Message from Hell (A Creasy novel Book 5)

by A. J. Quinnell

  Creasy shook his head, 'It’s better if there’s a shop. Guido and I will be leaving for Bangkok tomorrow. The rest of my team will be there. It’s almost certain Connie Crum’s organization will have Guido and myself followed. They’ll probably have our hotel phones bugged. We need to be seen to charter an aircraft for a certain night and to buy parachutes. What they must not know is that in the meantime, we acquire two Land Rovers or their Japanese equivalent and various armaments. Connie Crum has to confirm we’re coming in from the air.’ He pointed at the map. ‘She and her people will be looking up into the dark sky while we cross the Thai border.’

  ‘What about Susanna’s message?’ asked Guido.

  Creasy shrugged.

  ‘There’ll be no message. That was just Connie Crum stalling.’

  Chapter 59

  ‘We’re going to make a deal,’ Connie said.

  ‘What kind of deal?’ de Witt answered.

  He was sitting on the stone floor with his left wrist shackled to an iron ring set in the wall. She was sitting at the table, dressed in jeans and a cream silk blouse and drinking a glass of chilled white wine. Behind her, two sentinels cut from stone, were her black-clad, female guards with their Tokarev pistols at their hips.

  She took a delicate sip and said: ‘I’m going to give you your life and you’re going to give me some advice.’

  His laugh contained no humour.’ ‘That’s some kind of a deal. I give you the advice and then you kill me anyway.’

  She shook her head. ‘No. I’m even going to release you in a few minutes. You can take a shower and go and see your girlfriend. And then, in a few days, I’ll arrange to have you sent over to Thailand together with your sapphires.’

  He thought about that for a few moments and then realized he had no choice anyway. He asked: ‘What advice do you need?’

  ‘I need advice about the man you hate. The man called Creasy.’

  His head jerked up. ‘Creasy?’

  ‘Yes. He’ll be visiting me here within the next two or three days.’

  She laughed at the sudden look of fear on his face and said: ‘Don’t worry, Dutchman. He doesn’t know you’re here. He’ll arrive by air, probably with his friend, Guido Arrellio.’

  The Dutchman got control of his mind. ‘By air? But there’s no airstrip here.’

  ‘He doesn’t need one. He’ll come at night by parachute and he’ll drop right into the centre of your minefield, right next to the temple. He’ll never leave that place. I’ll be waiting with my men.’

  ‘Why would Creasy come here?’ he asked.

  ‘Because he’s looking for an American called Jake Bentsen who was his friend many years ago. But Bentsen died three years ago. Creasy doesn’t know that. He thinks he might be in that temple.’ She smiled as if at a private joke. ‘Creasy stands by his friends with the same fervour as he kills his enemies . . . You are not his friend, are you, Piet?’

  The Dutchman shook his head. ‘No; and if he finds me, he’ll kill me.’

  She reached out and stroked an elegant hand down his arm. ‘He will not kill you, Piet. He’s my enemy and I’ll kill him.’

  In a puzzled voice, the Dutchman asked: ‘Why is he your enemy?’

  ‘Because he killed my father. I’ve waited seventeen years for this moment. I have planned for it and spent a great deal of money. Every morning as soon as I wake up and every night before I go to sleep, I’ve waited for the moment. I was seventeen years old when I saw him kill my father. It’s in my eyes now: the silenced bullet into his head; and then the flames. I watched it through the window and then I ran away. Creasy walked away as though he had just destroyed a cat or a dog. I made a promise to myself that night: one day, I would kill him like he killed my father. That promise is about to be fulfilled. Everything is ready. He comes in confusion, not knowing what to expect. But I know his mind exactly. He was a para and so was his friend Guido. They like to use parachutes. It’s his favourite way of getting into a difficult situation. And for sure he’ll get in, but he’ll never get out!’

  ‘So what advice do you want from me?’ the Dutchman asked.

  ‘You’re a mercenary,’ she answered. ‘You’ve worked with him in the past. What weapons will he bring?’

  The Dutchman thought for only a moment, then answered: ‘He’ll come armed to the teeth. He’ll have an Uzi machine-gun, it’s his favourite. He’ll have grenades, plenty of them, certainly fragmentation and possibly phosphorous. He’ll have a pistol and a knife. But he’ll have something else which is more dangerous.’

  ‘What is that?’

  The Dutchman’s eyes almost glazed in thought and memory.

  ‘He’ll have a ferocity like you’ve never seen. When he fights, he has no thoughts. Everything is instinct. I’ve never seen anything like it. I once trapped a civet cat in South Africa when I was a boy. It had been killing my father’s chickens on the farm. I set what we call a VIP trap. It’s where you bend a branch of a tree down or a sapling, peg it to the ground with a length of wire and a noose at the end. When the cat steps on a twig, which is like a trigger, the noose tightens around its leg and the branch is released. I caught that civet cat and it was dancing around. I was fourteen years old at the time and I had a shotgun. Pound for pound, the civet cat is the most vicious animal in Africa. I tell you, I’ve never seen anything like it. It was tied by its leg, but it took me six rounds before I could hit it. And then another four before I could finish it off. I never forgot its eyes: bright yellow and so full of hate. And even though it was tied down, I felt the fear to my balls. I never saw anything like that hatred again or felt that fear until one night many years later when I had a fight with Creasy. The problem was that I didn’t have a shotgun and his leg was not tied down. I don’t care how many men you’ve got or how much firepower. But Gott verdam, you’d better be careful!’

  She was smiling. Her whole body was smiling. Her mind was far away, but her eyes were looking at the Dutchman. He felt an involuntary shiver. He was looking at a civet cat. A cat that did not release its prey.

  Chapter 60

  Mark Jennings was like a stray puppy who had found a home: all energy and smiles.

  The extent of his devotion to Susanna was almost embarrassing. He hung on her every word and jumped to her every suggestion. During one of the brief moments when he was absent making a phone call, Creasy remarked to her: ‘It’s like you have him on a mental lead.’

  ‘I’m not sure I like it,’ she answered ruefully.

  ‘Don’t let it bother you,’ Creasy answered, it’s not every woman who has a CIA agent in the palm of her hand. With the resources at his disposal, he could probably arrange to rob the local National Bank and shower you with riches.’

  ‘I don’t need riches. At any moment soon he’s going to make a physical pass at me.’

  Creasy shrugged. ‘It’s no problem, Susanna. Just threaten him with sexual harassment. Every full-blooded American male is terrified of those two words. They are the greatest invention that the women’s liberation movement ever came up with.’ His voice turned mockingly stern. ‘But don’t do that until this mission is over. Jennings is proving very useful and also inventive. His idea of trying to recruit a turned Khmer Rouge soldier from that region as a guide is a very good one. There have been quite a few hundred who have deserted in recent weeks to the Cambodian government. Jennings will select three or four and then you’ll talk to them one by one and pick out the best.’

  They were sitting on the patio of the bungalow. Guido had gone off to the business centre to send a fax to his Pensione in Naples, just to make sure that it had not burned down or been turned into a whorehouse by his assistant Pietro.

  Jennings came back from the phone, pulled out his chair, sat down and said to Susanna: ‘It’s all set up. My liaison guy at Cambodian Army HQ has selected five ex-Khmer soldiers who defected over the last three weeks. They’re all from that region. I’ve arranged for you to interview them in half an hour from now at their In
telligence Headquarters. I’ll take you there myself. It’s better that you don’t mention the job in front of Cambodian Army officers.’ He turned to Creasy. ‘I can arrange transport to Bangkok on a US Army or UN aircraft. Nobody will know you’ve left Phnom Penh or even arrived in Bangkok.’

  Creasy shook his head. ‘Thanks, Mark. But Guido and I will fly on a civilian aircraft. I want Connie Crum to know that we’ve left Phnom Penh and I want her to follow us when we get to Bangkok . . . at least, at the early stages. But it would be good if you could smuggle Susanna and the ex-Khmer Rouge guy into Bangkok unnoticed.’

  ‘And myself!’ the American said firmly.

  ‘Yourself?’

  ‘Of course. From that file we know that Connie Crum has a big organization in Bangkok. If Susanna is going to be in that city, she needs protection while you guys cross into Cambodia.’ He tapped a spot under his left armpit. ‘I’ve got my Colt 1911 right here, and it’s going to stay there until Susanna is safely out of Indo-China.’

  Creasy glanced at Susanna, who was trying hard not to smile. ‘OK, it’s agreed,’ Creasy said. ‘We’ll all feel better knowing that you’re around. You can also handle the collection of the weapons we need and the two four-wheel-drive vehicles.’

  ‘That’s in the pipeline,’ Jennings answered. ‘They’ll be ready by noon tomorrow.’ He looked at his watch and said to Susanna: ‘We have to leave now. Those guys will be waiting.’

  They all stood up and Creasy said to Susanna: ‘Try to find one who’s got a really serious grudge against the Khmer Rouge. Something that will give him more motivation than mere money.’

  ‘I’ll do my best,’ she said. ‘And incidentally, how much money do I offer him?’

  ‘Five hundred dollars.’ ‘That’s all?’

  ‘Yes, that’s all. If you offer him more, he’ll think it’s a suicide mission.’ He turned towards the door, saying: ‘And for him it will be. If he gets out . . . if we all get out, he’ll get a bonus.’

  Chapter 61

  He was tall for a Cambodian, with clean-cut features and intelligent eyes. Susanna felt an empathy with the man. She had not felt it with the previous four. They had been mere pawns in the ever-shifting Cambodian scene. This man was of a higher calibre. He was in his mid-forties and he had a stillness about him, a watchfulness. As he sat down, he greeted her formally and after listening to her opening sentences, complimented her on her Khmer language. She looked down at the file in front of him. His name was Nol Pol, and he had turned himself over to the Cambodian army only a week before. Mark Jennings sat to her left, slightly behind her. He had been studying the local language, but only for a short time. He could take no part in the discussions.

  ‘Why did you defect?’ she asked the Cambodian.

  ‘It was a family matter.’

  ‘In what way?’

  Nol Pol sighed and asked: ‘Do you know the history of Cambodia over the last twenty or thirty years?’

  ‘I’m not an expert,’ she answered, ‘but I’m familiar with it.’

  ‘Then you know that when the Khmer Rouge was formed, its ideals were of the purest communism. I joined them out of idealism against the wishes of my family, especially my elder brother. Many families were split at that time. For many years I managed to keep my idealism, even through the killings. The ideals started to fade after the Khmer Rouge turned against the results of the election and continued to fight. The ideals died completely when I recognized my elder brother as a prisoner of the Khmer Rouge. I had no chance to speak to him. It was too late. I could only watch as a woman ordered our soldiers to force the prisoners, my brother included, into a minefield to clear it with their own lives.’

  Susanna felt goose-bumps on her skin. She glanced at Jennings, whose face showed total lack of comprehension. The Cambodian continued talking, his voice very tight as he struggled to control it.

  ‘There must have been a hundred prisoners. I did not realize what was happening until the explosions started and their bodies were thrown into the air . . . I saw my brother die.’

  ‘You did not try to help?’ Susanna asked.

  He shook his head. ‘I could do nothing. If they had known I had a brother in the Cambodian army, they would have sent me also into that minefield.’

  ‘Who was the woman that gave the order?’

  ‘She’s the local commander.’

  ‘What’s her name?’

  ‘Her name is So Hoan in our language. Her nickname is Talian, which means a very dangerous snake. Foreigners call it a cobra . . . But she has another name. She’s only half Khmer, the other half is Western.’

  ‘What is the other name?’

  ‘Connie Crum.’

  With those two words she felt Jennings beside her come alert. She raised her hand to keep him silent and said to the Cambodian: ‘So she ordered your brother’s death?’

  ‘Yes; and many others. For her, making death is as easy as chopping leaves from a tree. I have seen much evil these past years, but none more than Talian.’

  Susanna looked again at the file and then said: ‘You’re from the town of Pursat?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you know the Cardamom region well?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Do you know a town called Tuk Luy?’

  ‘Of course. I was stationed there for three years.’

  Susanna drew a deep breath and asked the all-important question. ‘If you had a chance to see So Hoan killed or captured, would you take it?’

  The Cambodian leaned forward and answered immediately: ‘I would give my life to see it!’

  Susanna turned to Jennings and said: ‘I think this man’s C.V. fits the job profile.’

  Chapter 62

  ‘I’m going in with you,’ Susanna said.

  Creasy sighed, knowing that he was in for another argument. He said: ‘That’s out of the question.’

  ‘Because I’m a woman . . . and pregnant?’

  They were lying in bed in Creasy’s room. They had just been making love. It was only the third time, but it seemed to be reaching an ever-increasing level of intensity. Susanna pushed herself up and propped the pillows behind her. He looked up at her and said: ‘Maybe that’s ten per cent of the reason. But ninety per cent is that you’re not trained for it. You would be a liability. I’m going to have the same argument with Jens in Bangkok tomorrow and he’s going to get the same reason. You have to understand that I fought with all the others many times. The very fact that we’ve survived means that we know what we’re doing. We have an almost telepathic understanding. I hardly have to give an order. They know how I work. If you came along, one of them would have to look after you, and I can’t spare any of them, it’s that simple. So forget it.’

  ‘Maybe Mark could come along and look after me.’

  Creasy chuckled. It seemed to come deep from his belly. It was a sound so rare that she treasured it. He said: ‘Then I’ll have to detail someone to look after Mark . . . I don’t have an army, just four very experienced firefighters.’ He also pushed himself up and put an arm around her. ‘You’ve been a major part of this whole thing. We wouldn’t be here now without your knowledge of the language, without your connections. You’ll continue to help in Bangkok. But Susanna, after we cross that border it’s a question of believing in the motto: “They also serve who stand and wait”.

  The waiting will be hard. It’ll be hard for you and it’ll be hard for Jens. It’s always like that. But it won’t take long. We have to get in there and do the job and get out by dawn. You and Jens and your bodyguard Mark will be waiting at the border. I repeat that you’ve been a major part in the whole operation, especially in finding that guy Nol Pol. It could make all the difference. By the way, did he accept the offer of the money?’

  ‘Yes. His parents and his elder sister are still alive, living in Battambang. The money will keep them for at least a year. Times are tough in this country.’

  Creasy nodded: ‘And they’re going to stay tough
for a long time. If he comes out alive, I’ll make sure they’re comfortable for a long time.’

  ‘What about the language? How will you communicate with them?’

  ‘It’s not a problem. You said he speaks a little French.’

  ‘Yes, but not perfectly.’

  ‘It’ll be enough,’ Creasy said. ‘Guido and I speak French from the Foreign Legion. René speaks it as his first language.’ He pulled her close and brushed her lips with his. ‘We didn’t do anything back there, did we?’

  ‘Back when?’

  ‘Back about half an hour ago.’

  ‘Nothing that I can remember.’

  ‘Me neither.’ He pulled her back down onto the bed.

  Chapter 63

  It was a city that Creasy had never liked.

  ‘It’s a whore’s place,’ he said to Guido. ‘Every fat, ugly German or Englishman or Frenchman who hasn’t got the charm or the time to find a girlfriend in his own country flies in here and pays for women who always look like teenagers. They suddenly become Cary Grant about an hour after they step out of the jumbo jet.’

  ‘It’s always been like that,’ Guido answered.

  ‘No it hasn’t. Two events created this whorehouse. The Vietnam War and the tens of thousands of GIs who came in here on their five days of R-and-R with their pockets full of money, and then the boom in tourism and the advent of charter flights. If a German or an Englishman wants to go to a high class whorehouse in Hamburg or London, the cost of the night with a couple of girls is more than the cost of a two-week package holiday in Thailand. Half of Europe’s paedophiles save their weekly wages to spend their holidays here.’

  The Italian glanced at his friend. ‘Are you suddenly getting moralistic?’

  Creasy grunted. ‘I’ve always been moralistic. I don’t blame the men. Too often it’s the only chance they have to get into bed with a woman. I don’t blame the women either. They’re just the victims. I blame the fat cats and the government. Most of the massage parlours and whorehouses are owned by army generals and their compliant politicians. It’s been estimated that more than a third of their foreign exchange comes from sex tourism.’