Restless Soul - Alex Archer [55]
“I don’t understand,” Annja said. She stood opposite Doc, looking down at the man, who had yet to regain consciousness.
“In the southern part of the country, the second-born son is given the name Ba, which means ‘third’…the third member of the family. But in the north, Ba is given to the third child. Ca goes to the oldest, Hai the second. Just a bit of trivia for you. An Dung means ‘peaceful hero,’ but I wager this fellow is neither peaceful nor a hero.” He scratched at his nose. “I spent a year in Vietnam, right after my wife died. She was Vietnamese. We’d always talked about going to visit her sisters. Just never got around to it while she was alive.”
“You’re an interesting man, Doc,” Annja said.
“Not near so interesting as you, Annja. An archaeologist you said. And a TV personality? A treasure finder and the target of a Vietnamese army.”
“I’d hardly consider them an army,” Annja said.
“They had the firepower of one, eh? Ah, here he comes. He definitely could benefit from a hospital, and your friend Lu should be checked out there, as well, I suppose, or at least a clinic. I dare say you’re mending well enough on your own that you won’t need one.” He wagged a finger at her. “I want none of you suing me now because I’m not a real medical doctor. I did the best I could.” He took several steps back from the table to not interfere with whatever she planned for the man.
“You did great, Doc. Really great.”
Annja leaned over the man. He stared up at her, a snarl forming on his lips. Still, he made no move to menace her or to get up.
“Ba An Dung,” she began. “Tell me all about the treasure in the mountain.” Annja asked him plenty of other questions. How many men were involved in the smuggling operation, what he thought the remainder might be doing now, would any more be coming after her and her companions, where did the gold come from and where was it ultimately headed?
He gave her nothing, just a string of curses and threats that were clearly intended to frighten her. The fingers of his good hand clenched and unclenched, and veins stood out along his neck and temples.
“What about the skull bowl?” she asked, her eyes daggers aimed at him. “And the American dog tags?”
This interested Doc, who took a step closer.
She saw no spark of recognition on the man’s face, and so she described the bowl, thinking perhaps he did not know it was made from a human skull. He didn’t react but he showed recognition when she mentioned the golden Buddhas, however. Annja growled from deep in her throat and pushed away from the table.
“Nothing,” she said.
“I’m not surprised,” Doc said. “Violent men are not terribly cooperative. I’ve no sodium thiopental or sodium pentothal—truth serum as it’s called. Ethanol, scopolamine, a handful of barbiturates, temazepam—some of those might work. They’re all sedatives and block cognitive function and interfere with judgment. Don’t have any of those, either. As I said, I used up just about everything on the lot of you.” He tapped a finger on the edge of the table. “Japanese torture squads used to have something called cisatracurium, and some agencies in England thought cannabis because of its THC component would work as a truth drug…. I’m well-read, don’t you know.”
“Apparently.”
“You could just beat it out of him, I suppose.”
Annja made a face.
“‘Going all Jack Bauer’ is the expression I heard when I was living where there were TVs and DVDs.”
“Or I could let the authorities deal with him,” she said, the resignation thick in her voice. Annja had considered calling her sword and holding the blade to the man’s neck to force some information out of him. But not with Doc and Som and the other woman watching…along with the villagers who were peering in the windows. And she’d had enough violence for a while. She was more interested in finding out about the skull bowl. “Definitely let the authorities deal with him.”
She stuck her hands