The taxi was jammed up behind a row of cars and trucks which moved at a snail’s pace. Creasy gestured out of the window. ‘It wouldn’t be so bad if they used some of the billions of dollars they earn from that trade to build a metro or supply decent drinking water to the millions who live here.’
The Italian shrugged noncommitally. He said: ‘You’ve seen Naples. We have slums there as bad as they’ve got here. The only difference is that it’s not army generals making the money, it’s the Mafia.’
‘It’s about the same thing,’ Creasy answered, and then shrugged off his mood. ‘It was fortunate that Susanna questioned those defected Khmer Rouge. This guy Nol Pol is a real find. If we’d hired some other guy, he could have led us right into a trap for a little more money than we are paying. This guy is motivated and Susanna was clever enough to pick it up.’
Guido did not answer immediately. He was looking out at the crowded streets. Then he turned and asked seriously: ‘Are you falling in love with her a little bit?’
Creasy thought about that while they edged forward another few metres. Then he said: ‘Just a little bit. She is kind of special.’
‘Is she good in bed?’
‘That’s a strange thing,’ Creasy answered. And then he uttered the phrase that he and his type always answered if asked if they ever killed anybody: ‘I can’t remember.’
The Italian laughed softly. ‘Then she must be. I agree with you, she’s a fine woman. And I think she’s good for you.’
Again there was a silence. Then Creasy said: ‘Maybe. I’m not sure about these things any more. Everyone I get close to ends up getting dead. Maybe Susanna is better off with a guy like Jennings, or that professor back in Washington.’
Guido chuckled. ‘I don’t know about Jennings. After all, he’s CIA. Not exactly a safe profession.’
Creasy snorted in disagreement. ‘For CIA in-house agents, life is safer than being a bank manager. It’s only the poor non-American agents out in the field who get chopped down because some guy back at Langley takes half a million bucks to buy a new house. Jennings is crazy about her.’
‘That’s his problem,’ the Italian said. ‘He shows it too much. Women like the strong silent types.’
The taxi had finally reached the splendid entrance to the Ducit Thani Hotel. Creasy punched Guido on the shoulder and said: ‘Spoken like an Italian.’
Chapter 64
They had become friends.
Creasy realised it as she was getting dressed. Her body was beautiful, and also her face, and he realized that even after the recent love-making he looked on her as a friend more than a lover. He loved her mind more than her body.
‘Do you feel all right?’ he asked.
She finished buttoning the silk blouse she had bought that afternoon and looked at him curiously. ‘It’s not like you,’ she said, ‘although you are born American, you don’t act like an American.’
‘What do you mean?’
She shrugged. ‘A lot of American men need assurances after they’ve made love. They ask silly questions like “how was it for you, honey?” It’s the last thing a woman wants to hear.’
‘I didn’t mean it like that. We didn’t do anything in the last hour except somehow communicate. And the communication was good.’
She smiled. ‘Of course we did nothing . . . And yes, it was good. And what did you mean?’
Creasy swung his feet to the floor, picked up the sarong he habitually wore in bed and tied it around his waist. He said, ‘We haven’t had a chance to talk since Phnom Penh. The minute you walked into my room we somehow got involved in things other than conversation. I asked how you felt because of your condition.’
She laughed softly. ‘It’s such a quaint old-fashioned expression, “my condition” . . . You mean how am I handling my early pregnancy?’
Creasy had moved to the minibar in the corner of the room and taken out a bottle of mineral water. As he poured the water into two glasses he said: ‘I may be old-fashioned and proud of it, but I’m not quaint. How are you feeling?’
The tone of his voice was serious and she answered in the same way.
‘Physically, I’m feeling fine except for a little nausea early in the mornings, which I’m told will get worse before it gets better. Mentally, I’m a little schizophrenic.’
Creasy carried over her glass and asked: ‘What do you mean?’
She took a gulp of the water and answered: ‘I feel the reflection of a great deal of affection, both from you in a physical way, and of course from Jennings. It’s a little strange. In all my life I never had a young man like that literally at my feet; but I also feel the affection from Jens and The Owl and from Guido. I even felt it from Maxie and René during the short time that I was with them in Saigon.’
‘It’s part of being a team,’ Creasy said. ‘We are all very much individuals, and it’s only when we’re on a mission like this that the affection becomes apparent. It’s a matter of sharing the danger which is always present, even now. You are part of that team, and Jennings has become part of it.’ He tapped her on the chin and spoke as though he were a lecturer. ‘It’s called camaraderie. Each member of the team becomes part of you. I first felt it in the Legion, and I guess in a way it’s why I’m here. You see, Jake Bentsen was once a comrade.’
Susanna was intrigued. Step by step, she was learning about Creasy’s thoughts and motivations. It was like peeling off the layers of an onion.
‘What about the others?’ she asked. ‘Guido and Maxie and René, for example . . . What are their motivations?’
Creasy had gone to the wardrobe. As he laid his slacks and underwear and shirt onto the bed he said thoughtfully: ‘They are all mental orphans, and above all they seek the camaraderie I mentioned. Maxie is happily married and has his own bistro, which is successful. But after a few months of serving his customers he pines for the camaraderie of action. When he got married he promised his wife that he was retired from the mercenary world. But she is a very wise woman and she knows what he needs. She released him from that promise, which is why he’s here now. René has no wife, just a series of short-term girlfriends. He’s a lonely man except at times like this. Guido is simply Guido; my best friend. My life is his life and vice versa. If I have a problem or get into a dangerous situation, he has the same problem and the same situation and that’s the way it is.’
He started to get dressed and she looked at the scars that she had so recently stroked. ‘What will you go home to?’ she asked.
He notched the buckle of his belt and answered quietly: ‘A beautiful old farmhouse on a hill on the beautiful island of Gozo. It looks out over the Mediterranean to the islands of Comino and Malta. It’s an idyllic life. I buy my food from a small shop in the nearby village. I drink at an old bar called Gleneagles, which looks out over the small harbour. The locals are my friends. I go to the village fiesta and drink too much beer and wine. I sit in the sun and play cards. I go fishing with the fishermen, and afterwards we barbecue the fish on the beach and dance to a mobile disco under the moon. I have an adopted daughter called Juliet who’s studying medicine in America. She visits me on her holidays; and I’m proud of her. Like I said, it’s an idyllic life.’
‘And sometimes you get bored in Paradise?’
‘Yes.’
‘Just like the others?’
‘Yes. Sometimes I need the camaraderie which only comes from risk and danger. It’s our drug. Others drink liquor or shoot up with heroin or sniff coke. We go for the danger.’
He had finished dressing. He turned and gave her one of his rare smiles. ‘And one day, like all drugs, it will kill us. But not tomorrow.’
‘How do you know?’
‘It’s like a motto. You never die tomorrow.’
He walked over, kissed her softly on the lips and said, ‘Enough of that. What about this schizophrenia you speak of?’
She held him close for a moment and then answered, ‘In spite of all the affection I feel, I’m als
o a little frightened. It’s not the danger I may or may not be in; it’s the fact that a baby is growing inside me. I don’t feel it yet, but it’s very much in my mind. Of course it’s impossible for a man to understand, and it’s impossible for a woman to explain. But in spite of your so-called camaraderie I feel a little lonely.’
She gently pushed him away and said, ‘And that’s enough of that. I came from our Embassy here. Jennings has arranged everything you need. He’s acquired two Mitsubishi Shoguns here locally for transport. I talked to my boss in Washington. Our agency will cover all the costs, including your hotel bills and other local expenses. The arms and other equipment will mostly be flown in tonight from a US base in Japan.’
Abruptly, Creasy was all business. ‘Did he manage to get the Uzis?’
‘No.’ She took a slip of paper from her pocket. ‘They are supplying five Colt XM177E2 submachine-guns. Apparently they can also launch grenades.’
Creasy nodded in satisfaction. ‘It’s a good weapon. Did Jennings get the light-enhancing glasses?’
‘Yes, he got everything on your list apart from substituting the Colts for the Uzis . . . What about the other arrangements?’
‘They’re in hand,’ Creasy answered. ‘Guido has chartered a Cessna for tomorrow night from the Pattonong Flying Club. Together with a pilot. Right now he’s buying two parachutes from a sports shop. He will also have a tailor run up a Khmer Rouge type uniform for our guide. If we get stopped early on inside Cambodia, he’ll explain that we’re mercenaries hired by Connie Crum on a short-term contract to clear mines, just like Piet de Witt. At midnight tomorrow we’ll be leaving the village of Trat which is just a few miles from the Cambodian border. For the next hour or two Connie Crum will be getting a stiff neck looking up into the night sky. I’ll arrange for the plane to fly within a mile of that temple to synchronize with our arrival.’
Chapter 65
The satellite phone buzzed just after six p.m. Connie Crum picked up the receiver and had a two-minute conversation, then she turned triumphantly to Van Wan Luk and said: ‘It’s like a perfect game of chess. All the pieces have been moved, my opponent is now going to make his last move into checkmate.’
‘He’s in Bangkok?’
‘Yes, he’s at the Dusit Thani Hotel. He has been there all day, but his friend Arrelio has been moving around. He has chartered a light aircraft from tomorrow at midnight and also purchased two parachutes of a modern design.’ She looked up at the sky. ‘The weather forecast is good. It will be a clear night with half a moon. We’ll be waiting for them.’
They were standing beside the temple, which was circled by an eight-foot stone wall. The temple itself was richly decorated with ancient stone carvings. They were not all original to the temple. Some of them had been brought from the famous temple of Angkor Wat. She walked into the temple itself and Van followed.
Inside it was starkly bare except for a blank, marble sarcophagus rising five feet from the stone floor and measuring eight feet square. On top of it was a pyre of wood. It was the first time that Van Luk Wan had ever been to the temple. He stood at the entrance looking at the black square of marble. Behind it, standing like sentinels, were Connie Crum’s two black-clad, female bodyguards, cradling AK47 rifles in their arms.
Connie Crum stood beside it and said reverently: ‘My father’s ashes are contained here. I had them brought from Hong Kong last year. It’s his last resting place.’
The Vietnamese did not know what to say or do. He owed his life to Bill Crum. After standing immobile for several seconds, he slowly bowed low towards the marble sarcophagus. Then he lifted his head and looked at the woman. Her face was serene. She gestured at the pyre of wood, which covered the entire surface to a depth of two feet.
‘Creasy will die there,’ she said. ‘Like my father, he’ll burn to death and become ashes. He’ll burn while he is alive. It will be slow; and he’ll know why he is burning. Afterwards I’ll have the Dutchman lay mines on the only track into the temple. Then I’ll kill the Dutchman. My father’s soul will rest in peace and tranquillity.’
Van was looking at the wood on top of the marble. He could picture Creasy lying there tied down. In his mind he could see Connie bringing a torch to the wood and Creasy’s body jerking on top of the flames. He felt the adrenalin pumping through his veins.
He asked: ‘How many soldiers will you have here?’
Connie gestured at her two bodyguards. ‘Just these two, as always, and then you and me.’
His head jerked around to look at her and his voice crackled with astonishment. ‘Just four of us? You know what those two men are like . . . You need a small army in here.’
She laughed at him and at the fear that had crept into his eyes. ‘We’ll have one other “soldier”,’ she said. ‘A very effective soldier. One that even Creasy and his friend Arrellio will not know about and cannot fight. Come with me.’
She led him back out into the compound. First she went to the massive iron gate and pointed. ‘Notice that the gate is built in such a way that when closed, it’s completely sealed.’ She pointed to the walls on each side of the gate. ‘Notice that the walls have been very carefully made and plastered.’
She walked back to the temple, with Van following like a little dog. She pointed to several metal holes that were recessed into the stone carvings. He had not noticed them before. She walked back to the entrance to the temple. Beside it was a metal box. She took a key from her pocket and opened it. Inside were two handles, one red and the other green. She tapped the red handle.
‘When I turn that, it will release through a series of pipes a nerve gas called Amiton from cylinders beneath the temple. That gas was first developed in America in 1952, and is lethal unless an antidote is given within minutes. It’s also heavier than air so it will silt from the ground up to the level of the walls. When Creasy and his friend drop in, they’ll lose consciousness within seconds.’ She walked into the temple and pointed at a table to one side. On it there were several small cylinders attached by rubber pipes to rubber masks shaped to fit over a nose and mouth. ‘That’s the antidote. When Creasy and his friend drop into this compound, they’ll be unconscious within seconds. We disarm them and tie them up and then give them the antidote. They’ll come round in about half an hour. Then I’ll tell Creasy his life history and why he’s going to burn.’ She was smiling as she spoke.
‘What about us?’ Van asked in trepidation.
She tapped him lightly on the shoulder. ‘Don’t worry. The four of us will be wearing protective clothing and gas masks.’ She pointed to a pile of thick, bright yellow plastic overalls. ‘We’ll not be at risk.’ She drew a deep breath of satisfaction. ‘The Dutchman described Creasy and his friend Arrellio as maybe the two most dangerous men on earth . . . but they never had a fight with a “soldier” called Amiton!’
Chapter 66
Mark Jennings watched the two men at work. They were experts in an expert field, and they used the most sophisticated electronic equipment. They took fifteen minutes moving around the small conference room, checking the walls and the ceiling and then the floor and the furniture, always closely monitoring the flashing lights on their gauges. Finally one of them dismantled the phone and, after checking every component, reassembled it and turned to Jennings saying: ‘The place is clean, sir. Not a bug in sight or sound.’
Jennings nodded in satisfaction. ‘Good. Would you please call the others and arrange to get some coffee in here. After that I want you to stay outside by the door and make sure that nobody comes in. Tomorrow night I have another job for you which will end about two a.m. Nothing dangerous, just flying around for a couple of hours in a light aircraft. After that you can head Stateside.’
The two men packed away their equipment and left silently on their rubber-soled shoes. Jennings took his oversize briefcase from the table, opened it and took out various papers, photographs and maps. He was enjoying himself. It was his first important mission since arriving in South Ea
st Asia. He had half expected this small conference room at the Dusit Thani Hotel to have been bugged. Not because of the impending meeting, but because of some past business meeting. In the modern age, most of the spying was done for businessmen. Even the CIA was not aloof from that. They had even bugged the office of the chairman of Airbus in Toulouse on behalf of the Boeing Corporation.
Creasy and Guido were the first to arrive. They greeted Jennings warmly, but the American knew that the moment Creasy walked into the room he was in control. Not by anything he said or by his actions, just by his presence.
Susanna came next, together with the ex-Khmer soldier Nol Pol, who was dressed in a new suit with a white shirt and a brown tie. She introduced him to Creasy and Guido and then listened while Creasy spoke a few words to him in French. Five minutes before, she had given the Cambodian his $500 fee. She was surprised when he now reached into the pocket of his suit and handed it back to her. In Cambodian, she asked him why.
He replied: ‘This man tells me that tomorrow night I might be killed. If I am, he promises that you’ll make sure that this money will get to my family in Battambang. I believe him, and I believe you.’
As she took the money, Creasy said: ‘His French is better than I hoped.’
Jens and The Owl came next, together with one of the security men carrying a tray with coffee and cups. He was followed by Maxie and René. Before exchanging any kind of greeting, Creasy asked them: ‘Are you sure you weren’t followed?’
‘Negative,’ Maxie answered. ‘We have not been watched since we arrived at the airport.’
Message from Hell (A Creasy novel Book 5) Page 22