Chapter Seventeen

A frustrated arm pushed the plate to the middle of the table. Red snappers, dressed in a tongue zapping chilli sauce with chives and garlic, was normally a favourite dish for Kae. Today even the Chang Beer accompaniment could do little to take away his seething anger. The burning chilli barely lifted his mood. Normally the combination invigorated him through its assault on his senses. Today he was hardly aware. For the past half an hour he had been pushing the fish around, playing with it as he seethed over the phone call.

Vig had rung his personal mobile number forty minutes earlier. Few had access to him this way; the contact was logged under the pseudonym of a past school friend. Kae was not in the habit of giving bait for local investigators. The Chinaman was one of a very select few with an entry in his contacts list. Vig would never usually raise his voice or show any display of agitation, but for once he came close. He recounted all that had taken place on the highway to Vang Vieng.

At first Vig was sketchy. It was as if he wanted to draw Kae out on how much he knew. There was suspicion in his voice. He needed to know what Kae had been up to and what his level of involvement was. The true answer was sod all. Brazen ambushing of public buses would be pretty fucking stupid and never part of any plan. Kae felt a true body blow when he learnt that two of the subjects were missing. In particular, his golden boy Mike looked to be currently AWOL. He held high hopes for the Englishman to deliver them to Little Miss Riding Hood. Now those hopes were somewhat dampened. From Vig’s description and analysis, there was nothing to suggest that golden boy had met with an untimely end. The chances were good that they were currently running blindly amongst the trees like panicked squirrels. What he didn’t like was that Mike was currently off his radar. He optimistically thought that this should be a temporary setback. As long as Mike took care with the snakes and bullets, he should turn up anytime soon. Any missing farang swept up by the state police would soon be brought to his attention. It would be big news in this part of the world. Even if the Laotian cops did miss a skinny white backpacker, he was sure that the shit-scared Mike would be on the phone as soon as he reached some form of habitation out there in the wilds. He just hoped that he kept his head down in doing so. A dead Mike would be no use to his plans whatsoever.

What Kae liked less was the coincidence of the whole bloody thing. It reeked of the stooges from PC38 and their secret policing methods for keeping agendas open. The road to Vang Vieng was known to cut across rural areas crawling with Hmong, but the tribes and villagers tended to leave things in a state of natural harmony. If they bothered nobody, nobody bothered them. It would never be in their interests to attack a public bus. Even if they had a tendency to blow unarmed civilians apart, doing so with no obvious political point was astoundingly stupid. And what were the chances for his faithful servant and boot-boy Vig to be riding on the same bus with a bunch of farang backpackers sitting under his nose. Probably about as big a chance as the communists in PC38 opening up Baptist Sunday schools in America.

Unlike many of his countrymen, Kae harboured a vicious temper. He needed things to go his own way at any cost; much of it was about control. He would shout and then threaten. Most of the time he got what he wanted. Few who knew him would ever go against him. They knew that his violent threats were no idle talk. History had witnessed gruesome encounters when Kae’s world went off-kilter. Now his carefully orchestrated plan was slipping badly away. That bastard PC38 captain had something to do with this. He thought that bringing the Laotian on-board was a shrewd move. The spoils on offer could so easily be shared. With the corrupt agent’s knowledge and far-reaching power things could be controlled. He could marshal unwitting troops and plentiful resources - the military muscle Kae needed for when he came up against it. He knew that they had to throw a large web over the hills and jungle. A few mercenaries could hardly cope. Without the key information he was patiently waiting for, they needed an entire army. Now he was rueing the day he ever took that captain’s ear. The idiot was moving too soon. He probably wanted to take out a few Hmong on his way, use this bus fiasco to take on a bit of ethnic cleansing into the deal the PC38 way. Bastard! This carefully hatched plan was Kae’s baby. They had to tiptoe at first and follow the farang. Later on they could charge in, blowing the fuck out of everything. Through jumping too early they risked sending months of work straight down the pan. To top it all, he had not been consulted. The whole thing stank of a cesspool in need of flushing out.

He was unable to take the full vent of his anger out on Vig. The Chinaman was still several hours away and wholly blameless, which in itself would not have stopped Kae sliding into a shouting rant. Vig knew of Kae’s temper and would let abuse soar over his head. He was paid well to do so. Kae once told Vig that if he did not like and admire him so much, why would he raise his voice? Although only partially true, it did not stop him needing an outlet right now. He needed a face to scream at. He would have loved to grab the tie from that jumped-up patrol officer and force it against his windpipe. Thinking of the overweight captain only caused even greater outrage. He was fast reaching the point where the valve on the pressure cooker of his temper was set to blow big time. How dare they cross him - him, Kae! Even more infuriating was the fact that he now needed to place an urgent call overseas. There were still others with a common interest. Resources and information were pipelined his way with the high expectation and price that he would honour these interests once the time came. They would not like the changing situation, not one bit. He needed to keep them pretty, at least whilst he was still visible and within their clutches. Later he could once again become the nameless man who did not appear in the telephone directory. His disappearance would be so meticulously planned that a pig scratching for truffles wouldn’t sniff him. For now he would once again have to speak with that Saigon bastard and tell him that things were not quite going to plan. How he hated this. How he hated everything right now!

Two boys passed the entrance to his restaurant, daring to peer inside with an eye to selling Vientiane postcards to customers. They charged a dollar each, which was a comfortable mark-up and paid better than being extorted in a manufacturing sweatshop. They provided the ideal vehicle for Kae’s anger. Pushing himself up with one arm he made rapid progress across the dark tiled floor. He quickly made the stone entrance steps before either boy was aware what was happening. They fled before the flailing arm of Kae could make a grab for them. Cursing, he gave chase, feeling the weight of older legs and Marlborough lungs as the young hawkers sped before him. The lunchtime heat ensured he made heavy going of it. The hot season was yet to arrive, but the climate was still more than oppressive for any physical exertion. Droplets of sweat burst onto his forehead from nowhere. Within several yards he found himself gasping as he drew in gulps of the heavy warm air. He could only watch as the kids made good their escape, dodging cycles and tuk-tuks as they scampered across the old French boulevard.

Blinded by rage and frustration, he failed to notice a black Fiat pulling to a frenzied stop in front of his restaurant. It was an old and tired car. On hearing a screech of tyres he turned to pinpoint the commotion. He was just in time to witness the tip of a white grenade launcher protruding from the window. A roaring tail of smoke accompanied the missile as it smashed through the double doors. A brief fireball enveloped the corner where he had just been sitting. A thunderous roar accompanied a white flash. With the impact his ears screamed from the sound of the explosion. Close witnesses spoke of a rumbling vibration, like a violent earthquake. Kae stood in dumbfounded silence. The black Fiat screeched away, inconspicuous in the aftermath of carnage. Kae stood and watched a suited businessman stagger down the steps, his face black with soot. One arm clasped the other in a futile attempt to stem the flow of blood. Most of the limb was missing below the elbow. Dumbstruck, Kae took in the scene. So easily could they say that zealots from the inner Hmong were behind this. How wrong they would be. Kae was not so stupid to suppose that this had not been meant for him.