Chapter Twenty Five

“What the fuck did he just tell us? Did you understand any of that?” Rusty was looking over at Mike with a growing sense of bewilderment.

“Don’t worry, Rusty, I didn’t really get it either. I know nothing of his language, but I do understand some of his body-language. I imagine he’s beefing everyone up in the same way in the same way he gave us his pep talk. He needs to get them motivated, prepare them for the danger which lies ahead.”

They had been listening to Pin address the huddled gathering of Hmong. He spoke rapidly in his native tongue, raising his voice several times to emphasise the severity of his point. He needed to instil urgency and emphasise how close to violent danger they were. Anywhere else he might have made a good politician, a man elected to hold public office and dictate spending budgets. Here he made a good leader, a man capable of running into chaos with a gun and pulling everyone out the other end with him. One thing was sure; they were getting ready to hit the road. Mike had an inkling as to their destination. It filled him with a seeping dread coupled with a nervous excitement. In one sense he could not have felt more alive, though his concerns for Jean tugged further at his knots of tension. There would be little he could do alone in such remote terrain. He needed these tuned-in locals, though fully realised that with Rusty he was down a road of no return. Jean’s destiny now fell pretty much with theirs. Once they completed the Hmong’s long-anticipated goal Mike was sure that there would be no problem in drawing on their help and deep resources. In all probability the Chinaman was currently seated with Jean sipping herbal tea outside a ritzy international hotel. In his present location he could only push this image to the back of his mind, taking what comfort he could. Ahead in the immediate future lay the climax to a crushing secret buried decades before. Through stumbling on Louise he was now part of that secret, an unwitting party to a challenge of colossal consequences. The adrenalin rush was consuming, washing away knots of fear.

Just hours before, Pin had stood telling them about Hmong homelands and the mysterious Pha Bang. He spoke of the revolution in Laos; of how the Hmong were hurt and wronged. His words carried news of betrayal, of value beyond gold, and of corrupting power, more power than one man could behold. He talked of a sign, a new revelation. Something that would change the Hmong’s lives. Dan’s plane had been carrying a steel canister earmarked for a drop on his last mission. The stowed documents were all in Russian, written for a long-lost audience. Their value was overlooked and unknown. Recently an ally came visiting their camp, one who had studied Russian at the State University. The importance of the yellowing documents had hit them like a sharp physical blow to the body. They mirrored the archived files in Vientiane’s national museum. If the two could be interlocked, they would provide a set of references, a key to the caves on the Plain of Jars where revolutionaries had hidden the Pha Bang, the sacred and priceless Buddha. An ingenious replica filled the ancient temple. The keepers of this secret were long dead, murdered before they could tell. Returning home, their once-allied translator lost his conscience and with it his life. His trade with darker elements in Vientiane released the once-forgotten secret. Now there were unknown players aware of the priceless Buddha within their grasp. These were men who might kill over a few dollars. With such high stakes they would be capable of anything. This scared Mike a lot. It was not only the financial impact; there were huge political implications. Since he had been told this powerful tale he was no longer a guest, free to leave at any time. The backpacking adventure was at an end. He was now part of a select crowd, the keeper of a secret and in it right up to his neck.

All through the speech Rusty stayed quiet, but Mike could tell he was bursting to find out more. He pulled at his shirt, denying his impulse to probe the Hmong with a string of questions. As Mike saw it, Pin was in full principal mode, projecting his voice to his wider audience, sternly letting them know what was now required. With the bus hijack on their doorstep the markers were being moved, hurled forward to the here-and-now. Whilst Mike folded his arms and took in the scene, Rusty jumped around to get the best view and cocked his head so that he could catch every word. He seemed different since they had entered the camp. They were all operating outside their comfort zones, with all of this craziness who would not be! But Rusty was like a watchful dog scratching around the pack. He seemed to be buzzing with nervous energy. It surprised Mike to see Rusty behave in this way. Before their brush with Louise and her Hmong guardians, Rusty was so cavalier whilst maintaining an aura of streetwise professionalism. He was an essential element and had saved Mike’s hide on two occasions. Without him the mission to find Louise would have ended up with Mike himself lying in a morgue someplace. All the more reason to wonder why he was so out of tune.

With Pin’s gathering finally dispersing, presumably to collect their worldly goods, Louise and Dan made their way across. Mike couldn’t help but notice how confident Louise looked, how natural. The lack of make-up and unwashed hair failed to bother her. She was already looking like she belonged here with these people.

“No point in either of you packing your bags,” she said. “One advantage of not having any, I guess!” Louise held Mike’s eyes with a playful glint as she spoke. She really was looking like she was in her element. Mike knew it would be a long time before she sat on the Pembertons’ sofa drinking tea once more. The thought reminded him that he had some calls to make; fairly urgent ones. Once clear of the camp he hoped reception might pick up enough for him to phone out.

“Anyway, I’m sure we can sort you out with suitable attire,” she continued. “The news is that we’re leaving within the hour. The guys keep some trucks close to the road. We’ll follow a path carefully in single file. There are a few pits in the jungle that hold some nasty surprises, so be very careful. They don’t like unwelcome visitors.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be inches behind you,” Mike replied, already thinking about the journey ahead. Having Louise’s supple rear to follow might at least provide some distraction.

“I’m sure you will, Mike! For once that’s where I want you. You know, I’m glad that you’re now committed to helping our cause. If you skulked out on it they might have needed to kill you.”

Mike was about to answer back before thinking better of it. It was her tone that caused him to pause. There was a serious edge to what he initially perceived as a flippant remark, the usual sharply honed wordplay Louise was known for. This time she meant it. He wondered if she might have tried to stop them. Would the Hmong turn against him if he threatened to walk? What then? A bullet in the head to permanently close his lips or a quick shot to the leg to keep him hopping all the way to the nearest hospital? Left with his thoughts he closely followed her, very careful to step where she trod. He was aware of Rusty immediately to his rear. The Australian appeared contented to take the back seat for once. He was no longer interested in jovial banter. Instead he looked like he needed to listen, to take in all that was going on around him and handle it the best way he could. Mike left him that way as they moved single-file through the jungle. Occasionally as he pushed a vine aside he could make out the silhouette of Pin a couple of dozen yards in front. It made him think all the more deeply about what Louise had just been saying.

It took them the best part of an hour to reach the road. The path they followed was not direct and took many twists and turns. Unidentified lilies and Jurassic leaves from a forgotten era covered much of the way. Only a trained eye might spot an opening that revealed the path through the thick foliage. It was why Pin and his Hmong had remained undisturbed for so long. Most rural Laotians would struggle to find such a path; non-locals would soon become lost simply by stepping off the road. An endless horizon of sky-reaching trees covered the secretive tracks in total darkness. As they moved forward an eerie cloak masked them from the world beyond the road. The size of the forest disoriented and dwarfed them. Few would enjoy wandering far, the invisible insects providing the only sounds of accompaniment.

Within sight of the pitted tarmac they were ordered to stop and wait quietly.

“What do you think is going on?”

The whispered voice belonged to Rusty, once again wanting to know the reason behind everything. It was almost like he was failing to grasp the plot of a film and continually needed to seek answers.

“We’ll be requiring some transport,” Louise replied, much like replying to a ranked request in an army-corp logistics outfit. She was finding the situation easier to manage the more involved she became. “We have a few miles ahead of us. I suspect they’re checking the highway for activity and getting our trucks roadworthy. They’ll not want to get going until the light fades a bit more. The roads are little used around here and we would stand out, even though many of the other vehicles will be equally ancient and over-crowded.”

Mike noticed how Louise referred to “our trucks”. The change in her was remarkable. If ever a girl from Portishead could be labelled with ‘going native’ it would surely be Louise. More used to top-brand perfumes and French red wine, she was now best contented pushing through vines in a remote Asian jungle. He was not allowed to ponder this image further as John pushed his way past a low branch to be at his side. During their trek Mike had clean forgotten about him.

“The bit that gets me the most is that I was getting to like it back there. I had most things I needed with the added bonus of seeing Louise here swan around with her midriff showing. Do you think this Plain of Jars place will have much smoke? I brought a bag along just on the off chance like.”

Mike noticed Louise turn her back on him. No love lost there, he thought. John had brought up an interesting point though - what would the Plain of Jars be really like? It would certainly be more open and would expose them to the dangers of ambush. Their principal advantage was that the area was remote and mountainous, largely unpopulated. He searched his memory for pieces he that had read concerning the ancient archaeological site. He seemed to remember that the area was huge, covering much of the Xieng Khouang Plain. The jars themselves were perhaps 2,000 years old, varying in size and design. Although there were over 400 sites, most tourists kept to the mapped out two or three. Legend had it that a long-forgotten king used the jars for storing ‘lao lao’ rice wine, although modern interpretations pointed towards burial rituals. Many caves in the area housed shallow graves and hand-carved artefacts. The Vietnam War had witnessed ferocious fighting in the area between the Hmong and Pathet Laos communist guerrillas. The plain now bore many of those scars; large swathes still blighted by unexploded bombs and crippling mines. Mike suspected from what he earlier learned that their initial destination might steer them more towards these ravaged areas than the safer picturesque fields where many of the intact jars lay waiting for the tourists’ lens. He only hoped that they might move on quickly once they took their prize. Too many ghosts already walked the plain. He shivered to think that more might die to join them. A large raindrop caught his nose, bringing him back from deep thought. If John didn’t find any grass it would be the least of his worries.

“We should shelter back within the trees until the trucks are up and running,” Dan called out from the road. “It’s unusual to have such rain this time of year, so just keep dry and hope it passes over soon.”

Any notion that the rain would quickly pass diminished as the sky grew darker. Mike found that by pushing close to a tree trunk he was able to avoid much of the downpour. He saw the others do likewise. Stooping down with his head resting against the bark he closed his eyes and welcomed a surge of fatigue. It felt like an age since he had last been able to seek out a proper break. So much was happening, so many things to comprehend. In a whirl of confused images he fell into an immediate sleep.

As he was falling down a dark pit he knocked against a stone jar, disturbing the heavy lid to reveal a beautiful golden face, a smiling Buddha. He reached to the smoothness of its cheek, the polished contours, just about to touch before his wrist was taken. He looked at the firm hand taking him and pushing him away. Pemberton was saying he should leave it, bring his daughter back instead. Behind him Louise ran, beckoning him as she went. She smiled, running towards a plane moving through thick green plants. He pulled away from Pemberton and went after her. He tried to pull the stone jar with him, stunned that he was able to drag such a solid weight. The plane taxied towards him, moving faster as it closed ground. With the jar firmly in his grip he moved towards the open door. Louise was calling him, hand outstretched. He went faster, reaching out towards her. As he closed in, his shoulder was grabbed. It was a strong grip, pulling him back. Someone was trying to stop him - not Pemberton but a younger man with a ferocious hold. The wheels of the plane clipped him as it began climbing. It shook him and pushed him to the floor.

As Mike awoke he felt a sense of loss. He was missing something: someone was trying to stop him taking it. He became aware of a further jolt. John’s hand was on his shoulder, rocking him. Mike instinctively looked down at it, noticing for the first time the frayed nails and white knuckles.

“Come on, Mike. Wakey, wakey. We’re all ready to board up now. Next stop, the unexplained wonder of the Plain of Jars. Please fasten your seatbelts as we tumble into the mystical world of the archaeological plunderer.”

Mike ignored the humour and wearily rubbed his eyes and surveyed the scene. It was difficult to gauge how long he had been out for, but he guessed it could not have been for long seeing as it was still raining. The low throb of an elderly diesel could be heard from the road close by. Without further direction he made his way towards it. Being this close to the road caused him a fleeting pang of fear, memories of the hijack still too fresh. He guessed that the bus must have come to grief close by but was unable to pinpoint any obvious landmarks. Seeing Louise and Rusty talking by the truck, he walked across.

“Here comes the sleeping beauty,” Rusty was quick to call across. Mike was pleased to note that his dry wit was coming out again. Even John was at it. Perhaps the Australian was simply happy to be on the move once more.

“Hi, guys. Did I miss much during my brief nap?” Mike did his best to straighten his hair as he spoke.

“Less of the ‘brief’, mate!” Rusty jibed. “No, just getting ready to get the show on the road. Got a bit of a journey ahead and our Hmong heavies are keen to get moving soon, especially with this rain. The road isn’t too good and could become a quagmire if we’re unlucky.”

Mike smiled before looking for Louise. She was moving towards the lead truck and soon returned with Pin. The thickset Hmong beckoned them to form a group huddle, a habit learned through Dan and his football antics, though it suited his westernised leadership style, trying to involve all where he was able.

“I want you all to split up as we leave. We are going to be exposed and therefore will be facing some danger. There seems little point in having eager journalists appear because they want pictures of dead farang. I’ll ask the truck drivers to leave in intervals of 30 minutes. If one of our trucks gets hit for any reason others will live to fight on.” Pin’s face was stern as he spoke. They all knew there was great risk from this point on.

Mike counted five trucks in total, all old and all in various states of disrepair. He wondered how long the Hmong had garaged them out here in the jungle in preparation for such an evacuation. Amongst the chaos he found himself allocated to a truck with Dan and Louise. Both Rusty and John were taking a ride in the trailing truck, the last scheduled to leave.

“Hey, guys - looks like a modern day Noah’s Ark doesn’t it, save for the animals that is?”

His remark to Louise and Dan was met with a polite smile but little else, prompting him to take a seat and watch the disembarkation in silence. Each truck housed a mixture of Hmong of various ages to spread their skill-set out. Those capable and old enough carried a weapon, the Kalashnikov being the rifle of choice. A few sported utility green grenades fashioned around arms belts, probably untested and potentially more dangerous to the user. He counted ten or so Hmong to each truck, which given the number seemed to account for all the occupants back at the camp. Within a short space of time he felt a low rumble beneath him as the antique engine kicked into life. He stood to shout his farewells to Rusty and John in the remaining truck, but found his words lost beneath the noise. Instead he watched from under the canvas as they drew away. It was the first time since they met that he was apart from the carefree Australian. It was more than missing his companionship. He felt slightly ill at ease that events were unfolding far beyond his control. With Rusty close by he would feel better prepared. The traveller portrayed a quiet confidence, a knowledge that he could cope. Mike wanted him here; he wanted the quiet confidence. There were too many things to go wrong, too many complications in a journey to one of the remotest places in Asia. The Pha Bang weighed more than many people together.