It was nine thirty a.m. when Barnard arrived at the small outpost they laughingly called a town, Pak Lai. There were thousands of people. In a civilized country that would have worked to his advantage. He could blend in, vanish in the crowd. But this was the opposite. As soon as he’d stepped from the forest, they’d seen him. They were pointing. Calling him over. He was a good thirty centimetres taller than any of them. He ignored them as best he could.
‘Hey, Soviet,’ they cried. The latest salute to invaders.
He made out not to hear. They smiled and pushed sweets into his hand and coconuts with straws sticking out of them. He brushed them off. So much for his discreet arrival. He made for the old French administration building at the far side of the green and walked confidently through the main door as if he belonged there. The place was deserted. He walked upstairs and into an office full of well-worn French desks and Russian typewriters. Framed photographs of nondescript Asians hung in a line across the back wall. He took a wooden chair and placed it at a window from which he might best view the festivities. He took the binoculars from his satchel. They’d belonged to the guide who now lay battered in a shallow grave beside the porter. The spoils of war.
His heart was palpitating. His breath, irregular. He could feel every scuffled step his body took at the end of its journey. But there was time. He scanned the childish revellers. He’d see her soon enough. Before he set light to the restaurant, he’d found a photograph of the shrivelled hag standing with a scarred old man and a moron. There was enough of her recognizable behind that cruel disguise. The young beauty. The innocent with child. The first love. It was all in there. And no matter how desperately she shrouded herself in wrinkles and flab, he knew that his heart would pick her out of the crowd.
‘What do we do if she comes back again?’ Civilai asked.
‘Who?’ said Siri.
‘Madame Peung.’
The longboat was making good speed against the flow of the river. On some stretches it felt as if they were merely riding the eddies. The boat was doing most of the work. Siri breathed in the sweet scent of the American Metal-Filing trees along the bank. He stared at his beautiful wife two seats ahead rowing with the grace of a swan ballerina. He doubted swan ballerinas could row but he liked his simile. She was singing the rowing song she’d learned just ten minutes earlier and making up verses when called upon.
‘Why should she come back?’ Siri asked.
‘She did it once before.’
‘Water’s a tough one, Civilai. Not even Houdini could beat the water torture.’
‘I think you’ll find that was only in the movie, Siri.’
‘Either way, spirits don’t …’
‘What?’
‘That’s why the Frenchmen have been stuck in hell. They are down there. They’re trapped under water. Their souls have no way to go wherever French souls go to. There are six French bodies down there at Frenchy’s Elbow. That confirms it.’
‘Good, but if she does?’
‘Madame Peung?’
‘If she comes back?’
‘What’s your point?’
‘King Kong.’
‘That’s a point?’
‘We saw it. Remember?’
As Siri and Civilai were movie junkies it was only natural that many of their conversations turned to the cinema.
‘How could I forget? What’s her name? Fay something.’
‘But they captured this giant gorilla, took it to New York and made a fortune from public performances.’
‘And Madame Peung is our Kong?’
‘Shot through the head, twice, drowned in the Mekhong. She’s star material. We could take her to Bangkok and guillotine her on national television. Next night there she is, good as new.’
Madame Daeng’s shoulders were rocking with laughter. Civilai was about to continue with the image when, without a word of instruction, all the rowers put up their oars. The fat man looked around and nodded at Siri.
‘About a kilometre,’ he said. ‘Less overland. Better we pull in here. You can walk over the crest. There’s a spot up there you can look down at Frenchy’s Elbow without being seen.’
All the crew members wanted to go and have a look, of course. But the headman selected two, as well as himself, to accompany the Vientiane people. These guides led them through the thick undergrowth as if they’d spent much of their time escorting tourists to the Elbow. Civilai said he expected to find a souvenir shop set up on the ridge. But what they did get was a spectacular eyrie looking directly down at the bend in the river. The Lao cruiser had moored on exactly the same sandbank that the minister’s helicopter had first landed on. The equipment was laid out methodically along the shore. Some of the men were setting up an elaborate winch-and-pulley system using two huge old teak trees as anchors. The bulldozer was lined up between them. All in all, it looked like a very competent operation.
Like synchronized swimmers, three divers emerged from the water with heavy oxygen tanks strapped to their backs. All three held up their thumbs to the officer on the bank. He, in turn, put up his own thumb and gestured for the men to leave the river. The other engineers helped them remove their tanks and they all retreated to behind the tree line. There followed half a dozen muted explosions that belched silt and rocks from the river. Even at such a high elevation, Siri and the team were showered with pebbles and mud. The explosions echoed around the rock faces, the sound getting louder as it travelled, taking on the form of an angry voice, not just to Siri, but to all of them.
One diver went back into the water, swam to the deepest point and dived to the depths. Then, an amazing thing happened. Fish — tens, then hundreds, then thousands — floated to the surface. Stunned by the blasts. Drowned by the air, and carried away on the current. It was remarkable how many fish had made Frenchy’s Elbow their home. One of the guides got to his feet and hurried back through the jungle to his boat.
‘Looks like they have a net on board,’ said Daeng.
Her plan B had been to avoid putting the Uphill Rowing Club in harm’s way. They all doubted the Vietnamese would accompany the treasure to the border. After it had been transferred to the elephants the convoy would be at its most vulnerable. They would return to Pak Lai and drum up a village militia to intercept it.
Meanwhile, the show continued. The explosions had been the highlight. For the next hour it was a slow, laborious process of diving and winching. And there at the officer’s side the whole time, yelling instructions, pointing this way and that, was Madame Peung’s brother.
‘He seems to have found his voice,’ said Siri.
‘Yet another miracle,’ said Civilai.
‘It’s him,’ said Daeng. ‘This is his party. He’s the boss.’
And right away Siri remembered the moment on the helicopter that had almost escaped him. The nudge. The brother had nudged Madame Peung. It wasn’t her who recognized the spot on the river. It was him. He was the one who knew the terrain. Madame Peung had just been along for the ride. And no longer of use, there was no doubt in Siri’s mind that Tang had lured the woman to the back of the cruiser and dispatched her unseen into the river.
‘He’d planned this all along,’ said Daeng. ‘It’s been made to look like a series of unrelated, spontaneous events. The resurrection. The approach by the minister’s wife. The location of the body. But it’s all been laid out. This is the penultimate scene.’
‘And here we are with balcony seats to the grand finale,’ said Civilai.
‘If that’s so, you’ll have to agree it’s brilliant,’ said Siri. ‘Although I don’t see how it could be possible.’
‘It’s booooring,’ said Geung.
‘Patience,’ said Civilai. ‘They’re Vietnamese. Eventually we’ll have something to cry over or laugh at.’
And, as he spoke, something did happen. Cables heading in three directions rose from the water, leading to two winches attached to the trees on the east side and to the tail end of the bulldozer which acted as a counterpoint, pulling southwards from further down the bank. All three were coordinated with whistles. The long ratchet handles clicked a few centimetres at a time and the bulldozer tugged to the whistle. Nothing else appeared to be happening but there was a confident air amongst the soldiers. It was half an hour before the first glimpse of the hull appeared above the surface. It was upside down.