Message from Hell (A Creasy novel Book 5)

by A. J. Quinnell

  Chapter 51

  Creasy listened and then said: 'It’s good work, Jens. Well done! I want you to go to Bangkok and try to dig up some information on her there. Meanwhile, Susanna will see what the American Embassy might have or be able to find out.’

  He hung up the phone, turned to Susanna and Guido and said: ‘Bill Crum had a daughter by a Cambodian mother. She’s thirty-four years old and is apparently well connected to the Khmer Rouge. From what Jens told me, she could even be part of that organization. She spends time in Bangkok and Paris and presumably also in south-western Cambodia. Jens and The Owl will leave for Bangkok this afternoon and try to get more information about her. In the meantime, Susanna, I’d like you to talk to your ambassador again. The CIA may have a file on her and it’s almost certain that they have satellite surveillance photographs of the whole of Cambodia. It would be useful to see some pictures of the area where that temple is located. I’ll give you a map grid reference.’

  She picked up the phone, called the Embassy and arranged a meeting with the Ambassador in twenty minutes.

  After she had left, Guido stated: ‘This is a matter of revenge, and it has been very cleverly arranged. The woman must know that you killed her father. She’s three-quarters Oriental and we both know that Oriental people have long memories and huge patience. She has waited a long time and whatever she has in mind for you will not be pleasant. I think you should get the hell out of here . . .’

  Creasy shook his head. ‘You know damn well I won’t do that! Their organization is superb. It stretches from Cambodia all the way to San Diego. She obviously has a lot of money and influence. It’s not in my nature to run and hide and even if I did, she would find me. In a matter like this it’s her life or mine. She’s planning to kill me for sure. My guess is that first she wants to talk to me. She wants to tell me why she’s doing it and she wants to watch my face. I’ve no other choice but to go down the trail that she’s laid so cleverly. If she’s one per cent as evil as her father, killing her will not bother my conscience a bit.’

  Guido was probably the only person in the world who could truly understand Creasy’s mind. He said: ‘Then I’m going to call in some back-up in the shape of Maxie and René. If you’re even dreaming of going into Khmer Rouge territory, you’re going to need firepower and you’re going to need information. Whatever satellite photographs the CIA may have are probably not going to be enough. They will just represent routine surveillance of a wide area which is heavily forested.’ He pointed at the phone. ‘I think you’re going to have to phone Senator Grainger. The Ambassador here will co-operate with Susanna, but you need more than mere co-operation.’

  Abruptly, the Italian smiled. ‘It’s like old times,’ he said. ‘I already feel ten years younger.’

  Chapter 52

  ‘Don’t ask me,’ Colonel Jonas Chapman said to his co-pilot. ‘We just fly the damn thing. The fucking onboard computers know more than I do. The orders come from the top, A1 priority. We overfly Manila and then pretend to be a civilian aircraft en route to Bangkok. We make a slight diversion over south-west Cambodia at twenty thousand feet and there the computers trigger the cameras at prearranged co-ordinates. And before we even land at the base in Thailand, the photographs will be on their way to whoever wants to have a look at that little piece of South East Asia. We’ll finish the checks. Get taxi clearance and start up the engines.’

  Five minutes later the AWAC (plus 246/7) surveillance plane with its giant radar dome and its crew of fourteen experts lifted off the US Air Force runway on the Pacific island of Guam. After they had levelled off at 42,000 feet and set up the computers, Colonel Chapman and his co-pilot sat back in their seats and began drinking the first of many beakers of black coffee. They would not touch the controls for the next five hours.

  ‘It takes me back,’ Chapman said reflectively. ‘I was on B52S at the end of the ‘Nam war. My first assignment. We used to do the round trip from Guam to the Ho Chi Minh trail, and also to eastern Cambodia. I was just a kid and all fired up, but I can tell you that after twenty-five missions, I was bored out of my skull. It was a ten-hour round trip and everything was co-ordinated from our base in Chiang Mai. We had about one thousand guys up there enjoying the hash and the massage girls and playing around with computers which got signals from airdropped sensors that supposedly could tell the difference between the passing of a column of Viet Cong troops on foot or in trucks. They were crazy days.’ He glanced at his much younger co-pilot, it was a sort of a ritual. When we were over our programmed position, the computer would trigger the bomb release. The B52 would elevate about fifty feet. Then there would be a silence after which all the crew would chorus reverently: “Sorry about that!’” He smiled at the memory. ‘The trouble is that often as not the damned Viet Cong would have found the sensors and moved them half a mile away from the trail. We must have dropped millions of tons on nothing in the jungle or on innocent villages. We lost that fucking war because of technology.’

  ‘What do you think this mission is about?’ the co-pilot asked.

  ‘Who the hell knows? Maybe some general wants some nice photographs for his office walls.’ He cursed again. ‘I had to cancel a round of golf this afternoon. Now tell me, Lieutenant, what comes first? A game of golf or taking pretty pictures over Cambodia?’

  The co-pilot smiled ruefully. ‘Don’t complain, Colonel. I had to give up a lunch date and an interesting afternoon with a pair of big tits from the base hospital.’

  The colonel chuckled. ‘Ah, well. I guess our country comes first.’ He glanced at the computer screen to his left. ‘We hit the Manila beacon within an hour. It’s going to be real exciting because at that moment, this plane banks three degrees to the north while we sit and drink coffee and contemplate our navels . . . I was born fifty years too late. Imagine what it was like, wrestling with a Mustang or a Flying Fortress over Tokyo or Berlin. That was real flying.’

  The lieutenant smiled. He was only twenty-three years old, but he had heard the same lament at least a hundred times.

  Chapter 53

  The minefield was finished and the Dutchman was proud of it.

  He led the way out, with his team of ten men following exactly in his footsteps. They made the last zigzag and approached the waiting canvas-topped truck. A Khmer Rouge officer was standing at its rear. He pointed and shouted an order in Khmer which Piet de Witt could not understand. His team could, and the men quickly lined up and stood to attention. The officer moved to the side and gestured for de Witt to come and stand beside him. The Dutchman did so, a little puzzled. And then he realized that the officer would be making a speech of praise for the many dangerous hours that his men had spent laying that incredibly dense minefield without a single accident.

  The officer turned and shouted another order. The canvas back of the truck dropped down and the Dutchman saw the machine gun and simultaneously watched the flame spit from its muzzle and then heard the crackling rattle as the bullets cut down his team. He stood rooted to the spot in horror, watching the bodies twist and fall. One of them scrambled away amidst the screams, but in his terror went the wrong way. The first mine at the outer perimeter blew him high into the air.

  The Dutchman turned, his hands coming up in a reflex action to strangle the officer: but the officer was holding a pistol pointed at the Dutchman’s forehead. ‘It was necessary,’ he said.

  Chapter 54

  He was young, handsome, intelligent and obviously very expert at this work.

  Creasy didn’t like him. Maybe it was because he was cocky; maybe it was because he was so obviously trying to impress Susanna; maybe it was because he brought bad news. He had arrived from the American embassy ten minutes before and spread out the photographs on the dining-room table in the cottage. Naturally, being CIA, he was dressed in a dark suit, a plain tie and a button-down shirt.

  ‘You would need at least a batallion,’ he said, ‘with tanks and heavy artillery.’ He pointed at one of the photographs. �
�There are at least one thousand Khmer Rouge soldiers in that area within a radius of twenty kilometres from that temple. The government troops don’t even contemplate the idea of going in there.’ He pointed to another photograph. ‘That’s the small town of Tuk Luy, which is the main headquarters of the Khmer Rouge in the area.’

  Creasy was only listening to him with one ear. He and Guido were studying the photographs intently. Some had been taken two months earlier from a satellite, and the others a few hours ago from the AWAC plane out of Guam. They were very high definition, and the CIA man had brought a device that could be placed over the photographs and give them a three-dimensional aspect. It was easy to pick out buildings, vehicles and individuals.

  The temple itself measured thirty metres by eighteen and was in remarkably good condition. It was surrounded by a high wall with a diameter of about a hundred metres. There was only one gate, and the two guards standing just inside it were clearly visible. Several of the photographs had been taken using heat-imaging film and were simply a kaleidoscope of different colours.

  The CIA man explained, ‘They show different vegetation and different kinds of soil and even minerals.’ He pointed to one. ‘That was taken by a satellite two months ago when we did a complete coverage of the area. The darker red is forest. The lighter red is grassland. And the pink shows paddy fields. Now, there’s something interesting here.’ He leaned forward and pulled the photographs directly under Creasy’s eyes. ‘This was taken from the AWAC today. Of course all the photographs were sent simultaneously to Washington for expert analysis.’ He put his finger on a photograph. ‘This is your temple.’ He pushed another photograph alongside. ‘This is your temple taken from the satellite two months ago . . . Notice the difference.’

  There was an obvious difference. On the photograph taken from the AWAC, a pale grey area circled the temple. It was not present on the earlier photograph.

  What is it?’ Creasy asked.

  The CIA man seemed to savour the moment. After an overdramatic pause, he said: ‘Our boys at Langley tell us that it’s a minefield, and a very extraordinary one. There are hundreds or even thousands of minefields all over Cambodia, laid by the Khmer Rouge, by the Vietnamese during their occupation, and by the present government. It’s estimated that there are more than five million mines, but none of those minefields ever showed up on satellite or aerial photographs. That minefield is extremely dense and so it had to be laid by experts. And it must have been laid within the last two months.’

  Susanna remarked: ‘Maybe by our American MIAs . . .’

  Creasy said: ’It’s a possibility. Jake Bentsen was an ordinance specialist, but not that experienced by the time he got hit in that firefight. But still, he could have learned a lot within the last twenty-six years.’

  ‘Could be,’ Guido said. ‘But then I can’t get something out of my mind. The follower in Saigon told us that the white man he had seen was referred to as “the Dutchman”. What would a Dutchman be doing there right among the Khmer Rouge?’

  ‘It could be a mercenary,’ Creasy said. ‘There hasn’t been much work around for the last ten years, except in Bosnia-Herzegovina and Chechenya. I’ve heard rumours that a few mercenaries are working in this area and also in Burma . . . A Dutchman,’ he mused. And then abruptly lifted his head and said to Guido: ‘A Dutchman, that was what we always called the Afrikaaners. There are very few Netherland mercenaries, but there were plenty of Afrikaaners.’

  The Italian was nodding, and he began to count them off on his fingers. ‘Joey Bock, Renne de Beer, Janik Jarensfeld, Piet de Witt. From what I hear, they’re all still active.’

  Susanna said to Creasy: ‘Why don’t we do what my boss did when we wanted information on you? He contacted Interpol in Paris where they keep very extensive files on all active mercenaries. Something might turn up.’ She turned to the Italian. ‘Guido, please write down all the names you and Creasy can remember of Dutch or South African Afrikaaner mercenaries.’ She gestured at the CIA man. ‘Mr Jennings can then fax Interpol from the Embassy. From our experience in the MIA department, you’ll get a reply within twenty-four hours.’

  Creasy nodded to Guido, who immediately started writing names on a sheet of paper. Creasy was again looking at the photographs and the indication of the minefield.

  ‘It fits the pattern,’ he said. ‘She expects me to attack that temple and she’s laid a minefield in preparation.’ He turned to the CIA man and asked: ‘Do you have any agents in the area?’ ‘Negative.’

  ‘Does the Cambodian army have any agents?’ ‘If they do, they’re not telling us. Anyway, they would be an unreliable source. We have a guy in Battambang, which is a hundred and fifty miles from that temple. He’s a Thai businessman, but frankly, I think he just takes our monthly cheque and sends us reports from the local newspaper. He’s probably also in the pay of the Khmer Rouge.’

  Susanna had turned away from the table and was pouring coffee into four cups. Over her shoulder she said: ‘Mr Jennings, how many agents do you have in the country?’

  The American smiled and answered: ‘Please call me Mark. I’m sorry, Miss Moore, the answer to your question is of course classified.’

  She brought him a cup of coffee and gave him a sweet smile and said: ‘Well, Mark, it will only take me one phone call to Washington to get it unclassified. We may have three MIAs in that area. Your orders are to co-operate with me fully. If I make that phone call, I will preface my conversation by stating that the co-operation from Mr Mark Jennings is seriously lacking in quality.’ She gestured at Creasy and Guido. ‘For the last few days these two men have been risking their lives trying to help my department locate those MIAs. They are risking their lives right now being in Phnom Penh, and I have no doubt that during the next few days, while you’re resting your tight, elegant, little ass in your elegant office at the Embassy, they will be taking even bigger risks.’

  She had moved close enough to the CIA man that they were almost eyeball to eyeball. Very quietly, she asked: ‘How many agents do you have in-country?’

  His answer came immediately. ‘Ten. Four Americans including me, and six Cambodians.’

  Susanna backed away, turned to Creasy and said: ‘I’m sure my department can get authorization to use those agents, including Mark here.’

  Creasy looked at Guido and they simultaneously burst out laughing. Then Creasy said to the CIA man: ‘No offence, Mark, but if you offered me a company of Rangers, I couldn’t use them. The last thing we need is another Mogadishu.’

  Susanna had diplomatically moved back to the coffee table. She brought cups for Creasy and Guido and said to Jennings: ‘They work in different ways, Mark. It’s not a question of firepower. There’s more to this situation than meets the eye and I’m afraid that the reasons for that are classified, even to you.’

  Jennings’ irritation was mirrored on his face. He was looking at Creasy. He said: ‘So I’m just a messenger boy, Mr Creasy. I’ve been in the country for the past eleven months and you’ve been here for the last couple of days. Maybe you don’t have much respect for the American armed forces, but that’s no reason to insult people who are trying to help you.’

  Creasy’s voice was relaxed. He said: ‘I appreciate your help, Mark . . . I hope you don’t mind my familiarity in using your first name . . . I have a lot of respect for the American armed forces. I was a Marine before being dishonourably discharged. It’s a question of overconfidence. With all the technology they’ve got these days, they rely too much on gimmicks. That’s why they fucked up on the raid to try and get the hostages out of Tehran. It’s why they fucked up in Mogadishu trying to capture a warlord. And it’s why they would fuck up if they went gung-ho into that temple. Have you ever been in combat, Mark?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Have you ever killed a man?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘How old are you?’

  ‘Thirty-six yesterday.’

  ‘Happy birthday, Mark! The guy I’m looking for
was twenty-one years old when he was hit on the Vietnam-Cambodian border. He’d been in the army for three years and had been fighting in Vietnam for eleven months right on the front line. He was a good soldier, he was a patriot. He didn’t have to be drafted, he enlisted. It’s just possible that he’s alive and has been a slave of these people for the past twenty-six years. Now I appreciate your help.’ He gestured at the photographs on the table. ‘And of course technology plays its part. I need your help to continue, and I had no intention of putting you down or denigrating the US armed forces. But for this job I need to rely on myself and my own people. I may need to obtain false passports and papers for them. I will certainly need weapons. I plan to move within the next seventy-two hours. Your role will be very important; even vital. I want you to liaise with Susanna here and act as base commander. It may bring you into danger, even though you are an in-house agent and under diplomatic immunity.’ He leaned forward slightly, and his voice hardened. ‘Even a diplomat hasn’t got immunity from a bullet in the head. Are you armed?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘When you get back to the Embassy, you’ll arm yourself and remain in that condition until this mission is over. I assume you’ve been trained in small arms?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘You’ll also assume responsibility for the protection of Susanna.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Is that necessary?’ Susanna asked.

  ‘It is,’ Creasy answered. ‘We know that Connie Crum has her people here in this city. When I make my strike, they may try to get at you.’ He turned back to the table and looked down at the photograph of the temple. Then he glanced up at Guido. ‘I’m going to need a parachute,’ he said.