Mann and Riley were frisked. They missed Delilah, tucked into Mann’s boot. Escorted by the soldiers, they were led single file into the jungle. The layers of vege ta tion crackled beneath their feet as they wove their way between the trees. With only torchlight to guide them and the canopy of trees above them, not even the stars were visible. Mann had never been in a forest so dense or a situation so strange. He was a city boy, used to the low life and the high rise, or being on a beach with a surfboard in his hand, but he had never been so lost in a jungle before. They moved through the forest, away from the old village and deep into the safety of the woods until they could hear the low hum of men talking, the crackling of a fire and the smell of food being cooked. There were maybe thirty soldiers in all, sitting around in small groups. The air was filled with the smell of sweat and guns, the damp smell of steaming rice, and the tangy smoke of cooked chilli and fish paste wafted over to them in waves.

From the darkness a figure in combats emerged and strode towards them. He was a powerful-looking man, wild and handsome in a Che Guevara way, with haunted, hollow cheeks sunken into a broad face. His dark bushy eyebrows came low over deep set eyes. He had unkempt hair and he wore a red bandanna around his head. He walked up and shook Riley’s hand.

‘I have heard many good things about you,’ he said as he took Riley’s hand and shook it warmly.

‘Same here, Captain Alak.’

Then the man turned towards Mann and Mann felt his sharp scrutiny. Mann eyeballed him back. What Mann saw was a man who was in his prime but who was never destined to get old. Alak was relying on every tissue in his body to keep him alive in the moment. But, to judge by his expression when he had glanced at Run Run, it was every tissue that made up his muscle and bone—but none that lay in his heart. He was a man who could be allowed only to dream of the future. Deep in Alak’s dark eyes, Mann saw the demon of doubt.

Then, just at the moment when the situation began to look awkward, Alak gave a smile and he reached out to shake Mann’s hand.

‘It is good to meet you, Johnny Mann.’

‘And you, Alak.’

They followed Alak to a cleared area where logs were laid out for them to sit on. Above his head Mann could see a few stars squeezing through the black jungle canopy. As he sat down Mann eased Delilah out of his boot and slipped her into the palm of his hand, pushing her hilt up under his shirt sleeve. He felt the coldness of her steel against his arm. It was reassuring to him to feel her there. He had the feeling he would need her before long.

59

‘I’m all right, Summer, really,’ said Shrimp. Summer couldn’t stop crying. ‘It looks worse than it is.’

She howled louder. She had come to find Shrimp in his digs. He was lying on his bed, the window open, the smell of the sea filling the room. ‘Shhh, Summer, please, you’re not helping.’

‘I am sorry, hon. Truly sorry. Here…’ Summer opened her bag and took out a bundle of papers. ‘It’s what you wanted. Some of the people made copies of the legal stuff.’

Shrimp sat bolt upright and took the papers from her. She began overzealously plumping his pillows. He flicked through the documents quickly.

‘Perfect,’ he said. ‘I will come and talk to you later and tell you what I need you to do.’ Summer started crying again. ‘But only if you promise to stop crying.’

Shrimp spent the next five hours laid out reading the papers from Summer. They all added up to the same thing—the people had been deceived into signing away their homes or businesses. It wasn’t just a local fraud going on. Lots of the buyers for these businesses or strips of coastland were from overseas. Even if they had not wittingly thrown a farmer off his land, in the end, they had built a hotel on what used to be his home. Someone in the middle had brokered these deals. Shrimp was pos itive he could find enough evidence to take their cases to an international court. He was also positive that the charities commission would want to know that one of their Dutch charities had been the middleman on some of these deals.

Later that day he managed to rouse himself from his bed. Very slowly and gingerly, he walked down Patong Beach and along to the boxing stadium.

The children looked up as Shrimp entered. One of his shoulders hung lower than the other where it had been dislocated. His battered face was unrecognisable. Only his hair gave him away—gelled into a peak at the front.

Pan came towards him.

‘You are a brave man. I am happy to see you alive.’

‘Yesss.’ Shrimp could not speak properly, his lips were so swollen. He walked slowly forward. There was no part of him that hadn’t been bruised by the beating.

‘What do you want here?’

‘To learn how to Thai box.’

‘Still?’

Shrimp nodded.

60

Mann looked at Run Run. Her eyes were locked on Alak’s, shining in the firelight. One of Alak’s men brought over some glasses and a bottle. Naked to the chest, the skin on his back was cut and there was a folded area where he had lost muscle and flesh from a massive injury. Alak poured them each a shot of rum.

‘To the fight!’ The mood was sombre.

‘To the fallen.’ Alak’s eyes burned as he looked in turn at each member of the group gathered there. Around him his men stopped to join in the salute.

‘Yes, to Mongkut and the others.’ Riley raised his glass high. They drank. Mann studied Alak in the dim light. This was a man who never relaxed. His back was strong, but his shoulders were over-muscled from carrying heavy packs as well as tension all his life. He was a man who never slept, who never let his guard down, he didn’t dare.

Alak brandished the rum, waiting to refill Mann’s glass. Mann drank it down and held out his glass.

‘Mongkut died the right way. Born a Karen, die a Karen,’ said Alak. The tension showed in his jaw when he talked. ‘It is the job of every Karen to play his part, to do what he can to fight for our right to exist, to regain our homeland and to live in peace.

‘We live by the four principles spelt out in 1950 when the Karen National Union was founded. They are…’ He counted each one off on his fingers. ‘Number one—no surrender. Two—the recognition of the Karen State. Three—the Karen shall retain their arms. And four—they shall decide their own destiny. Nothing changes those principles.’

Alak leaned forward to refill Mann’s glass and stopped mid-pour as he looked into Mann’s eyes.

‘You are a long way from Hong Kong, Detective Inspector Johnny Mann.’ From the corner of his eye Mann could see Alak’s men watching.

It didn’t surprise Mann that Alak had done his homework. It would represent a big risk meeting a stranger. But Mann had done his homework too. Alak was the man Mann had been hoping to meet. He was the captain whose name was being bandied about as the abductor, the organiser of the attack.

‘I owe someone a favour. That’s as personal as it gets—I am here to find the missing volunteers. That is my only reason.’

‘You are not here to take up arms with us?’ Alak laughed and sat upright. He spoke clearly, as if making sure his men could hear. ‘To fight by our side? If you are not with us, then why should we help you?’

‘You have no choice. They say that you are the rebels who attacked the camp. They say you are taking payoffs from the drug barons.’

There was a loud intake of breath all around and Riley choked on his rum.

In the instant Alak reached for his knife, Mann already had Delilah flipped out. Like a chameleon’s tongue catching a fly, she winged silently through the air, her cord still attached to the hilt. She knocked Alak’s knife clean out of his hands, nicking his forefinger, before safely flying back to Mann’s hand.