Rogue Angel - Restless Soul Part 15

He groaned when she dug her knee into his side and pushed the gun against him with more force. She eased up only a little so he could speak.

"You are more than a television archaeologist, it seems." His words were strained from her weight and his broken ribs. He coughed and grimaced. "Talk."

"I'm only a part of this, Annja Creed." He smiled then, the malevolent expression sending a shiver through her. "A sizable part, yes, but only a part. You have cut the tail off the snake, not its head."

He said nothing else, despite her repeated questions and jabs with the gun.

"The skull bowl. Tell me about that."

He shook his head and grinned wider.

"d.a.m.n it!" Annja pushed herself off him, further injuring his ribs, and again forced back an apology. She waved the gun at him, but he made no move to get up.

Bending over him, gun still threatening, she tugged a pistol from a holster at his side and flung it with such anger that it arced out of sight down the slope. Next, she rifled through his pockets.

No wallet. No ID. Nothing.

"Who are you?"

He kept smiling, blood from his broken nose spilling over his lip. He stuck the tip of his tongue out and licked at the blood.

She fumed and dug the ball of her foot into the ground, ran her free hand through her hair and got a good whiff of herself. G.o.d, but she stank, from the mud and the river and from the sweat. She needed a long, hot bath.

Had Luartaro reached the authorities? Were they on their way? Should she wait for them?

"No," she said out loud.

He looked at her quizzically.

"I can't wait."

Maybe Luartaro was still groggy from the ox tranquilizer the retired veterinarian had used on him. Maybe he hadn't reached the authorities yet.

She would take that task on herself, just to be sure.

Annja gestured with the pistol, and the man got to his feet slowly. She gestured toward the hole. He showed no emotion, but he kept his eyes on her.

"The authorities are on their way," she told him.

Still no reaction on his face. Could he tell she was bluffing?

The authorities will be on their way if they aren't already, she told herself. A quick glance at the truck showed that the front tire that had been shot had not gone flat, and with luck it wouldn't.

"Sit."

After a moment, he complied.

She pulled up the rope ladder and practically coc.o.o.ned him in it, tying him up. She made sure the knots were tight; he wouldn't be freeing himself. She used the cable from the winch to secure the men up top she'd subdued earlier. One of them was groggy, but a quick tap to the side of his head sent him unconscious again.

"Let's get some mug shots," she said, going to the side of the trail where she'd dropped the net bag containing her digital camera. She came back to the coc.o.o.ned man and wiped the blood away from his nose. "Say cheese."

Annja unwrapped it from the plastic. "Nuts." She hadn't noticed it earlier, but the camera had been ruined sometime during her mad dash yesterday. A bullet was lodged near the lens, spiderweb cracks radiating from it. She tried to thumb it on, just in case. "Nuts. Nuts. Nuts."

She made a move to heave it down the mountainside, but stopped herself. The memory card might be all right, meaning all the pictures she took yesterday could be saved, or maybe someone could fix the camera. She wrapped the camera in the plastic and the net bag again. Then she leaned over the hole, taking another look at the crates and craning her neck so she could see her captive. Testing the cable and rope on the men up top, she p.r.o.nounced them as secure as she could make them.

She climbed up to the truck, pleased to see her backpack sitting on the pa.s.senger seat. Opening the door took a bit of muscle, as it was dented and did not fit properly. It took two yanks before it whined and relented. So the man had driven the Jeep out of the truck's way and had come back to take the truck, dropping her pack in it. But he hadn't possessed the keys-or else she suspected he would have roared away and left her in the cavern. Annja jangled the keys she'd taken from the man in the cavern and on her first guess found the one that fit in the ignition. Despite the rust and the age of the vehicle, the engine purred.

"On second thought-" She left it running and slipped out, leaving the door open and marching straight to the man coc.o.o.ned in the rope ladder. Her muscles grew sore as she tugged him to his feet and shuffled him to the back of the truck. Opening the tailgate and lifting him inside was almost impossible, but Annja was nothing if not determined and finally heaved him in. Then she latched the tailgate and climbed back into the cab.

Annja practiced with the clutch, gas and brake pedals, which were stiff. She had to move the seat forward and adjust the rearview and side mirrors, all of which were covered with a dirty film. The stink of cigarettes permeated the cab, but her own bad odor overpowered it. She fought the bile rising in her throat and stuck her head out the window to suck down some better air.

"Let's get out of here. But first, let's see where here is." In her net bag was the map one of the villagers had drawn for her. Though pretty and well rendered, it wasn't terribly useful. She leaned over and thumbed the glove box. "That's better." Several maps were stuffed inside, and she got lucky with the first one. It even had a faint blue circle drawn on it that she guessed approximated the location of the treasure cavern. "The lodge would be here." She tapped her finger at a spot that didn't look terribly far away. That's where she intended to go first.

She would see if Luartaro had made it back and then head to the nearest city to contact the authorities...likely the city she and Luartaro had taken the bus from to reach the lodge. Annja nudged her pack to the side and spread the map on the pa.s.senger seat and studied it.

She reached for the backpack, unfastened it and dipped inside. Her fingers found the dog tags immediately. The lid she'd padded with a piece of her pant leg was intact. But the skull itself was in four pieces. Her heart sank.

19.

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, sc.r.a.ping 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 rea.s.sembled because they were found in pieces, though sometimes just the pieces were displayed. The skull bowl had been st.u.r.dy, 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 p.a.w.ng; 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. G.o.d, 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 sc.r.a.ped bark.

The truck bounced along on it, able to turn around in an area of tall gra.s.s 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.

CLOUDS 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. 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 k.n.o.b 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 f.a.n.n.y pack around her waist, made sure her wallet and pa.s.sport 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. her. Both had their emergency lights flashing, and one officer had a gun pointed straight at 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.

20.

"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 pa.s.senger 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 misp.r.o.nounce 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 j.a.pan's national police force-preWorld 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 gla.s.ses 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 k.n.o.b 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 pa.s.sed 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.