Slash and Burn by Colin Cotterill Read Free Book Online Page A

lower status were put up in the bungalows at the rear. These decisions had been taken by Judge Haeng, who, despite his socialist background, was ever conscious of class and status. The security detail comprised two elderly gentlemen with antique muskets who appeared to be on twenty-four-hour shifts as they were ever-present. Even with the noisy generator rattling and clunking at full throttle, electricity was only available from 6:00 until 9:00 P.M. Thence, the guests were left to their own devices. Flashlight beams sabred through the curtains of the American west wing and loud but incomprehensible voices were carried away on cool breezes into the tar-black night.
    In the east wing, General Suvan, the Lao team leader, had retired early. The old soldier spent a good deal of his time either napping or being completely asleep. Even when he was awake he had that saggy facial skin that made him look as if his features were permanently drowsy. Judge Haeng and his cousin Vinai, the Lao interpreter, were sharing a double. Mumbled secrets could be heard through the stucco walls of their darkened room. These three had been the only “non-negotiable” members of the Lao delegation. Minister Bounchu had to maintain some face, after all.
    At the furthest extremity of the east wing, a circle of lit candles inside a circle of people illuminated a dozen bottles of rice whisky. The bottles had handwritten labels and cardboard stoppers wrapped in plastic so their pedigree was in no doubt. The taste, however, was exemplary. The mixer of choice was locally produced papaya juice and the finger food was corned beef from cans and graham crackers, both pilfered from the huge stock of supplies brought in by the Americans.
    “Exactly how long are they planning to stay up here?” asked Civilai. The ex-Politburo pain-in-the-backside had beaten his best friend Siri into retirement by twelve months. He’d spent most of that time eating. For many years no more than a stick figure with a balding globe at its apex, Civilai’s parts were slowly starting to swell, led most triumphantly by his stomach. Not fat by any stretch of the imagination but the old gentleman carried his paunch around proudly like a monk with a new silver alms bowl.
    “Theirs is an eating culture,” Siri explained to him. “Like the Thais. Whereas we’re more of a drinking culture. Good luck!”
    He raised his glass and all those seated around on the grass floor matting mirrored the gesture and echoed “Good luck” in hushed but enthusiastic tones. They swigged their fruity nightcaps.
    “And here’s to Malee,” Siri continued. “Beautiful daughter of Nurse Dtui here and her handsome beau, Inspector Phosy.” Again the group raised their glasses and swigged. “Malee is experiencing her first week away from her parents. Let’s hope she doesn’t get into any bad habits at the state crèche.”
    “Here here,” said Dtui.
    “And,” Siri said, “as the scene at Wattay airport was characteristically chaotic and I didn’t get a chance to introduce him properly, allow me to welcome our old friend, Commander Lit from the security division. The Minister insisted we have someone from security on the team and I could think of nobody better.”
    The applause was deliberately muffled as nobody wanted to alert Judge Haeng to their soiree. Lit was a tall, gangly bespectacled man, stiff as a teak plank. His smile was easy and his eyes keen.
    “Lit has recently been promoted and transferred to the third garrison in Vientiane, “Siri added. “I had the pleasure of working with him in Vieng Xai and I know he’ll be a most splendid member of our team.”
    Siri could have added more. He could have mentioned, for example, that the young officer had been so taken with his Nurse Dtui during that trip that he had asked her to marry him. As Dtui had turned him down and as her current husband was now sitting beside her, Siri decided nothing would be gained from that announcement apart from