hen Cass looked up after talking to me, there was a W cloud of grey dust on the approach road from the highway. I guess he thought it was Jimmy and me already, but we were at least twenty minutes away.
But something was coming, and it wasn’t coming slowly. A dark-coloured truck appeared, and it didn’t go into the car park but headed straight up the slope towards the temple.
Cass grabbed his sandals and his backpack and hobbled to a pile of builder’s rubble, an abandoned cement mixer and a stack of concrete posts and barbed wire at the rear. He stopped there briefly to peer around the cement mixer.
The truck had stopped at the temple steps, and two men jumped out, leaving another sitting inside with the engine running like a bank robbery with a getaway car.
The two men in jeans and tee shirts ran up the steps into the temple, looked this way and that. One ran around the side of the temple while the other went inside. But it was what they were both holding and pointing that worried Cass. He’d seen enough guns in Turkey and Syria to know these were Berettas. Guns and Buddhist temples didn’t mix.
He’d not seen the three monks all day, but suddenly, the youngest one appeared from somewhere and stood with his hand to his mouth clearly wondering what was going on. Cass didn’t wait to find out. Using the cement mixer, he climbed
over the wall, ran into the trees, scrambled up the rough hillside, through the trees and undergrowth, until, already exhausted, he stood for a moment to catch his breath and look back towards the temple. From there, all he could now see was the huge head of the white Buddha level to where he was standing. Breathing heavily, he then heard more cars or trucks. Doors slammed, men shouted, and then came the ominous crack of gun fire that reminded him yet again of Syria.
His mind was in turmoil. He had no idea what was happening, but his fear was that Jimmy and I had already arrived, and there was now some sort of shootout with the men in the truck.
He pulled the phone from the bag, wondering whether to use it or turn it off and remove the battery, which was what someone had told him meant the phone couldn’t be tracked.
He was standing there, surrounded by thick forest when it vibrated and then buzzed. He swiped, held it to his ear, and listened. It was me.
We were, at that moment, on the main road close to the side road leading to the white Buddha but we were beaten by a group of six police cars and trucks that arrived from the other direction. All except one had raced down the side road. The remaining one parked sideways across the road, red lights flashing.
Then, as I called Cass’s number again, another car, a private Toyota, arrived from the south and stopped right behind Jimmy’s motorbike and a man I’d never seen before jumped out and ran towards Jimmy.
Meanwhile Cass’s phone stopped ringing and all I could hear was heavy breathing.
“Cass?” I shouted. “Where the hell are you, man?”
“Men with guns,” he wheezed. “I ran. Then I heard gunfire.”
I paused as two ambulances arrived, red lights flashing and took off towards the temple as a queue of trucks, cars, and motorbikes began to pile up from both the north and south and were stopped by the police.
Jimmy then grabbed my phone as the stranger from the Toyota nodded and raised a friendly-looking hand towards me. “OK, OK,” he said in an English accent.
“Cass?” Jimmy said into my phone. “I’m Jimmy. Wherever you are, just stay out of sight but keep the phone open.” He handed the phone back to me and said, “This is Mark Dobson from Asher & Asher.”
Mark Dobson looked serious but nodded at me again, “You’re Kurt, huh? Nice work.”