Restless Soul - Alex Archer [70]
“And maybe lead to a nap first.” She stifled a yawn and rotated her shoulders against the seat back. God, but she was exhausted and achy. A brief nap would put her in a better mood and make her more alert. A bath was on her list, too. She didn’t want Luartaro to get a whiff of her right now.
The mountain trail she backed down wasn’t on the map, nor was the thin gravel road she found at the bottom. It wasn’t really a road, either, she decided after half a mile. It was a mountain bike path, and she saw deep ruts from the truck’s tires and maybe the Jeeps before it, and a few small trees with badly scraped bark.
The truck bounced along on it, able to turn around in an area of tall grass so she was pointed south, in the direction she was heading. The seat was uncomfortable, the springs in it shot, and she had to stretch to reach the pedals. Although Annja was tall, she couldn’t move the seat forward quite far enough; the mechanism was rusted. She figured the tall man she’d taken out first had been the driver. The steering wheel was caked with a dirty film, and the gearshift was likewise filthy. She noted it all, but it didn’t bother her; she was as dirty as the truck.
CLOUDS WERE INCREASING and the light was fading by the time she found a proper road, one with a sign that indicated Tham Pla National Park, Tham Pla Cave and—to her relief—Mae Hong Son.
She reached the resort on the outskirts of town before sunset and parked the truck in front of the office. There was no trail wide enough leading to the cabins and she wasn’t about to ruin the manicured gardens for her convenience. She made a quick check on her prisoner, who looked the worse for wear but in no danger of dying, then she headed inside, relayed the bad news about Zakkarat, made sure someone would contact his family, and then she asked about Luartaro. Yes, he’d returned, but he’d gone out again after using the telephone. Yes, she could use the telephone, too.
Annja retold the story three times before she was convinced they’d put her through to a police official who believed her and who was fluent in English. She was on the phone for the better part of an hour, answering questions and providing directions to the mountain treasure chamber as best she could. She told them about Zakkarat, the men she’d tied up and the truck filled with crates. And she agreed to wait for police to meet her at the resort; they would accompany her and the truck to Chiang Mai, where the department had a headquarters. Annja wanted to go there, anyway. She made one more phone call, this a quick one.
Since she knew it would be several minutes before anyone arrived, she dashed to her cabin and into the shower, thankful they’d spent the extra baht for accommodations with a private bath. She let the warm water sluice over her as she peeled off the loaned Thins garments. When had Luartaro returned? How had he got here? Had he found a ride somewhere? A motorcycle to borrow? Was he all right? He must be all right, she realized, if he’d gone back out again.
She turned the knob as far as it would go so the water pounded wonderfully against her, and she stood there longer than she had intended. Finally—and reluctantly—she ended it when the water started to get cold. She wrapped a towel around her, and didn’t bother to dry her hair. The other towel was only faintly damp… Luartaro had been there a while ago.
Annja padded around the room, seeing Luartaro’s borrowed Thins garments folded next to a chair, his suitcase opened and the clothes in it rumpled, as if he’d searched through it looking for something clean to wear.
She turned to her own suitcase. There was a note on top of it from Luartaro. He was taking the bus to Mae Hong Son to find the authorities and report everything. Annja wondered if he’d already met any of the people she’d repeated her story to on the phone. Couldn’t the police have told her someone had already reported this and saved her the time? She decided it didn’t matter; she’d had to call, anyway, just to be sure…and she had the truck and its contents to hand