Siam Storm Series: Siam Storm

By Robert A Webster

Four Timeless Comedy Thrillers

 

Two English scallywags masquerading as hapless heroes and the last surviving Warrior monk of an ancient Thai order, leave no stone unturned and no mishap untouched as they hunt for the oft-missing golden box that contains the dental remains of the Buddha.

 

Their exhaustive searches and penchant for mayhem take them from an isolated Thai monastery in the Cardamom jungle to find a renegade monk in Thailand suspected of stealing the Buddha relic. Hunt an ex-Khmer Rouge soldier in Cambodia with ties to a family of scientists who want to clone the Buddha. Pursue an Iranian Mercenary and his team in Vietnam, who are funded by a ruthless sheikh seeking revenge, and ultimately, solve the mystery behind the deaths of the Buddha's descendants.

 

Follow the adventures of a combatant monk and two unlikely heroes as they inject chaos into every situation in Siam Storm, high-octane comedy thriller series!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Robert A Webster
• Release date: Feb 16, 2016
• ISBN: 9781519902924

Robert A Webster

Robert A. Webster is a multi-genre author based in Sihanoukville, Cambodia. Originally from Cleethorpes, UK, he embodies both hearty wit and adventurous vigor, making his prose insanely memorable and incessantly enjoyable. His unique brand of snarky humour and imaginative storytelling breathe vivid life into his work, which combines comical British characters with exotic Southeast Asian settings. The result is "brilliant" and "unpredictable," as Dinorah Blackman of Readers' Favorite says. His first novel Siam Storm received rave reviews in the expat community in southeast Asia. Its sequels, Chalice and Bimat, were similarly acclaimed. Protector, the fourth book of the Siam Storm series, continues the journey of the lovable scallywags who have a penchant for mischief. The books document high-octane escapades and colourful, fantastical narratives that don't stop. His other hilarious novels include Fossils and Spice, and his journey into the Paranormal genre with PATH and Next makes him an adaptable imaginative writer. When he's not crafting unforgettable stories, he enjoys snorkelling, self-deprecating humour, and the warm climate of Cambodia.

Book preview

BOOK 1

SIAM STORM

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A Thailand Adventure

— Chapter One —

The delicate scent of jasmine and lotus blossom bathed the warm candlelit Wat as orange-robe clad warrior monks of the Tinju order knelt on straw mats in deep meditation and above them, tiled mosaic murals adorned the ceiling, depicting Prince Siddhartha Gautama’s journey through life on his way to enlightenment and becoming the Buddha.

In front of the monks, a large golden statue of the Buddha smiled down upon them as the Prime Master, along with two hooded monks, made their way to the statue with their holy charge in the Prime Master’s hand.

The Prime Master stopped in front of the gold statue and the hooded monks walked off to the side while the other monks knelt in silence waiting for the moment, like crouching tigers awaiting their prey.

****

Within a large glade in a dense jungle close to the Cardamom Mountains, the Wat, Temple, and Salaburi village was around 2,000 years old. The Wat, although small compared to other Thai Buddhist temples, had gleaming domes and arches covered in gold leaf, with intricately carved wooden walls depicting Buddha’s journey through life, both as a prince and a pauper.

Built close to a mountain and jungle at the rear of the village, the monks kept the Wat and grounds meticulously maintained with the main entrance from a large carved wooden at the front, along with a small door at the rear, and a door at the side which led out to a small meditation room. Inside the meditation room laid an embalmed corpse on a stone slab, a foetus in a glass jar, preserved in a clear liquid made from the bark of a local tree, and a skeleton. The monks entered this room for intense meditation and inner peace on their journey through life, reflecting on birth, death, and the afterlife. 

Further away, a small tunnel in the rock led to an underground Stupa barred by a heavy metal gate. On either side of the gate stood two monks armed with bows and arrows, with swords glinting at their sides. They guarded the treasure within; a jewel-encrusted gold box, housing four wisdom teeth of the Siddhartha Gautama, the most revered Buddha in Thailand. Tinju monks, reincarnations of those who had died before them, dedicated their lives to protecting these sacred relics.

With the Southeastern Thai/Cambodian border town of Pong-Nam-Rom many kilometres away through dense impenetrable jungle, it ensured the centuries-old isolation of the Wat and village. 

Because of the bountiful jungle resources, they were self-sufficient in food and rich in plant life for medicines, with no need for the trappings of the outside world.

A trader had brought the holy relics from India to Siam and presented them to the Siamese King, Bumnalonkorn, two thousand years ago.

The King had a small golden box encrusted with locally mined rubies and sapphires made to house the holy relics. He chose a site in the heart of the jungle that he named Salaburi and the best artisans from the Siamese Kingdom went there with their families to build their village and then the Wat, which took 12 years to construct.

Once completed, the monks put the bejewelled box into the gated Stupa and sited it in the hands of a gold statue of Buddha.

With the fiercest warriors in the kingdom chosen to dedicate their lives to protect the relic and the current ruler, they honed their fighting skills. These warriors became the Tinju and their fearsome reputation in all forms of combat became legendary, with the early Kings of Siam using them as bodyguards and assassins throughout the centuries.

Once a year, on the current King’s birthday, the Tinju escorted the relics to the Temple of the Emerald Buddha at the Imperial Palace in Bangkok, where the current King would worship them for continued wisdom in his rule. 

Apart from the current King, the Chief of the Palace Guards, the Tinju, and villagers, nobody else knew of the existence of the holy relic or Salaburi and the monks would enter the Temple of the Emerald Buddha, forming rows on either side of an aisle.

The Prime Master would walk over to the large gold Buddha statue, remove the golden box from his robe, and place it at the foot of the statue. He and the Tinju would then meditate while awaiting the Kings arrival.

****

The day before the journey, the Prime Master brought the golden box from the underground Stupa to the Wat, placing it in the open hands of their large gold Buddha statue at the front. The Tinju performed their ceremony, praying for Buddha's protection on the great journey.

Somchai had been Prime Master of the Tinju for four years, and although 58-years-old, he had the strength of a lion and the speed of a striking snake. His mentor, the former Prime Master Vitchae, after losing his sight had handed over the honour to him, as he could no longer perform his duties.

Prime Master Somchai stood in front of the large golden statue of the smiling Buddha with the matchbox-sized golden box in its open hands.

Somchai, with his head bowed and hands together in the Wai position, chanted mantras for protection on the great journey. The sitting monks joined in, and melodic Wails echoed around the temple, which continued for several minutes and then fell silent.

The two hooded monks standing either side of the statue lit the scented incense candles they had positioned around the statue in small sand traps. This took several minutes, and as wisps of smoke emanated from the candles, the air filled with fragrant jasmine and lotus aromas. After all 30 were lit, Somchai took the small box from the statue’s hands and turned to face the sitting monks. He held the box high above his head and uttered a command in an ancient Siamese dialect and the monks shouted their praise to Lord Buddha.

Somchai then noticed the aroma within the Wat change and the fragrant floral incense now smelt like something he had come across before and knew the sweet nutty smell sealed their fates.

The wispy curls of vapour emanating from the incense candles then erupted into large plumes of smoke. Somchai, realising what was happening, cried out and with his face contorted with fear clasped the holy box to his chest as the other monks got to their feet and stumbled toward their Prime Master. Confusion reigned as smoke filled the Wat and one by one, the coughing, spluttering monks fell to the floor.

Somchai stumbled, fell against the golden statue of the Buddha, and slumped to the floor. Unable to see through the haze in the Wat, he could hear his brother monks choking and retching as they fought desperately for their lives. He clutched onto the holy box as darkness enveloped him. A hooded monk then came over to his lifeless body, smirked, and prised the small golden box from his dead fingers. 

The monk put the holy relic in his tunic pocket. He pulled his hood back and through the lenses of his respirator, squinted through the smoke at the blurred orange-clad figures of the monks, now either dead or convulsing on the marble floor. One monk caught his gaze. He stared for several moments until the monk’s body ceased all movement. He sighed and mumbled before making his way to the back door of the Wat. Once outside he removed his respirator and gulped the fresh air. He then removed a bow, quiver of arrows, and a sword and took off his orange robes revealing a camouflage under-garment and, bundling up his robe with the relic, along with his Pitou and GPS in the pocket, he tied the parcel to his back. He took the bow, arrows and sword, took a deep breath, and ran off toward the jungle.

With the back door of the Wat ajar, there was a dull thud as the other hooded monk stumbled outside clutching his bow. He had used the hood on his robe to filter the gas and held his breath as the deadly cyanide gas billowed out around him. Somehow, he had found the strength to run out of the gas stream into the fresh air. He dropped to his knees and, letting out his breath in a loud throaty roar, he inhaled and filled his lungs with warm air. Still wheezing, he vomited and then turned his head and watched the figure disappearing into the jungle, before falling unconscious.

— Chapter Two —

A hand emerging from beneath a bundle of blankets and slapping the top of a screeching alarm clock signalled that Stu was awake.

He mumbled, farted, scratched his gonads, rolled out of bed, and made his way over to the light switch. ‘Bloody freezing,’ he thought. ‘But never mind. This time tomorrow I will bask in the sunshine.’ He looked over at an armchair where a bundle of white fur lay staring at him as he switched on the light.

Come on you lazy dog; get your useless carcass up, said Stu smiling. You're going on holiday. 

The old dogs white stumped tail wagged as she slid off the warm armchair, yawned, stretched, and headed towards the kitchen. 

****

Stu had moved back to Cleethorpes four years earlier and now lived in a flat above a hair salon with his old white boxer dog, Chunky.

Although born and raised in the seaside town, he had moved away at seventeen-years-old to join the Royal Navy. After serving fourteen years, he left the navy and spent several years moving around the country before deciding to return to Cleethorpes where he’d set up a furniture business.

He’d bought a dilapidated shop house, which he fixed up and rented out the shop to a hairdresser and the downstairs flat behind the shop, he leased to his friend, Spock.

Although he’d had several women in his life, they never stayed with him long, possibly because they didn’t like how he spent most of his time on the piss with Spock. He now just stayed with his old faithful canine companion. Stu had adopted Chunky several years earlier from an animal rescue shelter. When she moved into her new home, she thought she would have an easy life... poor misguided animal.

The neighbours knew Chunky for her affection and stupidity, with the local fire department called out many times to free her head from the many railings and other obstacles that she had become stuck in.

Now into December, England was cold, with icy chills that cut to the bone and keeping extremities warm became a full-time task in the short winter days.

Because England was not to his liking during the winter months, Stu decided to take a holiday. His staff could take care of his business while his mum would look after Chunky.

Stu was short but stocky, with a well-formed beer gut. He would be the perfect weight for his height if he was six-feet-five, but he fell short of that by over a foot. His mousy brown hair always appeared uncombed... because it was, Not a rich man, but never short of money, he worked hard for what he earned, having the reputation of being thrifty, or ‘as tight as a duck’s arse in water,’ as most people said of him.

Stu and Spock had been friends since childhood and kept in contact throughout the years. They shared many drunken adventures, including getting the neighbourhood closed off by armed police after there were reports of a man walking the streets waving a gun around. Stu, shitfaced, had borrowed Spock’s air rifle to look for a comet with its telescopic sights, which according to the news, was supposed to be visible in the night sky to the northeast. However, because Stu didn’t know which direction was northeast, he searched the sky using the telescopic sight, but to no avail. He soon gave up looking, went back inside the flat, and drank more beer. Within ten minutes, the street swarmed with armed police, searching for a crazy man with a gun.

Spock had recently finished a relationship with his long-time girlfriend, who decided after ten years together that she didn’t like him. However, she liked her boss at the fish-processing factory where she worked. She even liked his new black eye and crooked nose, courtesy of Spock.

Stu found a flight on the internet to Bangkok, Thailand, advertised as the Land of Smiles. Because he and Spock thought that it sounded tropical and cheap, they booked a return 14-day return flight from Manchester. They spoke to several friends who had been to Pattaya and told them it was the dog's bollix and close to Bangkok. 

Stu had a hot shower, pulled on his jeans and a thick shirt, and made himself a cup of tea. He opened a tin of dog food, which he scooped into a bowl. Leaving Chunky with her snout buried in the food, he went into the living room and sat in his armchair. He went through everything in his mind. ‘Bags packed... check. Plane ticket, passport, traveller’s cheques... check. Condoms... check. Dog food, 16 day’s supply... check. Train tickets... check.’ He knew that he had forgotten something but couldn't think what. Then he realised. Shit! He got out of his armchair and raced downstairs. Spock, are you awake? He bellowed through the door of the downstairs flat.

Yes matey... I’ll be up in ten minutes, shouted Spock.

****

Spock, real name Peter Harris, and around Stu's age, had a large build with a shaven head, which made him look like a scalped yeti. Given his nickname at school, because as a boy he had an uncanny resemblance to Star Trek’s resident Vulcan, Spock had spent years working as a hygiene engineer, i.e. a dustbin man, which had built up his physique, but with the stench of the bins lingering in his hair, he kept his head shaved as a bell end. He also did a stint working as a nightclub bouncer until an unhappy customer knocked his teeth out with a lump of 4x2. Now in his mid-thirties, and although still as strong as an ox, his muscular physique had gone. With all the years of drinking beer and fast food taking its toll, his six-pack was now a barrel and he had a lard arse. 

Spock was the life and soul of any party with his unusual party tricks. One of which was to sit down, lift his legs to his neck, break wind, and ignite the lethal gas, producing a blue flame as methane met spark. 

His other favourite trick was to drop his top denture into someone's pint of beer and then with a big cheerful grin, apologise, and offer to finish their drink. This practice had all but ceased after one night at their favourite Indian restaurant, ‘The Tiger of Bengal,’ a spannered Spock dropped his denture into a girl’s drink. In went the false teeth but instead of shrieking hysterically, the girl calmly finished her drink, tipped out the denture, and threw it across the restaurant. Everyone found this amusing except for Spock, who ran around trying to find them. The customers were in an uproar as he found his false gnashers buried in a half-eaten bowl of Bombay mix. After taken to the kitchen and cleaned, a perturbed Indian Waiter brought the denture back to Spock on a small silver platter, with the restaurant now referred to as ‘The Teeth of Bengal.’

****

After Stu took Chunky to his mum’s for the next 16 days, the lads caught a train to Manchester airport. They had not gone far when Spock opened his hand luggage and produced a half-full bottle of whisky.

Still three hours until we get to the airport, so we might as well finish this off matey, said Spock unscrewing the cap. After all, we are on holiday, and it would be a shame not to.

Stu looked out of the train window at the frozen English countryside and, as he smelt the fustiness of the old train as it clunkity clunked along the track, Spock handed him the whisky bottle. Stu took a gulp and the warm liquid hit the back of his throat. Ahh, that hit the spot, but save some for the plane. He said, handing the bottle back to Spock.

I will be glad to be away from this bloody cold weather, grumbled Spock, taking another swig.

****

They arrived at the airport, checked in their luggage, and after allocated seats and told about the free drink service on the flight, they felt even happier, as they calculated how many free drinks they could get through in 12 hours.

One hour later, they boarded the plane.

No sir, you have to wait until the plane takes off before we serve drinks, said the flight attendant smiling at Spock and Stu.

Ah, okay, said Spock looking disappointed as the woman walked away and a man of similar age to them both put his bag in the overhead compartment and sat down.

The man leant over and smiled. Hello lads, I’m Nick, said the man in a cockney accent and shook the pair’s hands. 

The three chatted as the plane took off, and as luck would have it, Nick was travelling to Pattaya. He told them he intended to stay for three weeks and smirked as he told Stu and Spock that he would have a better Christmas in Pattaya. 

Nick told them that he lived with his sister in Brighton, a southern English coastal resort. He made the journey to Pattaya several times a year, both for leisure pursuits and business. He explained he bought copy designer clothes and watches in Pattaya and sold them in the UK. During the flight, he gave Spock and Stu information about what to expect in Pattaya. The two lads listened, especially about the girls. The only time they spoke was when Stu asked about brothels, to which Nick replied, chuckling, There aren’t any... Wait and see.

That became his standard reply to all their questions. Wait and see, just remember; whatever you do... fall in love with the place, but don't fall in love with the girls.

Spock and Stu thought Nick was a typical Jack the lad southerner. Slightly taller than Stu, but lean, with short, brown, well-groomed hair. Nick explained he had picked up his cockney accent after spending many years in London working on construction sites. 

‘Too puny for a builder, probably a sandwich boy,’ thought Stu.

The three got on like a house on fire and decided to stick together.

Stu and Spock had not booked a hotel. Their friend Dave, who had visited Pattaya several times, advised them that it would be cheaper and easier to find a hotel once they arrived. This had worried them both, but after Nick confirmed it, stating that he always stayed at the same hotel that always had rooms available, which and eased both their minds.

After their scheduled first stop in Abu-Dhabi, the second half of the flight was tedious, but after a few beers and whiskies all three nodded off at intervals, only waking to eat, chat, and drink more beer. 

****

After a twelve-hour flight, they landed at Bangkok’s Suvarnabhumi International Airport. Once off the plane, the priority involved several cigarettes in one of the smoking rooms within the arrivals section of the airport. They set their watches to the local time, collected their luggage, and headed into the main airport building. They felt grimy and weary, but Nick assured them that it would soon pass once they arrived in Pattaya, which would take another two hours by taxi. 

It smells and looks a lot cleaner than Manchester airport, said Spock as he noticed colourful tropical plants and trees in large elaborate clay pots ornamenting the airport, giving off fragrant aromas.

Yeah, and everyone is smiling, said Stu sounding impressed.

Stu and Spock stopped at a currency exchange kiosk and converted £100’s worth of traveller’s cheques into Thai Baht. They made their way to the sliding exit doors with Stu and Spock taking in the sights, particularly the beautiful olive-skinned women walking around the airport. They giggled like two naughty schoolboys. It was the same as when they were ten years old and their classmate, Mary Tate, lifted her skirt and pulled down her knickers behind the school bike shed. She gave the two embarrassed boys a glimpse of something they would spend their entire adult life pursuing. 

Nick walked on, shaking his head. ‘These two are in for a surprise,’ he thought. 

Stopping at the automatic sliding exit doors, Spock and Stu glanced at each other. They then both looked straight ahead and, in unison, said. Well Thailand, we’re here. 

They took another pace forward and the automatic doors slid open. Smiling, they stepped out of the cool air-conditioned airport building into the warm night air.

Spock and Stu faced one another and said. Fuck me, it’s hot!

—Chapter Three —

An eerie aura surrounded the village of Salaburi. The monks and villagers wandered around aimlessly, in a state of shock and disbelief.

It had been two days since the deadly intrusion on their holy domain and Pon lay in the monk’s living quarters, drifting in and out of consciousness. He had been that way since Master Cenat came across his near-lifeless body outside the rear of the temple several days ago while strolling around the grounds. Shocked, Cenat gasped as he knelt down and although unable to rouse Pon, checked that he was breathing. He then saw that the rear door of the Wat was open.

Confused, he approached the door and smelling an unusual aroma, put his robe over his nose and mouth, and entered. 

In the main hall, the smoke had almost cleared. Cenat gagged when he saw his comrades lying dead on the floor, with their features and bodies contorted. He saw the body of the Prime Master leaning against the statue of Buddha. Feeling dizzy and devoid of rational thought, Cenat left the temple and went back outside to tend the fallen Pon. Then, as if in a hypnotic trance, hoisted the monk over his shoulder and carried him to the living quarters.

Vitchae sat on a mat in the classroom listening to Master Tangrit giving lessons to the young monks on the teachings of Buddha. Vitchae, the former Prime Master, was the eldest monk at eighty-six-years-old, and with his sight gone, his corneas appeared white and milky. He enjoyed sitting in on the lessons of the youngsters. With the ceremony of the great journey underway in the Wat for the Warriors, Vitchae reminisced about his time as Prime Master.  The other elder monks were excluded from the ceremony because they were too old to make the pilgrimage to Bangkok. The young monks were chanting mantras when the classroom door burst open and Cenat stumbled in with Pon over his shoulder. He put the unconscious Pon down on a mat and struggled to catch his breath.

What’s happening? asked the old blind Master as the young students rushed to aid Cenat and Pon.

Cenat caught his breath and with a quake in his voice said, They are all dead.

Vitchae sat in his dark world in silence and as Cenat regained his faculties, told them what he had just seen. 

Other elder monks came in after hearing the commotion and, as the stunned monks tended to Pon, Cenat told the elders the fate of their brother monks.

Slipping in and out of consciousness, Pon felt too weak to tell them much. They put him on a straw mat where the monks administered medicinal herbs. Several of the elder monks went to the Wat. With a look of horror across their faces, they saw their dead warrior monks and Prime Master Somchai, but with the lingering cyanide making them nauseous and dizzy they left the scene after opening the doors to clear the poison. They came back to the classroom looking horrified and confirmed Cenat’s story. They sat on the floor around Vitchae. 

What should we do Master Vitchae? asked a trembling elder, we won’t find any answers until we can get inside the Wat.

Vitchae stared ahead and with fear and anger behind his white eyes, he said. Until we can find out more, we need to get a message to His Majesty, the King. One of you will have to go to the meeting point at the prearranged time tomorrow and relay what happened. The wise King would know what to do.

I will go, said Cenat, who, at Seventy-years-old, was the youngest of the elder monks. 

Vitchae, although hearing the weakness in Cenat’s voice after his experience, could also detect a tinge of rage. Very well my friend and may Buddha protect you, he said.

Cenat left immediately and with no compass or navigational aids, and with no tracks or roads to follow, he relied on his memory and knowledge of the terrain.

With the jungle canopy providing shade from the searing sun, Cenat made good progress throughout the day, walking and running through the jungle like a gazelle. He stopped several times to hunt, eat, drink from streams, and rest. Nightfall brought a new set of challenges. With no view of the stars in the night sky and with the moonlight unable to penetrate the jungle canopy, he had to rely on his honed hearing and olfactory senses, making his progress through the pitch-black jungle slow.

He came out of the jungle near the meeting point at dawn and made his way across a patch of flatland to a row of small food stalls at the side of the road.

Even though his most recent visit to the Imperial Palace had been four years ago, the meeting point was still familiar. At a nearby food stall, the owner gave him a bowl of pad Thai noodles, which he ate. The owners of the stall had been there for many years and expected the monks. They usually arrived, ate, and blessed the food stall, before driven away in trucks but a single monk arriving confused them, but the stall owners never asked questions.

****

Three army transport trucks stopped beside the lone monk standing on a patch of earth alongside the road. The Chief of the Palace Guard, who always came along for this assignment, looked confused as he leapt out from the leading truck and approached Cenat.

*Khun Taksin Chinthetwat, a retired Army Lieutenant Colonel who had held the title for eight years. It was an enviable position. He and his family loved living at the palace, enjoying the adulation that came with the prestigious title.

Taksin Wai-ed Cenat and looked around for the other monks.

I am alone, said Cenat, seeing Taksin looking confused. The old monk glared at him and spoke in his ancient Siamese dialect, but realising Taksin did not understand, reverted to the Thai language.

Taksin looked at the old monk, who although looking dishevelled sounded enraged as he told Taksin what had happened.

Shocked and realising that Cenat could not give him much information, Taksin said. Until we can find out what happened I will inform the King. Meanwhile, we need to get Salaburi secured and get help there. He Wai-ed Cenat and went over to the troop carriers.

‘Who could have committed such a terrible act and why?’ thought Taksin as he strode over to the first vehicle and spoke to a lieutenant sitting in the passenger seat. The lieutenant got on his radio and gave an order to the other troop carriers. The large vehicles turned around and headed off back along the motorway towards Bangkok.

Taksin then phoned the army garrison in Pong-Nam-Rom that used to be his old infantry command and the commanding officer, a friend of  Taksin's, sent five of his best infantry soldiers to his location.

Taksin stayed with Cenat and as they sat at a food stall.

Taksin explained that when the infantrymen arrived, he would send them along to the village with him to help and find out what happened. 

I will take your soldiers, but the Tinju will make any investigations, said Cenat with a tremble in his voice. 

Taksin knew the fearsome reputation of the Tinju and nodded. ‘They can do their investigation and I will do mine,’ he thought. 

He gave Cenat his card with his mobile telephone number. He knew that most of the monks would never have seen a phone, let alone know how to use one, but it was all he could think to do while they waited for the soldiers. 

Twenty minutes later, five non-commissioned officers pulled up in two army jeeps. A Master Sergeant leapt out of the lead jeep, snapped to attention, and saluted Taksin. Taksin returned the salute and told the Master Sergeant that he wanted him and his men to go to the village with Cenat, assess the situation, make the area secure and report to him, and only him. The Master Sergeant returned to the jeep and gave instructions to the men. They then filed into the second jeep, leaving Taksin with one jeep to travel to Bangkok.

The soldiers bunched up in the jeep to make room for Cenat. Taksin turned to face Cenat, giving him a long respectful Wai, he said, I will drive back to Bangkok and inform his Majesty. You take these soldiers back to Salaburi Master Cenat. They can help.

The old monk returned the Wai and looked at the soldiers waiting in the jeep. He said, It’s this way, and a long walk, so please keep up, Cenat turned and walked towards the jungle hills. The five soldiers looked at one another, mumbled, and then scrambled out of the jeep and ran to catch up to him.

****

The trek through the jungle proved gruelling for the soldiers. Despite having trained in tropical forests and carrying out many daytime combat simulations in unfamiliar jungle terrain, nothing prepared them for this. Even wearing lightweight camouflaged combat fatigues, they all sweated profusely as they tried to keep up with the orange-clad monk, who stopped several times while they caught him up. 

Once dark and with the moon hidden by the dense tree canopy,  they tied themselves together with vine, and even though attached to Cenat, in the pitch-black jungle they could not see what lurked underfoot. They knew from their training what deadly insects and reptiles hunted in the jungle at night. Even carrying their .45mm service handguns, with the Master Sergeant having a GPS and satellite phone, they still felt terrified, with none of them bringing torches. 

Cenat never spoke throughout the trek and although many biting insects attacked the soldiers relentlessly, the old monk appeared untouched. The soldiers were unprepared for this, and although they had brought small bottles water, now almost empty, they had not brought along any rations. After ten hours of stomping through mud, over rocks, and trying to avoid walking into trees, a young corporal collapsed. The other soldiers rallied around and gave him what now remained of their water. Cenat came over to the huddled group of soldiers, knelt, and said. We will stop for a short while to rest and eat. He pointed to the fallen soldier who now sat up and looked bewildered. He needs nourishment, so take care of him and start a fire.

Cenat stood up, untied himself, and walked off into the darkness. Confused and afraid, the soldiers started a fire and huddled around it. Hot, thirsty, and exhausted, they chatted about the day’s events, while listening to the calls of the jungle dwellers on their nightly struggle to survive.

Almost an hour later, the soldiers flinched as they heard undergrowth snap as Cenat returned with two small dead pythons hung around his neck, a bunch of bananas, several coconuts, and a bag made from banana leaves. Cenat prepared and cooked the snakes and gave the soldiers coconut milk to drink and its milky flesh to eat. Cenat opened the banana leaf bag, spilling the contents in front of the soldiers. He laid out several unfamiliar fruits and banana leaf packages, which he opened to reveal a foul-smelling paste. Cenat told them to rub the paste on their uncovered areas to keep insects away and relieve the stings and bites already received. While the soldiers complied, Cenat split open the fruits, which had a sickly sweet aroma. Cenat then took a white poppy pod from his tunic pocket, opened it, crushed the seeds between two stones, and sprinkled the powder over the flesh of the fruit. He gave the soldiers half each, saying, eat this, it will give you energy and dull any pain.

He then tied himself back to the soldiers, waited until the last one had eaten his fruit and said. Come on, we still have a long way to go.

How long? asked one weary soldier getting to his feet.

Oh, we are well over halfway, replied Cenat who turned and walked ahead.

****

In the living quarters, Pon had regained consciousness. Vitchae had sat beside the prone warrior monk on the floor since Cenat had left, chanting for strength and recovery. Young monks came in to administer herbal medicines prepared by the elder monks. 

Although his chest felt like it was on fire with every breath, Pon told Vitchae what he had witnessed in the temple and about the other hooded monk next to the statue. He explained how the incense candles had flared up and given off a strange aroma, and how he’d filtered the gas with his tunic before running out. Then he fell silent, stared at the ceiling, and with a quake in his voice said, I am ashamed Master. I have to retrieve the holy relic and avenge my brothers.

Vitchae felt confused and thought. ‘How was somebody able to get amongst the Tinju unnoticed and wipe out the most diligent warriors in the kingdom? And why? Who could have known so much about the whereabouts of Salaburi, the layout of the temple, the holy relic, and the timing of the ceremony? Only the Tinju monks know this.’ Furrowing his brow, he thought, ‘and how did they know about our ancient techniques?’

He looked down at Pon and in his dark world, uttered. Don’t be ashamed for living, Pon. You are our only warrior left, the only hope for the survival of our creed and culture. You will deal out our vengeance. Of that I am certain.

Vitchae heard Pons laboured breathing and realising he had fallen asleep started chanting a prayer to Buddha for strength for Pon. He knew ‘an eye for an eye’ was not the Buddhist way, but he felt sure greed played a part in this crime.

****

Cenat and the soldiers arrived at the village during the early hours of the morning. The soldiers felt happy to be out of the jungle as they came out on the outskirts of Salaburi village and breathed a sigh of relief. The morning sun shone onto the village as Cenat led them to the Wat. It had taken them 18 hours to trek through the hostile terrain and they felt tired, hungry, and sore. Cenat took them to the monk’s quarters, which were not usually open for outsiders, but these were exceptional circumstances and no other places were yet available. He woke two young monks and gave instructions to feed the soldiers. His old bones ached and his body cried out for rest, but he went to the warrior monk’s quarters, knowing he would find Vitchae there with Pon. Cenat had been trekking for almost two days, but he had a duty and a Tinju never rested until they concluded their duty. Vitchae sat beside the sleeping Pon with his eyes open, staring straight ahead, and unsure whether he was asleep or awake, Cenat gave a respectful Wai to the old Prime Master. Vitchae felt Cenat’s presence and returned the Wai. Cenat sat beside Vitchae and looked around the empty quarters. He felt heartbroken seeing the rolled-up carpets of their dead warrior monks on the wood floor of the large echoing room. 

Cenat felt relieved when Vitchae told him that Pon would be fine once the poison had expelled from his system. He told Cenat what Pon had told him. Cenat looked dumbfounded as Vitchae said, I don’t know why this happened, but while you were away, we discovered evidence of how the assailant had got in, and  believe we know the culprit.

Vitchae told Cenat of their findings and unable to comprehend any of this, Cenat told Vitchae about his meeting with Taksin, the arrival of the soldiers, and said that Taksin would inform the King.

Good, said Vitchae. You have done well, my old friend and your duty’s concluded, so now go rest and we can speak more later, decide our next course of action, and send our brothers to Nirvana.

Cenat sighed, Wai-ed Vitchae, and headed to where he had left the soldiers now huddled in a group sound asleep with their food untouched. Cenat smiled sat and ate.

The Master Sergeant awoke four hours later and looked around at his surroundings. He groaned as his body ached and he woke his men, who slowly arose and surveyed the room. Two young monks sat in meditation behind the soldiers and, when the soldiers awoke, one of them slipped out of the room. The other monk Wai-ed the group and pointed to the food covered by a fashee, a wicker dome used to keep insects off food, and said.

Please eat. We shall bring fresh fruit and water. 

The soldiers returned the Wai, removed the fashee, and heartily tucked in.

Once they'd eaten, and with their bodies still aching from the arduous trek through the jungle, the soldiers left the quarters, went outside onto the scorching grounds of the Wat and felt the humidity from the surrounding tropical jungle on the still air.

The Master Sergeant took out the GPS and sat phone. He called Taksin with their coordinates.

The others looked at him while he spoke with Taksin, hoping they didn’t have to make the trek back to their base.

What do we do? asked the corporal after looking at his mobile phone and seeing no signal.

The Master Sergeant shrugged and looking at the others said, Khun Taksin just told me to help the villagers, find out what we can, and keep him informed. 

The villagers and the monks fetched large brittle blue rocks and what appeared to be white charcoal, which the monks crushed into powder and mixed it with a thick, sticky, amber liquid. The soldiers wandered around the village for several hours, until Cenat retrieved them and put them to work with a carpenter, making what looked like canoes from cut-down trees.

Fifty-nine bodies lay on a marble slab in a line along the back of the Wat, each wrapped in a thin cloth shroud that gave off a pungent odour, making the soldiers gag as they lifted the bodies into the canoe-shaped coffins.

Fifty-eight bodies had been recovered from the Wat, and while Cenat was away, the elder monks found the warrior monk who guarded the cave’s body dumped behind some rocks near the cave’s mouth and while searching the area another elder monk found a backpack with incense candles in a small cave nearby. The remaining elder monks brought the fallen warrior’s body to the Wat, told Vitchae what they had found, and about the 5mm puncture-mark that the dead monk had at the back of his neck.

You know what this means, said Vitchae to the elders, who nodded.

Now, knowing the assailant had used a Pitou, a long thin spike with small extendable blades at its tip, Vitchae not only knew how the assailant had got in but also suspected who it was. He would follow up on this after seeing his fallen brothers safely on their way to Nirvana. The dead warrior monk was swathed and placed with the others.

****

The monks, villagers, and soldiers worked into the night and the next day on their appointed tasks. On the twilight of the following day, they all gathered at the rear of the Wat, on the large area that the monks used for combat training. Pon joined the remaining monks. Although still weak, he knew that he must chant with the remaining monks to guide his murdered brothers safely on their last journey.

A long marble stone altar stood about four feet off the ground in the centre of the area. On the altar lay the fifty-nine coffins, each lined with hammered gold from caves within the mountains. Each contained a body, swathed in a hessian cloth and covered with hardened blue-white clay coated with a thick custardy substance. The remaining monks knelt behind the large stone altar facing the kneeling villagers and soldiers, chanting. Cenat warned the soldiers to keep their heads bowed below the altar. They asked Cenat many questions, to which he replied. It is the way of the Tinju, and when asked about the substance covering the bodies, he just said, Wharm lorn. Sunblaze.

The twilight slowly gave way to darkness and the chanting stopped. Young monks walked along and lit the coffins.

Each ignited immediately, with vivid orange and yellow flames filling the night air. Within a few seconds, the flames turned blue. The monks, villagers, and soldiers kept their heads below the altar. The flames glowed white for a split second, then —whoosh— a column of white light as bright and as hot as the sun shot into the night sky. It was over in an instant and the stillness and blackness of the night returned.

They all remained silent for several moments until Vitchae stood and beckoned everyone to rise. With the smell of scorched wood filling their nostrils, all that now remained on the altar was fifty-nine glowing blobs of gold, which would be taken to the sacred Stupa the following day, but for now, the monks meditated in the Wat, while the villagers and soldiers partied and celebrated the holy ones’ lives.

The following day the monks took the hardened gold blobs containing the essence of the fallen warriors to the underground Stupa and placed them alongside the others of dead Tinju throughout the generations. The monks stayed there throughout the day continuing to chant- mantras for a safe journey and reincarnation.

The following day after his days of treatment with medicinal herbs and King Cobra liver, Pon had regained most of his strength. He knew that if he wanted to catch the culprit and avenge his brothers, he would have to leave soon, although he did not yet know who he was pursuing. At Cenat’s suggestion, he traded one of his gold nugget ornaments with the Buddha’s image intricately carved on it, for a soldier’s mobile phone. The young Corporal thought he had made a good trade. ‘This must be worth a fortune,’ he thought, and sighed, ‘that is if we ever get out of here.’ The soldier taught Pon how to use the phone, but as there was no signal in this area, he could only pretend. Pon thought he had the gist of his new tool, and Cenat gave him Taksin’s card and told him to call the number when the phone worked. 

Pon packed his cloth holdall with medicines, along with small round clay containers containing various powders, including Sunblaze, the mobile phone, and more of his ornaments. Laid out beside him was his Juglave, a double-bladed weapon with two razor-sharp half-moon blades, and his Tinju Sword.  He thought about what Vitchae said about his suspicions of the perpetrator but he had no proof. However, in the next few minutes, they would both know who.

Vitchae came in and went over to Pon accompanied by an old woman from the village. Pon felt shocked because only monks they only allowed monks inside the quarters. ‘It must be important,’ he thought as Vitchae introduced the woman as Banti Meesilli, who Pon recognised from his morning pilgrimages around the village when he and the other monks would go to beg for food, a ritual to learn humility. The villagers were always happy to give food in return for a blessing.

The pair sat in front of Pon, and Vitchae asked Banti to tell him about her son. With tears in her eyes and her voice trembling, she explained. Eight years ago, my youngest son, Dam, went into the jungle to hunt but never returned. I think a tiger must have killed and eaten him.

Banti told Pon of her young son’s bravery and skill as a hunter, and her pride at her eldest son being a Tinju warrior, although Banti was unsure which monk was her son, as only the Prime Master and a few elder monks knew which family the Tinju monks came from. She explained that Dam became close to a Tinju warrior named Jinn, four years his senior, who he believed to be  his brother and Banti’s eldest son, Banti then handed Pon a charcoal drawing and said, That was my beloved son, Dam. 

Pon looked at the sketch drawn on parchment, covered in a clear tree resin to protect it.

Banti stood up and Wai-ed the monks. With tears streaming down her distraught haggard face, said, With Jinn being murdered in the Wat, it now means that I have lost both my sons. Please find who is responsible; I beg you.

Banti left the room, leaving her drawing with Pon, who had a strange feeling about the woman. 

Once Banti left, Pon frowned and asked, Master Vitchae, I don’t understand. What has her dead son got to do with this? 

Vitchae explained. Banti said that her son went into the jungle and never returned, presuming a tiger killed had him, but these timid animals avoid any contact with us. I knew young Dam; he was a strong boy and extremely well taught in the way of the Tinju. I spoke to him a few days before his disappearance. Vitchae sighed, But our conversation did not end well. He is the person who I believe responsible for this.

Pon thought for a moment, and although it was a long time ago, he recalled the lad who always hung around the temple and trained with them. He’d wondered at the time why Vitchae had allowed a villager so much freedom around the Tinju and Wat. He also knew Jinn as they were almost the same age and remembered how much Jinn grieved for Dam after he went missing and how he had spent days searching for his brother in the jungle. Something still confused Pon, so he looked at Vitchae, furrowed his brow, and said. But why do you suspect him Master Vitche? Dam is dead. 

Perhaps, replied Vitchae, but Dam is the only person in Salaburi unaccounted for during my lifetime. I can think of no one else who would have the knowledge or skill to have done this. Nobody knows what happened to Dam, so although I hope I am mistaken, and I don’t know why he did this, he is the only one it could be. Pon folded the drawing of Dam and placed it in his bag. 

Pon then stood, slid his sheathed sword through the red sash around his Waist, put his Juglave inside a large pocket flap in his orange robe, his bag over his shoulder, and said, Master, now I must leave, and although still mystified, he felt he had a sense of direction.

Yes, young warrior, and I will pray that Buddha will guide and protect you, replied Vitchae.

––––––––

*Khun - A respectful title for a Thai male with a high position or someone older 

— Chapter Four—

The modern buildings and motorways of the sprawling Bangkok metropolis surprised Spock and Stu as they looked down from the airport overpass as the taxi joined the highway to Pattaya. The light dimmed as twilight tapped daylight on the shoulder to begin its shift. Spock looked at his watch. It’s only six-thirty and getting dark, he said.

Yeah, it gets dark at the same time every night out here so the parties can start early, said Nick and chuckled.

It looks spotless and colourful, said Stu as the taxi drove along the motorway with the lit central reservation landscaped with manicured tropical plants and shrubs. 

With little else to see, Spock and Stu dozed in the back seat while Nick spoke to the taxi driver until nearing sin city.  Wake up, we’re here, shouted Nick, rousing the sleeping pair, we are coming into Pattaya.

Spock and Stu looked out of the windows and raised their eyebrows. Wow! It’s like Las Vegas, exclaimed Stu as he saw illuminated billboards as they entered the brightly lit city.

They had expected to see dirt tracks and wooden shacks, but to their surprise, the modern streets were ablaze with coloured lights. They saw huge hotels, supermarkets, restaurants, shops and to their relief, McDonald's, KFC’s and Pizza Huts. Pattaya looked to Spock and Stu to be like any major western city. Beats bloody Cleethorpes, mumbled Stu.

****

After driving along several roads lined with outdoor bars and restaurants, the taxi pulled up in the forecourt of a large purple painted hotel.

Did you see all those girls standing in the bars? said Stu sounding excited.

Yes matey, said Spock with a big grin as they got out of the air-conditioned taxi.

Nick smiled as they went into the reception of the Siam Sawasdsee Hotel. Stu and Spock could not believe the price was only 450 Baht a night, which they calculated to be about seven pounds sterling. They took the elevator to their rooms on the third floor.

The large furnished rooms came with a small fridge stocked with beer, soft drinks, and bottled water. In the ensuite bathroom, alongside the toilet was a small hose with a nozzle, which Nick explained was a bum gun. He told them it was like a bidet and fired a strong jet of water up your jaxey. ‘Hmm, aqueous bog-roll,’ thought Spock.

A patio door led out onto a small balcony and Nick, having the corner room, had an opening window behind his door that overlooked the forecourt. The instructions from Nick were, Quick shit, shower, shave, shampoo, and then go out. 

It was eight o’clock and even though weary from the long journey, they felt refreshed after a cold shower. Spock and Stu now wanted to see more of the place known as Sin City.

Nick explained that the main roads in Thai were Tannon’s, with smaller streets that joined or branched off from them, known as Sois, with some numbered and some named. Nick planned to start in Soi 6, informing them that it was a ‘Short time’ Soi.

Great, said Stu, not knowing what he was talking about. 

They walked out of the hotel and got on a Baht bus, one of the many small covered pickup trucks that circled the city’s one-way traffic system. A gentle breeze blew through the vehicle but Spock and Stu felt hot and sticky. Driving past the many outdoor bars on the way to the Soi 6 bars, with each playing loud music, and people dancing and waving, the lads could see everyone having a whale of a time. Pleasant aromas from the different street food vendors drifted on the air that made Spock and Stu feel peckish. They seemed in a world far away from the damp cold Cleethorpes.

Soi 6 joined Second Road, which led to the Beach Road and lined with small glass-fronted air-conditioned bars on both sides. Each bar had its windows covered by signs or dark glass, making it difficult to see inside. Young, scantily clad women sat in groups outside the bars, chatting and fixing their makeup, like a group of muggers waiting for a victim.

The lads paid the 10 Baht bus fare and went into the first bar on the corner of the Soi. The women sitting outside leapt up, surrounded them, and dragged them inside, in the nicest possible way. Spock and Stu, although only being outside for a short time, felt relieved when they entered the cool air-conditioned bar.

Is it always this hot? asked Stu.

Nick chuckled. Don’t worry, you will soon get used to it, he said.

In the dimly lit bar, the lads went over to an L-shaped sofa in a corner booth, sat down, and ordered three bottles of Singha beer, the local Thai brew, which tasted sweet with a nutty flavour and stronger than most European beers. With western pop music playing in the background, Spock and Stu looked at the few other foreign men in the bar with Thai women draped across them laughing and fondling their bits.

Stu whispered to Spock. It smells fusty.

Spock shrugged as the three scantily clad women bought over their and beer and one sat next to Nick, while the other two sat on either side of Stu and Spock, who fidgeted like two Catholic nuns at a rugby team party. They felt afraid of being stitched up with a katoey, a ladyboy after hearing stories from their mates at home who had been to Thailand and allegedly stitched up with a katoey. Make sure you check their feet size, check for an Adam’s apple and check between their legs before you go anywhere near any of the Thai girls, a friend in England had advised them. 

This played on their minds, even more so now they were in this situation, even though Nick tried to reassure them on the plane that the stories were untrue. What a load of bollocks, he told them. You will soon find out that katoeys are easy to spot.

Still unsure, Spock leaned over to Nick and whispered. Are we in a brothel matey? And are these women or not?

It amused Nick to see these Pattaya virgins in action. He remembered his first time here and knew he had acted the same.

No Spock, not exactly, he mused. He then leaned over and said something to the girl sitting next to Spock. With a look of annoyance and disbelief, she glared at Spock, stood up, and lifted her short skirt to reveal her bare pubic region.

She pointed to her shaven chalice. Look! she said in pidgin English, me not ladyboy... Me lady... Sure.

This came as a shock to both Stu and Spock, and as flashes of Mary Tate went through both their minds, they looked embarrassed. 

The two women then spent the next few minutes convincing them that they were women. Ten minutes later, reassured and enjoying their ice-cold beers, Stu turned to face Spock, who had a stupid, dopey, contented grin on his face.

What an amazing little place. I think we will like it here mate, he said, looking down between his legs at his naked midsection and enjoying the oral dexterity of his temporary, but amenable, new friend.

Yeah! replied a chilled out Spock, looking down at his small sack-emptier doing her thing, very expertly he thought. All memories of Mary Tate had disappeared.

Several beers later, after the girls finished giving relief to the three grateful lads and given their reward for their services, namely 500 Baht and a few glasses of overpriced wine cooler, the lads decided it was time to move on. They paid their bill and, with Nick mumbling about the price of the ‘lady drinks,’ strolled out into the tropical night.

Sacks empty, spinning heads and on the first level of intoxication... juiced, they made their way down Soi 6. They ran the gauntlet of women jumping off their seats, screaming at them to come into their bars, informing them that they were sexy men and fondling their now empty sacks and sore todgers. They resisted further temptation and got on a Baht bus at Beach Road.

Where to next matey? asked Spock with a beaming smile.

Soi 8, Nick replied.

What’s there? asked Stu looking intrigued.

Nick chuckled. Wait and see, he said.

Look Spock, there’s the beach! said Stu as he and Spock looked out of the Baht bus at the dark waters of Pattaya bay.

Yeah, you won’t see much tonight, said Nick as the lads watched the lights of floating restaurants bobbing gently in the bay.

Spock and Stu saw the brightly lit small shops and bars along Beach Road with shopkeepers outside their shops trying to attract foreign customers to buy their wares and noticed the items on sale varied from Thai souvenirs to western shoes and clothes.

Do you buy your stuff for the UK here? asked Stu.

Nick shook his head and sounding vague said, Nah, these are tourist prices, I have my regular suppliers, he smirked.

Soi 8 buzzed with life. Music blared out from the many open-air bars, with every bar trying to out-volume the others with a musical cacophony heard, as the bars blasted out different tunes which contributed to the lively atmosphere of Soi 8. Girls screeched at passing customers to come inside please. The occasional bell rang at bars, much to the delight of the women working there, as that was the signal that they would get a free drink. Lights flashed. Street vendors walked around selling everything from chewing gum to fake watches. They went from bar to bar, looking for any drunken, gullible foreigner, egged on by the girls to, buy me this darling, with the customer promised undying love, or at least until his money ran out. Spock and Stu found Soi 8 incredible and saw old and young foreign men with big beaming smiles sitting at the playing bar games, Connect Four, Jenga, swallow the Sausage with the occasional crash of wood heard as a foreigner lost at Jenga, and yet again had to ring the bell. An occasional holiday couple walked past, with the husband’s head bent down looking at the floor while his wife glared at him, ensuring that he wasn’t peeking at the girls. 

After walking halfway up the Soi, the lads positioned themselves at one of Nick’s regular bars. He said hello to Wan, the mamasan, bar manager. He introduced Stu and Spock, who could only manage a grunt as they tried to take in the never experienced sights and sounds. Wan gave instructions to two women, who went to a large freezer and removed two small packages. They went over to Stu and Spock, popped open a pah-yen, a cold towel, and rubbed the pah-yen over Stu and Spock’s neck and arms. The lads cooed with satisfaction, as the heat was intense for them, even at night. Not yet acclimatised to Thailand’s heat, the pah-yen provided a welcome relief.

A girl behind the bar placed three bottles of ice-cold beer in front of them, along with a small wooden pot containing their bill. They took a long slow mouthful of their cool amber fluid, followed by several more. Spock and Stu bought drinks for the two girls who had wiped them down, and while Nick spoke with the mamasan, the two lads made small talk with their newly acquired companions. The women asked where they came from, how long they planned to stay, and did they have ladies yet? They seemed to show more interest when the two lads said they had just arrived and did not have ladies. However, they became disappointed when the woman sitting with Spock asked, "I go with you tonight sexy