Thirty Nine

The wake from the bow pushed a constant ripple bearing drifting wood and occasional tangled fishing net towards the shore. Along the banks young children often charged along through ferns and lilies to keep pace with the boat, waving as they lost the one sided race. Curious women stared from white sanded coves as they paddled waist high through the Mekong with their daily wash. A probing smell of wild garlic littered with sweet scented orchids caught the wind, dampening many of the pungent river odours.

The old engines pumped through their cycles, cast before the time of the revolution. Below deck dozens of travellers, hawkers and commuting farmers shared hard wooden seats, vibrating to the hum of the engines. Cracked windows poured light in from low slung sun’s rays, buzzing mosquitos competing to fly through widening cuts on the ancient netting. Above deck, sanded boards provided ample lounging space to stretch legs out on top of bundled rucksacks, cushioning tired feet under the growing sun.

Louise idly flicked a blade of dried glass towards a reading Mike. A dog-eared copy of a Latin crime novel failed to contain his interest above the distraction. Making a face, he made to turn his back on her, looking around in a charade of mocked irritability. Louise laughed and flicked her hair back, placing her head against the soft bulk of her bag. Since the long route back from the Plain of Jars she found a quiet sense of relief. The frustration in not finding the Pha Bang was tempered with a heart -felt notion that all was meant to be. The iconic Buddha was up where it was meant to be, enjoying the admiration of countless thousands each year. In the public gaze it continued to endure as the true symbol of Laotian identity, a combination of tradition, spirituality and fervent pride.

A couple of days down time in Vientiane gave them enough time to arrange hastily bought tickets for one of the passenger trips up the Mekong. The oversubscribed boat took them down river to Luang Prabang over a leisurely two days. A lengthy stopover at the Pak Ou Caves provided plentiful time to kip out under a breezy shade for a few hours after taking in the impressive subterranean pools reached through granite tunnels. Now all Louise wanted to do was get to the world heritage site and run up through the narrow streets overlooked by wooden colonial houses, their slatted shutters opening onto chic bars, skirting the hawkers and artists until she came to the revered Royal Palace. There she hoped to step back into a regal past and marvel at the stunning throne room for the Pha Bang. Then amongst the photo snapping tourists she might wonder at how she was part of the chequered history of this ancient icon.

The slow punctuation of a weathered Canadian voice distracted her.

“Reckon they must be preparing to cross the border by now.”

Dan was referring to hastily made plans made by Pin and the remaining Hmong choosing to seek a new life in his company. A few elected to seek out friends or relatives in the sparse Laotian countryside, hoping to merge anonymously into a rural village life. The bulk chose to pitch their luck in with Pin, trusting him with their immediate destiny. Returning to the camp for more than a few days was full of risk, despite being buried deep in the jungle foliage. For all the Blood Ravens knew, the Hmong now held the original Pha Bang, possibly locked away within their reclusive retreat. With a sore head, squeezed tighter when their captain was shot, they would have thrown everything into finding the Hmongs jungle home. Helicopters and thermal imaging could well be chalked on the script. Their rage might even stretch as far as agent-orange. The only course of action for Pin and his followers was to flee over the porous Thai border. Tens of thousands of Hmong already resided in the north, largely under the protection and watchful eye of the Thai authorities. A border run would ensure an element of obscurity; more importantly once clear it would give them a protective law enforcer to fend off snatch squads. There were networks and friends patiently lying in wait to help them settle.

Louise had taken the time to talk at length with Pin before their tearful departure. He seemed remarkably upbeat considering they came away from the plain without the Pha Bang, though with the comforting knowledge that there were protective guardians holding and keeping Laos’s greatest secret.

“Pin has close ties with a Hmong network on the eastern seaboard of the US.” They have a pot of money they can call on in some Bangkok accounts,” Louise said, absently scratching an old mosquito bight as she spoke, products of the water and heat. “For quite a time they ran a lucrative bye-line in grade A horticulture. I’m sure that a large portion of those profits can be channelled into getting them across the Atlantic. Whether they do it legally, or simply get authentic green cards couriered out, I’m sure that with Pin at the helm they’ll touch down somewhere west of New York within the year.”

“It will all be for the best. Not finding that Buddha could well turn out to be their making,” Dan replied, relaxing back to watching the shoreline gently wash by. For the first time in a long while he was free from worries of covert operations and secretive quests for priceless icons. All he need concern him now were the thoughts of a newly found errant daughter, whose passion for West Country football he might never understand.

Mike looked up and simply nodded. His mind was already skipping beyond their special sightseeing expedition in Luang Prabang. Stepping out from a high octane journey such as theirs needed timeout and a good deal of adjustment. He was already thinking Vietnam. They deserved a new route before going home, one without quite as much excitement. Before any border crossings though there was one more important duty to attend to - a rather awkward call to the Pembertons.