Eleven

“Bloody hell! Why do they always have to make them so frigging ball-stomping early?”

Mike took his time to study Rusty. It was too early-on for any returning quick fire humour, his brain simply didn’t like the hour of the day. Eight wasn’t such a big deal if you tucked yourself down for the night at a reasonable hour with a salad and orange juice. Unfortunately for Mike the early rise followed on after the long trip from Bangkok the previous day coupled with a late night sizing up nocturnal Vientiane through a beer glass. A little early for celebrations perhaps, but the lure of some good venues proved suitable enough to raise a premature toast for missing friends. Getting out of bed was never going to be easy. To all intents and purposes as far as Mike was concerned it might as well be dawn. There had been the occasional dawn rising where he felt better than he did now. Even when scrubbed and refreshed, he was far from a morning person. His brain rarely kicked in until lunchtime but could happily run all night. To his regret the cockerel shift was the only time a coach would be departing that day which had destination for Vang Vieng hanging on its window. Vang Vieng was the fabled old American airbase that had since become a fun-park destination for backpackers in mind for an adventure outside of the Walt Disney kind. Travellers bussing out of Vientiane usually headed north to Luang Prubang if in mind for a spot of culture or to Vang Vieng if in mind of pretty much everything else. Recent years had seen the old airbase develop into a micro resort, feeding off the latest influx of dollars carried by the new wave of western farang. Used to adaptability, every other home offered guesthouse accommodation for the swarms of backpackers seeking thrills on the fast flowing Mekong in a rubber tyre tube, or trekking out to the great cliffs to plunge into the clear subterranean lakes. Many of the guesthouses doubled up as opium dens, offering the temptation of Edwardian vices that plenty of backpackers chose to simply visit and watch from the side-lines a darkened world of nocturnal intemperance. A collusion of interactive natural wonders and night-time enticement, Mike was not surprised that Louise chose this as her next backpacking destination. She always did enjoy the challenges of outdoor pursuits and would party happily beyond the early hours within the labyrinth of bars. Vang Vieng would be her honey pot. It still puzzled him as to why she omitted to keep her folks back home posted, but he was sure she had her reasons. He felt close now and was sure that he could soon surprise the pants out of her before settling down to a Beer Laos whilst she explained the whole secrecy deal. Seeing her picture reassured him that she was doing OK no matter what might have gone down on Koh Chang. This whole thing was perhaps some kind of revolt against a stern middle-class upbringing. His biggest problem might be explaining why the hell he was following her. He still needed to think of his opening line should they meet. He pictured her standing; somehow always in safari shorts, then taking a step back in disbelief before venomous eyes implored him for an answer, a good one. She would likely need more than a pacifying smile and glass of beer to understand him on this one.

“Please! Vang Vieng board now. Hurry please!”

The shouted translation in English surprised Mike. He turned to watch the bustling vendor flapping his arms to gain attention. He expected barked boarding instructions in Laos. Likewise he pictured a throng of backpackers patiently queuing up to board, but noticed that they were the only westerners present. A series of untranslatable Laotian commands soon followed leading to the mixed collection of locals grabbing their assortment of bags before pushing forward en-mass. Caught in the crush, Mike grabbed Jean’s arm and pulled her up onto the bus. He could already see Rusty making his way towards the rear seat, hopping over baskets of fruit and canvas knapsacks. Far from being the luxury service advertised in the travel agents the previous evening - air-con with reclining seats and smiling angels posing as stewardesses - the reality resembled the last available bus leaving a stricken war-torn city. The sagging suspension laboured to support forty seated with thirty more standing. He was not so used to this. The norm was a minibus or under-filled coach, ferrying backpacking farang to varying destinations of choice. They might not be pristine and glowing, but they were never packed in like evacuees either. Rusty seemed to read his bewilderment.

“It’s probably a local service, chartered to fill in the cross country route. The municipal bus is most likely in pieces, cannibalised back at the yard whilst eager juveniles bang it back together. The roads here are rough and eat all but dogged jeeps up. Cheap Chinese spares don’t help much. Often the authorities charter anything still moving, just to keep the route open. Most of the passengers are probably only going part of the way, jumping off when they need to. I bet that there are other privately run mini-buses running the same route that we didn’t get to hear about! The agency we got the tickets from won’t be so keen to advertise other services. Elsewhere backpackers are probably sitting in some bus wondering how come it’s so empty. Still, at least this way we get to sample a bit of life Laos style. Sometimes you can allow yourself to get cocooned within the travelling and ex-pat community.”

“You can’t argue against the authenticity,” Mike mused. He reached behind him to grab Jean’s outstretched arm, pulling her closer to him through the chaos. Hurdling collective baggage on the isle, they closed in on Rusty. Two seats over the rear wheel proved all they could muster as the bus disembarked on its snakelike journey through the small northern suburbs of Vientiane and out towards distant hills. The locals had left the seat free due to the jarring vibration and possible damage to any recent dental work. Feeling the urge to smoke, Mike fought the temptation before the realisation that Laos’s standards and tolerances differed from those in Portishead. Pulling out his tobacco tin, he settled back as Rusty duelled with the window latch, eventually sliding the pane of glass forward in the frame to introduce a welcome flow warm wind from the dusty streets they were bumping over.

“Air-con didn’t work anyway!” Rusty commented.

“Imagine how hot this bus will get in a few hours, just with all these people alone ay. Let’s hope that we’re off here before things heat up. Those windows will do little when the sun’s fully up,” Jean commented, adjusting her top in the expectation of a sticky journey ahead.

She then returned her attention to watching the remaining passengers jostle for floor space as they pushed up the aisle. She half expected people to be carrying the occasional chicken and was almost disappointed that they weren’t. Sitting next to her, a middle-aged woman was chewing the green leaves of tobacco. Jean had been busy trying to pinpoint the sweet pungent smell and was ready to attribute it to the tobacco, before noticing blackness around the woman’s mouth. The odour of cancerous decay sickened her less than the thought that she was quite obviously not receiving any medication or treatment. The tumour had been left to bury its own way into her face. It was hard to tell whether it was ignorance that had left her to rot; or a loathing of clinical procedures, ethics even. Perhaps with her state came a degree of acceptance, that fate rather than the tobacco leaf had decreed it. She had never seen anything like it before and felt the need to quickly look away. All thoughts now for borrowing Mike’s trusted tin were quickly dispelled. She grabbed the seat in front as the bus jerked forward, beginning its rambling journey towards Vang Vieng.

Rusty’s take on the scheduled route was one of uncanny insight. Frequent stops heralded the moment for people to jump on and off the bus, returning home from the city or heading into the suburbs from long hours at work. As the stone colonial houses turned to stucco and then to wooden chalets, the stops became less frequent and they found the urban street narrow into a potholed lane heading into the hills and paddy fields. Once past the outskirts of Vientiane and into small rural communities buried in the hills, the tobacco chewing woman shouted out instructions, which were passed forward to the driver. Happily chatting loudly to those around and willing to listen, she walked down the now much emptier isle and stepped off the bus, taking an overgrown driveway to a villa set back off the road. Before getting to the end of the drive she was met by an elderly lady holding out a carrier bag full of the green leaf for her. Accepting the bag like an Easter egg trophy and showing no sign of parting with any money, she climbed back on to the bus, already chewing the addictive herb.

Half-way up the isle Vig needed to move slightly to allow the tobacco chewing woman room to pass. He was very careful to ease forward; ensuring that the Glock 17 pistol clipped to his belt wouldn’t brush against her and raise any unnecessary calls for help. He still clearly remembered Kae’s insistence they keep this low key. His cotton jacket and strapped canvas bag concealed his deadly tool, though anyone still pushing through might inadvertently brush against the cold metal handle. Ideally he wanted to be seated, out of the way from the jam of passing passengers, a luxury denied to him through the necessity to ensure the farang were boarded first back in central Vientiane. As the women passed behind him he caught the sweet aroma, likening it to a perfume of death. He briefly allowed his eyes to train on the seated westerners, currently unaware that their moves were under such a spotlight. Kae had been highly specific on one point; he wasn’t to harm them or threaten them, so long as things didn’t balloon out-of-control, in which case he was to exercise a professional mixture of initiative and restraint. If possible under these circumstances he was to contact Kae before becoming at all visible to the three farang. Otherwise the importance was to become a shadow, secretly watching to see where they went and who they met; especially who they met. In this Vig considered that Kae misjudged him. Although capable of violence that bordered on sadistic, such a path was always taken with a sense of professional detachment, occasionally regret. He had grown up with those who used pain and saw it as a means that need only be brought to bear where necessary. He viewed it as another tool within his repertoire of carefully practiced skills, one to be used out of need alone. His talent bore many other uses.

A young child during China’s cultural revolution of the 1960’s, Vig had spent his childhood in a world where intimidation and violence were encouraged. He was taught to spy on teachers, shout at intellectuals and despise the old authority. The intervening years changed and mellowed in the Peoples Republic. This softer mellowness was not mirrored in Vig’s own life. Whilst others turned from their past, shamefully putting behind them acts carried out against friends and neighbours, Vig philosophically decided that he was a product of an age tinted with aggression, an attribute that he could call on to ensure his own way in life. Memories of beating those he thought were wrong were held within him as lessons, other strings to making things work. The army provided the only possible career path when he came to face the world, a ten year jaunt in the infantry followed by another decade in Special Forces. As missions became increasingly covert, he found his talents and skills were looked upon with greater favour. He became recognised, and was passed missions of a more exotic nature, ones where he could find reward for himself, a payment in kind from his superiors. In turn these took on an international nature; passing funds to groups running guns and drugs. He began to make contacts, names that were not fed back to his superior. Kae was one such name. He became Kae’s eyes, ears and muscle; the action end of Kae’s enterprises. When the small army pension beckoned, a life manufacturing cheap goods for the western world looked to be the only alternative, until the call from Kae came along. Without a family to consider, it was the easiest “yes” he had ever spoken. Knowing his new master’s sexual orientation, he suspected that some of the decision was based on the hope that he might be tempted by a fine wine and soft bed, another misjudgement on the part of Kae. If Kae thought that he was likely to be tempted by any masculine advances, then that was down to him. Vig decided to not necessarily play along, but neither publically state that he would never cross the bedroom threshold with his new bisexual boss. Kae could go on believing what he wanted. It could become useful down the line, a point of leverage if ever one were needed. Controlled by Kae’s expanding wallet, he found himself largely on the exterior of China’s borders, pursuing the Thai’s various monetarist goals, never over ambitious or too risqué; until now.

Vig knew that they were not in this alone, there were signs. He also sensed how important this might be. Kae was agitated, not behaving normally. All phone calls were now taken in private. He was becoming watchful, suspicious to the point of paranoia. Kae was definitely colluding with others. Whoever was orchestrating this was high up and dangerous. For Kae to risk his independence and become involved suggested a very great prize indeed. What kind of prize lay entwined with the three naive farang puzzled Vig, though he was not paid to solve puzzles. The taller one, the blonde Australian, seemed the more astute to his surroundings. He came across as being the tougher one, a guy that would fight his corner; fight dirty if the chips were down. Maybe there was more to him, Vig couldn’t decide. The other two rated more on the placid side of the scale. The other male with the collar length dark hair had the alert interest of an experienced traveller, one who took in his surroundings with busy eyes but missed what he should be looking for. An underlying hint of naivety suggested he lacked raw clout. He would be unlikely to cause a stir if anything got sticky. Whatever was driving this, Vig doubted that any of them knew how deep the entangled roots went. Kae thought this was big and these guys were certainly not in the category marked “big”. Any trouble and they would surely piss themselves. If Kae gave the word, he would have no difficulty at all in extracting all the information he could possibly want. He could get them singing their bank PIN numbers if he wanted to get it out of them.

As the tobacco chewing lady took her seat, happy with her bundle, Vig briefly allowed one last look at the three farang. The bus moved forward, jolting him slightly. As he steadied himself, he caught the Australian peering in his direction. Their eyes briefly locked. Vig slowly averted his eyes, not wishing to look quickly away in case this triggered suspicions. He hoped this worked, as the Australian looked past him now to the front of the coach. He heard him speak and strained his ears to pick up any dialogue above the rumble of the old bus and clatter of rural commuters, pleased that his grasp of English had now reached conversational level. The accent was clearly distinctive against the local gossip.

“Now we’re well clear of the suburbs and have left the city well behind us the scenery backdrops are going to get even more spectacular!” Rusty was already peering through a dusty window, picking out the dense plumes of green populating the low hills around them.

“Can’t wait! Things are just set to get all the more jaw dropping,” Mike replied. “I’m sure Louise came looking for much the same.”

“Yeah Mike, we’re getting closer. She can’t be too far ahead of us now. With luck she might have ambled up here pretty slowly, maybe spending time in Chang Mai checking out the wood carvings or something! We got here pretty fast, so could well be catching up now. Whatever, I’m sure she’s doing good. You wait, we’ll catch her in one of those rubber tubes out on the river. I hear everyone heading that way likes a spin in one.”

“Maybe fate was getting us Laos via Louise. It’s beautiful here!” Jean responded, her enthusiasm working up a gear as the scenery was briskly moving from Asian suburbia and cultivated farming fields to a rolling road cutting through lush hills. The mountainous backdrops surpassed anything she previously witnessed whilst trekking in Northern Thailand earlier in her trip. What also stunned her was how quiet it was. With the built up French order of Vientiane lying further behind them, fewer communities sprang up. There was the occasional white-walled farmstead, but little else. Around them the mountains and hills remained mysteriously quiet, perhaps lonely.

Vig was digesting the relaxed conversation he was picking up, scrambling the facts into some sort of order. He moved closer to the rear of the coach, allowing himself only a foot, so as not to create excitable suspicion. He needed to learn more of their intentions and was intrigued to hear them talking of a girl named “Louise”. When he was instructed to follow them, he figured that they were probably couriering gems or incriminating documents. Now it looked more like a missing person hunt, a search for this “Louise”. His thoughts accelerated coming to sudden realisation that Kae wasn’t interested in the farang clutching their bags at the rear of the bus. They were the vehicle to this girl, the search party. This girl held something, a thing that Kae wanted very much. He inched further up the aisle, intending to pick up as much as possible for the duration of the journey. He had yet to decide how much information he should relay back to Kae. Much of this eavesdropping was to satisfy his growing curiosity. This was a game he was going to be playing very carefully.

“Sure is,” Vig could hear the Australian again, “its beauty bolsters its mysticism...WHAT THE FUCK!!”

The windows imploded with an almighty crash. Several bullets raked though the cab, slicing through everything in their lethal path. Screams and shouts rang as the bus mounted the verge, crashing over the edge.