make his way down the column. It was the headman.
'We are at edge of forest,' he whispered. 'Temple ahead. Come.'
Bolan and the headman made their way past the line of glowing fireflies flicking on and off. They emerged into grassland and knelt by a large boulder. A couple of hundred yards away stood a compound of buildings with a pagoda. Lights flickered from the shuttered windows, and in the pagoda there was chanting.
'They hold services at this hour?' asked Bolan. It was nearly eleven o'clock.
'These bonzes pray day and night,' said the headman. 'Tang Mei is temple of Night Buddha.'
The entrance to the pagoda was lit by flaming torches. By their light Bolan could see two soldiers. He brought out his field glasses for a better look. One man sat on the steps. His companion leaned against one of the stone dragons flanking the entrance. Both were eating, holding a bowl and chopsticks, their rifles propped nearby.
'Could be they're holding Nark in the pagoda,' Bolan said.
'Not know,' replied the headman.
Bolan went on inspecting the target. The ground behind the monastery rose sharply to a plateau. On the plateau stood a shack with an antenna.
'Radio relay station,' said the headman, seeing him looking up.
'Doesn't seem to be anyone there now,' said Bolan. The shack was in darkness. He turned his attention to the compound. 'Which building houses the soldiers?'
'Not know.'
Great, thought Bolan. Crossbows, muskets, and he didn't have a clue where to start.
He lowered his glasses. 'Okay, here's what I propose.' He outlined his plan. 'Do you agree?'
'I agree,' said the headman and went back to the forest.
Bolan put away the field glasses and brought out a camy stick. He proceeded to apply the camouflage to his hands and face. By the time three men with crossbows joined him, the whole of him blended into the night. He gave the men their instructions.
'Wait,' said one of the men. He undid the safety pin from Bolan's back and freed the firefly in the cage. He handed Bolan the cage. 'Keep for next time.'
Bolan pocketed the cage. It was made from a banana leaf. 'Ready?' he asked them. 'Let's go. May the spirits protect us.'
They ran for the cover of the nearest building and crouched in its shadow. They waited to catch their breath, then worked their way along the wall.
When they came to the end of the building, they sprinted across open ground, working their way closer to the pagoda. The next building was in total darkness. They could hear snoring, and a child's voice mumbled in its sleep. It was a boys' dormitory. The monks ran a school for temple pages.
To his right Bolan could hear a lot of loud talk and laughter. Right away that told him something. Thais did not talk loudly, especially not in a monastery. He waited until he could hear the language clearly. It was Chinese, which confirmed what he thought. He took a Meo by the arm.
'Tiger,' he whispered, pointing.
The other ran off. He would tell the headman, who would now know where to place his M-16 squad.
Bolan and the other two continued along the wall. They reached the corner and Bolan peered ahead. Before him was a sandy clearing in the middle of which grew the traditional sacred tree. Beyond was the pagoda, the inside lit and visible through the open doorway, though the monks were out of sight.
On the steps, the two soldiers were serving themselves second helpings from a multitiered food container of the kind peasants took to the rice fields. Bolan watched them resume eating. They were completely absorbed in their meal.
Perhaps they were not guarding anything, thought Bolan. Perhaps they were simply having a late dinner and had chosen the spot because of the light. If so, they could not have chosen a better place as far as he was concerned. The chanting would drown out whatever noise Bolan and his men might make.
Bolan signaled the Meo and they crawled out, Bolan following. They crawled single file, trying to keep the bodhi tree, between them and the soldiers. Bolan kept his eyes and ears wide open. This was the most dangerous moment; they were completely exposed.
The Meo reached the tree and rose, eyes on Bolan, who lay on his stomach a few yards away so he would have a better line of fire if he have to intervene. Bolan edged sideways to see the soldiers. They were still eating.
Bolan nodded, and the Meo stepped out. Two arrows sang through the air. Rice bowls and chopsticks clattered, one man groaned and fell to the steps, and the other began coughing blood, hands clutching the arrow embedded in his stomach.
The chanting stopped.
The Meo looked at Bolan as if to say, What do we do now? Neither of two young Meo had ever killed a man. One reason they had volunteered was that a Meo was not a man until he had killed. The professionals, the ex- soldiers, had refused to take part in an operation that opposed muskets to assault rifles.
Bolan streaked past the Meo, hand going for his dagger. He bounded up the steps and plunged it into the coughing soldier's heart. The man died instantly, and Bolan dragged both bodies inside the doorway of the pagoda. The Meo followed with the soldiers' rifles.
'Get the food things!' Bolan snapped, livid with anger. He would have the headman's neck for giving him greenhorns. He turned to the line of yellow-robed monks in the interior of the pagoda, gave a perfunctory
The monks glowered back in antagonistic silence. Not only was this foreigner desecrating a holy place by retaining his footwear, he had the impertinence to bring savages with him.
No love is lost in Thailand between the lowlander and the Montagnard, one civilized to the point of decadence, the other primitive and pagan, but a superior fighter.
'Sing, venerable monks,' Bolan repeated.
The shaved heads remained silent. They knelt on the stone floor under a giant statue of the Night Buddha. The god gazed at Bolan through half-open eyes giving the impression he, too, was displeased by this intrusion.
Bolan sympathized, but war is war. He told the Meo to bar the door and went over to the chief monk. He dropped to one knee and addressed him in the most formal manner.
'Venerable teacher, excuse this imposition. I have come to rescue the white man. Please have the other monks sing while we talk. If they do not, the Chinese might suspect and come, and there will be fighting. I have a hundred barbarians outside ready to attack if necessary.'
The head bonze and his assistant exchanged glances.
Bolan continued, 'If there is fighting, many of your monks could be killed. Many of your temple boys, too. Your monastery will be damaged by fire. Please sing.'
There was another exchange of looks. The head monk nodded, the assistant intoned. Wooden sticks clacked, small brass cymbals clashed and the chanting resumed.
'Thank you, venerable teacher,' said Bolan. 'Where is the white man?'
The monk's gaze fell to the floor.
'He's under the pagoda?'
The monk nodded.
'Where is the entrance?'
The monk said nothing.
'Please, venerable teacher, there is not much time.'
'We haven't the key.'
'Doesn't matter — I can open locks without a key. Where is the entrance?'
'The entrance is in the rear of the temple. One must go outside.'
They held each other's eyes. Was this a trick, Bolan asked himself. There was something of a snake about this man. The eyes were glazed and the voice was syrupy.
Bolan lifted himself to his feet. 'Please come to show me the entrance.'
A shaved eyebrow rose almost imperceptibly. The monk had not expected that. He glanced at his assistant and rose. Bolan signaled to the Meo to unbolt the door.
