The pilot took an aluminum ladder from stowage and climbed up to stare at the engine. Daeng shouted, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing I can see,” he replied.

“Do you need any help?”

“Not from you.”

“Fair enough,” she said and walked away. What value was an ex–freedom fighter who couldn’t disable a helicopter without leaving a trace?

“It’s probably nothing serious,” said Roper, whose face belied his cool optimism.

“At least it gives us more time to take in the village,” said Daeng.

She set off on a tour, smiling at the householders but receiving only suspicious glares in return. The happy faces that had welcomed them were nowhere to be seen. She felt a heavy undercurrent of anger from the men as she trespassed over thresholds and allotments. Unlike any other villages she’d ever been to, there were no giggling children or curious dogs following her. In fact she saw no children over three and no dogs whatsoever. Only the wary eyes followed her. At one point at the back edge of the village she stubbed her toe on a shallow root beneath the dust. But what she kicked up was no root, it was a black electric cable. She knew she was being watched but she pulled the wire out of the earth and traced its source. Not very far into the thick undergrowth she found a bamboo hut that housed a brand-new Cummins generator. It was a very sophisticated piece of equipment for such an isolated place. She turned back toward the village and found herself staring into the barrel of a homemade musket.