Sunday tried a little acting of her own. “What map?”
“The map that idiotic man sold you in Bangkok when it had been promised to us,” Millicent whined.
“Well, you know what they say, Millie,” Simon offered. “Easy come, easy go.”
“Maybe it’s easy for you to say. You obviously don’t care a whit about money and the things it can buy,” she said, looking down her nose at his faded jeans and scuffed cowboy boots. “But some of us like the better things in life.”
“The best things in life are free,” Sunday piped up.
Their eyes met for an instant over the woman’s head. Simon suddenly wished that he had some way of telling Sunday the things he could have said—should have said—last night and hadn’t. Regrets: he found he had a few.
“Anyway, Nigel and I thought we had another lead in Chiang Mai, but when we met our contact at the marketplace, it turned out to be a red herring.”
“It was the two of you I caught a glimpse of at the night market!” Sunday exclaimed.
“You saw us?”
“You saw them?” Simon took a step toward her, scowling. “You never mentioned that you saw the Grimwades—or whoever the hell they are—in Chiang Mai.”
“I meant to, but it began to rain and we ran for shelter. I had other things on my mind.” Sunday shrugged. “I forgot.”
He was partially to blame, Simon knew. Those other things had been him.
He faced their opponents. “You lied. You didn’t fly back to Bangkok.”
“So we lied. So we didn’t fly back to Bangkok,” Millicent mocked. “So sue us.”
“We’ve wasted enough time in idle chitchat,” Nigel spoke up. “It’s time to take care of business.” He began to issue orders. “Millie, you keep your gun aimed at the Harrington woman, while I see to Mr. Hazard. I’m going to tie you securely to that pillar, Hazard,” Nigel explained, producing a length of sturdy cord. “I know all about the fancy Beretta you keep in a holster down your back and the bowie knife in your cowboy boot, so no funny stuff.”
“How the devil—?”
“I’m sorry, Simon,” Sunday called out with a catch in her voice. “I said something to the others when those bandits stopped us that day on the road to Lamphun. I never dreamed it would be used against you.”
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he reassured her.
“So, that’s the way the wind blows, does it? I thought as much,” Nigel claimed as he yanked the rope around Simon’s chest even tighter and secured the end in a knot.
“You’re next,” Millie said to Sunday, prodding her with the barrel of her revolver.
In less than five minutes, both he and Sunday were tied up and trussed like a pair of chickens.
“You won’t be needing this any longer,” Nigel informed him with a mirthless laugh as he removed the Beretta and tossed it away. “Nor this,” he added, dispensing with the bowie knife.
“The rest of the job is going to be a piece of cake,” the young man remarked to his female companion. “Gather up all the rubies you can, Millie. We’ll sort out the most valuable stones later.”
Laying their guns aside, they began to scoop up the priceless gems from the floor of the temple, the stone altar, even the lap of the Buddha, and dump them into the young woman’s oversize handbag.
“We’re going to be rich!” Millie squealed with delight.
“Yes, we are,” Nigel agreed, holding up a particularly large stone to the sunlight. He let out a low whistle, quickly looked around and, when his partner in crime wasn’t watching, slipped the huge unfaceted ruby into the pocket of his jacket.
Cripes, thought Simon with disgust, Nigel Grimwade wasn’t even an honest thief!
“What are we going to do about those two?” the woman asked, glancing meaningfully over her shoulder at them.
“I haven’t decided yet,” Nigel told her. “Maybe we’ll simply leave them here in this lovely old temple.”
“They could die,” Millie said.
“They could.” Nigel shrugged and scooped up another handful of stones. “Or they could get lucky.”
“I’m afraid your luck has just run out, old chap” came a clipped British voice.
* * *
Sunday’s spirits soared. It was Arthur Bantry. Help was at hand. Good would now triumph over evil. They would be saved. All would be right with the world.
“Colonel Bantry, am I glad to see you!” she called out to him.
“Miss Harrington,” he greeted her with just a hint of a reserved smile. “Mr. Hazard.”
Arthur Egbert Bantry, dressed as always in an immaculate khaki uniform, was poised over the young couple who called themselves the Grimwades. He had Excalibur in his hand, the very sharp point of which was pressed against Nigel’s jugular.
“No. Don’t bother getting up, young man,” he said in a deceptively mild tone. “I think I prefer you and the young lady on your hands and knees.”
Millicent raised her head and attempted to bat her eyelashes at the gentleman. “This isn’t what you think, Colonel,” she said in a baby-doll voice.
He laughed; it was a surprisingly chilling sound. “Don’t waste your breath, Miss...whatever your name is. I was in the business long before you were even born. It will take a great deal more than a third-rate—and I am giving you, and your so-called partner, the benefit of the doubt—pair of actors to get the best of me.” The Colonel kicked a length of cord in her direction. “Tie up Nigel nice and tight.”
Millie started to get to her feet. “But—”
Arthur Bantry quickly armed himself with one of the guns they had laid down in their haste to gather up the rubies. He pointed the weapon at Millicent’s heart. “You might like to keep several things in mind—I am an expert marksman, and Nigel here slipped a bauble into his pocket while you weren’t looking. If it’s a first-rate stone, and I dare say it is, it could be worth several million pounds.”
The young woman shot sharp daggers at her partner. “Nigel, you cheat, you scum, you—”
Nigel Grimwade winced as the rope dug into his flesh. “I was going to share it with you, Millie. Honest.”
“There is no honor among thieves,” admonished Colonel Bantry. “You should remember that, young lady.”
Once Nigel was restrained, Arthur Bantry quickly saw to the young woman, as well. Only then, Sunday noticed, was Excalibur returned to the Colonel’s walking stick.
“Does anyone mind if I smoke?” the gentleman politely inquired as if the five of them were in attendance at a garden party or having cocktails together. He took a cigarette case and a holder from an inside jacket pocket, and withdrew an unfiltered cigarette.
“So that’s why your hands were always shaking, why you were always fingering your moustache,” Sunday said. “You’re a smoker, but you weren’t smoking.”
“Bad for the image.”
“The image?”
“In this business, everyone is an actor,” he said expansively. “Smoking didn’t fit the part I was playing this time.”
“Next, you’ll be telling us ‘all the world’s a stage,’” she said, trying to hold her chin high. For, somewhere in the middle of her conversation with Arthur Bantry, Sunday had realized that he had no intentions of setting them free. She and Simon might well never leave this ancient temple.
She wished she’d told Simon last night what had been in her heart and on the tip of her tongue. Now she might never have the chance to tell him. She had to buy them time, time to think, time to plan, time to act, to say what needed to be said.
She looked up at the British gentleman. “I’m deeply disappointed in you, Colonel.”
“I know you are, Miss Harrington.”
“You’re nothing but a petty thief.”
He glanced down at Millicent’s handbag. “I wasn’t after the map, you know. Although I believe I will keep the rubies, as long as you’ve found them.”
“But if you weren’t after the promised riches...” Then why had
he followed them?
Arthur Bantry permitted himself a small sigh. “I do have my share of regrets, Miss Harrington. Perhaps if we had met at another time, another place—” khaki shoulders were raised and then lowered again “—or if you hadn’t been with Hazard.”
She was puzzled. “What does Simon have to do with it?”
His forehead crinkled into a genuine frown. “Everything.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I believe Hazard does.”
When Simon spoke, Sunday could hear the underlying anger and absolute determination in his voice. “So, you were the one who left Jonathan to die.”
Sunday sucked in her breath.
Arthur Bantry put a cigarette in the ivory holder, raised it to his lips, held a match to the tip and took a long draw on the end before he answered. “I see you finally put two and two together.”
“Finally.”
“Jonathan Hazard was a professional, just as I was. We professionals understand these things. It was a regrettable piece of business.”
“Regrettable?” Simon repeated.
“The outcome.”
“He was supposed to die.”
The Colonel nodded his head and continued to puff away. “He was supposed to quietly disappear without a trace.”
Simon stiffened beside her. “You bastard,” he swore harshly under his breath.
Cold eyes narrowed to two thin slits behind a column of cigarette smoke. “It’s all water under the bridge now, if you’ll pardon the pun. Jonathan Hazard has left the business, and so have I.”
Sunday had an odd feeling in the pit of her stomach. “But you still intend to take the rubies and vamoose, leaving the four of us here to die.”
“As Nigel said, you could get lucky.” Arthur Bantry studied the crumbling temple. “Actually, you youngsters may have done me a real service,” he said, addressing the pair of former thespians. “Should anyone ever stumble upon this place, it will be your fingerprints, your guns, your ropes, your bones—” a feral grin spread across his face from ear to ear “—that are left as clues. It will make for a beautifully staged scene.”
Sunday’s heart was galloping. “Scene?”
The stub of the Colonel’s cigarette was pinched flat between his thumb and finger, then deposited in his pants pocket. “Wouldn’t want to leave any evidence behind, now, would I?”
Sunday was willing to reason with him, even plead with him. “But, Colonel...”
“I am sorry, Miss Harrington. But I win, and you lose.”
A strong, confident female voice spoke from the stone steps behind him. “I’m afraid I win, and you lose, Colonel.”
Five heads snapped around.
“My God, it’s the nun!” exclaimed Nigel Grimwade.
“And she’s got a gun,” added Millicent unnecessarily.
“Good grief,” muttered Simon.
“Sister Agatha Anne,” said Sunday.
“‘Hail, hail, the gang’s all here,’” Simon growled near her ear.
“The more the merrier,” she whispered back, tempering a nervous urge to laugh.
The young nun looked the same—except for the gun in her right hand, of course—but she was far from sounding like the sweet, shy, demure and retiring Sister Agatha Anne they had all known on the journey north.
“No one speaks unless I give them permission.” Her voice snapped with authority. However, the lethal weapon she was pointing straight at the Colonel spoke louder than any words.
“Do you have any idea who you’re dealing with?” Arthur Bantry demanded with just the right touch of righteous indignation.
“I know exactly who and what you are, Colonel,” the nun replied, cool as a cucumber.
Apparently, he wasn’t ready to give up. “And just who do you think you are, young lady?”
“It won’t do you any good to bluster on so, Bantry,” said the slight figure in the nun’s habit. “I’m with M16.”
The effect of that statement on Arthur Bantry was quite astounding, Sunday witnessed. She turned her head and whispered to Simon, “What is M16?”
“Britain’s secret service,” he whispered back.
“Really?”
“It was once the world’s premier intelligence service. Now it’s mainly known because of the James Bond movies.”
“You mean 007, licensed to kill?”
“Yup.”
Sunday completely forgot about lowering her voice to a whisper. “Sister Agatha Anne is a spy!”
“Not exactly,” responded the woman with the gun.
Sunday blinked several times in quick succession. “You’re not a spy?”
“I’m not a nun.”
“I knew it!” Sunday informed them all. “That first day, before we even left Bangkok, I thought to myself—none of these people are what or who they claim to be.”
“You should have trusted your instincts,” said Sister Agatha Anne.
She arched a questioning eyebrow at the young woman still dressed in the habit of a nun. “Mother Superior isn’t a spy, too, is she?”
The woman smiled. “Mother Superior is exactly what she appears to be.” Her attention reverted to Arthur Bantry. “You should have stayed retired, Arthur. We’ve known for the past several years that you were working both sides, of course, that you were taking money from anyone and everyone who was willing to pay you.”
He sniffed. “A man has to live.”
“I understand you live very well. First-class all the way.”
“And why not? I deserve to. All those years slaving for queen and country. Nobody gave a damn.”
“Perhaps not,” Agatha Anne said quietly. “But you gave your sworn oath and you have broken that oath.”
Arthur Bantry’s shoulders slumped forward like those of a defeated man.
Apparently, the agent posing as Sister Agatha Anne was not so easily fooled into believing his sudden submission, however. “Carefully let your walking stick drop to the floor, Colonel.”
He did as she ordered.
“We’re the innocent parties in this whole affair,” whined Nigel Grimwade. “Millie and I were just a couple of tourists who got mixed up in something we didn’t understand.”
“You can cut the balderdash,” said the nun with the gun. “I know who you and Millie are, too.”
“Well, aren’t you the bloody genius!” Nigel swore, turning ugly.
Sunday got an elbow in her back. It was Simon’s.
“Cover for me,” he whispered urgently.
“Cover for you?”
“I have to reach my left boot.”
“Why?”
“There is an old saying—”
Her eyes looked heavenward. “Of course. There always is.”
“‘Beware the weapon a man does not show you.’”
Sunday talked out of the side of her mouth. “You have another weapon on you?”
He nodded. “A second knife. I need to get it and cut us free. My gut feeling is this business is going to get nastier and nastier.”
“I agree.”
“On the count of three, fall over sideways like you’ve just fainted,” he instructed.
“I’ll do my best.” But she was no actress, Sunday wanted to point out to him.
“One. Two. Three.”
Sunday pretended to swoon. She made a low, moaning sound, dropped her head to her chest and slumped to one side.
Simon moved in the opposite direction.
“I believe this has been too much for Miss Harrington,” observed the Colonel. “Perhaps I should offer her some assistance.”
“Stay where you are, Bantry,” ordered the nun.
It all happened very quickly. The Colonel turned and nimbly threw himself at Sister Agatha Anne’s ankles. The long skirt of her habit was a distinct disadvantage, of course. She teetered this way and that way, and finally toppled to the floor of the temple.
The revolver in her hand went flying through the air, and as luck would have
it, landed at Simon’s feet. The rope that had held them like trussed chickens snapped like a rubber band. Simon had obviously recovered the knife from his other boot.
Sword poised to strike—the Colonel appeared perfectly willing to use his blade on Sister Agatha Anne—Simon grabbed the man’s arm, twisted it behind his back and disarmed him.
Then, with Excalibur in one hand and the British agent’s revolver in the other, Simon stood and glared at them for a moment. Then he issued his edict. “Listen up, people. From now on, we do this my way.” He looked at each of them in turn. “We’ll make this nice and simple. Which one of you isn’t a spy?”
Fourteen
“You aren’t a spy, are you?” Sunday inquired as they made their way from the Mae Hong Son police station to the local Holiday Inn later that night.
“Nope.”
She took in a deep breath and let it out again. “I’m so relieved. I was beginning to wonder if anyone in this crazy business was who or what they claimed to be.”
Simon had been wonderful through the whole ordeal: taking charge of the situation, clearing up any misunderstandings, translating for those who didn’t speak the language. It was only now that they were alone that he had become strangely pensive, she realized as they strolled along Mae Hong Son’s one main street.
Sunday attempted to lighten his mood. “When we started this journey to the City of Mist, I certainly didn’t expect the jail to be the first thing I saw when we finally got to town.”
“Me, neither.”
“I’m not sorry about the Grimwades, but I confess I’m disappointed in the Colonel.”
“He had me fooled, too.”
“When did you realize he was the double agent who had tried to kill Jonathan?” she asked, as if it were a perfectly normal thing to be asking someone.
“Only once we were all in the temple.” Simon stuffed his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans. “I told you, Sunday. I was a businessman back in the States. I don’t know anything about being a secret agent or a spy.”
“The Colonel assumed you were a threat.”
“Apparently.”
“He saw you as some kind of avenging angel.”
“‘Vengeance is mine, I will repay, saith the Lord,’” Simon quoted.
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