Chapter Seven

As Pin drove along the unmade road, a plume of dust spiralled up behind him, making the rear view only semi-visible. The mirrors were all but useless. Visibility was on a par with the heavy dawn fog that often shrouded the Mekong. The vibrations alone were enough to ruin any chance of a clear image. A shard of glass from the cracked mirror fell away, cutting out more of his view. He risked a brief look over his shoulder. His limited sight of vision revealed a shape ploughing up the mud from rutted verges. He could just make out a battered bonnet. There was little mistaking it: the white pickup truck was trailing him. With a wider section of rare tarmac on the road just ahead, the pickup was choosing to accelerate. Opportunities to overtake were rare, although so was the need given the rural location. The driver probably knew the isolated road; knew where to quietly hide and where to strike. They must have been watching, patiently waiting for him to drive by. In all probability they would have done their homework and known that the wait would not be too long.

This was a lonely stretch of the road, far from the nearest village and offering plenty of tree cover able to hide a whole army, hardware included. It was a perfect place to stage an ambush, a car-jacker’s utopia. Pin clasped the steering wheel hard, fighting for greater control, before pumping the accelerator to release enough power in the old Toyota Carina to pull away. With long segments of pitted road in store, the venerable Japanese car would be in grave danger of breaking up at this speed. The heavy-duty shock-absorbers supporting the pickup behind would hold out much better, cushioning more of the damaging potholes. It might only be a matter of minutes. Heavy grinding noises churned out from the vibrations were already hinting at something terminal. A fork in the road ahead presented Pin with his only viable choice. Timing it to precision, he pulled hard on the wheel and held on. Biting down hard on his tongue, he fought for control. All pain was lost in the moment.

The Toyota lurched to the right, hit a bump and ground out the sump. Briefly losing his grip on the wheel, Pin fought to keep the car from going over. His elbow connected with his petrified front seat passenger, knocking him against the window. There was no time to check the rear-view, even if he could see, but the pickup would soon be in close pursuit. The sudden turn would create momentary confusion, though would do little to throw the tail. With the road thinning into an impassable track, he aimed the car over the rutted verge towards a clump of tangled bushes. It would have to do. Racing towards the first of the spindle-like branches, he pulled hard on the handbrake and spun the wheel. The Toyota lurched sideways on, the sudden force bursting a tyre, with the explosion resembling a thrown grenade. The locking shudders burst the door open, an advantage Pin had not counted on. With a forceful shove, he pushed the cab’s other screaming occupant out through the hole, closely following behind. Rolling out, he pulled at the strap clipped to his loaded Kalashnikov, taking it with him. The robust automatic rifle easily coped with the jarring fall to the ground. Pin admired and knew this weapon intimately, so easy was it to wield that he could joke it made up his third arm. During years of bloody dogfights it had never let him down. Whatever the conditions it never jammed and could hammer through the magazine during any monsoon or dust bowl. His was a genuine USSR model, razor sharp in accuracy, legendry in the pit of a fire-fight; not an inferior Chinese copy that his adversaries mistakenly carried. He fancied his chances in any backwater skirmish. Slipping off the safety, he was ready to fire before he came out of the roll from his forced exit. He lay prone facing the road behind them. With the stalled Toyota now covering them from a frontal assault, Pin risked a quick rearward glance.

“Down!”

His frightened passenger needed no further coaxing and lay flat against the nearest spindly bush. If he had been hurt in the fall he wasn’t showing it. Focusing again, Pin looked to fire beneath the car. The gap provided a near perfect slot for aiming at his pursuers, without them getting a clear view in return. He waited as the white pickup mounted the steep verge and accelerated towards them. Pin could make out little through the accompanying cloud of dust, but counted at least two or even three in the front cab. Their focal point would be the Toyota, not the arid grassland and desolate bushes beyond. Pin chose his moment and fired. A lethal volley of shots spat out from the oiled Kalashnikov, peppering the pickup with holes. Pin clenched his teeth and kept firing. The windscreen exploded inwards as the pickup charged out of control, veering sharply to the left. The head of the driver lurched forward, his lifeless body gripping the wheel as if it were the skipper of a ghost-ship, as the pickup smashed head-long into an outcrop of sharp granite rocks. The grinding impact spewed bodies out as the vehicle rolled over, bouncing twice, the doors flapping, before coming to a rest at the foot of a hill.

Pin waited. He motioned behind him, his flat hand hoping to help calm his terrified passenger. His charge would have to wait, lying against the scattered scrubs in clear shock. His ashen face and far-off gaze suggested that he was not planning on going anywhere. Pin had no option but to go forward and investigate. This was the moment of exposure and danger. The driver was dead and maybe his passenger. He had seen them thrown back under the fire of his gun. They would have taken the brunt of his ambush. But if the pickup cab held three, then things got murkily dangerous. The other might well have shared the same fate, though could just as likely be lying in wait, willing him to walk into his sight. Pin crawled forward and listened. The eerie silence told him little. Perhaps a wounded man might be crying out in agony, but any able-bodied survivor would be perfectly capable of being very still, happy to blow him to bits the second he showed his head. If any passenger hadn’t wanted him dead before his lethal volley of shots, they certainly would now. A car full of slain comrades would ignite anger and hate, fusing the powerful combination into a formidable adversary. Any survivors would be baying for revenge and blood.

Making use of the cover, Pin skirted around the Toyota and took a closer look at the pickup. The white truck had righted itself at the end of its deadly somersault. A torrent of steam laid testament to a punctured radiator, shot to pieces with a barrage of lead. There was no movement or sign of life, prompting Pin to edge gingerly forward. All the time as he closed in, his finger tensed over the trigger. Approaching the cab he counted two bodies through the shattered glass. Both had taken head wounds, their arms thrown together in a grim lovers’ embrace by the force of the crash. A low but gargled moan drew him around to the side, where he spotted the third occupant crawling out of the vehicle. Saliva and bile slipping from the wounded man’s open mouth pointed to severe internal injuries and a life force wringing out its last breath. Ping felt little compassion as he studied the dying man. He knew that there would be no fanfare of sorrow if the situation were reversed. The man wore no uniform, though this didn’t exclude him from active employment at any number of government agencies. And if he worked independently, the gang had demonstrated a high level of organisation, despite having lost heavily in the fire-fight. Luck may not have been with them on this occasion. Any deviation from the events that they had just played out could easily have left him dead. Ping was in no doubt that he was facing a formidable enemy, one with far-reaching arms. It could be one of the gangs, but corruption was written all over the stinking truck. Either a covert capital department was in the know, or a high-up official was on someone’s deep payroll. The modernising government had long ago risen above such things, but they failed to hold the strings tight enough on occasion. He considered putting a bullet into the figure below him, a last act of mercy, only to note that his act of clemency was no longer required.

His decision to kneel beside the body and check for ID saved his life. With his focus on the wreckage of the pickup and its bloodied passenger, he momentarily exposed himself to a hill that rose sharply beyond the pickup. A burst of shots slammed into the cab where he had been standing. He was fleetingly startled by a figure charging down the hill. The man must have escaped from the pickup soon after the crash. It was the only plausible explanation. His adversaries were resourceful but Pin found it hard to believe that the man had been told to hide here in the event of any chance encounter. The hair was shoulder length, longer than the norm, like a warrior of old China. At some level Pin found this incredible, that in the modern age a gunman would consider such a charge. With his powerful automatic rifle pointing the way, a wild battle cry accompanied the man’s solo assault. Pin was quick to level his own Kalashnikov at the advancing assailant and prepare to fire. He pulled the trigger. A mechanical click pushed on an empty magazine. With a sickening rush of panic, Pin dived over the body still sprawled by his side. Bullets ricocheted off the paintwork, close to his head. Crouching behind the corpse he drew a knife and hoped. Wild with blind fury, the gunman charged in. Realising the inadequacy of his small knife, Pin held the door and slammed it forward. Raising his rifle for a last killing shot, the gunman realised the action too late. The swinging door knocked the gun harmlessly off target. With the weapon pushed to one side, the gunman lost balance, catching his head on the door as he fell. He slumped over hard onto his side.

Pin swiftly jumped to his feet, dancing hastily around the protruding door to retrieve the discarded gun. It was obvious that his attacker was either dead or unconscious. The man lay completely still. Reaching to the neck, Pin checked for a pulse. Happy to locate a slow, rhythmic beat, he straightened up. Keeping the man alive could be useful to him. He now had a source to reveal what these men knew and who they were working for. Intelligence kept him one step ahead, something he needed now more than at any other time during his turbulent life. Looking at the scene around him, he felt that there were very powerful enemies around, sinister forces that chilled him and would stop at nothing to achieve their goal. He had to know who they were and what they knew. If they were government related he was in deep and murky trouble. More would come, next time better prepared.

After checking on his unconscious captive more thoroughly, Pin made his way back to the Toyota, skirting around the car to the bushes beyond. Sitting up and rubbing his eyes, in total disorientation following the events of the past few minutes, sat the faring, a westerner he had come to know as John. His dazed appearance suggested that they should move swiftly and return to where the others waited. Getting back to the camp safely was now his only concern, preferably with no further armed interruptions.