As Alak’s men rushed forward, he held up his hand for calm. He looked down at his finger and laughed as he sucked to stop it bleeding. He nodded his head, as if pleased with the outcome. Then he turned to his men, speaking in Shan, and one by one they broke into laughter. He turned back to Mann.
‘Pity.’ He grinned. ‘We could do with a man like you.’
Mann bowed his head in thanks.
‘But I don’t think you believe I took the five volunteers, otherwise you would not have come here tonight. But I do believe you need my help to find them. Run Run, what do you know about the attack?’
Run Run reached beside her and lifted the package she had brought. By the light of the lamp, she unwrapped the cloth bundle and spread out the items one by one on the jungle floor. First, a red bandanna. ‘I took this from around Mongkut’s head.’ It still held the shape of his skull; it was stiff with blood. Next, she placed a knife and a small square of cloth, ragged at the edges, with writing on it. ‘This note and this knife were embedded in his eye.’
Alak reached over and picked up the note. As he read it, his eyes locked onto Run Run’s. He seemed transfixed by the words he had read.
‘This is a personal challenge to me.’
‘You know the man who wrote it?’ asked Mann.
‘Yes. I know him very well. His name is Saw Wah Say.’
‘What does the note say?’
‘It says…the day of reckoning has come.’
61
Mary watched Mann go with a curious look on her face. He wasn’t sure whether she was worried about the bicycle or about him—both probably. It was late—too late for a tourist to be riding around Mae Sot. But Mann had an appointment to keep and it had to be done under cover of night. Someone wanted to join their party and they wouldn’t take no for an answer.
Mann cycled past the roaming bands of wild dogs skulking furtively on the roads. By day they pretended friendly indifference to the wandering goats that grazed at the roadside, but by night they salivated at the sight of the young kids inside their bamboo pens. At night they killed each other and anything else that got in their way for the right to feed and fornicate.
Mann picked up a stick from the side of the road, that would at least serve to give him time to escape if a pack attacked. On either side of the road the restaur ants and bars, workshops and shanty houses, were beginning to disappear and the blackness appeared in their place. It was a straight road to Burma. Trucks were moving along in a constant stream. The nighttime had begun in Mae Sot. The night market would spring phoenix-like from the ashes of the day market and Mae Sot would sell its wares: diamonds, rubies, gold and sex.
Mann stayed out of the way of the traffic. He had no lights on his bike, which was just as well as he didn’t want to draw attention to himself. As he neared the start of the bridge that spanned the river he saw the place was heaving with activity. Small fires lit it up as hundreds of people stood along the river. A busy market already existed along the banks of the Moei. But now in the night it had taken on the look of a thriving night bazaar. The river was low. By the light of the moon Mann could see the shadowy figures of people floating across on tyres to sell their cigarettes and opium. Roadside kitchens served steaming food whilst men stood around haggling.
Mann didn’t need to get too close. He was waiting for someone but he knew that person would have no trouble finding him. Ten minutes passed as he watched the constant traffic along the water’s edge as boats pulled up to offload their wares. Then he became aware that he was being observed. He turned to see Gee slouching covertly near the bridge and dragging heavily on his cigarette. His red baseball cap was still firmly pulled down on his head, his gold chain gleaming in the dark.
‘Hello, my friend.’ Gee walked over to him. ‘Thank you for coming. I am sorry to bring you to the bridge but I am waiting for my cargo.’
They walked to the water’s edge where they looked down. Beneath the bridge, a boat was unloading boxes. ‘And I know that you are making plans. Follow me please. We will talk in private.’
Mann ducked as they entered the covered market. Within was an Aladdin’s cave of treasures. A tall black African with yellow eyes looked up and watched Mann pass, his rubies and sapphires laid out on a velvet mat in front of him. The potential buyer, a wizened man, was huddled over examining them with an eyeglass. Mann could hear the sound of stifled screams, the laugh of excited cruelty, and from the corner of his eye as Gee marched him through, he saw sex slaves being herded into another part of the market, ready for the auction.
Mann followed Gee as he weaved through the stalls. They exited at the side and stopped at one of the doors in an alleyway of lock-ups. Each one had a notice of which merchant it belonged to and a number. Gee’s lock-up had something extra—a Buddha looked out at Mann from a small altar next to the entrance, where there had once been a window. Incense burned in a brass holder and a plastic elephant joined Buddha next to some nuts. A rat skittered away with one in its mouth as they neared.
Gee unlocked a hefty padlock. ‘Did you make your arrangements to find the five young people?’ he asked.
‘I leave at dawn tomorrow,’ Mann nodded. ‘Did you get your business done?’
Gee flicked on a light. One bulb hung down from the centre of the space, which was mainly empty apart from a few boxes in the corner. There was a stack of teak chairs and a trestle table. It had one window, which overlooked the alleyway that ran alongside the market.
‘This place should be full. But business is bad. This market is normally a hundred times busier than tonight. Everyone is suffering whilst these troubles continue. But that is not what I wanted to see you about. My village has many troubles. Soldiers have come and they have killed many and destroyed the rice. So many problems there.’ He sighed. ‘It’s worse than I thought. They have been attacked and most of their elephants killed. I must take what I can to help them.’ He stopped and looked at Mann. ‘I am asking if I can come with you part of the way. You will be stopping by my village because it is a central place and all people pass by. I need your protection. I will make a donation to help your cause. I will not be a burden to you. I will provide porters from my village. They will be waiting at the other side and I will organise a boat. I will give directions tomorrow when we meet.’
‘You can come, Gee, but any trouble and we leave you. We can’t carry anyone.’
‘Ah ha…I understand exactly. I will be no trouble to you, I promise.’ Gee finished securing the lock-up as Mann waited outside. There was no sign of the rat. The Buddha’s fat little face smiled serenely out behind a plume of incense. Above the Buddha’s head was an inscription.
‘What does the writing on the altar say?’ Mann asked.
‘It says—let me think—in English, “What is in your head, thoughts, good or bad, that is what you will become.”’
They walked around the outside of the market and down to the river. A boat pulled alongside and Gee nodded discreetly to its captain. ‘I will meet you outside Mary’s,’ he said to Mann. ‘Now I must make my arrangements first. I must get to the night market and buy what I need. You may go now, my friend. I see my cargo is being unloaded. Better you do not stay.’
He was eager to get rid of him. Mann could see the boxes on the boat. Whatever it was Gee imported, it came in wooden crates with the stamp of the Burmese army on the top.