore a holstered revolver.

“Put your weapons on the table. All of you. Don’t hold me up too long.”

Savag did as he was told. His round, cruel face was covered with sweat. His' thick mouth drooped in sullen hatred. The two Pathet Lao also did as ordered. The other man, apparently the caravan smuggling chieftain, was another matter.

“You will never get away alive,” he said. “I see you have a grenade. Will you pull the pin and kill us all—-you and the girl, too? I doubt it. But perhaps we can come to an arrangement. You are a chivalrous man, it seems. You came to save the girl. We have no need of her. You may take her. We are not interested in her. We are not interested in you. You can do us no harm. You may take the girl and go.”

“You’re not concerned about your opium and heroin?” “You cannot stop us there.”

“I suppose not.” Durell pretended to think it over. “I want General Savag, though. I’m taking him as a prisoner back to Bangkok.”

Savag laughed sourly. The two Pathet Lao smiled. The one with the glasses moved his head and the light splintered off the round lenses. The caravan man said, “That is no deal.”

“I insist.”

“That is too bad.”

The man was fast. Durell never saw where the knife came from until it already had left the man’s hand. It flashed in the light of the battery lamp, and then shattered on the barrel of Durell’s gun. He fired once, a short burst that knocked the caravan leader back into a bloody heap in a corner of the bunker room. The air smelled of cordite, echoed with the explosions. No one else moved, until the bald Pathet Lao smiled briefly and took a cigarette from a pack on the table. No one turned to look back at the dead man in the corner.

“Let’s go, Benjie. Pick up the money.”

“Sam—”

“Don’t waste time. General Savag, come with us.”

The Pathet Lao with the cigarette said, “Go, General. We will get to you easily. Have no fear.”

“I am not afraid of this—this—” General Savag snarled. “But we are allies. Friends. We have done business together. This man cannot be trusted not to put a bullet in my head.” He looked bitterly at Durell. “You will die very badly, American. I will see to it, personally. I shall think of very exquisite ways for you to die.”

“On your feet, General.”

He let the stocky Mongol go by him, then urged Benjie out into the bunker corridor. The two Pathet Lao still sat at the table. Durell backed out, taking their revolvers with him. He gave one to Benjie, who took it with limp, nerveless fingers.

Durell closed and locked the door to the command room, then turned quickly to Savag. “You first. Don’t try anything foolish, General.”

“You will never escape.”

“But we’ll try, General.”

Kem was waiting nervously outside the dugout. His face reflected relief as he saw Durell and Benjie climb up the bunker steps. He showed no surprise at seeing General Savag in the lead, his hands clasped behind his neck.

Some of the uproar in the camp, caused by the eight old
bhikkhus
, had died away. What commotion was left was at the far end of the road, among the trucks and jeeps. Practically every man in the caravan had gathered there. But as Durell urged his little party toward the river, four of the caravan men came trotting back, apparently to report to the bunker. One of them shouted and raised his gun, and Durell fired a burst from the AK-47 over his head. The caravan men scattered, but the alarm was out. For a moment, the whole camp paused, as the sound of the shots echoed back and forth from the hills. Then whistles blew and more men yelled and the first four came on toward the line of houses on the river bank, careful and purposeful now.

Durell pushed Kem and General Savag into the water. He held Benjie by the hand. Her fingers were cold. There was little to be seen in the predawn darkness. They stumbled and splashed and hurried through the knee-deep shallows. Flares were lit, and a searchlight went on and probed brilliantly against the sky, then began to sweep back and forth across the river. A fusillade of shots whipped over their heads, but Durell did not think they could be seen against the dark bank of the river across the way.

“Stay low, Benjie,” he said.

They were halfway over when Savag, sensing desperately that this was his last chance, suddenly broke free and stumbled back toward the caravan’s shore.

“Hold it!” Durell shouted.

“You will die!” Savag yelled back.

His stocky figure surged through the water toward what he assumed to be safety. Durell squeezed the trigger. He fired above the man’s head, and at the same time, shots answered the muzzle flare of his gun. General Uva Savag was caught in the crossfire. Durell saw the two uniformed Pathet Lao with automatic weapons, sweeping the surface of the river. Savag fell as if hit by a battering ram, his legs and feet coming up, his arms splayed wide as he was knocked backward. Benjie made a thin sound, and Durell pushed her toward the safety of the foliage on the far bank. Savag fell on his back in the water and his body rolled over twice, then floated face down, moving away with the current.

“Come on,” Durell said to Kem.

“It was the Pathet Lao who killed him,” the monk murmured.

“Maybe they had their reasons, too.”

They splashed and surged toward the opposite bank of the river. Some of the caravan men started in pursuit, but Durell threw the grenade, a little downstream, and the explosion burst thunderously in the night over the water. The enemy turned back. Benjie reached out and helped them out of the water. There were shouts and orders and the caravan men retreated all the way. Lights were on all over the camp now.

“The
bhikkhus
,” Kem whispered. “The old men!”

“Here they come,” Benjie said, awed.

The tattered old hermits totally ignored the excitement and alarm and gunfire, as they waded solemnly out into the stream after them. They still had their sticks and clubs, and they tucked their dirty robes up over their skinny knees as they forged unsteadily into the current.

One after another, truck motors were being started up at the far end of the camp.

“They’re going to leave early,” Durell said. “And they’ll get through the pass before we can use the dynamite.”

“We must wait for the old men.”

“You wait. Here. Cover them.” Durell thrust his rifle into the monk’s unwilling hands. “You can get them back to the cave, Flivver.”

“I must not kill,” the
bhikkhu
protested.

“You don’t have to. Fire high. Just hold them off.” Durell turned to Benjie and grabbed her hand. “We have to run.”

They stumbled, fell, picked themselves up, and ran on again, climbing the painful ascent trail of the cliff. Now and then Durell looked back, holding Benjie’s hand, pulling her up with him. The whole camp was a beehive of desperate, frantic activity as the caravan leaders decided to move out ahead of time. He did not know what they suspected, but they were certainly alarmed enough to change their plans. He swore softly as Benjie stumbled and fell again.

“Hurry.”

“I can’t. They hurt me too much.”

“You must. Come along.”

“We can’t make it. Maybe Mike—”

“We can’t count on Mike. Or Major Luk. I have to set that dynamite charge off myself.”

“We’ll be too late.”

“Maybe not.”

They kept on climbing. Benjie fell again, dragging him down with her. He pulled her to her feet once more. From a vantage point on the trail, Durell paused to let Benjie catch her breath again. Down along the river below, all had gone quiet again. There was no glimpse to be had of Kem and the eight old
bhikkhus
. He did not know if they had been caught or killed, and he could not think about it now.

The way seemed longer than before. Once, at a fork in the trail, Benjie started the wrong way, and he had to pull her back with him. A few truck motors started down in the camp, their engines racketing back and forth in echoes between the rocky walls of the gorge. They were almost to the ledge that led to the last level near the cave when Durell checked himself and pulled Benjie to a halt. Someone was running toward them. It was Major Luk. Mike Slocum hobbled along behind the Thai.

“They’re moving out,” Mike exploded. “They’re going through the pass ahead of time.”

Major Luk said quietly, “And General Savag?”

“Dead,” Durell said. “His playmates didn’t like to see him go with me—as my prisoner.”

“Very good,” Luk said. “But now we must hurry.”

The first trucks and jeeps of the caravan were already lining up on the trail, and a few had nosed into the mouth of the pass. The headlights flared along the rock walls and glinted on the narrow ribbon the river made as it raced along its restricted bed in the gorge. Overhead, the stars were beginning to fade. A faint wind stirred, bringing with it the smell of morning.

“The
bhikkhus?
" Luk asked.

“Coming after us.”

“I am relieved. But we must move quickly.”

Durell turned to the exhausted girl. “Benjie, I want you to take it easy. Come the rest of the way with Mike.”

It was going to be tight. Never tighter, he thought. More and more trucks were starting up down there, and the first jeep had rolled into the pass and then halted, waiting for the caravan to form into a convoy line. There was dim shouting, orders yelled, some argument. The voices echoed, as if coming from a far-distant tunnel. Some of the Missa men were standing on the ledge outside the cave