“Or it could be Boyd himself,” said Daeng.
“Good, now you’re into the spirit of things,” said Civilai. “A pilot survives for ten years, unseen in the jungles of Laos. Then one day a copy of the newspaper drops out of the sky and he reads about his father’s good fortune. Where’s he going to find a copy of the
“Thailand.” Siri and Daeng said it at the same time.
“Ha,” said Civilai. “I see it. You’re just attempting to muscle in on my Hollywood deal. Boyd abseils from a crashing helicopter then walks sixty kilometers to Thailand through hostile enemy-controlled territory.”
“This isn’t all enemy territory,” Daeng reminded him. “He’d be just as likely to meet an ally. There were plenty of friendly villagers around who’d be happy to help out a nice young American boy.”
“If that were so, why wouldn’t he get himself returned to his base?”
“Embarrassment for trashing one of their choppers?” Daeng suggested.
“Or, perhaps he didn’t want to go back,” said Siri.
“A deserter?” said Civilai in mock horror. “I thought he was supposed to be a model soldier. No black marks.”
“Something was troubling him that night,” said Siri. “Something made him act out of character. Perhaps he was afraid to go back.”
“What if the crash wasn’t an accident?” said Daeng. “What if somebody wanted him dead?”
“All right.” Civilai put up his hands. “I give up. I’ll go sixty-forty with you. No more. But I want first billing on the credits and ‘Based on an original idea by Civilai Songsawat’ somewhere up there on the screen.” They shook hands to seal the deal.
Only Lit didn’t join in the laughter.
“You’re all missing the obvious,” he said.
“And what would that be?” Phosy asked.
“That you’re all so intrigued by the fantastic you aren’t seeing the simple. If you could look beyond the dragons and their relatives and the exploding moon and blind sorceresses you’d see it too. Your sweet little Phuan village is the hub of all this intrigue. How about this? Your pilot crashes but he survives. The villagers capture him, take pictures of him and the helicopter tail, and wait for an opportunity to cash in on their good fortune.”
“For ten years?” Phosy laughed.
“And how exactly are they cashing in?” Daeng asked.
“You wait, madam. I bet you a silver bangle they’ll miraculously discover his remains. The pilot’s father, in gratitude, will reward them handsomely. Or they’ll suddenly remember there’s a grave site and they’ll charge to take you there. Just you wait.”
Everyone wanted to argue, Phosy in particular, but nobody did. Thus far, it was no less logical than any other theory.
18
They’d washed off the dust of the day and were changing for dinner. Dtui noticed that her husband had been even more subdued than usual since their return to the Friendship. He’d told her about the events of their field trip but with no real enthusiasm.
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
“Not really.”
“Phosy?”
“I … he said you were strong-willed.”
“Who?”
“Your security commander fellow.”
“He did? When?”
“When Daeng explained you were working with the Americans today.”
“Well, that’s a compliment, isn’t it?”
“I suppose so. If you don’t take it to mean stubborn, as in, ‘If she hadn’t been so stubborn she could have had me instead.’”
Dtui smiled to herself.
“Oh. But he didn’t actually utter those words?”
“It was unstated.”
Dtui
“Inspector Phosy, you’re jealous.”
“I am not … of him? Huh. Just….”
“What?”
“Why didn’t you tell me it was him?”
“What was him?”
“That he was the one you met in Vieng Xai.”
“It didn’t occur to me. Didn’t seem that important.”
Phosy was doing a bold job of keeping his emotions in check. He smiled till cracks appeared in his cheeks.
“Not important? He asked you to marry him.”
“Oh, comrade policeman,” she giggled. “If I had to point out every man who’s ever proposed to me we’d never make it through a day. Now, shall we go?”
She stood, opened the door and sniffed his flushed cheek as he passed her.
The dinners which had begun four days earlier as such jolly affairs had taken on the air of refueling stops. Although still available, the Johnny Red was not flowing nearly as freely and the diners were more concerned about the quality of the air than that of the food. Officially, Civilai was still not in the inner circle of those who attended the autopsy but of course, like Madame Daeng, he had been told all about it. Siri was waiting for an opportunity to introduce them into the group without betraying the trust of the Americans. So it was decided that this evening Civilai, with Peach as his interpreter, would do what he did best. Hard as it may have been to believe, especially for those who only knew him outside the Politburo, the old man was a diplomat of the first order. He could schmooze with the best of them; dally with dictators and tango with tyrants. He could make despots in the most constricting ideological girdles take a breath. He had been granted an audience with Senator Vogal. As the senator had hardly left his room since what he was liberally calling “the assassination attempt,” it was no surprise that Ethel Chin had ordered room service. Civilai would be joining them for an after-meal tete-a-tete.
For the others the meal experience was accomplished barely half an hour after it began. Siri and Bpoo, Dtui and Phosy accompanied Dr. Yamaguchi to the room of Secretary Gordon. Ugly took up a guard position outside the door. Inside they upended the bed to lean against the wall and used all the available floor space to spread out their paperwork. Mr. Geung was given the very special role of lookout. He stood between the curtain and the window pane and if anyone came near he would cough loudly. Originally they had told him to whistle but that and nuclear physics were two skills he hadn’t yet mastered. Auntie Bpoo went into the bathroom and didn’t come out for a very long time.
“All right, what do we have?” Siri asked. His voice had developed an embedded growl like that of a street dog attempting to speak human.
The main points had already been listed during the long day of research. All Dtui needed to do was read from her notes then check with the Americans to see if they had reactions to the Lao comments. Meanwhile, Yamaguchi and Gordon continued to work their ways through the unread files.
“First,” Dtui said, “were the documents that had been sent to the US embassy in Bangkok. They explained the rationale for the initial MIA joint action. Not surprisingly, the letter from the senate committee said that the approval of the rice budget would be totally dependent on the Lao agreeing to this mission. No MIA, no rice. But, as you’ve since discovered, at that stage they hadn’t finalized the name of a flier to go after. They acknowledged that
