Death Trip (16 page)

Mann was almost hoping they would put his cover to the test. The passport he gave them was fake. Ting from the Anti-Fraud division had done a great job on it but it didn’t list his occupation as ‘film producer’. Ting’s warped sense of humour had come to the fore and he had put him down as a psychiatrist.

‘What’s the problem, mate, no signal?’

‘Here’s Riley,’ whispered Sue, sighing with relief.

A tall, strong-looking guy was approaching from within the camp. He walked with a slight swagger. Even though he must have seen a few hard winters, he was still young-looking, with a muscular but agile build. He was wearing army shorts, an ancient Billabong T-shirt and thong sandals, the kind made from recycled rubber tyres. He went straight over to the policemen and offered them cigarettes. They all took one and the one who had started the trouble motioned Mann’s way.

‘Him?’ Riley shook his head as he pointed to Mann. The officers looked to Mann to be backing off. The first policeman, the budding actor, was laughing now,
nodding enthusiastically and slapping Riley on the back. Riley walked over. The radio was put back inside the hut.

‘All right, mate?’

Riley shook his hand warmly. Mann hadn’t expected Riley to be an Australian. He had a Desperate Dan look about him with a stubbly long lower jaw like that of a hungry bear. He had short, bristling hair that was silvered at the temples and his green eyes had deep laughter lines around them.

He wiped his forehead with his sleeve; his tension was showing, but he kept a smile on his face. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

Sue reached into the back seat and pulled out her bag.

‘I’m off to the clinic.’ She gave Mann a smile and waved goodbye to Riley. ‘See you boys later.’ She walked away from the entrance, up to the right, and further into the camp.

Riley called after her. ‘Sue, any trouble, send word and I’ll come straightaway, okay?’

‘Don’t worry. I’ll catch up with you as soon as I’m done.’

‘Let’s go, mate.’ Riley turned away and led Mann into the main part of the camp. Once out of earshot of the policemen he muttered: ‘They are making a big display about security. Bunch of corrupt wankers. They would let anyone in if you paid them enough, they already did. We can talk and walk; I want you to meet someone.’

‘The overcrowding always this bad?’ asked Mann,
looking around as they walked. It was as hectic as a small city and the place had a chaotic air, as if of implosion.

‘It varies. They have to make the most of the daylight hours. With no plumbing and no electricity, things shut down here early every evening.’ Riley stopped to speak to a youth as they walked on down the road. He was obviously getting a mild ticking-off of some kind, but it ended with smiles and handshakes. Riley turned back to Mann. ‘There’s a whole generation of teenagers who only know refugee life. They turn to what bored teenagers all over the world turn to—dope, drink and fighting over girls.’

‘How do they live?’

‘They get a government allowance of two kilos of rice per person a month. The rest they barter and hustle for.’

‘And work? What do they do all day?’

‘They are not allowed to work. Sometimes they sneak out to find work as labourers but the most they can hope to get is a hundred baht a day—it wouldn’t even buy a beer back home. Most don’t risk even looking for work because the penalties are too harsh. Did you see the road blocks on the way up here?’

‘There are a lot of them. The area seems to be well policed.’

A small child ran past their feet chasing a plastic ball.

‘Well policed in one way, but not in another. If you get caught by those guys they want a big payoff. Corruption is always a major factor out here. It takes a small fortune to bribe their way out of here. Otherwise
they risk being marched back to the border and handed back to the Burmese—and believe me, there’s not going to be a good ending to that story.’

Mann kicked the ball back to the child who laughed and ran alongside them, dribbling the ball as he went.

‘How are they supposed to become less of a burden if they’re not allowed to work?’

Riley groaned with exasperation. ‘Exactly. Whilst we thank God for the Thai government’s generosity, it’s no life for these people. Many of them were born here. They live like rats in a barrel. They’re only allowed a four-metre square of dirt to build on. It’s not a lot for eight of you and more arrive every day.’

Mann’s young footballer had attracted two more lads keen to show off their footballing prowess. One of them kicked the ball high. Mann headed it back.

‘There is no hope for these people except to give what little they have to the KNLA and hope that they will achieve something with it.’

‘That’s some hope, Riley, isn’t it? They don’t have the money or the resources to win. It might be the longest running civil war in history but it’s one that they are unlikely to win. And now the world will be against them. Did you get to know the five volunteers?’

‘Yes. They were a good bunch of kids—willing, eager. Nothing was too much trouble for them. I liked these kids—the best we’ve had, shame it had to be them. Sometimes we get real whingers—some people I would have paid good money to have kidnapped—but they were young and enthusiastic…a breath of fresh air.’

‘You were responsible for what they did on a day-to-day basis here?’

‘Yes, to a degree. They were sent out by a company called NAP—a load of wankers, cutting corners, charging their volunteers a fortune and then ripping them off. They send them out here and the support stops and we’re supposed to take over for free.’

‘You don’t get paid for that?’

‘Okay, yeah, I get paid…but not much compared to what they’re making and they’re supposed to be a charity. Fuckers!’ He stopped and faced Mann. ‘My biggest regret is that I wasn’t here when the camp was attacked. I get bouts of malaria and I was in the middle of one when it happened. But they shouldn’t have been here either. Normally the volunteers arrive here by nine and leave by mid-afternoon. Nobody but the refugees are allowed to live here at camp. All the NGOs disappear by sundown—they usually have their own transport.’

‘A guy called Louis looked after them in Chiang Mai. Do you know him?’

‘Not well,’ Riley replied and he gave him a sidelong glance. Mann knew he was lying but he didn’t know why. ‘What about your background? Do you have special training in this sort of thing or are you personally involved?’

‘I am officially on vacation. I was asked to help by a friend who knows one of the girls’ mothers.’ Mann had decided that the less people who knew the truth, the better.

Riley looked out towards the mountains. The cloud
was lifting; soon they would feel the blistering heat. ‘Christ, I hope they’re okay. I don’t suppose anything in their life has ever prepared them for
this
.’

Mann could see by Riley’s face that guilt was eating him up. Mann could imagine Riley would have put up a good fight. They would have got more than they bargained for if they had chosen a different day to attack, but then, maybe that’s precisely why they chose that day.

‘But the reality is I couldn’t have stopped it happening.’ Riley picked up a stone that was nudging his toe. ‘I am just glad that they are all together. Let’s hope they will support one another and come through it.’

He glanced to the far horizon; the hills were beautiful, almost sheer as they rose majestically above the plains. Mann was staring towards Burma too, the mountainous Shan homeland where the Karen state begged to be allowed to exist. Mann wondered where in those dense woodlands his brother was and whether he was still alive.

‘She is gone now, Thomas. They can’t hurt her any more.’

The grey mists of morning gave a ghostly quality to the still air around the twisted bodies of the murdered women, now unearthly and ugly forms.

Thomas lay curled on his side, still watching his sister even though she had died in the hours before dawn. He could not take his eyes from her body, tied to the roof strut, now stiffening with rigor mortis. Silke’s head was slumped forward and her blonde hair hung over her face. Thomas was glad he did not have to see her face.

At the far end of the platform the old porter said nothing as he crouched and stared at the carnage; his daughter was one of the dead before him. From outside came the sound of drunken snoring.

Jake reached over and laid his hand on Thomas’s back.

‘Thomas?’ Jake did not know what he was going to say to Thomas, but he only knew he had to reach him. ‘Thomas…’

But he stopped as he saw a shadowy figure appear at the edge of the platform. Even in the dim light Jake knew it was Saw. He had come to know the way he stood, the way he walked. He had come to know
him
. Saw scanned the platform, taking in the details anew as if he too had thought it had only been a dream and his eyes were only now gradually unveiling it as more than a nightmare. For a minute he reeled as he stepped up onto the platform and then he focused on Jake and walked slowly towards him. He squatted beside him. His body stank of sweat and his breath was foul with rum.

‘You see…’ Saw flicked his head in the direction of the bodies that lay behind him. ‘All this, your fault, boy.’

Jake stared back at him but said nothing, his heart hammering in his chest.

‘What do you want?’ Anna said, her voice quiet, soft, devastated.

Saw twisted his neck to look at her with contempt.

‘From you? I will have what I want soon enough. From the boy…’ He turned back to Jake. ‘I will have my life back or you will die like her.’

He pointed to Silke whose body was already crawling with flies.

Magda unlocked the front door of the PIC and locked it behind her. She pulled down the blind and went through to the back. There was a kitchen area and a small office with shelves where she kept the accounts and receipt books. Above those shelves there was a large cupboard that Magda had completely forgotten about. It was full of old records, press cuttings about the PIC, paperwork leading to the erection of the statue of Belle. Anything that needed to be stored long term was kept in this cupboard. Magda dragged a stool over and stood on it to reach down three shoe boxes that she hadn’t seen for fifteen years.

She sat on the floor and opened the boxes one at a time. One held mainly baby mementoes of the boys—a lock of Daniel’s hair, a photo of her carrying Jake when he was first born. She couldn’t remember who had taken the photo. It wasn’t Deming. He had been on the other side of the world when she had given birth. The next box was older. There were photos of her as a baby and as a child, growing up. Magda didn’t like to think of those days. She looked at one of the
photos—she was standing with her new bike, the bike her father had given her for promising not to tell what he’d been doing to her. Magda closed that box and pushed it away. She neither had the time nor the desire to go down that particular memory lane.

The third box contained things from her time with Deming. There were photos of them together. Magda smiled as she looked at them. He had been a handsome man. And yes, she had to concede, she did look so young, but Deming didn’t look too old. She put the photos to one side to show Alfie later. Then she picked out some newspaper clippings, neatly folded and now pressed flat over the years. Magda did not even recognise some of the things in the box. They must have been Deming’s and she had just kept everything of his. She stared at one of the clippings. It was a picture of Deming standing next to an Asian man. On the back was scribbled a date and a name that Magda didn’t recognise. At first she also didn’t recognise where they were standing, and then it hit her. They were outside the NAP offices.

All around Mae Klaw, rebuilding was going on. It was full of the sound of construction and men calling instructions to one another: at least a hundred houses were being rebuilt. The air still held the smell of burnt homes and ruined lives and the men worked without laughter or joy to try and regain some normality for themselves and their families in their fragile existence.

Mann and Riley turned onto a side road on the right and stopped outside a hut on the edge of the decimated area.

Riley lowered his voice.

‘Okay, this is it. This is the person I wanted you to meet. We will have to be brief and be discreet—there are always people willing to sell information for a decent meal.’

They took off their shoes and climbed the ladder into the hut, bending their heads as they entered into a dark inner room. There was no light except that which filtered through the split bamboo walls and from the entrance. In the corner Mann could make out a young woman sitting next to an infant sleeping on a mat on the floor. As they entered, the woman stood slowly and
gracefully, and greeted them in the traditional Thai manner.

‘This is Run Run,’ said Riley. ‘She wants to help us.’

The baby did not stir as she stood. Run Run was beautiful: big eyes set in a small triangular face. She was light skinned with dark hair swept into a side parting, across her forehead, and then tied back with a series of bright scarves. She wore a simple dark red top and a homespun sarong was tied around her waist. She was a petite member of the Long-Neck Karen tribe, one of the most beautiful of the hill tribes. The women traditionally wore coils of brass around their necks, adding more coils to them each year as they grew up. It was believed to stretch the neck but actually crushed the vertebrae and collarbones, instead of achieving the desired aim of making the neck look longer. This tribeswoman had chosen not to wear the brass coils but that hadn’t stopped her neck from looking swan-like. She stood with her narrow shoulders square and held back. Her every action, her every movement was calculated, and yet somehow fluid.

Mann looked first at her and then at the sleeping baby. Run Run read his thoughts.

‘Do not worry, the infant is not mine. His mother died in childbirth; now all the women take it in turns to care for him. I understand the risks and I am willing to take them.’

Mann gave a small nod and a smile of thanks. Here in the gloom, Run Run seemed to Mann to strike a tragically defiant figure, fragile looking and yet strong, like a reed that bends and is flattened by the storm only to rise again with the sunshine.

‘Your English is very good.’ Mann smiled at her.

‘Thank you,’ she answered and bowed again. ‘I was a teacher in the Shan State before the Burmese came.’

‘Have you been in the camp long?’

‘Five years.’

‘Can you tell me what happened the day the camp was attacked?’

She gestured for them to sit. Mann looked at the baby, swaddled in muslin; it had begun to stir a little. Run Run patted its back as they talked.

‘We had no warning. They came in at sunset, in army trucks.’ Her eyes drifted towards the hut’s entrance as she spoke, as if she feared for her life all over again. ‘They were wild looking—bare at the chest, painted. They were mad like animals. Everywhere there were fires starting. People were begging them to stop. People were running. Behind them came the men like dogs, whooping, barking like howling wolves. People were trying to get out of their houses. I saw Mongkut. He shouted to me to run and hide. I heard them call his name.’

‘Mongkut was one of the elders here,’ Riley explained. ‘He was a great fighter in the KNLA once but was too old to fight any longer.’

‘They shouted his name. I heard Mongkut calling them dogs, animals. I picked up the baby and ran. I ran away down the road and I hid beneath the new school.’ She stopped for a minute to calm herself. Her sentences had become short and breathless. Her face was flushed as she looked once more towards the door as if at any second her attackers would burst through once again. She took a deep breath and looked up at
Mann. ‘I had to bury myself amongst the dirt and pray that the fire did not reach us. It was choking us and the baby was coughing but all around was so much noise that they did not hear us. For an hour I listened to the screams and I heard people dying. When I came out I found Mongkut dead, his head on a pole, his body beneath.’

The hut was silent except for the sound of the baby grizzling. Run Run picked it up and held it over her shoulder as she soothed it.

‘Do you have any idea who they were?’

Her eyes flicked towards Riley before she answered. She shook her head.

‘I have said to Riley that I am not certain, but they were not Burmese army. They were wild men without uniforms. There are some here who might know them. They spoke the dialect of the Shan people. And someone bribed the guards to leave that evening.’

‘Did you see the five volunteers?’

She shook her head. ‘No, but when they were shouting for Mongkut I heard them calling to each other to look for the five and to bring them alive.’

‘Do you remember what the five were doing when you last saw them that afternoon?’

Run Run looked at Riley. She seemed suddenly flustered or confused, Mann didn’t know which.

‘They were waiting.’

‘Waiting for what?’ asked Mann.

Run Run tried to recall. ‘I asked Anna, one of the girls, what are you doing still here? She told me they were still waiting for their lift, it was late.’

Mann turned to Riley. ‘You said they had their own transport.’

‘Not these kids. They got a lift with me. That’s what I mean about NAP—they just expected me to do everything for them.’

‘But who gave them a lift that day if you were ill?’

‘Some other volunteers staying at Mary’s offered.’

The baby had started grizzling in earnest and Run Run could not placate him.

‘They will kill many more if they are not stopped,’ she said. ‘I want to help you in the search for the volunteers. But we will need money if we want people to help us. We need supplies.’

‘I have money,’ answered Mann.

‘Bring it later. I will buy what you need with it.’ She turned to address Riley. ‘Can you get me a pass to leave the camp tonight?’

‘Shouldn’t be a problem. I will say I need you to help with some translation.’

She stood and picked up the baby. He was no more than three months old. His cry was quivery, his mouth like a young bird’s as he turned and searched for food at her breast. She stood, kissed the baby’s head and handed him to Riley.

‘Please give him to Dao. He wants something I do not have it in me to give him. You will find her across from here. She will feed him. I will see you later.’ She said, bowing again, ‘Tonight I will take you to meet the last of the great KNLA leaders. His name is Alak.’