Return to Tomorrow (14 page)

“Rachel. Look!” Ahnle touched her sleeve very gently. “There is my uncle coming along the street to
my brother's house. He is not alone,” she said, suddenly breathless.

“No.” Rachel narrowed her eyes to bring the small procession into focus. Ahnle's uncle was followed by a short, stocky man Rachel had never seen before, and behind him a respectful two steps was an even shorter woman, heavyset for a Hlông—and she was carrying a child. “He is not alone.”

“They are bringing my son.” Ahnle stood up in one swift, graceful movement and started running along the steep path leading back down to the village, Rachel only a step or two behind. The path was rocky and potholed. She had to keep all her attention on her feet or she would surely fall and twist an ankle, but she wanted to warn Ahnle, say something to prepare her, just in case Chengla and his wife had only come to return her gift of money in person and not to give her back her son.

“Ahnle, wait,” she called, panting from altitude and exertion. “Wait for me.” It was too late. The girl had already climbed the rickety steps into the hut where the others had entered just moments ahead of her. Rachel could only follow, praying silently to God and Buddha and all the spirits, hoping for the best.

Inside the hut it was dark and smoky and crowded with people: Ahnle's brother's first wife and her two small daughters, his second wife and her infant son, Ahnle and the visitors. Rachel took her place along the wall with the other women and listened to the old man's voice over the pounding of her heart. He was holding the baby, an infant no longer but a small, bright-eyed toddler. She glanced at Chengla's wife but her pudgy face was hidden by the rows of hanging coins draped around her
elaborate silver headdress. Her hands were folded in her lap, her body language conveying no emotion.

“Chengla and his wife have brought the child for you to see that he is well,” the old man said, and Rachel clasped her hands together in her lap to keep them from trembling. The dark mood of earlier in the day hovered just beyond her immediate consciousness and she fought to keep it at bay. “They are honored with the gift you have brought to show your appreciation of their care of your son. They have agreed to return him to you.”

He handed the baby to Ahnle.

“May the spirits bless your house and bring you many strong sons for your kindness to my child,” Ahnle said, bowing low to Chengla and his wife.

“A baby already grows within my new wife,” Chengla replied smugly. “It will be a son.”

“This boy cries too much,” his wife answered, lifting her face to look at Ahnle's baby. There was no sorrow at losing him that Rachel could see in the woman's placid eyes. “The new child will not cry, I hope. We have named him Domha—the traveling one. I will pray to the spirits for him and I will buy a silver coin to wear in memory of him.”

“Thank you,” Ahnle said, her eyes bright with tears. “I will honor your memory by keeping the name you have given him.”

“Good.” The old man rose. “We will leave you now so that you may eat your evening meal with your brother's wives and prepare for your journey back across the great river. My youngest son, Nouvak, will guide you as far as the marshlands near the ruined village but no farther.
May the spirits allow you to pass safely beyond the gate of our village.”

“Thank you, Uncle.” Ahnle remained on her knees as the old man uttered his blessing.

“Safe journey,” he said, nodding slightly to Rachel as he passed.

“Thank you, Honored Father,” she replied, accepting the gesture for the compliment that it was. They had done what they set out to do. Now they had only the return trip to the river between them and—home. Rachel sat quietly for a long moment and watched Ahnle rock her son.

 

I
T WAS ALMOST THE LAST
quiet moment they had. The baby truly did cry a great deal. He immediately threw up the goat's milk they tried to feed him from a bottle that Ahnle had stored in her
yaam.
He objected to the shape of the plastic nipple on the bottle, refused the powdered milk they tried next and only barely tolerated the rice gruel they finally spooned into his mouth.

During the night he was colicky and wakeful. Ahnle and Rachel took turns pacing the floor, rocking him in their arms. More than once Rachel caught the girl staring down at the baby with a puzzled look in her eyes, and she knew that Ahnle hadn't been prepared to see a year-old toddler in the place of the infant that had been taken from her.

“A child should know its own mother,” she whispered, cuddling the fussy little boy against her breast, as daylight began to lighten the sky above the hills.

“Give him time,” Rachel said comfortingly. “We must leave now. We have a long walk ahead of us.” Outside
the hut their guide, Nouvak, a boy barely into his teens, was waiting for them. He carried a small leather pouch and a vintage rifle, nothing else. He walked ahead of the women.

“Everything will be right when we are back in the camp.” Ahnle settled the baby in a sling over her shoulder, his weight resting on her hip. “We will start a new life, Domha and I.”

The trip back went wrong almost from the moment the village was out of sight. It started to rain, a steady, soaking rain that seemed as if it had gotten lost from the rest of the monsoon and only now caught up. Nouvak seemed oblivious to the discomfort, even offering to carry one of the shoulder bags when they had gone far enough to ensure no one from the village would see him doing woman's work. But it was still slow going.

The baby cried himself into exhausted sleep late in the afternoon and only woke long enough to take a bottle of powdered milk and rice gruel, as they sat around their small, smoky fire that night. Far off in the jungle a tiger roared. Although no night hunters came near their camp, Nouvak slept with his hand on the gun and Rachel didn't sleep at all.

They were going too slowly. There was too much distance to be made up if they were to arrive near the abandoned fishing village before the next night. Rachel roused them in the still, misty darkness of predawn and they walked all day with only two short halts to feed the child.

They almost made it, but an hour past the waterfall where they'd camped their first night in the jungle, Ahnle stepped on a loose stone and landed painfully on her
knee as she twisted to protect the baby. It slowed them down and even though they walked an hour after nightfall, until their young guide refused to go farther along the steep, dangerous path above the stream, Rachel knew it was not far enough.

She sat up again that night, cuddling the baby so that Ahnle could rest, keeping him warm, trying to stave off the cold terror of her own thoughts. They were going to miss the rendezvous, no matter how early they started, no matter how fast they walked. They were simply too far away from the abandoned village.

Still, they left two hours before dawn, bidding their silent young companion farewell as they came out of the hills and into the marshlands bordering the stream. The women hurried on alone, slowed by the baby and Ahnle's bruised knee. When daylight came, the sun was hidden by fog that grew thicker as they reached the water's edge. The ruined huts rose around them, misty shapes in the gloom.

Ahnle's cousin and his boat were nowhere in sight, but very faintly, far away and muffled by the fog, Rachel heard the sound of a motor.

Moving away from them, back toward the river and freedom.

They were stranded.

Bohan had kept his word and returned, but now he was gone, also as he had promised, and Rachel was once again on her own in an enemy land.

“T
HERE'S SOMEONE IN THE
back room I think you might want to meet,” Billy said, materializing in the doorway of Brett's office at the Lemongrass.

He looked up from the sophisticated topographic map of the Golden Triangle he'd been studying. Khen Sa was on the march, down from Burma, moving at will among the hill villages south of Chiang Saen. Somewhere up there Brett was going to have to find the right spot to waylay him.

“Ahnle's brother?” It didn't take more than a quick glance at Billy's grim features to guess his week-long vigil outside the Teak Doll had paid off. Brett's preoccupation with Khen Sa's whereabouts was overshadowed immediately by his concern for Rachel. The sudden shift in concentration gave him a jolt. He'd always been able to compartmentalize his feelings, keep his personal life separate from his business dealings, but it had never been this hard.

The trouble was, he couldn't afford to lose his concentration or his objectivity at this stage of the game. The financing was all arranged, thanks to Alf Singleton's influence with a powerful man in the palace. The only thing left to do was meet with Khen Sa himself, and deliver the first installment of gold. Billy didn't know
it yet but they were heading north, themselves, in the morning.

“Yeah. He wasn't too sold on the idea of comin' with me. He took some persuadin'. I think I got everything we need out of him already, but I don't want him hightailin' it back into the hills and gettin' to the women ahead of us.” Billy's expression was still grim, but satisfied. He rubbed the back of his right hand with his left, as though his knuckles might hurt.

“What did he say?” Brett stood and picked up the map, as well as a classified air force spy satellite blowup of the same area. Both of the maps had been supplied by the U.S. embassy. Once Alf Singleton had gotten the go-ahead from Washington to back his plan, the ambassador's cooperation had been unstinting. Brett rolled up the charts and slid them inside a wall safe, next to a velvet jeweler's box containing a string of matched South Sea pearls. He closed the door and the safe disappeared into a section of carved panel on the wall.

“He thinks Ahnle might be headed for her aunt in Chiang Khong.” Something in his friend's voice alerted Brett to be on his guard. “Except that he can't believe his sister would be fool enough to cross back into Laos just to get her kid.” He waited, tense and silent in the doorway for Brett's response.

“She probably wouldn't try it alone. But with Rachel along, she might just take the chance.”

“You knew Ahnle had a kid?” Billy's voice was low and controlled, and filled with hidden anger.

Brett stuck his hands in the back pockets of his slacks. Turning, he surveyed his friend's belligerent stance
through narrowed eyes. “I didn't, until a day or two ago. Father Dolph told me.”

“Why the hell didn't you tell me?” Billy's hands clenched into fists at his sides.

“I told you, I just found out myself.” Brett felt his own temper flare. “You've been camped out at the Teak Doll for damned near a week. There hasn't been a lot of time for chitchat.” He stopped talking for a moment. “Before that, I figured Rachel had taken the girl back to camp with her because she was running away from me. I didn't look for any other reason.”

“Rachel running away from you?” Billy raised his arm above his head and rested it flat against the door frame. “What in hell happened that night at your place?”

“Nothing. Look, forget it, man. I'm sorry I blew up at you.” His anger at Billy died away, redirecting itself internally where it belonged. He'd frightened Rachel away with his insistence on a physical relationship.
What had happened to her in the past, in that Vietnamese prison camp, that had frightened her so?
When Micah McKendrick showed up in Bangkok, as Brett was certain he soon would, he intended to learn everything the man knew about those lost and terrifying years of Rachel's life.

“You should have told me about the baby.”

“How the hell was I supposed to know you cared that much about…Ahnle?” Brett leaned forward over the desk, resting his weight on his hands. “That's it, isn't it? You're soft on the girl. God, I've been blind.” He ran his hand through his hair, stirring the thick, dull gold waves. “I thought you were staking out the Teak Doll to help me find Rachel.”

“I was, man,” Billy said defensively. “Ahnle's just a kid. I feel…sorta responsible for her.”

“Responsible?” Brett gave a snort of laughter that contained no humor at all. He straightened, walking out from behind the desk. “Look at yourself, buddy. You're halfway in love with the girl already.”

“You ought to know what it feels like,” Billy threw over his shoulder as he headed in the direction of the storeroom, stopping Brett in his tracks.

“What's that supposed to mean?”

Billy twisted on his heel, his broad shoulders blocking out most of the light in the narrow hallway. His face was lost in shadow, hiding his features, the expression in his eyes, putting Brett at a disadvantage in their verbal skirmish. “I may be halfway gone on that little Hlông girl, but buddy, I'm in a hell of a lot better shape than you are. You're in love with Rachel Phillips and you're too damned stubborn to admit it, even to yourself.”

 

A
HNLE CLIMBED ONTO THE
upended boat and curled her legs under her. She cuddled the baby, in his hand-woven carrier, close to her breast and stared at Rachel, dry-eyed and frightened.

“What shall we do?” she asked in a small voice. “My cousin kept his word. He came for us but we are late. He has gone. I do not think he will return.”

“We don't know that for certain.” Rachel let the strap of her
yaam
slip down off her shoulder to lie in the grass beside the smaller one Ahnle had carried. She tried to steady her jumping heartbeat and consider their options. They were limited, and panic beat dark wings against the back of her mind. “The fog delayed him, as well as
it did us. He said he would stay only a short time, yet he was still here a few minutes ago. Perhaps, if we stay here tonight, he'll come again tomorrow.”

“No.” Ahnle pointed to a spot near one of the ruined huts. “Men have been here since we passed this way before.” Rachel looked where Ahnle had indicated. The panicky wings beat stronger, making her catch her breath. The remains of a fire pit with several empty, still shiny, tin cans strewn around it was ample proof of Ahnle's words. It had not been there five days before. “We can't stay here.”

“You're right.” Rachel wanted to turn and run, find a safe, dry place to hide and cry her eyes out, waiting and hoping for someone to come and rescue them. But there was no one to come for them, no one who even knew where to look. They had only themselves to rely on. She stared at the small boat Ahnle was sitting on. It wasn't the long-tailed Thai boat one grew used to seeing here. It was a very ordinary-looking boat, shaped something like a wide, flat-bottomed canoe. And it possessed a pair of oars. “We can't stay here. Get off the boat.”

Rachel pulled the spindly, narrow-bladed oars away from the boat while Ahnle scrambled down off her perch. “Help me turn it over,” she instructed the girl, suiting action to words, “and watch out for snakes.”

The fog was beginning to lift as they struggled to right the boat. The sun was a dull metallic ball hanging above the horizon, almost devoid of warmth and light. The grass underneath the boat was dead but didn't seem to have attracted a cobra or the even more deadly krite to take shelter beneath it. With Ahnle's help, Rachel shoved the righted craft into the water, tying one end of
her length of Thai silk through an iron ring in the prow. She gave the other end to Ahnle.

“Hold it here while I find something to bail with,” she said, moving away as she spoke. The thinning fog, threatening to expose them to anyone watching from the hills, added urgency to her words. “Wooden boats always leak.”

“We cannot cross the river in this toy boat.” The baby, sensing his mother's distress, whimpered fretfully.

“We can't stay here.” Rachel made her voice as firm as she could manage. She picked up two of the biggest tin cans from the rubbish pile around the fire pit. “The men who were here were opium traders or bandits or soldiers. I can't tell which, but they will return. I think that's why your cousin didn't wait for us. It doesn't matter who they are. We're not sticking around to find out.”

Ahnle took one look at Rachel's white, set face and did as she was told. She clutched the baby so tightly to her chest he grunted in protest. Ahnle soothed him in hushed tones. “I cannot help you guide this boat, Rachel. I am sorry.”

“Don't worry. Your job is to bail out the water and keep us from running into rocks and snags. You can do that, can't you?”

“Yes.” Ahnle nodded. “I can do that.”

At Rachel's bidding she took the square of plastic that served as their rain shelter and tied the bags inside it to keep them dry, while Rachel struggled to fit the short, stubby oars into the unfamiliar oarlocks of woven rattan.

The current in the tributary stream was swift. Rachel didn't try to row, she just did her best to keep them in
the middle of the stream, using the oars to avoid occasional rocks and to fend off snags. It was late in the morning when they reached the mouth of the stream. Rachel had been rowing steadily for the last thousand yards, as the waterway widened and slowed its course. Angling the boat toward the shore, they slipped beneath the overhanging branches of the willows lining the bank. Hidden from view, they stopped to rest.

Beyond them, the great river was still shrouded in fog. Rachel tried to remember every detail she could of their previous crossing. The Mekong was narrow here, but deep and swift-running below the placid surface. The crossing would be dangerous but possible to accomplish, if she could keep them from being swept too far downstream, where they might be waylaid by bandits, or even worse, carried on deeper into Laos where the river grew wild and treacherous and there would be no hope of rescue.

They took time for Ahnle to feed her son and reline his carrier with the soft, absorbent moss that served as diapers for Hlông babies. “Rachel?” Ahnle asked very softly, although they hadn't seen or heard anything to indicate they were not the only two women left in the world.

“Yes?” Rachel drew her gaze away from the foggy water.

“If I…do not reach the other shore. You will save my son?”

“Don't say such things,” Rachel said sharply, quelling a superstitious shiver of her own. “You will invite evil spirits into the boat with us and they will bring us bad luck.”

“You are right.” Ahnle looked stricken. Her dark eyes were fever-bright, her cheeks flushed. Rachel wondered if she were ill, then dismissed the niggling worry. She would deal with it in its own good time. “I shouldn't speak of such things.” Ahnle looked down at the sleeping baby in her lap. “I think we should go. Domha is quiet and I will be able to bail much easier now.” She eyed the inch of water in the bottom of the boat with trepidation.

Rachel slipped her compass out of the pocket of her loose cotton slacks and checked their position before pushing away from the bank with the blade of her oar. Without a map or set landmarks to follow, it was the only navigational guide they had. Almost at once the current drew them out onto the river, spinning them around until Rachel managed to head them downstream, prow first. From that moment on, she had no time to think of anything else but keeping their frail little boat from being swamped.

She rowed until her muscles burned like fire and her hands were blistered, raw and bleeding. Every ripple and eddy in the great river set the primitive craft to rocking. There was no wind or the low-riding boat would have been swamped within a hundred yards of shore. For over an hour she battled the current, making some headway but always being swept further downstream, away from Chiang Khong. The smell of the river was thick around them, the fog blanketed everything, making it impossible to tell how far they had come, but thankfully, perhaps, also veiling how far they had to go.

Twice they narrowly avoided being hung up on snags, great tree trunks floating just below the surface, that
were impossible to see in the fog. Once Ahnle thought she heard the engine noises of another boat, but Rachel could hear nothing beyond the sound of her own labored breathing. She kept rowing because there was nothing else she could do, and they were not seen.

By the time Ahnle glimpsed the Thailand shore, the boat was leaking so badly Rachel could barely keep them steady in the current. She was so tired she no longer cared how far downstream they were swept, if she could only stop and rest. But she did not stop. She kept rowing doggedly, for Ahnle's sake and the baby's, as well as her own.

Suddenly the river twisted around a headland, spinning them out of the mainstream and into the quiet backwaters of a small cove, where a wide stream, much like the one they'd followed on the Laotian side, emptied into the river. With the last of her strength, Rachel rowed the waterlogged skiff into the stream mouth, out of sight of the main channel, and sat slumped over the oars while Ahnle tied them fast to a sapling's trunk with the length of silk.

“Where are we, Rachel?” Ahnle asked, offering her a drink of water from a plastic jug. Rachel lifted her head and looked around. Ahnle sat quietly, cuddling the fussy baby to her breast. Rachel blinked. She couldn't remember him making a peep before that moment.

She glanced at the compass, frightened of what she might see: that the river had only swept them in a great half circle and they were back on the Laotian side. “I have no idea,” she said truthfully, but with a small, tired smile. “But we are in Thailand.” They were by no means home free, safe and sound, but they were no longer
stranded in an enemy country that had been the setting for her nightmares for more years than she wanted to recall.