Colin Cotterill - The Woman Who Wouldn't die

One diver went back into the water, swam to the deepest point and dived to the depths. Then, an amazing thing happened. Fish — tens, then hundreds, then thousands — floated to the surface. Stunned by the blasts. Drowned by the air, and carried away on the current. It was remarkable how many fish had made Frenchy’s Elbow their home. One of the guides got to his feet and hurried back through the jungle to his boat.

‘Looks like they have a net on board,’ said Daeng.

Her plan B had been to avoid putting the Uphill Rowing Club in harm’s way. They all doubted the Vietnamese would accompany the treasure to the border. After it had been transferred to the elephants the convoy would be at its most vulnerable. They would return to Pak Lai and drum up a village militia to intercept it.

Meanwhile, the show continued. The explosions had been the highlight. For the next hour it was a slow, laborious process of diving and winching. And there at the officer’s side the whole time, yelling instructions, pointing this way and that, was Madame Peung’s brother.

‘He seems to have found his voice,’ said Siri.

‘Yet another miracle,’ said Civilai.

‘It’s him,’ said Daeng. ‘This is his party. He’s the boss.’

And right away Siri remembered the moment on the helicopter that had almost escaped him. The nudge. The brother had nudged Madame Peung. It wasn’t her who recognized the spot on the river. It was him. He was the one who knew the terrain. Madame Peung had just been along for the ride. And no longer of use, there was no doubt in Siri’s mind that Tang had lured the woman to the back of the cruiser and dispatched her unseen into the river.

‘He’d planned this all along,’ said Daeng. ‘It’s been made to look like a series of unrelated, spontaneous events. The resurrection. The approach by the minister’s wife. The location of the body. But it’s all been laid out. This is the penultimate scene.’

‘And here we are with balcony seats to the grand finale,’ said Civilai.

‘If that’s so, you’ll have to agree it’s brilliant,’ said Siri. ‘Although I don’t see how it could be possible.’

‘It’s booooring,’ said Geung.

‘Patience,’ said Civilai. ‘They’re Vietnamese. Eventually we’ll have something to cry over or laugh at.’

And, as he spoke, something did happen. Cables heading in three directions rose from the water, leading to two winches attached to the trees on the east side and to the tail end of the bulldozer which acted as a counterpoint, pulling southwards from further down the bank. All three were coordinated with whistles. The long ratchet handles clicked a few centimetres at a time and the bulldozer tugged to the whistle. Nothing else appeared to be happening but there was a confident air amongst the soldiers. It was half an hour before the first glimpse of the hull appeared above the surface. It was upside down.

‘My word, they’ve done it,’ said Civilai.

After another twenty minutes of patient winching, half the boat was on the steep bank and a gap had opened up above the gunwales. The years had been kind to the heavy metal craft. Being submerged in mud had preserved it admirably.

‘I bet some French naval museum would pay a lot of money for that,’ said Civilai.

‘They’re going d … down,’ said Geung.

With miners’ lamps attached to their helmets, two of the engineers crawled on to the space between the bank and the deck of the upside-down craft.

‘Where would you store cargo in something like that?’ Daeng asked.

‘The hold is buried in the deck at the forward end,’ said Civilai. ‘There should be a couple of metal doors leading down to it. That isn’t where those boys are going. They’re heading into the cabin.’

‘That’s where they were,’ said Siri.

The others looked at him.

‘That’s where the Frenchmen were,’ he said. ‘They’re free now.’

They watched as the engineers passed large cotton sacks to the men inside. One by one the bags re-emerged, not full, but with sufficient bulk to suggest each contained the remains of a crew member. Obviously the Vietnamese were not as squeamish at touching the remains of the dead as the Lao. There were six bodies, all told.

All this time the bulldozer and the other equipment were being reloaded on to the cruiser until only the cables that stayed the boat remained. The bodies were carried to the Lao boat and laid side by side at the stern. The skipper cast off and the boat headed back downstream.

‘Did anybody notice anything peculiar about that?’ Civilai asked.

‘I don’t get it,’ said Siri.

‘They came to recover bodies,’ said Daeng. ‘They salvaged the boat. They went inside. They brought out the dead. They took them back. Everything was exactly according to plan. They’ve done what the minister asked them to do. I wouldn’t be surprised if they came looking for you, Siri, to make an identification.’

‘And once more we are dumbfounded by a mystery that is not at all mysterious,’ said Civilai.

‘Not exactly,’ said Siri. ‘All it means is that the engineers were only told to recover the boat and bring out the bodies. That they weren’t a party to the secret of what could be found in the hold. It’s a legitimate rescue mission.’

‘So why didn’t anyone notice that Madame Peung was missing?’ asked Civilai.

‘Ah, brother,’ said Daeng. ‘Nobody notices old women. And nobody misses them when they’re gone.’

Civilai looked at her querulously.

‘But it looks like somebody else is missing in action,’ said Siri.

He pointed to a lone figure on the rocks below the karst. It was Tang, the non-brother, non-assistant of Madame Peung. He was adjusting scuba equipment.

‘Who is he?’ asked Civilai. ‘They were taking orders from him. He’d have to be in some position of authority for a uniformed officer to kowtow to him. And they’ve left him equipment.’

‘What is that over there behind him?’ Daeng asked.

‘It looks like a parachute,’ said Civilai.

‘No,’ said Siri. ‘It’s a dinghy. They come with a foot pump. We used to use them on late-night river forays during the wars. That’s how he’ll be getting his booty back downriver. This really is a one-man show.’

Tang put on his breathing mask and dropped into the water. He carried a small underwater acetylene torch and a pack. He swam alongside the cruiser to a point that was still submerged and down he went. He was under water for a long time. They supposed that the fastening on the hold was rusted and difficult to open. He re-emerged without his blow torch but with a wooden casket about the size of a radio. It was floating on a life vest.

‘Every eventuality,’ said Phosy. ‘What a planner.’

The casket was heavy after all those years in the water. He lugged it out of the river and on to the sandbank. He seemed to pause then, probably deciding whether to open it, but there were obviously more down below.

‘He doesn’t seem to be afraid of being seen, does he?’ said Daeng.

‘Everyone for a hundred kilometres around is at the races,’ said Siri. ‘He picked his day, too. He really has thought of everything. He’ll unload the treasure, disconnect the cables and watch the boat slide back to the depths. I bet he has his elephant route all planned out.’

‘Do you think we should go down there and overpower him while he’s not expecting it?’ Civilai asked. ‘He is alone, after all.’

‘You’re never alone with an AK-47,’ said Daeng. ‘He’s got a couple, as far as I can see. One on the bank. Another by the dinghy. Maybe a pistol too. But I think we can probably get down there and surprise him while he’s diving. I call this Plan C.’