Slash and Burn

he’d not opened his mouth since their arrival. His team comprised two Thais and a Lao. Mercenaries all. They communicated with their employer in English. They were there not merely for the protection of the man who paid their substantial salaries, but to eradicate obstacles. For four days they’d been setting light to jungle and blowing up communication towers, so they all felt more comfortable back in a milieu for which they were better suited—murder. The killing on the agenda today would not be one for the squeamish. They had an entire dining room full of people to massacre. But they’d done worse.
    To its credit, the marijuana tea took the edge off the menace. Although the hostages were supposed to be sitting cross-legged on the floor, three were now curled up and fast asleep. No amount of shouting would rouse them. Dr. Yamaguchi had a terrible case of the munchies and his crunching of sesame biscuits provided a constant soundtrack for the drama.
    Peach, still stoned but coming down, had lost the ability to speak in any language at all and had become quite angry with herself. Secretary Gordon had found that he was now able to sit cross-legged on the floor. He crossed and uncrossed his legs and laughed with amazement whenever he didn’t fall onto his side. Everyone had been told to shut up but this was a talkative crowd and there were very few in its midst who really understood the gravity of the situation. Siri and Bpoo sat together at the back assessing the chances of getting out of there alive. Senator Vogal and Ethel Chin had left the room. There were guards at each point of the compass with their AK47s trained on the heads of the hostages. Only one of them, Emiliano, seemed unaffected by the tea. He had the look of a young man who was suspicious of everybody and everything. The other three were clearly in various states of euphoria. One appeared to be trigger-happy. His hand twitched on the trigger in time to a nervous tick in his left eye. Another smiled and moved in a sort of glide, gentle, calm. But there was no doubt from the look in his eyes that he’d enjoy a good killing. Far from rendering them harmless, the mercenaries looked even more villainous as a result of Madame Daeng’s tea. Perhaps the head of the Federal Bureau of Narcotics had been right after all. Marijuana could very well be the most violence-causing drug in the history of mankind.
    “Did you see me mowed down in a hail of bullets?” Siri asked Bpoo in a whisper.
    “Stop it.”
    “Or that you’d be going with me?”
    “I don’t want to discuss it. All right?”
    “What? You’re the one who predicted all this. It’s brilliant.”
    “Let’s focus all our attention on getting out of it, shall we?”
    “You may have noticed the odds have swung against us. I think you and I might have overpowered Miss Chin—just—and her short-fingered boss. But now I’m tempted to say they have the upper hand. And, no offence intended here, but if I’m about to be massacred, I’d rather like to be with my wife.”
    Siri stood and four gun muzzles swung in his direction. All the guards yelled.
    “Siri, sit down,” said Bpoo.
    “Sorry.”
    Siri raised his hands as one does in such circumstances. The guards were now yelling in a frenzied version of their own languages. He ignored them and picked his way through the seated and sleeping bodies to where Madame Daeng resided. He smiled at her and, even though no Lao in any conditions under any circumstances would think of doing such a thing, he kissed her on the cheek as he sat. The hostages who noticed clapped and cheered. All the guards had assumed firing positions. They obviously wanted to kill someone. But, just as obviously, they were under orders to desist. Judge Haeng, who sat shuddering in front of Siri, was apparently unaware of this directive. There was a puddle beneath him which presumably did not originate from a burst water pipe under the flooring. Dr. Yamaguchi yelled something which caused the Americans to laugh, but Peach was deep in thought and didn’t translate it. The guards were clearly out of their depth in such company. The fact that none of the hostages seemed to appreciate the awesome power they wielded made them look a lot like little boys playing soldier. There was no fear to feed off.
    Civilai, who probably didn’t need two and a half cups of marijuana tea to be cantankerous, called to the Thai- and Lao-speaking guards.
    “Brothers,” he said, “doesn’t