Slash and Burn by Colin Cotterill Page B

somewhere and went out of their minds. At one stage, Bowry and Sebastian climbed into a cage with the mascot, a black bear, who was fortunately already sleeping off the effects of a heavy night of beer. Then, about two or three in the morning, Bowry announced he was going for a joyride in his chopper. Sebastian tried to talk him out of it but was too wasted to go after him. That wasn’t the way it was written up in the official Air America report, by the way. Officially there was engine trouble and the helicopter went down in the mountains. Our version is from interviews with eyewitnesses; the FAC pilot he’d been drinking with in the canteen and the mechanic. That was the way they recalled it. Boyd Bowry headed off into the night sky and half an hour later they heard an explosion. They sent out search and rescue teams at first light but as they had no idea what direction he’d gone in, and there’d been no mayday signal, and there was no sign of wreckage, they abandoned the search after five days.”
    “If they heard the explosion he couldn’t have gone very far,” said Lit.
    “And nothing else until the photos turned up?” asked Dtui. “No sightings? Reports?”
    “Not a thing.”
    “Any ideas who sent the photos?” Phosy asked.
    “They arrived at the US embassy in Bangkok in a sealed manila envelope care of the military attaché. No stamp. No frank mark. It was just there in the box along with the regular mail. The words “Laos, 78” were written on the back of the photos.”
    “In English characters?” Commander Lit asked.
    “Yes. No identification of the sender.”
    “So, it wasn’t from a bounty hunter hoping to get a reward,” Civilai remarked casually. “It’s usually about the money, you know.”
    “So you’ve said,” Siri smiled. “How did the embassy identify the airman?”
    “From one of the pictures,” Peach told him. “It showed the tail section broken off the helicopter. It had the registration number H32. That was Bowry’s.”
    “Does the American delegation have the photos with them?” asked Madame Daeng.
    “I could ask.”
    “It might help to identify the area,” Phosy put in. “Vegetation.”
    “Different plants growing at different elevations,” added Commander Lit.
    “If there are any locals in the pictures we might be able to identify their clothing,” said Daeng. “At least we’d know what ethnic group we’re looking for.”
    “Even the pilot himself,” Siri added. “After all these years he’d be wearing the clothes they provided. That could give us a clue.”
    “The weave of a sarong,” said Daeng.
    “Just the style of putting together the bamboo hut,” Phosy suggested. “Unique to different regions.”
    “Really,” Commander Lit agreed, “there’s a lot to be picked up from photographs if you know what you’re looking for.”
    The group was suddenly aware of their American guest staring wide-eyed at the interaction and smiling warmly.
    “Have you had a thought?” Siri asked.
    “No.”
    “Then…. ?”
    “You guys. You’re….”
    “What?”
    “Capable.”
    “Be careful now,” laughed Civilai. “Such lavish praise might go to our heads.”
    “No, I’m serious. There I was thinking Dr. Siri put this guest list together so his friends and family could have an all-expenses-paid trip to the mountains. Nepotism, you know? That wouldn’t have surprised me at all. But, you guys….”
    “Yes?”
    “You’re the real thing. You actually know what you’re doing.’
    ‘Too kind,” said Daeng. “This calls for another round.”
    “I’m serious,” said Peach.
    “As am I,” said Daeng. “And it wouldn’t surprise me if you saw one or two other flashes of brilliance from us before the week’s out. Hold on to your hat.”
    Siri smiled at this interaction, impressed at how Peach slotted so naturally into a Lao setting. She seemed mature and wise beyond her years.
    Corned beef and crackers turned out to be a very appropriate