Emerald Buddha

Chapter 39

Drake pushed by Allie and squinted into the recesses of the cave. There were more carvings on the rock face, matching the Khmer Buddha behind them, with alcoves cut into the stone walls and elaborate pictographs framing them — but any trace of treasure was gone. His beam hit something brown near the floor, and when he fixed the light on it, he understood Allie’s reaction.

At least twenty Kalashnikov AK-47 assault rifles lay in an open wooden crate, with several more containers of ammunition beside it, and a lump of material covered by a large camouflage tarp. Spencer approached it and lifted one edge of the fabric, then dropped it — he’d seen enough.

“It’s drug-refining equipment and another two crates of rifles. And at least a pallet of cellophane-wrapped blocks of white powder.” Spencer paused. “Looks like grave robbers got here a long time before we did, Allie. But I agree, we’ve got a bigger problem. These weapons look like they’re in good shape.” He leaned over and picked up one of the Kalashnikovs and ran a finger over the breech. “Oil. No rusting. So whoever owns them stashed them here relatively recently. And they’ll be back to collect their heroin, I’d bet. This must be a drop-off point. By the looks of it, a regularly used one.”

Drake’s eyes widened as he made the connection. “So this is a frequent stop for them. A lot of them. Because it would take more than a couple to get those stones back in place…”

“Correct. They’re too heavy for one or two people to manage, as we just saw,” Spencer agreed.

Allie blanched. “Which leaves us camped footsteps away from a major drug hub…”

“The owners of which will probably want to have a chat with whoever found their stash,” Drake finished for her.

“Maybe we can get out of here before anyone sees the displaced rocks,” Allie suggested hopefully.

Spencer nodded. “It’s night. These gangs know these jungles like their backyard. If they show up, they’ll be pretty annoyed and scour the area for whoever crashed their party before they can notify the authorities. Which means we need to make tracks. Now.” Spencer set the rifle back down. “Let’s load up a few of these and pray we don’t have to use them. Grab a handful of shells.”

“Give me a minute so I can take some pictures. Joe — you have the camera?” Allie called over her shoulder. Joe had packed a cheap digital camera in his bag, along with the binoculars, when they’d readied for their hike back in the village.

“Sure thing,” Joe’s voice answered from the cave opening, and a few moments later he arrived with it in his hand. He stopped short when he saw the crates and shook his head as he handed it to her. “Whoa. This is bad juju, kids.”

Drake nodded. “Yeah, we got that.”

“So where’s our treasure?”

“Looted a long time ago,” Allie said.

“Are you sure this is the right spot?” Joe asked.

Spencer grunted. “Look at the carvings on the walls. Khmer.” He sighed. “I’m afraid someone beat us to it. No telling when.”

“If this area belongs to the drug gangs, anything worth finding would have already been, and the gold melted down long ago or sold on the black market,” Drake said. “Sometimes you win, sometimes you get hit in the face with a brick. That’s how it goes.”

Joe eyed Uncle Pete. “I say we put some serious miles between us and this cave. We stick to the stream and avoid any trails — traffickers will use the trails. We don’t stop until we make it back to where we camped yesterday, even if it takes all night.”

Spencer nodded. “He’s right. Let’s fold up shop and get going.”

They crawled out of the cave to find themselves in another world — a white one with ten yards of visibility. Fog thick as cotton blanketed the valley. Drake led the way back to the stream, and he was getting ready to step into the water when he heard the distinctive sound of metal on metal somewhere behind them.

“Was that you?” he whispered to Spencer, ears straining in the fog.

Spencer shook his head, and Joe mouthed a ‘no.’ Uncle Pete and the two Shans looked spooked, telling Drake everything he needed to know.

“Move. Follow me,” Joe hissed. He pushed past Drake and stepped into the stream, taking care to do so silently. The rest of them followed a few yards behind. Spencer made it to the far bank and was turning to help Allie when Drake misstepped. His eyes saucered like a frantic deer’s, and he tumbled to the side and landed in the water with a splash and a grunt of pain. Everyone froze, and then they heard the pounding of running feet approaching from near the cave.

Drake forced himself to his feet and bolted for the shore as the rest pushed past him. He was scrambling up when a figure materialized out of the fog, an AK-47 clutched in his hands; but unlike Drake, looking like he more than knew how to use one. The gunman was swinging the assault rifle at them when Uncle Pete loosed a burst. The man’s chest exploded as rounds tore through him, and he fell face forward into the stream and dropped the gun.

Spencer screamed at Drake, “Move! Now, or you’re dead.”

Drake took off at a run as shouts from further upstream drifted through the heavy fog. They reached the camp and grabbed their backpacks as Spencer, Joe, and the Shans waited for the pursuers. The remaining gunmen had no way of knowing their prey had crossed to the other side of the stream, but they weren’t counting on it — and now that the traffickers knew they were chasing armed quarry, they would be as silent as they were deadly.

Drake could barely make out the stream from his position, and he thanked Providence for the fog — if it weren’t for that, they’d already be dead. Allie sidled up next to him and tapped his shoulder, pointing at a column of armed men who were creeping along the far bank. He nodded and crouched low, but one of the gunmen spotted them and cried out.

Rifle fire chattered and bullets whizzed through the surrounding vegetation. Joe and the Shans dropped flat beside where Uncle Pete and Spencer had dived for cover and returned fire, carefully squeezing off burst after controlled burst. They were rewarded with at least four of the attackers going down, but it was obvious neither time nor ammunition were on their side.

Another gunman emerged from the fog, and Uncle Pete’s rifle barked once. The gunman’s head exploded and he fell backward onto the bank, which was now littered with bodies.

Spencer rose and backed up, his weapon pointed at the stream as his feet felt their way, and whispered to Joe, “We’re making it too easy for them. We need to keep moving.”

“10-4, good buddy.” Joe leaned toward the pair of Shans and murmured to them. They nodded and stood.

“We go,” Uncle Pete said. More rounds shredded the leaves to their left at the sound of his voice, and he fired another burst at the stream as he scurried away.

“Follow me,” Joe whispered. He stood and ran, dodging between the bamboo and the trees, racing to put distance between them and the gunmen. Once they were away from the stream, the traffickers would still have the same issue as before — their advantage of superior numbers would be largely equalized by the fog and the dark of night.

They ran for five minutes, stopping occasionally to listen for sounds of pursuit, and then Joe veered right and they were back at the stream. He paused, listening, as the rest of them stood motionless. Spencer edged close to him.

“What do you think? Do we try to outrun them, or find high ground and settle this where we’d have an advantage?” Joe whispered.

“Problem there is that they can flank us once we’re stationary. It’s what I would do,” Spencer said. “Any advantage would be temporary. I say we keep moving. That’s our only hope. Because come morning, our chances go way, way down when the fog lifts.”

“There’s another problem,” Joe said. “They probably have radios. So they can call in reinforcements to ambush us.”

“True. But what options do we have?” Drake asked from behind them.

Spencer frowned. “Right now? None. But I’d strongly suggest we get off this stream as soon as we can, because if I was them, I’d have some of my colleagues waiting along the water up ahead. The stream’s the easiest way out of the valley, and that’s what they’ll be expecting. So we do the opposite.”

Joe nodded. “Then let’s recross as soon as it looks shallow enough, and find a game trail leading away from the water.”

Uncle Pete didn’t wait to hear anything more, and began working his way along the bank, the current rushing beside him.

Four hundred yards downstream, they found a stretch where they could see the water breaking over shallow rocks. They carefully picked their way across and worked south until they came to a promising gap in the underbrush. Joe and Uncle Pete set off toward it and then plunged headlong into the jungle, mindful that at any moment the shooting could start again.

The party pushed themselves hard, Joe periodically checking their position on the GPS. Hours later, he slowed and drew the device from his backpack again as the first dim glow of dawn burned through the fog. After studying the small screen and memorizing their coordinates, Joe turned to the rest.

“There’s a river about a half mile away. From there we can cut inland and be at our old camp within an hour.”

Allie nodded. “You think it’ll be safe there?”

“It’s the no-man’s land between the clear boundary of the Shan territory and Red Moon’s,” Joe said. “Even if they pick up our trail, there’s probably a limit to how badly they’ll want to test us. Remember, they lost more than a few at the cave. My hunch is they’ll head back to their base rather than risk being slaughtered. For all they know, there are dozens of us waiting in the trees.”

Drake glanced down the trail they’d followed and then at Joe. “I hope you’re right, for all our sakes.”

Joe nodded. “So do I, man, so do I.”