Restless Soul (15 page)

Annja carefully backed down the trail. The truck was too wide to fit on it for most of the way, and so she took it over bushes and ferns, scraping against trees and trying to retrace the path it had taken to limit the damage to the foliage. In places, she followed deep ruts the truck had made when it came up when the ground was muddier.

She was confident the skull bowl could be repaired. Many artifacts in museums and collections had been reconstructed from fragments. Pottery and clay figurines were often painstakingly reassembled because they were found in pieces, though sometimes just the pieces were displayed. The skull bowl had been sturdy, and so she hadn’t thought to pad it. But then she hadn’t expected to take it on a wild slipping-and-sliding ride down the side of the mountain when she was first running from the gunmen. Her fingers occasionally continued to rustle through the bag and over the skull segments, finding a bullet. Maybe the bowl had stopped a bullet that would otherwise have found her.

The bowl could be repaired, but should it be? Though she’d seen many grisly archaeological finds through the years, this one particularly disturbed her. Maybe it was better off shattered.

She punched the brake on a steep incline and felt the truck shimmy and slip and heard the cargo in the back shift. She wondered if her prisoner was being squished by crates and was mildly disappointed with herself for not stopping to check on him when the slope became gradual.

Annja did, however, stop to look at the map. It was shiny with a thick, slick lamination and rendered in a combination of pleasing pale and bright colors. It was the sort of map bookstores displayed in their travel sections, not something a driver would pick up at a gas station or in a way stop. It included the topography of Northern Thailand, listing the elevations of different sections of the mountain ranges, and the borders were dotted with pictures and interesting snippets of information about islands, beaches, temples and the larger cities. Names and numbers at the bottom on the opposite side were probably towns and cities and their populations. The print was too small to read in this light. The reverse side also showed street maps of Chiang Mai and Bangkok—the latter looking formidable because of its size. She flipped it back over to the side showing Northern Thailand and the mountains.

She’d save the map for Luartaro; he’d like it and might find something marked on it he’d like to see.

“But no more spirit caves.”

She touched her index finger to the tiny silhouette of an airplane. Mae Hong Son’s airport was the one they came in at and took the bus from, and Mae Hong Son was the closest city to her current location in the mountains. She noted all the streams and rivers in the area, many of which she suspected would have flooded their banks. To the north and south the waterfalls were marked—Pha Sua and Pha Pawng; she remembered seeing them coming in on the plane. Beautiful from the air. Plenty of roads were marked on the map, but there were no names that she could spot. One stretched up to Huay Pha, a town or large village. That road cut around a hill and to Doi Pai Kit, another village. She recalled seeing a brochure for the area at the lodge. So if she found the road and made it through those villages, she’d find the lodge and could use the phone in the office to contact the authorities. She’d also look for Luartaro.

Next would be Mae Hong Son and Chiang Mai. Outside of a thread-fine line that may or may not have been a road, the map didn’t show a direct route from Mae Hong Son to the larger city. But there were several routes that twisted and turned through the mountains and would eventually get her there—taking the scenic route, so to speak. She’d heard the men mention Chiang Mai, and one of the business cards listed Chiang Mai. Annja’s desire to finish the puzzle would lead her there.

“And maybe lead to a nap first.” She stifled a yawn and rotated her shoulders against the seat back. God, but she was exhausted and achy. A brief nap would put her in a better mood and make her more alert. A bath was on her list, too. She didn’t want Luartaro to get a whiff of her right now.

The mountain trail she backed down wasn’t on the map, nor was the thin gravel road she found at the bottom. It wasn’t really a road, either, she decided after half a mile. It was a mountain bike path, and she saw deep ruts from the truck’s tires and maybe the Jeeps before it, and a few small trees with badly scraped bark.

The truck bounced along on it, able to turn around in an area of tall grass so she was pointed south, in the direction she was heading. The seat was uncomfortable, the springs in it shot, and she had to stretch to reach the pedals. Although Annja was tall, she couldn’t move the seat forward quite far enough; the mechanism was rusted. She figured the tall man she’d taken out first had been the driver. The steering wheel was caked with a dirty film, and the gearshift was likewise filthy. She noted it all, but it didn’t bother her; she was as dirty as the truck.

C
LOUDS WERE INCREASING
and the light was fading by the time she found a proper road, one with a sign that indicated Tham Pla National Park, Tham Pla Cave and—to her relief—Mae Hong Son.

She reached the resort on the outskirts of town before sunset and parked the truck in front of the office. There was no trail wide enough leading to the cabins and she wasn’t about to ruin the manicured gardens for her convenience. She made a quick check on her prisoner, who looked the worse for wear but in no danger of dying, then she headed inside, relayed the bad news about Zakkarat, made sure someone would contact his family, and then she asked about Luartaro. Yes, he’d returned, but he’d gone out again after using the telephone. Yes, she could use the telephone, too.

Annja retold the story three times before she was convinced they’d put her through to a police official who believed her and who was fluent in English. She was on the phone for the better part of an hour, answering questions and providing directions to the mountain treasure chamber as best she could. She told them about Zakkarat, the men she’d tied up and the truck filled with crates. And she agreed to wait for police to meet her at the resort; they would accompany her and the truck to Chiang Mai, where the department had a headquarters. Annja wanted to go there, anyway. She made one more phone call, this a quick one.

Since she knew it would be several minutes before anyone arrived, she dashed to her cabin and into the shower, thankful they’d spent the extra baht for accommodations with a private bath. She let the warm water sluice over her as she peeled off the loaned Thins garments. When had Luartaro returned? How had he got here? Had he found a ride somewhere? A motorcycle to borrow? Was he all right? He must be all right, she realized, if he’d gone back out again.

She turned the knob as far as it would go so the water pounded wonderfully against her, and she stood there longer than she had intended. Finally—and reluctantly—she ended it when the water started to get cold. She wrapped a towel around her, and didn’t bother to dry her hair. The other towel was only faintly damp… Luartaro had been there a while ago.

Annja padded around the room, seeing Luartaro’s borrowed Thins garments folded next to a chair, his suitcase opened and the clothes in it rumpled, as if he’d searched through it looking for something clean to wear.

She turned to her own suitcase. There was a note on top of it from Luartaro. He was taking the bus to Mae Hong Son to find the authorities and report everything. Annja wondered if he’d already met any of the people she’d repeated her story to on the phone. Couldn’t the police have told her someone had already reported this and saved her the time? She decided it didn’t matter; she’d had to call, anyway, just to be sure…and she had the truck and its contents to hand over, along with her prisoner.

Luartaro had written that he intended to “stuff his face” while he was in town and would see about buying a puppy to replace the dog that the gunmen had killed in the Thins village. She smiled at that line.

Annja was still upset that Luartaro had taken some of the treasure from the cave—and intended to tell him to turn it over—but he partially redeemed himself with the line about the puppy.

“See you soon,” he wrote. “Love, Lu.”

She swallowed hard.

Love, Lu.

Did she love him? Could she love him after finding his pockets filled with pilfered jewelry? Was it true that some women were just attracted to “bad boys”?

She didn’t want to love him. Her life didn’t have room for such frivolities at the moment.

To get her mind off him, she looked through the business cards she’d found in the smugglers’ pockets. They were all for antiques dealers—in Chiang Mai in Thailand, Luang Prabang and Vientiane in Laos, and Hue, Dien Bien Phu and Hanoi in Vietnam. There were phone numbers scrawled on the backs, and initials and numbers that had no meaning to her. But the phone numbers might prove useful.

Annja dressed quickly in comfortable jeans, a maroon polo shirt she’d worn only once before and running shoes that made her feel as if her sore feet were in heaven. She brushed out her hair, which dripped down her back, then she strapped her fanny pack around her waist, made sure her wallet and passport were in it and that there would be enough room for her ruined camera. She thrust the antiques-dealer cards in her back pocket, and then she headed outside to wait for the police.

Two cars were already there waiting for
her.
Both had their emergency lights flashing, and one officer had a gun pointed straight at her.

Annja felt for her sword hovering in the otherwhere.

“That was my fault, really, that Sergeant Ratsami held a gun on you.” The police officer looked as if he’d just graduated from high school, as he sat in the passenger seat of the rusty truck. He let Annja drive, saying that way he’d have his hands free to take notes.

One of the police cars was in front, emergency lights turned off, leading the way to Chiang Mai. The other was behind her.

“I’ve lived here half my life,” he continued. He’d introduced himself as Andrew Steven Johnson, born to American diplomats and now a permanent Thai resident by choice, his parents retired back on a ranch in Fort Worth, Texas. “And I know Thai and quite a few of the tribal dialects, but I mispronounce a few things from time to time, and Wiset and Ratsami thought you were some kind of smuggler—not the one who captured a smuggler. Sorry about that.”

Annja smiled good-naturedly. “No harm done,” she said. Then she frowned. “The smuggler in the back admitted to killing our guide, Zakkarat Tak-sin, after torturing him.”

“It’ll make things easy if he also admits it to us,” Johnson said.

Annja could help persuade him, if necessary, she thought.

“We have a few men going up the mountain now,” Johnson told her. He tapped the clipboard on his lap and pulled out a pen. “If they can find the place in the dark. And those men you said you tied up, they’ll get taken into custody.”

Twilight had taken a firm hold on the resort area, and with no streetlights, it was a world of shadows with charcoal-like slashes of trees looming up on both sides of the truck. The truck’s lights weren’t very bright, perhaps by design. Annja fixed her tired gaze on the taillights of the police car ahead of her. The windows rolled all the way down, she tried to take in the pleasant sounds of the evening, the birdlike chirping of hundreds of frogs, the cry of some night bird and the gentle rustle of the leaves in the breeze.

Annja had set the backpack with the skull fragments and dog tags in it behind the driver’s seat. To her, it was not considered part of the treasure she was detailing to Officer Johnson. As far as she was concerned, the police didn’t need to know about it…at least, not yet.

“Mae Hong Son doesn’t have the resources of Chiang Mai,” Johnson explained. He continued to banter, ruining nature’s music, but his chatter helped to keep her awake. How long had it been since she’d rested?

“That’s why we’re going there, to Chiang Mai. There’s a big department there, called the TNPD…the Thailand National Police Department. I figure I’ll apply someday and work in Chiang Mai or Bangkok. More excitement there. The TNPD is a division of the Ministry of the Interior, and it was set up to handle police duties throughout the whole country. Some folks think it’s even more influential than the Thai army.”

Annja listened, mildly interested, and mildly amused that he’d told her he wanted to ask her questions.

“The TNPD does more than just police the streets and pick people up for breaking the laws. They go after insurgents. Those are people who—”

“I know what insurgents are,” Annja cut in.

“From Burma—Myanmar—mostly. And from what I understand, if there’s a war, or a really big force moved in from Myanmar or Laos or wherever, the TNPD would come under the control of the Ministry of Defense and in effect become a second army.” He paused and rested his head against the seat and softly tapped his clipboard rhythmically, as if he were listening to a song in his head.

“How long has it been around, the TNPD?” Annja didn’t really care to know, but she was drifting off and wanted him to keep her awake. She’d briefly toyed with the idea of having him drive so she could nap, but she liked to be in control. “Is this a relatively new police organization?”

He sat up straight and adjusted his seat belt. “No, Miss Creed. It’s got quite a few decades under its belt. See, from what I studied…I knew I wanted to be in law enforcement ever since I was a kid, so I read a lot about it.”

And how old are you now? she wanted to ask. He couldn’t be more than twenty.

“The TNPD was modeled after Japan’s national police force—pre–World War II, of course. It was reorganized a few times as new ideas were introduced and the need for specialized training came up what with international terrorism and such. The United States sent some people over to help with training and equipment. That was back in the fifties. It’s quite the organization. It’s all centered in Bangkok, where the big headquarters building is. From there, technical support is provided for law enforcement throughout the whole country. They help the provincial police, the BPP—that’s Border Patrol Police—small local agencies and the Metropolitan Police.”

“I wish you luck joining it.”

He nodded, his head bobbing so vigorously it reminded her of those little mechanical birds in bars that constantly dip their beaks into glasses of water.

“Don’t need much luck, Miss Creed. Me being so fluent in English and originally from the States, I’d be welcomed, able to help with tourist matters and such. I just need to make sure I can find a nice, affordable apartment in Bangkok or Chiang Mai, in a good neighborhood with a movie theater nearby. I’ll probably do that come the winter.”

When he became silent again, Annja tried to turn on the radio, but the knob broke off in her hand, and no amount of fiddling would get it to work. She gave up on it and watched the road as they passed through two small villages and then entered Mae Hong Son.

Johnson started talking again. “You’re here as a tourist, right? Did you get to see much of Mae Hong Son?”

Annja shook her head and worked a kink out of her neck. She was thankful he was going to start babbling again.

“We’re a little less than a thousand kilometers from Bangkok here, in Mae Hong Son. This is a big city, and it should have a bigger police force, I think. Someday it will. There’s seven districts, and the Muang district, where I live, has a little less than fifty thousand people. We’ve got all the mountain ranges surrounding us, plenty of forests and the mists. You’ve probably heard that they call it the City of Three Mists.” He waited for her to nod.

“It’s big on tourism. Wasn’t really that way when I was a kid, though. More a recent thing. Lots of ecotourism. It’s an interesting place, lots of ethnic groups, including a few American families in my district who work for some tourism company. There are some Shan.”

Like Zakkarat, she thought sadly.

“And some hill tribe villages are close enough to hit with a tossed stone—the Karen, Lahu, Lisu, Hmong, Lawa. The tourists love them, and the villagers coax the tourists out to see their crafts and watch the dances.”

She followed the lead police car as it turned off onto a wider road.

“If we were going to Chiang Mai as tourists, we would be taking Route 1095 by way of Pai. It’s less than three hundred kilometers. We’re taking 108 by way of Mae Sariang. They’re doing that for your benefit, Miss Creed. It’s not near as scenic, but it’s an easier drive.”

“How long will it take?”

“To get to Chiang Mai? About five or six hours. Split the difference and call it five and a half.” He tapped the clipboard again. “Now, about those questions I wanted to ask.” He reached up and turned on the dome light and tilted it so it lit up his paper. “Let’s start with how one woman was able to overpower three smugglers?”

“I think there were five. No, six, counting the one in the back.” And that wasn’t counting the men she’d dealt with the day before.

“Would’ve put him all comfortable in the back of one of the police cars if he wasn’t so filthy and bloody,” Johnson murmured. “And if you hadn’t managed to truss him up so well. Now…six men, you said. That’s quite remarkable for one female television archaeologist.” He paused. “We get your program in my district, but it’s dubbed. Your voice is a lot prettier than the woman who speaks in your place here. I saw the episodes you did on ancient Egyptian mummies being found in Australia and that goat-sucker creature in Mexico.”

Annja gripped the steering wheel tighter. She’d already handed over the pistol she’d taken from one of the men. She hadn’t shot any of them with it, and ballistics would show that. Still, she didn’t want to have to give too many details about what had happened over the past two days.

“So, six men, with just one pistol, and no shots fired from it that we could see. Tell me how you did that.” The skepticism was thick in his voice.

He was finally asking her pertinent questions. Annja took a deep breath and started to recount pretty much everything, including finding Zakkarat’s body. She left out the sword, of course, and she didn’t mention that she’d killed one of the smugglers. That would come out later, and she’d deal with it then. No doubt the fact that she’d killed other thugs in the Thins village would also surface. She’d dealt with such issues in the past, always scrutinized and never formally charged. But the grisly little details about the deaths yesterday and today didn’t need to go into Johnson’s notes right now.

His questions ended an hour later, leaving her four-and-a-half hours to herself. Annja chewed on the inside of her cheek, the slight pain keeping her awake. She ran the events and discoveries over and over in her mind, trying to put the pieces of the puzzle into place and meeting with little success.