Colin Cotterill: Slash and Burn

“Congresswoman Scribner would like to point out that both sets of delegates already have copies of the various communications between the two sides,” she said, nervously. “She humbly suggests that, without further ado, we get to the point at hand.

The Americans wish to know whether the recommendation has been accepted. She….”

At this point, Peach blushed and everyone on the Lao side could tell they were due for another hiccup of protocol.

“Go on. Say it,” Siri urged her. “It can’t get any worse.”

All heads turned to Siri who smiled and shrugged. Peach continued.

“The congresswoman would like to remind the minister that the US consulate currently has a request for aid in the form of cash for the procurement of rice to stave off the effects of last year’s harvest failure. It was signed by both the prime minister and the president. The congresswoman would … would not like to think that such an important decision might be stalled by the lack of agreement over a small MIA request.”

The Lao present broke into a flurry of smiles but only Siri’s was genuine. Apart from reading his address, the minister had found little to do at this meeting but his moment had come.

“Little sister,” he said to Peach in a low, husky voice, “please tell the fat woman that she isn’t in Washington now. This is Laos. We’ll do things the way we do things. If she doesn’t like it, she can go home.”

And with that he gestured for the clerk to read on. The congresswoman came to the boil like a pressure cooker and continued to bubble throughout the remainder of the morning. It was almost lunchtime before the government’s response was read. The US delegates were bloated as dumplings, their leader visibly stewed. It was the vice-minister of defence who finally read the cabinet’s decision.

“The Central Committee and the Politburo of the People’s Democratic Republic of Laos have considered the request of the United States of America to conduct one single mission in the north of the country to search for a supposed downed airman. The Lao Subcommittee for Post Conflict Affairs is pleased to announce that your request has been accepted. A joint Lao/American task force will be dispatched to Xiang Khouang province in the northeast of Laos where an investigation will be conducted into the disappearance of civilian helicopter pilot Boyd H. Bowry. As per your description, Comrade Bowry apparently went missing in August 1968, whilst on a”-he cleared his throat as if the cough were written in the script-“‘humanitarian aid mission’ in the area around Long Cheng. After careful scrutiny, the subcommittee has approved eight of the fifteen names provided by your consulate, thus:

“Major Harold G. Potter-US Military, retired-as team leader;

“Dr. Donald Yamaguchi-forensic pathologist attached to the University of Hawaii;

“Sgt. John Johnson-United States Marine Corps attached to the United States consulate in Vientiane;

“Mr. Mack Gordon-second secretary of the United States Embassy in Bangkok;

“Mr. Randal Rhyme-journalist with Time magazine;

“Miss Peach Short-interpreter.

“These six may later be joined by Senator Ulysses Vogal the Third-United States Senator, Republican, South Carolina, and Miss Ethel Chin, secretary to the senator.

“The People’s Democratic Republic of Laos will be sending the following ten officials to work on an equal, counterpart basis with the United States team. Its members are….”

Siri listened to the reading of the list with little surprise. It was the type of cronyism he’d come to expect from his government. He recognized most of the names and their familial and professional connections to people in high places. The majority were incompetent or, at best, redundant. The only name that jumped out at him as being a marvelous choice, a true professional medical man with a stunning record, was his own tucked down there at the bottom. So, that was why they’d dragged him along. They didn’t even have the good manners to consult with him beforehand. Well, he thought, I’ll be taking a dip in the Mekhong with rocks tied to my old fellow before they get me on a joint task force to Xiang Khouang. Dream on, Politburo. Unless….

To the great, almost visible relief of the delegates, the vice-minister announced they’d be breaking for lunch and would talk about details and dates early in the afternoon. A room never cleared so fast. In seconds, only Siri and Minister Bounchu remained. They’d been through countless campaigns together. Siri knew the general to be a sincere but simple man. He knew the soldier saw Siri’s educational background as a barrier between them, as did many of the jungle elite. Siri’s lack of respect for the Party line didn’t help to bring the two old men together. They admired each other for their respective skills; Bounchu’s expertise at inflicting damage on men, Siri’s at repairing them. But they had never been, and could never be, friends.

“You’re going to make this difficult for me, aren’t you, Siri?” Bounchu said, leaning back on his creaking chair. He avoided looking into Siri’s emerald green eyes. Eyes that intimidated so many.

“Not at all,” Siri replied. “I’m going to make it dead simple.”

“You can’t not go, you know?”

“Oh, I can.”

“You’d embarrass the Party, Siri. Not for the first time, I know. The Americans are aware we have just the one coroner. They specifically mentioned your name.”

“They’re looking for bones, Comrade. I don’t know a humerus from a whale’s appendage.”

“Listen. If you didn’t go, they’d be the experts.”

“They are the experts. I’m a converted bush surgeon. They have a decorated forensic pathologist on their team. A real one.”

“Well, for some reason, they hold you in esteem, Siri. They know about the cases you’ve worked on. It’s what they believe you are that counts, not what you consider yourself to be. We need someone there who can keep a professional eye on them. Like it or not, you’re the only one we’ve got.”

“Don’t you read the Pasason Lao , Comrade Bounchu? I’ve just come back from a very traumatic holiday in Cambodia.” He ran a finger across the tick-shaped scar on his forehead. “I’m not fit for service. I’d never pass the medical.”

“Yes, I’ve heard all about it. It was unfortunate, I give you that.”

“Unfortunate? You’re right. Torture and starvation and near death could get a little troublesome. By rights I shouldn’t be here today. And it’s for that very reason that I don’t have to take any more damned fool orders from you lot. You can’t do any worse to me than the Khmer Rouge did. What were you thinking, Bounchu? That you’d drag me into this meeting stone cold, show me no respect, and expect me to be so fired up with national pride after a morning with the enemy that I’d gladly traipse up north on a bone hunt? It might work with your young brainwashed cadres but I’m over the hill and happily rolling down the far side. I’m a renegade. Out of control. So you either shoot me for disobedience or put up with me telling you where you can stick your task force.”

Siri drank his green Fanta as a sort of visual exclamation mark. It was warm and syrupy and he wished he hadn’t but it was a fittingly dramatic touch. Bounchu wasn’t the type to fly into a rage. One of his qualities as a leader was his poker face. You could never tell whether he was about to shake your hand or shoot you. It wasn’t until he smiled that Siri knew the minister wouldn’t be reaching for his Kalashnikov.

“Siri, old friend,” he said. “We’ve been through a lot together.”

A drastic change of tactic, Siri noted. He recognized the sudden lowering of the red flag and the hoisting of a white one in its place. Now they were old friends?