did have an agreement to keep a lid on the findings. So Daeng sat with Mr. Geung who was deep in some impossible conversation with John Johnson.
“The embassy documents have arrived,” said Gordon.
“Already?” said Siri. “How’s that possible?”
“Army convoy in transit to Phu Bia. They traveled overnight. Dropped off the documents at the local battalion. Their courier brought them up early today. And, four armed guards arrived this morning at the behest of your judge.”
The thought of more weapons around in the hands of bush soldiers hardly put Siri’s mind at ease. But the arrival of the files was a positive and they needed an excuse for Yamaguchi and Gordon to stay at the hotel that day to go through the documents. As everything was in English, Siri and Phosy wouldn’t be much help. But they came up with a plan that would pass the inspection of Judge Haeng. The Americans would claim to be putting together the paperwork to ship Major Potter’s body back to the US. For this purpose they could commandeer Nurse Dtui for her Lao translation skills of medical terms. In actual fact, Dtui would be summarizing the findings from the files to pass on to Siri and the others when they returned.
Most of the remaining team members shared Commander Lit’s theory that the bombing of the post office was a cowardly act of terrorism, and the shooting of the senator was most likely an accident. And well, yes, he was only a senator. Potter had killed himself. So only the morgue team and those present at the autopsy were aware of the actual danger. The decision was taken, therefore, that everyone else should go to visit the site of the stones at the bend in the river-an excursion of sorts. Missing were the same characters who’d opted for room service breakfast and, as Judge Haeng was amongst the absentees, the atmosphere was more relaxed than normal. There was an unreal party mood, a general buzz of excitement as they closed in on the missing airman. The fashion statement of the day was made by Auntie Bpoo in combat boots, flak jacket and cherry red hotpants. To the con tractor’s displeasure, they only needed the one truck to go to the site. The truck dropped off the stream team one kilometer further along the potholed road than usual. With their maps and compasses, the aerial photographs, improvised face masks and plenty of water, they headed off into the smoky jungle.
They reached the stream a lot sooner than they’d expected. They’d only been trekking for half an hour and the sudden giggly sound of the icy water tickling the rocks surprised all of them. But the map indicated just the one stream and it was a good sized watercourse. The photograph Rhyme had taken gave them only a rough estimate of the distance of the stone message from Ban Hoong. They were approximately in the right place but didn’t know whether to head south or north. They decided to head upstream for an hour. If they found nothing they’d turn around and follow the stream all the way to the village. Siri noticed Bpoo nod so he felt confident they’d made the correct call. Only twenty minutes south they came to a bend in the river and a broad sandbank which disappeared into the mist.
“This looks promising,” said Rhyme, running to the head of the convoy. “Now all we need is … aha!” He was the first to spot the blurry dark gray boulders at the far side of the clearing and he jogged across to them. The team followed. Rhyme already had two of his cameras primed. He flipped open the dust caps and began to snap away at the rocks. The word BOWRY was spelled out neatly in boulders approximately the size of bicycle wheels.
“The pilot couldn’t have been hurt at all,” Civilai told his friends proudly. “Some of those boulders must weigh a hundred kilograms. They would have taken some shifting.”
“I’d need a dozen elephants and a long chain,” said Siri. “And I haven’t just fallen out of a helicopter.”
The source of the large stones was at the river’s edge where they’d been smoothed by the constant passage of water and coated with a black moss. They’d been rolled across the clearing to a point where they contrasted with the white sand and on a clear day would have been easily visible from the air. It must have taken considerable effort.
“Almost a miracle that they weren’t spotted by anyone else,” said Daeng. “The rescue flights. Trips back and forth to Spook City.”
“No more a miracle than escaping from a falling helicopter, madam,” said Civilai.
They sat beside the idyllic stream, a picture framed in fog, and drank tea from a thermos. It reminded Siri of a scene in an exotic calendar on the wall of some French matron. “Natives in the harsh jungle.”
“How do you think he survived out here?” Phosy asked.
“He was a marine,” said Daeng. “They train them for jungle warfare.”
“I doubt he’d ever come across anything like this in his training,” Siri told them.
Rhyme had almost all the pictures he needed. He called for just one more team photo, everyone lined up behind the rocks. They clambered to the far side and took up a pose like the grand explorers of the Tibetan highlands with the body of the slain yeti at their feet. The photographer stood as far back as he dared, aware that the smoke would make his pictures appear out of focus.
“I say, you,” Rhyme called out. “Would you mind standing up?”
The journalist was talking to Phosy who was on his knees reaching between the rocks. Peach translated but the distraction had already spoiled a very nice photograph. Now others were leaning over Phosy and watching as, from the narrow gap, he pulled a large plastic envelope fastened with bright yellow tape. Even Rhyme abandoned his post and went to look at the prize. Phosy didn’t wait for a consensus, he used his fake Swiss army knife to slice open the tape at the top of the envelope and tipped out the contents onto one of the rocks. It was an English language newspaper. He passed it to the American sergeant.
“It’s the
“What on earth’s that doing here?” Civilai asked nobody in particular. “What’s the date?”
The question was met by a low whistle from Johnson.
“Well, this is weird,” said the American. “This newspaper is dated June second, 1978. A little over two months ago.”
“Ah,” Civilai laughed. “I remember something like this in France.
“It’s August,” Daeng reminded him.
“And I don’t see anyone laughing,” added Siri. “But I’d wager somebody’s playing a trick on all of us.”
“It’s possible the newspaper isn’t related to the rocks,” Commander Lit suggested.
“You mean like some local was sitting on a boulder reading a newspaper and it started raining so he put it in a plastic bag and stuck it down beside the rocks so he could finish it once he’d learned English?” Phosy said without looking at the security man.
“Actually, I meant that someone wanted us to find the newspaper so they left it in a place they knew we’d search,” said Lit in the direction of the same bank of fog.
“As opposed to leaving it in front of the hotel?”
“And have the old guards burn it to keep themselves warm. Good idea.”
“I do wish Dtui was here,” Daeng laughed. “Men can be so predictable.”
“I’m not predictable,” said Siri.
“I knew you’d say that.”
The Americans had split up the newspaper and were going through it page by page. Peach translated.
“An Australian journalist swam to Laos in scuba gear to rescue his Lao girlfriend,” she said.
“US abolishes import quota on Thai textiles,” read Johnson.
“A beauty competition for fat women,” said Bpoo. “What a civilized country.”
“OK,” said Peach. She’d picked up the sheet Randal Rhyme had just put down. He apparently missed the reference. “Laos gets a mention here in the editorial. I think this might be relevant.”
“Rumor has it that the Communist Lao government is in bed with her old nemesis, the USA,” she read. “Despite a massive push to establish cooperatives nationwide, the People’s Democratic Republic has found itself with a shortfall of 113,000 tons of rice as a result of last year’s drought. And who should step in to find that mere nine million dollars but Uncle Sam himself. What’s nine million compared to the fifty million they were pumping in per year during the war? On Wednesday, the Senate appropriations committee, under its new chairman, Senator Walter Bowry of South Carolina, approved a budget to help out one of the poorest countries in the world. It was, as the senator told a press conference with a straight face, “for humanitarian purposes.” The good gentleman went on to add that, “despite twenty years of hostility, the US bears no personal animosity toward the Pathet Lao.” Right.
