The Noble Path: A relentless standalone thriller from the #1 bestseller Page 11

  They undressed him slowly and with care, hands drifting caressingly over his chest and stomach, his buttocks and thighs. He allowed them to lead him into the shower room, where they both disrobed to reveal their nakedness. The shorter one turned on the shower, testing the water until the temperature was just right. They all stepped in together, and the girls began to lather him with scented soap from coloured bottles. Their hands slid over him with an effortless professionalism, leaving no part of him untouched.

  Then somewhere in the depths of the house he heard a bell ring, and the girls drew away leaving him breathless and aching for fulfilment. ‘La Mère Grace want you now,’ said the smaller one. They slipped him into a towelling robe before taking a hand each and leading him from the shower. ‘You come with us.’

  He was stung by a sense of shock as they swung the doors open. Grace lay naked, stretched out on the red sheets, a girl rising from between her legs to stand by the side of the bed. Grace’s eyes were closed. ‘Come to me, Jacques. Come to me now, quickly,’ she called.

  As he approached the bed, the girl moved aside and melted away. Slowly he stepped from his robe and lowered himself between Grace’s thighs, her dancer’s body lean and perfect.

  Afterwards they lay for a long time, bodies tangled, sweating and breathless. She kissed him gently all over his face, his nose, his eyes, his mouth, before taking his hand and rising from the bed to lead him to the shower.

  When they had washed and dressed a girl brought in a tray from which she served them sweet-scented tea in tiny bone china cups. ‘Tea is always so refreshing,’ Grace said. ‘Don’t you think?’ She had a glow about her now and, if anything, looked even more beautiful. Elliot shrugged. He would have preferred whisky.

  She emptied her cup and rose to take a wooden box, inlaid with ivory, from a cabinet at the far end of the room. She brought it back to the table and opened it. Inside were several rings and a pendant necklace, each set with the same large, translucent purple stones. She handed him one of the rings. ‘Alexandrite,’ she said. ‘Hold it up to the light and turn it slowly.’ Elliot did as she asked. The stone changed from purple to red, to green and then blue, as its cut surface refracted the changing light source. One colour bleeding subtly into the next. ‘I had them cut for me in Phnom Penh. They are not very expensive, but they are very beautiful.’ She paused. ‘Do you like the ring?’

  Elliot turned it again in the light. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything quite like it.’

  ‘Keep it,’ she said. He looked at her, surprised. ‘To remember me by.’

  ‘But I will see you again.’

  She shook her head solemnly. ‘No.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because, Mr Elliot, it would never be the same a second time.’

  *

  It was some hours later that Elliot closed the door of his hotel room and switched on the bedside lamp. He lay back on the bed and felt strangely empty as he fingered the cold cut surface of the alexandrite ring in his jacket pocket. As though she had stolen something from him, something from deep inside. The memory of her face still filled his eyes, the warmth of her skin against his still burned. Of course, he knew, she was right. It could never be the same again. The telephone rang and he reached out absently and picked up the receiver.

  ‘Where the hell you been, chief? I been trying to get you for hours.’

  Something in Slattery’s voice rang an alarm bell. Elliot sat up, suddenly alert. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘You mean you ain’t heard?’

  ‘For Christ’s sake, Mike . . .!’

  ‘Bloody Vietnamese have just invaded Cambodia.’

  PART TWO

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  I

  The road was pitch black as the tyres of their jeep bumped and rattled over its uneven surface. Tuk sat uncomfortably in the back with Elliot, Slattery and McCue. He glanced at them uneasily, all three dressed in jungle camouflage jackets, shirts, and army trousers tucked into US army boots and wrapped around with strips of cloth to make puttees. Elliot and Slattery both wore green berets, and McCue had a black cotton scarf tied around his head, the ends trailing loose down his back. Their hands and faces were smeared with dirt rubbed into an evil-smelling insect repellent. They were silent and tense. Tuk moved one of their backpacks to make room for his legs and tried to stretch them. A pothole rocked the jeep and jarred his spine. He had not anticipated this. The Vietnamese invasion had taken him too by surprise, although it had always been a possibility at this time of year. The phone call from Elliot had woken him up.

  ‘We’re going now,’ Elliot had said.

  In two hours Tuk had arranged everything, but he was far from happy. He would have liked more time to set things up, although he had already had two detailed sessions with Van and Ferguson. He was nervous now, and felt that the eyes upon him were filled with suspicion.

  But Elliot was paying little attention to Tuk. His mind was occupied, sorting mentally through kit and provisions. Maps, compasses, ropes, radio. Biltong, protein biscuits, salt tablets, water purifiers in case they had no chance to boil their water, malaria tablets, first-aid kit. Water bottles, sleeping sacks, folding canvas mats. They were to pick up their weapons and webbing at a house near the border. Tuk had assured him that everything was ready and waiting. Though there was something odd in Tuk’s manner that had put Elliot on his guard. He glanced at him now and saw a nervous tic fluttering above his left eye. Tuk shifted uncomfortably.

  ‘Thought you said this road was controlled by bandits at night,’ Slattery shouted across the roar of the engine.

  Tuk smiled feebly. ‘It is,’ he shouted back.

  Jesus, Slattery thought, the guy’s got a finger in every pie. ‘Where are we going?’

  Tuk said, ‘Van Saren has quite a comfortable bungalow a few kilometres back from the border.’ He smiled at Slattery’s surprise. ‘You did not think he lived in the camp, did you?’

  Up ahead, there was an unexpected flash of light on the road and the driver braked sharply. Another vehicle pulled in behind them, headlamps shining in the back. ‘What’s going on?’ Elliot snapped.

  Tuk leaned forward and exchanged a few words with the driver. He turned back to the others. ‘Just a road check,’ he said.

  ‘Army?’ Slattery asked.

  ‘My people,’ Tuk said. McCue drew out an old US army-issue Colt and slipped off the safety catch. Tuk blenched. ‘There is no need for that, Mr McCue. It will only cause alarm.’

  McCue lowered the pistol between his thighs, leaning forward on his elbows so that it was concealed, the barrel pointing straight at Tuk. ‘Anything goes wrong,’ he said quietly, ‘I’ll blow your balls off.’ Tuk paled visibly.

  The jeep drew to a halt and there were voices in the road. Then a man with a dark, ugly face whipped aside the canvas cover at the back and looked inside. He wore jeans and a T-shirt and carried an automatic rifle. The lights of the vehicle behind filled the inside of the jeep and the four men blinked, temporarily blinded by their sudden brightness. The man spoke and Tuk replied sharply. The name of Van Saren figured in the response. The man shrugged and let the canvas cover fall back. The rear vehicle revved its engine and pulled away, overtaking them and driving off at speed into the night. More voices in the dark, then all the lights went out again and the jeep jerked into motion, picking up pace and lurching violently on the uneven surface. Tuk was still tense. He looked at McCue. ‘I think you could put that away now, Mr McCue. It is a bumpy road and I am sure we would both regret it if your gun happened to go off by accident.’

  The faintest flicker of a smile crossed McCue’s face as he slipped on the safety catch and tucked the Colt into the belt below his jacket.

  ‘Where the hell did you get that, Billy boy?’

  McCue glanced at Slattery. ‘It’s the one I used to take down the tunnels with me. Guess I must have
forgot to hand it in. Just wish I’d some ammo to go with it.’

  Slattery grinned and looked at Tuk, whose silent annoyance showed in the line of his mouth. He turned to Elliot. ‘Being threatened by one of your men was not part of the deal.’

  Elliot shrugged. ‘Like the man said, it wasn’t loaded. Your balls were quite safe, Mr Tuk.’

  Another fifteen minutes, and they could see the lights of Aranyaprathet in the distance. They turned off the main road, left on to what was little more than a dirt track. They criss-crossed paddy fields that reflected the light of the rising moon and seemed to bear east for some time before swinging south again, the paddies left behind, jungle closing in on either side. The track was scarred by deep ruts in the mud made by the wheels of vehicles during the rainy season. Then the trees thinned and they drew into a clearing fringed with small patches of cultivated land reclaimed from the jungle.

  A bungalow with a long wooden terrace was raised a few feet from the ground on short stilts. Lights in all the windows threw long slabs of yellow light out across the clearing. Several battered vehicles were parked outside, and an armed guard sat idly on the rail of the veranda smoking a cigarette. He swung his automatic rifle lazily in their direction as the jeep pulled in at the foot of the steps. Tuk jumped down, clearly relieved to have arrived.

  ‘Follow me, gentlemen.’

  They climbed the steps past the guard and went into the bungalow. Inside, Van lounged on a settee in front of a television set, beer in one hand, a half-smoked cigar in the other, watching Dallas, the decade’s most popular American soap opera badly dubbed into Thai. He was wearing combat shirt, trousers and boots and, like McCue, had a cotton scarf tied around his head. He turned and beamed as they came in.

  ‘One minute, please. I want see what happens Bobbee here.’ And he turned back to the television.

  ‘Saren, Mr Elliot is keen to get started,’ Tuk said impatiently.

  ‘Garee see to them,’ he said, without taking his eyes from the screen. Somehow the show’s camp villain, J.R., did not carry the same authority in Thai.

  A door opened from a back room and Ferguson swaggered in. He was kitted out in his old GI uniform, but looked incongruous, and faintly ridiculous, in a sweat-stained cowboy hat. He glared at them, surly and unsmiling, taking in their gear and the backpacks stacked by the door.

  ‘You guys ain’t travelling light, that’s for sure. You’ll get your weapons in back.’ He jerked his thumb towards the back room and opened the fridge to get a can of beer. Slattery and McCue followed Elliot through and opened the crates. They took out and checked their weapons – automatics, pistols, knives, grenades – and armed up, strapping on webbing and slipping long, lethal machetes into leather sheaths.

  ‘He’s right, chief,’ Slattery said. ‘With those backpacks we’re going to be carrying some kit.’

  ‘We’re going to be a long time away from base,’ Elliot said. ‘You think there’s anything we don’t need, speak up.’

  Slattery shrugged. ‘I guess not.’

  Elliot looked at McCue, who only shook his head.

  ‘Okay.’ Elliot moved across the room and closed the door. The atmosphere was tense in this small, darkened room only a few kilometres from the Cambodian border. He lowered his voice. ‘I don’t trust any of these bastards. Watch them. McCue, I want you to bring up the rear at all times. Slattery, you flank right, I’ll take the left. Anything goes wrong, hit dirt. Whistle once for alright, twice for trouble. If we get split take a compass reading south-south-west from our last joint position. Take as straight a line as you can for about two kilometres and we’ll try to rendezvous at first light. Don’t use firepower unless absolutely necessary. If we fail to meet up, in an emergency fire a single shot and take cover.’ The Australian and the American nodded. ‘Alright, let’s go.’ He opened the door as the Dallas theme tune played over the closing credits.

  II

  Van Saren, Ferguson and two others sat with them in the back of the jeep as it clattered its way along the jungle track. Elliot eyed them warily and wondered why it took four of them to lead the way across the border. Tuk had seemed nervous as he shook their hands and wished them luck, and Elliot had not missed the look that passed between him and Van as they left.

  Van kept up a cheerful front, babbling nonsense, grinning and showing the gaps in his teeth. Elliot could smell his breath across the jeep. Ferguson, by contrast, sat silent, staring sullenly at McCue. There was murder in his eyes.

  After half an hour, the jeep drew in and Van said, ‘Is as far we go in jeep. Very near border now. Ground open there, but no problem.’

  Elliot, Slattery and McCue followed the leading group through the scattered trees in single file. With a bright three-quarters moon rising above them, their eyes adjusted quickly to night sight. The ground rose steeply and then fell away to a dry stream bed, rising again on the other side over a jumble of rocks to more trees. They moved quickly across the stream that would only carry water in the rainy season, and up the embankment into the subtropical forest, moonlight filtering through the canopy only in patches. The undergrowth was dense but not impenetrable, and they stuck to a network of criss-crossing animal tracks. Van led the way with McCue at the rear, just behind Ferguson. Because of the thickness of the undergrowth it was impossible for Elliot and Slattery to flank the group. Van was sure-footed and silent, moving with the assurance of familiarity. He had followed this route many times before.

  Visibility was less than ten metres. The ground seemed to rise again before falling away to a valley that cut a swathe through the forest like a scar. Van found a track that led up the other side, smooth and well-worn, running at an angle to the right, then turning back on itself, though still rising, to take them over the ridge. More trees and dense undergrowth that caught and snagged on clothes with needles and thorns. Van stopped on the edge of a small clearing. ‘You in Cambodia,’ he said. ‘You go on your own now. No problem. I go back TV.’

  Elliot thought he heard something move at the far side of the clearing, saw a glint of moonlight on metal. Van signalled his men to move aside and let them past. ‘Good luck,’ he said. Elliot glanced at Slattery, who gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head.

  ‘I think,’ Elliot told Van, ‘you should go a little way more with us.’

  Van smiled. ‘No need. You okay now. That right, Garee?’

  ‘Sure is, father.’

  Elliot swung his M16 up and levelled it at Van’s chest. ‘I insist,’ he said. Slattery and McCue had the others covered before they could move, a clatter of gun metal against webbing.

  ‘What the fuck are you guys playing at?’ Ferguson hissed.

  Elliot ignored him, his eyes fixed on Van. ‘After you.’

  There was fear now in Van’s eyes. He knew that to step out into the clearing meant certain death. ‘I send one my men,’ he said, and turned to wave the nearest of his soldiers on. The man took a half-step back, shook his head and uttered something in Cambodian. Van barked at him, but the young soldier was terrified, before suddenly he turned to run back the way they had come, straight into a bullet from McCue. A burst of automatic fire rang out from across the clearing. The six remaining men dived for cover. Elliot rolled over behind a tree, snatched a grenade from his webbing, pulled the pin and lobbed it across the clearing. It exploded with a dull thud and somebody screamed. He saw two dark shadows running through the trees at the far side, not ten metres away. Two short bursts with his M16 and one of the shadows fell and lay still. The other kept going and disappeared into the forest. There was another burst of automatic fire somewhere to his left. He rolled over quickly, eyes raking the darkness, and bumped into a prone figure lying in the ferns. It was Van. Elliot turned him over with his free hand and saw the whites of frightened eyes staring up at him. ‘You bastard!’ he hissed. He looked up quickly then whistled once. A single whistle came back in response, and th
e crouched figure of Slattery crossed the path and moved up beside him.

  ‘Alright chief?’

  ‘Where’s McCue?’

  ‘Christ knows.’

  ‘The rest of Van’s men?’

  ‘Two dead. Don’t know about Ferguson.’

  A rustle in the undergrowth made them turn. Ferguson stood there, pale and grim in the moonlight. Then he lurched suddenly forward, almost landing on top of Van, to reveal McCue standing behind him, M16 crooked in his arm, muzzle pointing skywards. Elliot jerked his head at him. ‘Check out the far side of the clearing.’ McCue nodded and melted away into the trees.

  Elliot gripped the loose flesh at Van’s throat. ‘You sold us out, you fucker! Why?’

  ‘Tuk’s idea,’ Van babbled. ‘He trade you for big shipment gold artefact. He ask me fix it.’

  ‘I knew there was something treacherous about that little creep,’ Slattery growled. His gut was aching again.

  McCue slipped quietly back through the trees and crouched beside Elliot. ‘Three Khmer Rouge dead. Two hit by the grenade. You got the other with the M16.’

  ‘And at least one got away,’ Elliot said grimly. ‘We’re going to have to move out of here fast.’

  ‘What about these two?’ Slattery asked.

  ‘Kill them.’ There was no emotion in McCue’s voice.

  Elliot shook his head. ‘Mike, take their weapons.’ Slattery disarmed them, and Elliot pushed his knee hard into Van’s chest, making him grunt. He leaned over, bringing his face very close to Van’s. ‘You tell Tuk I’ll see him when I get back.’ He nodded to the others and they rose and faded off into the forest. Van rolled over and vomited.

  Ferguson crouched over him. ‘Hey, you alright, father?’

  Van was shaking. ‘I scared, Garee. We lucky be alive.’

  Ferguson spat. ‘Yeah, well that could be the biggest mistake these bastards ever made.’

  *

  For the first hour McCue took point. Their need to move fast was tempered by the requirement for caution. They kept to the animal tracks, always running the risk of hitting landmines or booby traps. McCue’s face was strained with concentration and tension, listening, scanning the ground, constantly checking ahead. It would be too easy to confuse the rustle of some night creature in the undergrowth for that of a man. But the opposite was also true.