The Noble Path: A relentless standalone thriller from the #1 bestseller by Peter May (electronic book reader .TXT) 📗

bungalow. Inside, Van lounged on a settee in front of a television set, beer in one hand, a half-smoked cigar in the other, watching Dallas, the decade’s most popular American soap opera badly dubbed into Thai. He was wearing combat shirt, trousers and boots and, like McCue, had a cotton scarf tied around his head. He turned and beamed as they came in.

‘One minute, please. I want see what happens Bobbee here.’ And he turned back to the television.

‘Saren, Mr Elliot is keen to get started,’ Tuk said impatiently.

‘Garee see to them,’ he said, without taking his eyes from the screen. Somehow the show’s camp villain, J.R., did not carry the same authority in Thai.

A door opened from a back room and Ferguson swaggered in. He was kitted out in his old GI uniform, but looked incongruous, and faintly ridiculous, in a sweat-stained cowboy hat. He glared at them, surly and unsmiling, taking in their gear and the backpacks stacked by the door.

‘You guys ain’t travelling light, that’s for sure. You’ll get your weapons in back.’ He jerked his thumb towards the back room and opened the fridge to get a can of beer. Slattery and McCue followed Elliot through and opened the crates. They took out and checked their weapons – automatics, pistols, knives, grenades – and armed up, strapping on webbing and slipping long, lethal machetes into leather sheaths.

‘He’s right, chief,’ Slattery said. ‘With those backpacks we’re going to be carrying some kit.’

‘We’re going to be a long time away from base,’ Elliot said. ‘You think there’s anything we don’t need, speak up.’

Slattery shrugged. ‘I guess not.’

Elliot looked at McCue, who only shook his head.

‘Okay.’ Elliot moved across the room and closed the door. The atmosphere was tense in this small, darkened room only a few kilometres from the Cambodian border. He lowered his voice. ‘I don’t trust any of these bastards. Watch them. McCue, I want you to bring up the rear at all times. Slattery, you flank right, I’ll take the left. Anything goes wrong, hit dirt. Whistle once for alright, twice for trouble. If we get split take a compass reading south-south-west from our last joint position. Take as straight a line as you can for about two kilometres and we’ll try to rendezvous at first light. Don’t use firepower unless absolutely necessary. If we fail to meet up, in an emergency fire a single shot and take cover.’ The Australian and the American nodded. ‘Alright, let’s go.’ He opened the door as the Dallas theme tune played over the closing credits.

II

Van Saren, Ferguson and two others sat with them in the back of the jeep as it clattered its way along the jungle track. Elliot eyed them warily and wondered why it took four of them to lead the way across the border. Tuk had seemed nervous as he shook their hands and wished them luck, and Elliot had not missed the look that passed between him and Van as they left.

Van kept up a cheerful front, babbling nonsense, grinning and showing the gaps in his teeth. Elliot could smell his breath across the jeep. Ferguson, by contrast, sat silent, staring sullenly at McCue. There was murder in his eyes.

After half an hour, the jeep drew in and Van said, ‘Is as far we go in jeep. Very near border now. Ground open there, but no problem.’

Elliot, Slattery and McCue followed the leading group through the scattered trees in single file. With a bright three-quarters moon rising above them, their eyes adjusted quickly to night sight. The ground rose steeply and then fell away to a dry stream bed, rising again on the other side over a jumble of rocks to more trees. They moved quickly across the stream that would only carry water in the rainy season, and up the embankment into the subtropical forest, moonlight filtering through the canopy only in patches. The undergrowth was dense but not impenetrable, and they stuck to a network of criss-crossing animal tracks. Van led the way with McCue at the rear, just behind Ferguson. Because of the thickness of the undergrowth it was impossible for Elliot and Slattery to flank the group. Van was sure-footed and silent, moving with the assurance of familiarity. He had followed this route many times before.

Visibility was less than ten metres. The ground seemed to rise again before falling away to a valley that cut a swathe through the forest like a scar. Van found a track that led up the other side, smooth and well-worn, running at an angle to the right, then turning back on itself, though still rising, to take them over the ridge. More trees and dense undergrowth that caught and snagged on clothes with needles and thorns. Van stopped on the edge of a small clearing. ‘You in Cambodia,’ he said. ‘You go on your own now. No problem. I go back TV.’

Elliot thought he heard something move at the far side of the clearing, saw a glint of moonlight on metal. Van signalled his men to move aside and let them past. ‘Good luck,’ he said. Elliot glanced at Slattery, who gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head.

‘I think,’ Elliot told Van, ‘you should go a little way more with us.’

Van smiled. ‘No need. You okay now. That right, Garee?’

‘Sure is, father.’

Elliot swung his M16 up and levelled it at Van’s chest. ‘I insist,’ he said. Slattery and McCue had the others covered before they could move, a clatter of gun metal against webbing.

‘What the fuck are you guys playing at?’ Ferguson hissed.

Elliot ignored him, his eyes fixed on Van. ‘After you.’

There was fear now in Van’s eyes. He knew that to step out into the clearing meant certain death. ‘I send one my men,’ he said, and turned to wave the nearest of his soldiers on. The man took a half-step back, shook his head and uttered something in Cambodian. Van barked at him, but the young soldier was terrified, before