“Oh, damn . ..” she said.
“Don’t answer it,” Durell suggested.
“I have to—it might be business—”
“Forget it, Benjie.”
But she picked up the telephone, lying across him to reach it. She listened, and he felt her soft, warm weight across his thighs, and then she wriggled about and laughed in the cool darkness and said, “It’s for you, Sam.”
“Nobody knows I’m here.”
“The Embassy knows,” she said.
It was Rogers. “Glad I caught you,” the diplomat said. “There are several things you should be advised about, sir. Your hotel is taken care of. The dead Thai girl has been removed. Your name is off the register. There’s no record of your being there now, and the Thai people have promised to be discreet.”
“Very good.”
“We’ve also kept you out of the affair with Mr. Chuk. However, an old man came to the Embassy and he asked us for money to build a new house. Says you promised it to him, sir.”
“I did,” said Durell. He felt Benjie’s soft breasts press against his chest. She’s changed, he thought, amused. He said, “The old man is Uncle Hu. He was a great help. It will have to be taken care of in Washington, out of the Y funds. I’ll see to it myself, when I get there tomorrow.”
“But you are not leaving Bangkok tomorrow, Mr. Durell,” said Rogers. “I’m sorry, sir, but your plane ticket and reservation have been toned over to James D. James.” Young Rogers’ punctilious manner changed a bit. “There’s a man who has gone through hell, I must say. Terrible thing. He’s being shipped back to D.C.”
Durell thought about his own past three days. He said, “What about my travel requisitions?”
“Canceled,” Rogers said. “You are ordered to set up a new Bangkok Central, it seems. New files, new codes, radio, everything. New safe house, office, cover identities and occupations, the works.”
“But that will take several weeks,” Durell objected.
“I’m sorry, sir.”
“I won’t do it.”
“Those are your orders, sir.”
“To stay here in Bangkok?”
“For the time being, yes, sir.”
Durell heard a soft giggle in his ear. Benjie’s hands explored his body. He felt wide awake, suddenly. Benjie said, “Don’t fight it, darling. Relax. Enjoy it.”
He held the telephone in one hand, the other on Benjie’s silk-smooth back. It was very comfortable in the room. The bed was big and soft. He weighed the phone in his hand for another moment, considering more objections to the impersonal orders from the young Embassy man.
Benjie reached across him and took the telephone from his hand and cradled it. Enough light came through the slats of the wooden jalousies to gleam in a liquid, pearly line along the curves of her hips.
“That’s that,” she said with satisfaction. “I’ve had my wish. You’re not going away tomorrow, are you, Sam?”
“It doesn’t look like it.”
“How long can you stay?”
“As long as the job takes.”
“Oh, that’s good. That’s very good.” She sighed, and he rolled over and took her in his arms. She said, “Oh, my. You’re not sleepy at all, are you? Oh, that’s wonderful, Sam. Just right. You’re going to help me, you know.” “How?”
“I’m going to make up for lots of lost time,” Benjie said.
Then she was silent.
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