The little brown man told them it had been decided to stage a demonstration of power as close to the Vietnam capital as possible. No undue risks were to be taken and as few lives as possible should be lost. This was a demonstration, not an operation, but it was necessary to shake the authorities in Saigon out of their complacency, and this could only be done if the demonstration was staged alarmingly close to the capital. The farm of the three peasants was situated in a rice field a half mile from the Saigon-Bien Hoa highway. The little brown man reminded them that they were conveniently placed to make an attack on the police post at the Bien Hoa - Thudaumot road junction.
This police post was to be destroyed and with it the three policemen who guarded the post. The demonstration was to take place on Sunday night at fifteen minutes past twelve. The day and time had been selected to ensure no passers-by nor vehicles would suffer.
The three peasants, he went on, must work out for themselves how the job was to be done. It was a perfectly simple demonstration, but they were to remember the timing was important.
When he had disappeared once more into the forest, after eating a bowl of rice with them, he left behind him a string bag containing six hand grenades.
It so happened that Jaffe, driving the Chrysler, approached the police post a few minutes before the attack was due to take place.
The three peasants lying in a ditch within fifteen yards of the police post saw his approaching headlights and looked blankly at each other: uncertain what to do. They had been lying in the damp ditch for over half an hour, and this was the first car they had seen on the road.
The three policemen, playing a form of Fan Tan with matches, also saw the approaching headlights and immediately got to their feet. While one of them swept up the matches, the other two snatched up their rifles.
The senior member of the three stepped into the road and began to flash a torch fitted with a red lamp.
Seeing the red light flashing some two hundred yards ahead of him, Jaffe slowed down, cursing under his breath. He hadn’t expected to be stopped. He had hoped he would have been able to drive past the police post, the C.D. plates giving him immunity, but it now looked as if he would have to stop.
Questions would be asked if the police saw he had had a Vietnamese passenger and to avoid complications, he told Nhan to squat on the floor.
He reached over the back seat and pulled his holdall on top of her, screening her from sight. He was rattled, and without considering the consequences, he took the gun from the holdall and pushed it under his thigh nearest the door.
By now, the car was barely moving. The powerful headlights lit up the policeman who was pointing his rifle at the car.
As Jaffe pulled up, the luminous hands of the cheap watch being studied by one of the hidden peasants showed exactly fifteen minutes past twelve…
The other two policemen came out of the post and separated: one standing at the head of the car, the other at the tail. Both of them levelled their rifles at Jaffe who could feel the sweat running down his face and hear the heavy thud of his heartbeats.
As the policeman with the torch began to move towards Jaffe, one of the hidden peasants with an indifferent shrug of his shoulders, pulled the pin from the grenade he was holding and lobbed it through the open window of the police post.
He had been told to make the attack at exactly twelve-fifteen, and no one now could accuse him of disobeying an order.
The grenade dropped on to the table at which the three policemen had been gambling and exploded. It went off with a blinding flash and a bang that woke many of the farm workers, sleeping in their thatched huts in the neighbourhood.
A fragment of the grenade sliced into the neck of the policeman with the torch, cutting his jugular vein. The force of the explosion sent another of the policemen reeling against the shattered wall of the post. It also splintered the windshield of the Chrysler and knocked Jaffe half silly.
The remaining policeman at the rear of the car, although shaken, threw himself face down in the road and began to crawl under the car.
One of the peasants seeing this move, rolled his grenade along the road and into the policeman’s face. The grenade blew the policeman’s head from his shoulders and shrapnel tore the back tyres of the Chrysler to ribbons.
The third grenade was lobbed into the police post, killing the third policeman who had darted in there for cover and completed the destruction of the jerry-built building. Stunned and bleeding from a cut in his forehead from a flying stone, Jaffe sagged in his seat, too dazed to realize what had happened.
The three peasants had risen cautiously, from their hiding-place and were surveying the scene in the bright moonlight with satisfaction mixed with apprehension. They were pleased to see the grenades had done their work so well, but it seemed that the European driver of this big American car had also suffered, and that would be a bad thing for them once the little brown man heard about it.
Motioning the other two to stay where they were, the peasant with the watch who was the leader of the band moved forward cautiously.
Jaffe saw a dark shape coming towards him. Keeping still, he eased the gun from under his thigh and as the peasant came within six feet of him, Jaffe lifted the gun and fired at him.
The.45 soft-nose bullet smashed into the peasant’s face and he went over backwards like a shot rabbit. He lay in the glare of the car’s headlights so that his two companions saw with horror the brains, bone and blood: all that was left of his head and face.
Jaffe had no idea if there were any more of them out there in the darkness and he crouched down in the car, peering just over the door.
One of the peasants pulled the pin from a grenade and was about to lob the grenade at the car when his companion grabbed his arm.
Unfortunately for them both, the one who had caught hold of the other was a slave to orders. He had been told to kill the three policemen but to avoid hurting anyone else. His instinctive reaction was to stop the other from throwing the grenade. His panic-stricken jerk on the other’s arm caused the grenade to drop from his hand into the ditch where it exploded, riddling the two men with shrapnel and killing them.
Shrapnel flew over the top of the Chrysler and Jaffe ducked. He heard a soft moaning sound close to him and cursing, he swung his gun around only to remember that Nhan was by his side and it must be she who was moaning.
“Shut up!” he snarled at her. “There may be more of them out there!”
He waited for five painful minutes, then seeing and hearing nothing, he cautiously opened the car door and slid out onto the ground. He listened for several moments, then decided the danger was over and stood up surveying the scene.
He picked up the torch that was still alight and lying by the dead policeman and moving cautiously, he walked down the road until he came upon the two dead peasants. He made sure they were dead, then he came back.
“It’s all right,” he said shakily. “You can come out,” and he opened the off-side door and helped Nhan on to the road. He had to support her. She leaned heavily against him and she was shivering with terror. “Okay, okay,” he said impatiently. “It’s all right. Pull yourself together. We’ve got to get out of here.”
But her legs weren’t able to support her, and when he released her, she slumped in the road.
Leaving her, Jaffe went over to the Chrysler and inspected the damage. When he saw the condition of the back tyres, he realized so far as he was concerned, the car was a complete write-off, and he cursed.
He was seventeen kilometres from Thudaumot and was now without transport. Although his head had stopped bleeding, it ached violently. He was badly shaken and shocked by the force of the exploding grenades. The thought of having to walk that distance made his heart sink.
But he knew they would have to leave immediately. Any moment someone might arrive to investigate. The sounds of the exploding grenades would have carried far in the quiet stillness of the night.
He went back to where Nhan was s
itting in the road, holding her head between her hands, whimpering. He squatted down beside her.
“The car’s out of action,” he said. “We’ll have to walk. Come on, Nhan, pull yourself together. We’ve got to get going. Someone may come along any moment.”
He put his hand under her arm and hoisted her to her feet. She leaned against him, trembling.
“It’ll take us the best part of three hours to get to your grandfather,” he went on.
“There will be bicycles at the post,” she said, her voice quavering.
He stared at her: wondering why he hadn’t thought of that.
“Do you think so? I’ll see.”
He hurried over to the shattered police post. At the back he found three bicycles, lying in the long grass. He wheeled two of them onto the road.
“That was a brainwave of yours. They’ll save us a hell of a walk. Do you feel like riding or would you like me to take you on the bar?”
Moving shakily, she came over to him and took one of the machines.
“I’m all right.”
He felt a surge of love for her run through him. He thought: Damn it! She’s got guts! I’m a lucky sonofabitch to have her with me!”
“Well, let’s go,” he said, and collecting his holdall from the car, he swung his leg over the cycle.
He watched her mount her cycle, expecting her to fall off, but although she wobbled perilously for the first six or seven yards, she got the machine under control and seemed fairly steady.
He caught up with her and together they began to pedal down the road to Thudaumot.
“If we see any car coming,” he said to her, “we get off at once and lie in the ditch.”
She didn’t say anything. He could see by her strained expression, it was as much as she could do to ride the machine.
As they rode along, he switched his mind from her to his own problems,
He thought: I’m making a bad start. When Sam finds his car’s missing, he’ll charge around to my place. He said he wanted it by seven a.m. When he finds I’m not there at that hour, he’ll imagine I’ve had an accident. He’ll go to the police and tell them I borrowed the car to go to the airport, but will he tell them I was with a girl?
He glanced at Nhan who was pedalling away, the split sheath of her tunic floating behind her.
The chances are, he went on thinking, the police will find the car before Sam knows it’s missing. They’ll get onto the Embassy. Hell! This is really going to start something. The Embassy will try to find Sam. They’ll jump to the conclusion it was Sam driving the car. When he does turn up, maybe he’ll have to tell the police he spent the night with that Chinese girl. He’ll love that! How he’ll curse me!
Then with a slight pang of regret, he realized it now didn’t matter what Sam would think of him. He would probably never see Sam again if he had any luck. Then he had another thought that excited him.
When it’s known I was in the car and the car’s found, he reasoned, they’ll all jump to the conclusion I’ve been kidnapped by the Viet Minh. It’s the most obvious conclusion they could jump to.
He remembered two American tourists, some months ago, who had driven to Angkor and had never been heard of since. Their car had been found, but there had been no trace of them. The Vietnamese authorities had said they had been kidnapped by Viet Minh bandits and had regretfully told the Embassy there was nothing they could do about it.
Jaffe suddenly felt much more cheerful. This could mean the hunt for him would be very half-hearted. Once the Vietnam police had convinced themselves he was in the hands of the Viet Minh, they weren’t likely to exert themselves, looking for him. They would put on a face-saving show for the benefit of the American Embassy, but it wouldn’t last long.
For the first time since he had found the diamonds, he felt quite light-hearted.
Chapter Five
1
Ann Fai Wah woke with a start and sat up abruptly in bed. She could hear the front door-bell ringing loudly and persistently.
She groped for the switch of the bedside lamp and turned on the light, looking at the travelling clock under the lamp as she did so. The time was twenty minutes to five.
Her almond-shaped eyes widened in alarm and she shook the fat sleeping form of Sam Wade, digging her long fingernails into the flesh of his arm.
Wade cursed sleepily, then raised his head and blinked at her.
“What’s the matter? What the hell…?”
Then he too heard the continuous ringing of the bell and he sat up, his mind suddenly awake and alarmed.
“What’s that?”
“Someone is ringing the front door-bell,” Ann Fai Wah said.
“That’s nothing to do with me,” Wade said, but the persistent and continuous sound of the bell was alarming him. Had this girl a lover or a husband? Was this the first move of the Badger game? He cursed himself for having spent the night with her. It had been a damn flop anyway: she had been as passionate and as active as a sack of rice. “What’s the time?”
Ann Fai Wah told him as she slipped out of bed. She looked deceptively beautiful in her nakedness, but Wade was far too alarmed even to look at her.
“It will wake up the whole block,” she said as she put on a silk wrap. “Please come with me.”
“To hell with that,” Wade said. “You stay right where you are!”
But she had already crossed the room and, after a moment’s hesitation, she disappeared into the sitting-room.
Cursing, Wade scrambled out of bed and got into his trousers. He looked around wildly for something he could use for a weapon, but found nothing substantial enough. He was pulling on his shirt when the bell abruptly ceased ringing.
Tucking in his shirt-tails, he tip-toed to the bedroom door to listen.
He could hear a man’s voice, then Ann Fai Wah said something, and there was a long pause.
Judas Priest! he thought, she’s let the punk in!
He was dragging his shoes on as the bedroom door pushed open and Ann Fai Wah came in. Her face was frozen into an expression of such fury that Wade quailed.
“What is it?” he said thickly, backing away from her.
“It’s the police!” she hissed at him and for a moment he thought she was going to scratch his eyes out. “They want you!”
He couldn’t believe he had heard aright.
“The police?” he stammered, turning hot, then cold. “Me?”
With a furious gesture, she waved him to the door.
“Get out of here!”
The police! he thought. They can’t pinch me for sleeping with a Chink, can they? I must have been out of my mind to have come here! There’ll be an awful stink!
He went past her into the sitting-room and she slammed the door after him. He expected to find the room full of white-uniformed policemen, but the one small man who was standing apologetically in the middle of the room came as a ridiculous anti-climax.
This man was very small and thin and shabbily dressed. His brown-skinned face was typically Vietnamese. His black hair was cut in a bad imitation of a crew-cut. His shoes were dusty, his white shirt soiled and his wine-coloured tie frayed from constant knotting and re-knotting.
Wade stared at him as he ran his sweating hand over his dishevelled hair. He knew he must look pretty awful. He never did look much until he had had a shower and a shave.
“Mr. Wade?” the little man asked politely.
“Yeah,” Wade said. “Who are you? What do you want?”
“I am Inspector Ngoc-Linh of Security police. Please excuse this visit. I would not have disturbed you, but the matter is very urgent.”
Security police! Wade thought. That jolted him. This could be serious. To cover up his agitation, he moved over to an occasional table and helped himself to one of Ann Fai Wah’s cigarettes.
“How the hell did you know I was here?” he demanded. The Inspector made an apologetic gesture.
“One of my men saw you last night with the Chinese woman.
Having tried to find you at your house, I came here.”
Damn yellow spies! Wade thought. You can’t even blow your nose without them knowing!
“Well, what do you want?” he asked, glaring at the Inspector.
“Your car has been stolen.”
Wade felt a rush of blood to his head. He was suddenly so angry he could have taken the little man by his throat and thrown him out of the window.
“Do you mean you came here and woke me up to tell me that?” he bellowed. “Hell! I’ll report you, for this! “I’ll… I’ll…”
“The car has been found wrecked on the Bien Hoa road,” the Inspector said quietly.
“My car?” Wade stared stupidly at the Inspector. His rage oozed out of him like air out of a pricked balloon. “Wrecked?”
“That is so,” the Inspector said, his flat black eyes never leaving Wade’s face.
That damned Jaffe! Wade thought. Wrecking my car! I must have a hole in my head to have lent it to him!
“You’ve got it all wrong,” he said angrily. “The car wasn’t stolen. I lent it to a friend of mine. Where is the car? I’ll collect it sometime today.” Then a sudden thought struck him and he stiffened. “Was anyone hurt?”
“There was no one in the car,” the Inspector said. “It was abandoned.”
Well, for the love of mike! Wade thought, lashing himself into another rage. The sonofabitch wrecks my car and then calmly walks off. He hadn’t even the decency to telephone me!
”I can’t do anything about it now,” he said. “Not at this hour. You don’t expect that, do you?”
“Who was the person you lent the car to, Mr. Wade?” Wade scowled at him.
A Lotus for Miss Quon Page 6