Restless Soul - Alex Archer [47]
“Ask them…ask Rangsan about transportation, a Jeep, a motorcycle. What is the name of this village? Do you know where we are, Zakkarat? Are we anywhere near your Jeep? Can one of them draw us a map?”
“This place has no name, Annjacreed.” He shrugged his shoulders at the rest of her questions and translated.
“It goes without saying there would be no cell phone or satellite phone,” Annja continued, talking to herself as much as to Zakkarat and Luartaro. “But transportation. And directions. If they have a map or can draw a map, give us a better reference to Tham Lod and our resort, the river. Anything. Otherwise, I’m about half a heartbeat from heading off on my own.” She refused to lose the urgency of the situation.
Zakkarat kept speaking slowly, again repeating words.
Annja gestured for him to speed up, but he shook his head and kept at it.
“How far are we from the resort? From a town?” she asked. Annja paced in a tight circle and listened for the answers. She also listened to the rain, which hadn’t let up in its intensity, and the soft chatter of the villagers. “Hurry, Zakkarat.”
“Hurry? You do not understand tribal life, Ann-ja-creed,” Zakkarat said. “These villages are ancient and remote. You cannot do things quickly here. And you cannot go too slowly because time is not measured in hours, or maybe even days. I doubt anyone here owns a watch.” Annja noted that Zakkarat’s own watch had been broken, too. “Time is measured in seasons and years. And distance? It is not a measure of kilometers or miles, but in time, how long it takes to get from one place to the next…and that depends entirely on the method of transportation or how long your legs are. So, Annjacreed, some of your questions cannot be answered.”
She paced in a wider circle, the villagers stepping back to give her room. “I appreciate their way of life. I envy it a little. But, Zakkarat—”
“Annjacreed, a man named Erawan—someone already went to get him—has an old motorcycle. They also have a few bicycles and a good cart and an ox. Another man has gone in search of a doctor who lives nearby.”
A burst of laughter came from just outside the doorway. Children were crowded around it under an overhang, one of them parroting Annja’s pacing and facial expressions.
“A bicycle will do little good in all this mud. And I don’t need an ox, Zakkarat. I can walk faster than an ox. The motorcycle would be good, though. But I’ll settle for a map. Ask someone if they can draw—”
“I already asked that. One of them is drawing you a map, the teacher at the front of the room.” Zakkarat cleared his throat. “Annjacreed, I have been thinking a lot about that treasure. Maybe those men came to the cave because they were worried about all the rain. Maybe they wanted to move as much treasure as possible before that cave flooded. Maybe I should go back with the ox and cart and take whatever they could not haul away. I could find the place again, I know that. The men will be gone by the time I get back there. I could take…we could take whatever they—”
Annja made a hissing sound like a kettle left too long on a burner. She balled her fist and calmed herself before replying. “Zakkarat, you can’t take the chance that the men will be gone. If they are still up there, they will kill you. And the treasure will do you no good if you’re dead. Your life is worth more than all of that gold.”
One of the children in the doorway balled her fist and hissed like Annja. More laughter followed, and the little white dog yapped happily. The children scattered when a broad-shouldered young man in khaki pants and a pale rose-colored T-shirt entered. He exchanged several words with Rangsan, who in turn spoke to Zakkarat. After a moment, Zakkarat translated for Annja.
“This is Erawan, the man with the motorcycle. He says you can borrow his—”
“We will pay him to borrow his motorcycle.” This came