Impact

'It's quite healthy here,' said Khon. 'I noticed right away that you have fucking good air.'

'Good air! Kampong Krabey District, good!'

Ford and Khon smiled, nodded agreeably.

The secretary came back, carrying three coconuts, their tops lopped off by a machete, straws stuck in them.

'Please!' said the official. They drank the coconut milk, which was still warm from hanging on the tree. Ford thought he had never tasted anything quite so good.

'Excellent,' said Khon. 'What fine hospitality you offer us in the Kampong Krabey District.'

'Best coconut!' the man cried, sucking his so vigorously the straw made a gurgling sound. He thumped the empty husk down on the desk and belched. 'What you need, friend?' the man asked, spreading his hands. 'I give you anything.'

'This is Mr. Kirk Mandrake,' Khon said, 'and he is an adventure tourist. I am Khon, his interpreter.'

'Aveentah touist!' the official repeated, with a vigorous nod, clearly having no idea what it meant. 'Good!'

'He wants to visit a ruined temple known as Nokor Pheas.'

'I not know this temple.'

'It's very deep in the jungle.'

'Where is temple? In Kampong Krabey District?'

'No. It's beyond the district. We have to travel northeast through your district to get there.'

The smile on his face cooled. 'Beyond my district, nothing! Nobody! No temple!'

Khon rose and unrolled a map on the official's desk. 'The temple is here, in the Phnom Ngue hills.'

Now the smile vanished completely. 'That is bad area. Very bad.'

'My client, Mr. Mandrake, wishes to see the temple.'

'You cannot go there. Too dangerous.'

Khon went on as if he hadn't heard the official. 'Mr. Mandrake will pay well for the permit. He also needs your help in marking the trails on our map. And of course we would wish to avoid land mines. You know the district and you have the land mine clearance maps.'

'Too dangerous. I speak Khmer, so you understand. That okay, Mr. Mandrake, if I speak Khmer now?' Another brilliant smile.

'Of course.'

He began speaking in Khmer and Ford listened closely. 'Are you crazy?' the official said. 'That area is infested with Khmer Rouge. They're just bandits now, gem smuggling and kidnapping for ransom. If they got their hands on your client, it would be a huge problem for me. You understand?'

'I understand,' said Khon, responding in Khmer. 'But my client is very anxious to see this ruin. He came all the way to Cambodia just for this. We'll be in and out--no lingering. Believe me, I know what I'm doing. I've guided people like him before. Just last month, I took some Americans to Banteay Chhmar.'

'I cannot allow it.'

'He will pay you well.'

The official spread his hands. 'What good is his money if I have to deal with a kidnapping? Of an American, no less? What would happen to my position here? The district is peaceful now, no problems, everyone's happy. It wasn't always like this, you know.'

'Perhaps a large amount of money will compensate for the inconvenience.'

There was a pause. 'How much?'

'A hundred dollars.'

The official threw up his hands. 'Are you joking? Make it a thousand.'

'A thousand? I will consult with my client.'

Khon turned to Ford and said in English, 'The permit is a thousand dollars.'

Ford frowned. 'That's a lot of money.'

'Yes, but . . .' Khon shrugged.

Ford frowned, screwed up his brow, then nodded sharply. 'All right. I'll pay.'

The official piped up in Khmer, 'And then one hundred dollars for access to the land mine clearance maps!'

Khon turned. 'One hundred dollars more? Now you're the one who's joking!'

'Fifty then.'

Khon spoke to Ford. 'And another fifty dollars for the maps.'

'What about the motorbikes? We need motorbikes,' Ford said, feigning anger. 'How much more is this going to cost?'

The haggling went on for another fifteen minutes, and finally it was done. One thousand, one hundred and forty dollars for the permit, maps, the rental of two motorbikes, gas, a few provisions, and safekeeping of the Land Cruiser while they were gone. Ford removed the money and gave it to the councilman, who took it with both hands, reverently, smiling whitely, and locked it in his desk.

Ford and Khon went outside and sat down in the shade of a jackfruit tree, awaiting the arrival of the rental motorbikes from a nearby village.

'You told me to bring five thousand dollars,' said Ford. 'That poor fellow had no idea what we were willing to pay.'

'That man just earned two years' salary. He's happy, we're happy--why question the generosity of the gods?'

With a blatting sound, two motorbikes ridden by skinny teenagers arrived and wheezed and coughed to a stop.

Ford stared at the ancient bikes, held together with gaffing tape and baling wire. One had a bamboo cage rack strapped to the back, fouled with clots and streaks of dried pig's blood. 'You've got to be kidding me.'

Khon laughed. 'What were you expecting, Harleys?'

18

The blue hills in the distance were the first thing Ford noticed as the trail opened into a small clearing. For the past five hours, they had been threading a web of jungle trails and he was exhausted, his bones rattled loose. He halted his bike and shut off the engine as Khon pulled up alongside. He watched the Cambodian gingerly remove the map from his backpack and unfold it, but despite all his care it was beginning to fall apart at the seams from humidity and use. Khon squinted at the map through his thick glasses, then looked up. 'Those are the Phnom Ngue hills, and behind them the mountains along the Thai frontier.'

'Man, it's hot. How do you do it, Khon?'

'Do what?'

'Stay so cool, so well-pressed.'

'One must keep up appearances,' he said, folding up the map with his plump, manicured fingers. 'The village of Trey Nhor lies at the base of those hills. That's the final outpost of Cambodian sovereignty. After that--no-man's- land.'

Ford nodded. He dabbed the sweat off his face and wiped his hands, threw his leg over the bike, fired up the tinny engine, goosed the throttle, and they set off once again, slowly bumping and weaving along the rutted trail. Over the next few kilometers they passed through several hamlets--a cluster of thatched houses on stilts, a water buffalo pulling a cart, children reciting loudly in unison in a thatched school hut--and then the trail rose to higher ground. A ridge loomed in the distance, smoke filtering up through the treetops.

'Trey Nhor,' said Khon.