Colin Cotterill - Slash and Burn

“What do you mean, ‘until the war’?” Phosy asked.

The sentry looked at John Johnson.

“American, is he?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Speak Lao, does he?”

“No.”

“All right. Well, it was them, you see? The Americans. They got wind of the fact that the mountains of Xiang Khouang were full of gold. So they picked themselves the mountain nearest to Thailand and bombed the shit out of it. As you can see.” Dtui was shocked. She asked John Johnson whether such a thing was possible. He thought about it and laughed.

“No question,” he said. “The bombers were just offloading where they were told to. The Raven would lead them to a target, give them the coordinates and they’d drop their load. All you’d need is one Raven on your payroll and he could lead strike after strike on any mountain you had a mind to blow to smithereens. The pilots would have no idea they were bombing a hunk of empty rock. I mean, look at this. There must have been a hundred strikes here.”

Once they heard Johnson’s opinion, both Phosy and Lit became animated.

“Wolff,” said Phosy. “The Raven drinking with Boyd and Leon that night. The pilot was killed a few weeks later. I bet he was the FAC who led the strikes on this mountain.”

“And once he’d done his job, they didn’t need him any more,” said Lit.

“In fact, it would have been better for everyone if they could shut him up permanently,” Phosy agreed.

“And who better to make sure his plane had an accident than the chief flight mechanic, Leon?” said Johnson. “That’s why he’d been transferred to Long Cheng. To keep an eye on the pilots. You know? I bet he fixed Boyd’s chopper that night too. The young pilot was starting to get edgy. He was a liability.”

“But what was Boyd’s role in all this?” Phosy asked.

“He was the gofer,” said Johnson. “He ferried in the super napalm from Thailand. Did all their odd jobs. Might have even dropped the canisters to clear the land. Who knows? Once the mountain was broken and the swathe was cut to the nearest road, they didn’t need these guys any more. The fact is Captain Boyd was in it up to his neck and he had to go.”

“They’d need a factory on the Thai side,” Lit said. “Somewhere to process the ore, extract the gold.”

“And some sort of export deal with the Thai junta of the month,” said Phosy.

“Teak,” said Dtui.

They looked at her.

“Teak furniture,” she said. “It’s heavy. Comes in crates. You’d just need someone on the payroll at customs in the States to sign it all through without inspection. Exotic wood products from Southeast Asia. There was a war going on. Who’d give a second thought about dining room tables?”

“Bowry senior set the whole thing up,” said Johnson. “Business suddenly picked up during the war. He got so rich he bought himself a state. He was importing gold, goddamn it. He had Vogal, his best buddy from high school, based in Saigon altering all the orders and transferring people. He had a disbarred pilot directing things from Spook City. They had an FAC leading the bombing. Man, they had it all covered. I take back all I said about the CIA. They didn’t do this. This was a private deal. They had it worked out. Five or six guys on the inside. A bunch of hired help for the shifting and processing. It was a real neat little operation.”

“But Major Potter got suspicious,” said Lit.

“So Vogal had him kicked out,” said Phosy.

“And suddenly here was Potter on an MIA mission to find the pilot they’d tried to eliminate,” said Lit.

“It must have driven Vogal and Bowry senior nuts,” Johnson laughed. “What if they really found the boy? It would have all been over for them. They had no choice but to make sure Vogal was here to see that nothing was discovered. He couldn’t let anyone meet with young Boyd or find the briefcase.”

“And that puts Vogal at the very top of the list of suspects in Potter’s murder,” said Phosy.

“It sure does,” Johnson agreed.

“Oh,” said Dtui. A new reality had just hit her. “If Captain Boyd’s father was running the show, it would have been his decision….”

“To have his son killed,” said Phosy. “That’s correct. That’s the kind of people we’re dealing with here.”

The soldier was crouched on his haunches enjoying all the intrigue. He had his own contribution.

“Two villages melted,” he said.

Lit looked at him.

“Melted?”

“The pink rain,” said the soldier. “When they sprayed it they burned two villages. About ten families in each one. They were well away from the Ho Chi Minh trail. No enemy activity around here. They thought they were safe. No need to evacuate. Then, one day, they were gone. Dissolved. Nothing left of them. My wife’s family was in one of the villages. Melted like ice.”

The soldier’s brown smile belied the horror of what he’d just told them.

“That’s what haunted Captain Boyd,” said Dtui. “That’s what made him turn on his cohorts.”

“We’ve got to get word to the Friendship,” said Lit.

“The radio,” said Dtui.

“Nah, no good,” the sentry told them. “They’re all on their way to Phu Bia to have another go at the Hmong. I got through just as they were leaving.”

“Then we’ve got to get back,” said Phosy.

He shook the soldier”s hand again.

“I’m sorry about your wife’s family,” he said. “And thank you for not killing me.”

“My pleasure,” said the soldier.

As the visitors set off down the mountain he called after them.

“By the way,” he said. “Forgot to mention. Captain Chuan said that with all the commotion up at Phu Bia he hadn’t been able to release any of his men you asked for. Said he’s sorry about that.”

The visitors froze and turned back to the sentry.

“Captain Chuan didn’t send any guards up to the Friendship Hotel?” said Lit.

“He said he was sorry. Hoped it wouldn’t be a problem.”

The head of the senator’s bodyguard detail-the four men everyone assumed were soldiers-was a Filipino named Emiliano. He’d recently returned from a trip back to Manila where he’d killed Nino Sebastian, and a swing through Pattaya where he’d made Cueball Dave’s death look like a heart attack. He was very good at what he did which justified the money they paid him. He spoke only a little Lao and very few words of Thai, which explained why he’d not opened his mouth since their arrival. His team comprised two Thais and a Lao. Mercenaries all. They communicated with their employer in English. They were there not merely for the protection of the man who paid their substantial salaries, but to eradicate obstacles. For four days they’d been setting light to jungle and blowing up communication towers, so they all felt more comfortable back in a milieu for which they were better suited-murder. The killing on the agenda today would not be one for the squeamish. They had an entire dining room full of people to massacre. But they’d done worse.

To its credit, the marijuana tea took the edge off the menace. Although the hostages were supposed to be sitting cross-legged on the floor, three were now curled up and fast asleep. No amount of shouting would rouse them. Dr. Yamaguchi had a terrible case of the munchies and his crunching of sesame biscuits provided a constant soundtrack for the drama.

Peach, still stoned but coming down, had lost the ability to speak in any language at all and had become quite angry with herself. Secretary Gordon had found that he was now able to sit cross-legged on the floor. He crossed and uncrossed his legs and laughed with amazement whenever he didn’t fall onto his side. Everyone had been told to shut up but this was a talkative crowd and there were very few in its midst who really understood the gravity of the situation. Siri and Bpoo sat together at the back assessing the chances of getting out of there alive. Senator Vogal and Ethel Chin had left the room. There were guards at each point of the compass with their AK47s trained on the heads of the hostages. Only one of them, Emiliano, seemed unaffected by the tea. He had the look of a young man who was suspicious of everybody and everything. The other three were clearly in various states of euphoria. One appeared to be trigger-happy. His hand twitched on the trigger in time to a nervous tick in his left eye. Another smiled and moved in a sort of glide, gentle, calm. But there was no doubt from the look in his eyes that he’d enjoy a good killing. Far from rendering them harmless, the mercenaries looked even more villainous as a result of Madame Daeng’s tea. Perhaps the head of the Federal Bureau of Narcotics had been right after all. Marijuana could very well be the most violence-causing drug in the history of mankind.