“That’s an understatement. But as long as he’s on our side…”
“Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer,” Spencer agreed.
“Where is he?”
“Over by the edge of the rice fields. There’s an old banyan tree there. He says he draws energy and wisdom from it.”
“Probably high as a kite.”
“I didn’t get that. I think he’s really just into the Eastern mysticism thing. Kind of a burnout hippie fascination, for lack of a better description.”
“What do you think he’s really doing here?”
“With a plane and a private airstrip in the middle of the Golden Triangle? Three guesses.”
“That’s what I was afraid of.”
“Oh, I’d say he’s pretty benign compared to the alternatives we could have run into. And he did agree to help. That’s a major positive for us, because I suspect he’s right about the local pilots wanting to have nothing to do with us once news of Daeng’s untimely demise spreads.”
“Let’s hope he can actually remember what all the controls do. He doesn’t inspire a lot of confidence.” She paused and looked away. “You don’t think this is some sort of ruse?”
“Ruse? To achieve what?”
“I don’t know. He just creeps me out. I don’t trust him.”
“Nor should you. But in a war zone, anyone willing to shoot at the guys you’re shooting at is one of the white hats — until they turn on you.”
“I’m not convinced.”
Spencer nodded. “I’m reading that between the lines.” He sighed. “Tell you what, let’s see what he can do. What harm is there? If he can help us track down Drake, that would be major. He made it sound like he knows everybody and is on friendly terms with the local cutthroats. If he is, then things might work out after all. He can put the word out not to kill them, for starters. And with a reward being offered…” Spencer shrugged. “Just because you’re crazy doesn’t mean you’re incompetent. I had an uncle like that.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it.”
“Come to think of it, my uncle was just nuts, not really proficient at anything.”
“That’s very reassuring.”
“He did know a lot of limericks and colorful sea shanties. But he was tone deaf. And he liked to sing them naked.”
“You’re making this up.”
Spencer smiled. “I like to keep ’em guessing.”
Joe’s distinctive shape drifted through the fog, and Allie raised an eyebrow at his outfit — he was stripped to the waist, his body devoid of fat, his abs ridged, and the tattoos that adorned his arms carried across his chest and back. His orange drawstring pants were obviously homemade, and his feet were bare. Allie had to admit that he had a commanding bearing — that of someone to be reckoned with. She could see why the tribe deferred to him; to them he must have appeared to be some sort of divine sage.
“Good morning,” Joe said, his tone calm and flat.
“Same to you,” Allie said.
“You sleep well?”
“I did.”
“Maybe tomorrow you’ll wake up early enough to join me in my sun salutation.”
“I don’t see any sun,” Allie observed.
“Like hidden treasure, the most valuable of nature’s gifts are rarely immediately obvious,” Joe intoned.
Allie and Spencer exchanged a glance that said maybe their host was high after all.
“Tell you what,” Joe continued. “Let me get cleaned up, we’ll have breakfast, and when this burns off, you can check out my plane.”
Allie offered a small smile and studied Joe’s face. If he was suffering from the prior night’s excesses, it didn’t show. “Sounds like a plan. Any word on our friends?”
“If you know how to listen, the wind whispers its secrets.” Joe shook his head. “To listen is easy. To hear is a gift we must earn.”
“So that’s a no?” Spencer asked.
“In the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king.”
“Right,” Allie said with an eye roll. “Good to know.”
Joe made a gesture with his hands from his chest, thrusting them outward and then apart, palms raised. “Open your heart, invite the universe in, and all things will come to you effortlessly.”
“Sounds great,” she agreed, at a loss for any more words.
Joe’s stare took on a faraway quality. “It is the beginning of true wisdom for the wave to recognize itself as part of the sea and not a separate thing. Real beauty is to be had in the belonging, in the acceptance and appreciation that we are all as one.”
“Uh-huh,” Spencer said.
Joe seemed to snap out of his trance. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll rejoin you in ten minutes. You can wait for me here,” he said, his tone businesslike. Without waiting for a response, he strode off.
Allie shook her head. “Tell me that wasn’t frigging weird. He’s completely spun.”
“He’s certainly spiritual.”
“Schizophrenia and delusions of grandeur aren’t the first qualities I look for in a pilot,” she said.
“Maybe he’s just feeling particularly metaphysical this morning.”
“Right.”
Joe reappeared, now wearing his tank top and camouflage pants, and smiled. “Hope you’re hungry. We have a delicacy today: fresh rat tail soup with wild dog medallions.”
Allie looked away. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
“Don’t judge our ways. Celebrate them,” Joe said.
“I’m serious.”
Joe chuckled. “Don’t worry. I’m just playing.” He turned from them and called over his shoulder as he made his way toward the well. “You don’t mind beetle curry, do you? Tastes a little like chicken. If chickens were really big feathered beetles.”
Allie leaned into Spencer and whispered, “I think someone watched too many Kung Fu reruns during his childhood.”
“All journeys begin with a single step,” Spencer said, deadpan, eliciting a smile from Allie. “Although he had my mouth watering with the beetles.”
“What do you think we’re actually going to be offered?”
“Beats the hell out of me. But I’m starved. Hope it’s not still wearing shoes, that’s all I can say.”
“You’re almost as bad as he is.”
“Something tells me you’re underestimating Joe in a big way.”
Allie stared after him. “If he calls me grasshopper, I’m going to scream.”
After a reasonably palatable breakfast of rice and a thick stew, they followed Joe around a rise to where a large camo net covered a two-seat prop plane parked by a shack. Joe eyed the aircraft and called to Spencer.
“Give me a hand with the netting. Easiest if we go back to front and roll it as we pull it off.”
Spencer moved to one corner, and they peeled off the cover. When they were done, they found themselves staring at a Cessna 150C that looked like it was held together with duct tape and bailing wire, its paint corroded off in more places than it still covered. Joe patted the side of the plane fondly.
“Don’t let looks deceive you. This baby soars like a proud eagle.”
“What year is it?” Spencer asked.
“1963. One of four hundred seventy-two built. A veteran that’s never let me down. Her name’s Bertha.”
“Bertha,” Allie echoed. “It actually flies?”
“Sure. One of the most reliable planes ever made. Carries a surprisingly decent payload, and sips fuel. It’s the VW Bug of small prop jobs. You can’t kill ’em.” Joe grinned at Allie. “No time like the present. We can buzz around where your friends were lost and see if we can pick up their trail, and maybe take a look-see for your ruins. You know roughly where they’re located?”
“Yes, but I don’t have a map.”