She spoke a few words into the phone, then hung up and looked at her watch. ‘My people confirmed that there were two passengers, both Caucasians and carrying big canvas bags. I estimate that they’ll be overhead in half an hour.’ She stood up and carried a can of petrol from the table to the marble sarcophagus. She placed it reverently on a corner, saying: ‘In twenty minutes we turn on the gas. And then I soak the wood and we burn Creasy black!’
Chapter 74
The Owl returned ten minutes later, accompanied by René. Together they carried a large wooden box and in his left hand The Owl had a leather pouch. They hefted the box onto the table and René went back out. The Owl tossed the leather pouch to Creasy, saying: ‘There was an old French-made safe, a MITEL. I did my apprenticeship on those things. That was inside.’
Creasy untied the drawstring of the pouch. Inside were hundreds of sapphires. He passed the pouch to Guido, saying: ‘We got lucky, at least on the financial side.’
Guido held the pouch, but did not look inside. His eyes were focused on the wooden box and the lettering on its side, which was in French.
‘Where did you find that?’ he asked The Owl.
‘In a storeroom at the back of the house.’
They all approached the table. The black lettering stated: Costumes et masques protecteurs contenant calciumhypochloride contre gas neurotique de type V. 8 unités.
Creasy, Guido and The Owl immediately understood the implication, but de Witt had no French. Creasy translated for him. ‘Protective clothing and gas masks containing calciumhypochloride against V-type nerve gas. Eight units. Where the hell would that bitch get nerve gas?’ he asked.
Guido hefted the leather pouch in his hand. He said: ‘This alone would buy half a chemical factory.’
The Owl had prised open the top of the wooden box. He said: ‘There are four suits and masks here. It originally contained eight.’ He started to lift out the bright yellow overalls and the masks.
De Witt said: ‘No wonder she was confident. She knows all about you and Arrellio. She knows about your character and your history. I never met anyone in my life more cunning and more frightening than that woman.’
‘If we had dropped into that compound, we would have been dead in seconds,’ Guido mused.
Creasy looked at his watch.
‘She’ll be sitting up there now, together with Van Luk Wan, dressed in this gear and waiting for us to drop out of the sky. She’s going to get a nasty surprise. We move in five minutes. De Witt will take us through the minefield. We need something to lay a trail for when we get out.’
Guido walked across the small room into the kitchen and came back holding up a large bag of sugar. Creasy nodded in approval. ‘You bring up the rear,’ he said. ‘I’ll have the RPG-7 and blow away the gate. Meanwhile, Maxie and René had better keep guard to the south. If there’s any shooting, that Khmer Rouge contingent will come around.’ He turned to The Owl. ‘Bring up one of the jeeps. And when I call you on the radio, drive it to the edge of the minefield. De Witt will show you the place on the map.’ He turned to the Dutchman and said: ‘You had better think it through. Your only chance to get out of Cambodia is with us. You’re certainly going to lead us through that minefield, because you’ll have my gun at the back of your head. But for the sake of enlightened self-interest, that should not be necessary. You had better make your mind up which way to do it.’
De Witt was looking at the leather pouch. He said: ‘Do I get my cut?’
Creasy looked at Guido, who gave him a wry smile and said: ‘It was always that way with de Witt. Let him take his cut and he goes through the gate with us. At least the bastard knows how to use a weapon.’
Creasy nodded in agreement and gestured at the two AK47s propped against the table. He said to de Witt: ‘Pick one out, strip it down and check it. Then we leave for your minefield.’
Chapter 75
They put on their protective clothing at the edge of the minefield, and then pulled the gasmasks over their heads. Creasy’s voice was muffled, but audible as he gave the instructions.
‘Naturally you lead, de Witt. I follow you with the RPG-7. Guido brings up the rear, laying a trail with the sugar and carrying a spare rocket in case I miss with the first one and in case the temple itself is secured by a door. How far from the gate does the track straighten out?’
‘Exactly fifteen metres,’ de Witt replied.
‘OK, I’ll launch the rocket from there. Let’s go!’
The Dutchman carefully took his bearings and then moved forward as though walking over ice.
Twice they stopped while he took more bearings, using trees and shrubs. There was a half light from a half moon, but still he used the Trilux night sight. He moved slowly, but comfortably. It was his minefield and he knew his way through it. Creasy followed two metres behind, putting his feet in exactly the same places as de Witt had trodden. Guido followed the same distance behind, also putting his feet in the same places and spilling the white sugar.
Inside the compound Connie Crum, her two bodyguards and Van Luk Wan were dressed in the same protective clothing and masks. She had turned on the gas several minutes before. When it was over she would turn a green handle and release the calciumhypochloride to make the compound safe. They were standing in a line with their backs to the compound wall and their guns held ready, looking up into the sky. Very faintly, Connie Crum heard the drone of an aircraft.
Her two bodyguards moved out and positioned themselves on either side of the temple with their AK47s raised in expectation.
De Witt made one final turn and then stopped. He turned around and pointed to the compound wall looming above them, with a thick metal door in its centre. He pointed to the trunk of a tree at his left and the bush on his right, indicating where the minefield enclosed them. Then he took one step sideways. Creasy moved past him and laid his submachine-gun on the ground. The tube of the RPG-7 was strapped to his back with the cone-shaped missile in place. Guido moved up, unstrapped the rocket-launcher and passed it around Creasy’s body, then crouched down beside him on his right. The Dutchman also crouched down, to his left. The path was strewn with small stones and angled sharply upwards. Carefully, Creasy lifted the tube on to his shoulder and sighted on the metal door.
Beyond it, Connie Crum was puzzled. The drone of the aircraft was receding. It had not flown over the compound.
Van Luk Wan said: ‘They could have dropped a mile away. Those modern parachutes are more like wings. The wind is in the right direction.’ His voice was nervous as he strained his eyes looking up into the sky.
Creasy pulled the trigger. Flame gouted from the back of the tube and, a second later, the missile detached. At first it seemed to move in slow motion, but then it gathered speed and smashed into the door with a hissing explosion. Guido was already up and running, with de Witt close behind.
Creasy was going backwards. The recoil had moved him back a couple of feet, as he had expected, but then his feet had caught a bunch of loose stones and the weight of the launcher had tipped him backwards with gathering momentum. He managed to slam it down on to the path, but in the cumbersome protective clothing, he could not stop himself from rolling. When he finally came to rest, he looked up. The tree trunk that de Witt had pointed out was to his right. It was about seven metres away. He was lying in the minefield.
Guido heard Creasy crash down behind him. He did not look back; his instinct was in control. The gate was blown wide open, the Dutchman was next to him. Guido shouted to him, ‘Go left!’
Part of his brain was listening for an explosion behind him - the explosion that Would tell him Creasy was gone for ever. The rest of it focused on the expanding view of the compound: the temple at its centre; the two bulky, yellow-clad figures one at each corner. He ducked through the entrance, moving to his right, crouching with the wall at his back. There was no explosion.
Guido’s thought processes were in neutral: his body, and all its nerve endings, knew exactly what to d
o. His SMG was aimed slightly to the left of the yellow-clad figure his side of the temple. As he squeezed the trigger, and clamped down on the recoil, he traversed the muzzle to the right, sending an arc of bullets across the target. He saw the muzzle flashes of return fire and crouched lower as bullets smashed into the wall above his head and the target was punched backwards, emitting a high-pitched scream.
Guido turned to his left. De Witt was lying crumpled against the wall, his posture proclaiming death. Across the compound, to the left of the temple, another yellow-clad figure sprawled on the ground.
At least he got one of them, he thought, his eyes sweeping the compound, looking for the other hostiles he knew were there. Instinct and logic meshed: the two dead would be guards. Connie Crum and Van Luk Wan would be the second phase.
His thoughts strayed to Creasy. Still no explosion, so he was alive. But if he had come to rest on the pathway he would have arrived by now: he must have slipped into the minefield and somehow avoided contact. He would not come rushing out, Lady Luck would not be so generous. Creasy would probe his way out as cautiously as a boy opens a girl’s buttons on his first date. Guido would have to give him time, so he could not rush the temple. He eased himself to his right, giving himself a better angle of fire to the temple entrance.
Connie Crum and Van were behind the temple. She was struggling for composure while emitting a stream of curses.
The moment the gates blasted open was the lowest point in her life since the day she had looked at her father’s charred body. In an instant she realized that Creasy had tricked her. They had been gazing up at the sky, searching for parachutes - and then the white flash of light, the rolling explosion, and the gates buckling off their hinges to frame two yellow figures.
The entire scenario flashed through her mind in seconds. The aircraft was a decoy; Creasy had come overland. He had forced or persuaded de Witt to guide him through the minefield; they had found the spare anti-gas suits. She felt a rare start of fear, quickly overlaid with hatred. She would not be stopped now.
Connie peeked around the corner of the temple wall and saw the dead figure of one of her guards. She presumed the other was also dead. There was a prone figure by the gate, and she caught a glimpse of someone else by the wall. She pulled back and assessed the situation.
Something bothered her. She knew Creasy’s methods: he would not hesitate. Maybe the dead one was the Italian, and Creasy was biding his time, waiting for her to make her move. He would not have to wait long.
She turned to Van and whispered, ‘I think it’s Creasy against the left-hand wall. Make your way to the other side of the temple, and then move forward firing when I shout “Go!” I’ll attack from this side.’
The Vietnamese stood as solid as if petrified. She pushed him, hissing: ‘We kill him or he kills us.’ Slowly, Van moved to her right, clutching his SMG like a child clutching its mother’s breast.
Creasy knew the density of the minefield, and knew what luck it was that his tumbling roll had not set off a mine. He also knew that luck and his own skill would have to get him back onto the path; there was nobody to help him. And one false move would send his torn body straight to hell.
He lay still, listening to the bursts of fire above him. Heard the one shrill, female scream, then silence. Then, very slowly, he pulled out the knife which was strapped to his right leg and began to probe gently at the soft earth in front of him.
As he worked, he mentally kicked himself very hard. He should have adjusted to the slope and the surface before he fired. His mistake could cost Guido his life.
Then he kicked away the remorse. There was not time for it. If Guido was alive, the only way he would stay alive was for Creasy to get himself out of this fucking minefield.
He drew in a deep breath, and began probing again.
Guido calculated that, at most, Creasy could only have slid four to five metres into the minefield. But it would still take him many minutes to get out. He glanced at the dead Dutchman, and then at the temple entrance. He decided that Connie Crum was too smart to let herself be trapped in the building, so he concentrated on the rear corners.
The concentration paid off. He saw the yellow figure erupt from the left, and was already squeezing the trigger of his SMG before the target could line up his weapon. The target spun to the ground, and Guido gave it another half burst to make sure.
Guido could change a magazine in less than three seconds. It was during those three seconds that another figure dashed out, this time from the right. He saw the white muzzle flashes, and felt the splinters from the wall beside him. His magazine clicked in - and it was too late. The enemy was traversing. The bullet smashed into his right shoulder, spinning him around. His SMG clattered to the ground.
Creasy paused at the renewed burst of fire. He recognized Guido’s characteristic half-second bursts; then silence.
He looked at the tree de Witt had pointed out as delineating the path. It was still about three metres away. One part of his brain wanted him to make a dash for it. The other, more disciplined, part steadied him down. He probed again, felt the hard object and inched around it.
Guido lay on his side, watching the figure approach him cautiously. From the feline movements, he knew it was Connie Crum. He was helpless. The palm of his left hand was pressed to the hole in his suit, to staunch the blood and in case the gas could penetrate the skin. His pistol was at his right side, under his body.
The woman took in the situation. Distorted by both their masks, he heard the cruel laugh. She edged away to his right, always keeping her AK47 lined up on his chest. At the compound gate she glanced down the empty path, and laughed again; then she moved back towards Guido and stood over him.
The AK47 was now pointed at his head. Guido knew he had to buy time. He sent a mental message down the path: ‘Don’t be too long, old buddy.’
He heard the woman’s voice through the mask and felt the hatred in it.
‘Are you Creasy?’
Of course - in the protective suit, he was unrecognizable. Guido looked down the barrel of the gun and heard his own voice imitating Creasy’s slight American accent, ‘Yes, I’m Creasy.’
Sheer triumph emanated from the yellow-clad figure. She said: ‘I’m Connie . . . Bill Crum’s daughter. I’ve waited a long time. I saw you kill my father in the temple in Hong Kong.’ She gestured. ‘His ashes are in a tomb in that temple. You’re going to burn on top of that tomb!’
Creasy’s knifepoint encountered something hard. He gently pulled it back and probed to his right into the soft soil, then inched forward behind it. Seconds were passing like hours, but he had also heard the faint, deep voice of Guido. He knew the woman would not kill him immediately. That was not in her character. The death would be slow.
He still could not see the path with the white trail of sugar, but he could faintly hear the woman’s voice from above and could hear the gloating triumph in it. That part of his brain which controlled his emotions urged him again to leap for the path, but the part that controlled his instincts was stronger. He would be no use to Guido if he blew himself up. He kept his elbows and knees and feet very close together, and his body moved and rippled along the ground like a snake.
It took him another ten minutes to reach the sugar. Then he stood up, put the knife back into its sheath, and crept up the hill to the submachine-gun.
‘Get up!’ Connie Crum said. ‘Or I’ll shoot you where you are!’ She had backed off about two metres, with the barrel of the AK47 never wavering.
Guido put his left hand on the ground and pushed himself to his feet with a grunt of pain, immediately putting his gloved left hand over the hole in his protective clothing. She laughed.
‘You’re going to die anyway, Creasy! I’m going to watch you burn, just as my father burned.’
Guido did not move. He had to play for time still.
‘I fooled you,’ he said. ‘You thought you outguessed me, but I’m smarter than you. You’ve studied my history and
you thought you could read my mind. You were standing there like an idiot looking up at the sky, waiting for a parachute that never came. You’re not as clever as you think.’
He saw the barrel of her AK47 drop, and saw the flame shoot from the muzzle. The bullets tore up the ground within inches of his right foot. But then, as she expertly changed the magazine in a blur of speed, her voice carried more venom than the bullets.
‘The next time you open your mouth, Creasy, I put a single bullet into your stomach. You will die slowly.’ She moved half a yard closer. ‘Now move.’
Very slowly, Guido shuffled forward, towards the entrance of the temple. Connie Crum waited until he was alongside the inert body of de Witt, then she flicked her SMG on to single fire and fired a bullet into the back of the Dutchman’s head. She laughed and said: ‘That’s just to make sure your friend Guido is stone dead. I assume de Witt told you the way. I should have killed the bastard the minute the last mine was laid.’ She gestured with the gun. ‘Now move, Creasy, or take the bullet right here.’
Again, Guido turned slowly and shuffled towards the entrance.
‘Faster!’ she demanded.
‘I’m wounded, damn it,’ Guido said, trying to remember to keep Creasy’s accent.
‘So was my father,’ Connie Crum hissed. ‘He was crippled in both legs with arthritis and he was dying of cancer. He couldn’t move out of that chair without help, and you just shot him as though you were aiming at a rat.’
Guido had reached the entrance of the temple. Over his shoulder he said, ‘So I did him a favour. Anyway, he was a murdering, lying, corrupt son of a bitch who had no place on this earth. Just like his vile daughter.’
He was looking at the black sarcophagus and the branches covering its top. He sent a silent prayer to any god that might be listening, that Creasy would soon probe his way out of that minefield.
Message from Hell (A Creasy novel Book 5) Page 25