The Emerald Curse

A convoy of large jeeps slowly rolled through the wide-open iron gate. Their engines growled in low gear as they passed one by one into the compound. The air filled with a clamor of voices, greetings, and commands, blending together in the familiar chaos that came with the arrival of wild animals.

Workers burst out from the station buildings to begin unloading the diverse collection of animals packed into wooden and iron cages. This was the largest and most modern animal quarantine station in the country. It covered more than fifteen rai of land, surrounded by high concrete walls. At the center stood the sleek main office building of “Thai Wild Life,” surrounded by cages of all types—from small ones for birds to massive ones for elephants—giving it the feel of a miniature zoo.

A man wearing a well-worn khaki outfit jumped down from the cab of the lead jeep and walked under the shade of a large rain tree near the gate. He removed his wide-brimmed hat, trimmed with leopard skin, slapped the dust off it against his leg, and lit a cigarette. His brown eyes scanned the line of vehicles while he issued brief instructions to the drivers.

Upstairs, in the luxurious guest lounge of the main office building, Amphon Plakorn—the director of Thai Wild Life—pulled open the blinds and peered out.

“There he is,” he said.

Three guests—two men and a woman—stood from the leather sofa and joined him at the window, looking toward the entrance, about 150 meters away.

“That man standing by the gate?” one of the men asked.

“Yes, that’s the one,” Amphon confirmed.

The second man gave a low whistle. “Well, damn... I already like him—and I’ve only seen him from this far.”

The woman, elegant and composed, raised a small pair of binoculars. Her oval face was full of sharp intelligence. After adjusting the focus, she gave a subtle shrug.

“So that’s the legendary hunter?” she said lightly.

“Yep. That’s Raphin Phaiwan,” Amphon replied. “The man you came all this way to meet.”

The woman tilted her head slightly. “He’s not quite what I imagined.”

“I thought he’d be older,” she continued. “Maybe in his forties. Tall and broad-shouldered. But he’s... what? Barely five-seven? Lean, wiry. That face—so grim and unsmiling. I don’t like it.”

“Don’t judge a book by its cover,” Amphon said gently. “In terms of ability, morals, and experience, he’s one of a kind. He doesn’t talk much, and he avoids society. But when it comes to action—he’s unmatched. You’ll understand soon enough.”

He picked up the phone on his desk and called downstairs.

“Please tell Mr. Raphin to come up to the guest lounge. The director would like to see him.”

He turned back to the group.

“Would you like coffee or something cold to drink while we wait?”

Before anyone could answer, the door opened.

A tall, slim man entered, skin tanned from the sun, face serious, movements calm. He wore the same khaki jungle attire, his pistol at his waist. He removed his hat and gave a slight bow.

“You asked to see me, Mr. Amphon?”

“Yes. Come in, Raphin,” the director said, greeting him warmly. “These guests came specifically to meet you.”

He turned to the others.

“This is Mr. Raphin Phaiwan, our top field hunter and expedition leader.”

The mustached gentleman stepped forward first.

“I’m Lieutenant Colonel Prince Chettha Wararit,” he said. “This is Major Chaiyan Anantarai, and my younger sister, Dr. Darin Wararit.”

Raphin nodded politely, shaking hands with each in turn, and offering a respectful bow to the lady.

“Please have a seat,” Amphon said.

They sat around the low table. A steward brought in drinks—coffee, tea, and cold towels.

“You probably already guessed why we’re here, Mr. Raphin,” Prince Chettha said. “We’ve heard of your reputation, and we believe you’re the only person who can help us.”

Raphin didn’t reply. He simply waited and listened.

“I have a friend—Mr. Chot Prachakorn—who came to this region last year. He never returned.”

Raphin’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“Yes, I remember him. He came to see me before heading into the jungle. He had a Karen guide named Nan In.”

“Did he tell you where he was going?” Chaiyan asked.

“He said he would go to a Karen village called Lom Chang, near the Burmese border. He left his cart and equipment there, then continued on foot.”

Darin joined in. “He was searching for prehistoric cave paintings that only the locals had ever spoken of.”

“Since that day, we’ve heard nothing,” Prince Chettha said solemnly.

“We’ve sent search teams,” Chaiyan added. “All came back empty. Some guides refused to enter the area. They said it was haunted.”

“There are indeed places like that,” Raphin said quietly. “Even I wouldn’t go in without a good reason.”

“That’s why we need you,” Chettha said. “We need someone who knows the jungle. Who can survive it. Who can bring us answers.”

Raphin sat still, thinking.

“Do you believe he’s still alive?”

Chettha slowly shook his head. “No. But I want the truth.”

After a long pause, Raphin stood.

“I’ll do it. But on one condition.”

All eyes turned to him.

“I choose the men. I set the pace. I give the orders. No interference.”

“Of course,” Chaiyan said quickly.

Raphin glanced at Darin.

“And I don’t want any tourists along.”

“She’s coming,” Chettha said firmly.

“I’m not asking for permission,” Darin said coolly. “I’m going—and I can take care of myself.”

Raphin sighed.

“Fine. But once we’re in the jungle, I’m in charge.”

“You have my word,” she replied.

“Then it’s settled,” said Chettha.