NAGA

It is difficulties that show what men are ~ Epictetus

PART ONE:

APSARA

1.

The aged but well-maintained Land Rover Defender handled the unmaintained roads on the outskirts of Phnom Penh with ease, its bored active-duty Army driver so used to the dips and turns of the flattened dirt that he could navigate it half-dead or half-drunk. He was neither, however his passenger, a fellow Army brat, would confess to a couple of beers if asked. It would still be a few beers worth of a lie. They joked as the road bounced beneath them, escalating vulgarities that included deep and insightful questions about each other's sexuality. In the back seat, a third young man slept. The worst of his wet, malaria-recovery snores punctuated the conversation, causing the occasional snigger at his expense.

"Don't laugh too hard at him, he did pay for your beers." The driver flicked a glance towards the passenger seat, a wry smile on his face.

"I am a fuckin' mooch, I know it, man." A wet hiccup. "How many did I have?"

"I don't know, Jackson, I didn't keep track."

"Ah, fuck it. I'll drop him a five later after we get back to the embassy; what'd he pay, local dolla?" The driver nodded in response. "Shit, I should be having my liver replaced at that exchange rate." Jackson drooped his head and burped hugely into his lap. The driver began to laugh hard. "Man, I think I had a revisitation there."

"Swallow it back down, buddy." The start of another laugh, then, "Oh shit!"

. . .

The Rover pulled to a complete stop, sliding only barely under the capable reflexes of the driver. The highbeams switched on, bathing the large and arcing roots of a banyan tree just off the road in sharp bright white.

"The fuck is that?" The driver slapped his buddy on the arm with his right hand. His left already held his sidearm. "Sober up and check that."

Jackson blinked twice and leaned forward, peering out the bullet-resistant window. His hand sat on his own pistol and his vision swam. He shook his head hard, adrenaline clearing up the worst of the alcoholic fog, glanced into the back seat. The third man was still out cold. "Got it." He popped the door and slid out, only a little woozy for the wear, considering. He pulled his weapon and checked the territory around him. No sound except for the ticking engine of the car. Nothing nudged his senses.

He slammed the door of the Rover shut and approached the banyan tree, his pistol down and ready. A few steps made clear what the driver thought he'd seen – a foreign woman leaning back hard against the tree. "Ma'am?" he called out cautiously. No response. Blonde hair spilled along the tree, occasionally dark ginger at the roots of the scalp. An arm was raised high, he couldn't yet see the other. He paused. No, his first impression wasn't right. The scalp was sticky, dull in the lights from the vehicle. A rope laid along the wrist, pale against the pale tree, against the pale, bloodless skin. Jackson rose his head again to search his surroundings. Still dead silence. A tickle began to form at the back of his neck regardless; his instincts saying he didn't want to see more.

He pursed his lips and moved forward carefully anyway, bringing her into full view. "Aw. Aw, holy shit. Fuck me." He turned his head, racked his brain to be sure he had the embassy's missing person's notice correct. "Call in! We found Bellani."

"She breathing?"

"I don't know how the fuck she would be, man." He turned back to look at the body, contorted and tied fast to the tree in a way he almost recognized. He didn't feel the least bit drunk anymore.

Staring out from Bellani's open belly, Jackson met the smiling eyes of a grey stone Buddha.