CHAPTER
5
In Langley. Virginia, itwas evening and Carstairs had stayed late to wrap up the day's work. Bishop had departed for dinner, and for the moment the office was quiet as a different half of the world settled down for the night, although not necessarily to sleep: sudden assassinations would continue and information still be passed discreetly in bistros, pubs and bars but only the most vital calls would be put through to him during the night and he thought that only news from Bashir Ilariyo in the Sudan was likely to curtail or interrupt his sleep.
Since in Thailand it was already Thursday morning he was also expecting confirmation from Mrs. Pollifax that Ruamsak's package was safely in hand, and thinking about this, he took a last sip of coffee and leaned back in his chair, fervently hoping that Ruamsak would prove too clever for McAndrews, who had been assigned the job of surveillance. It seemed to him a crude mistake to attempt identification of Ruamsak, and he failed to understand Mornajay's obsession about this. Ruamsak had already proved valuable and it was difficult getting information these days about the situation in the north of Thailand. The CIA office in Bangkok had slipped badly, devoting its time mainly to feeding data into computers, as witness McAndrews the computer expert. The Drug Enforcement Agency—DEA—worked in the north and shared pertinent information but their reports usually concerned the politics of drug smuggling, and who was who among the warlords and drug merchants. He thought of the years that Jacoby had sent them information from Chiang Saen; the department knew, of course, that he had a drug problem but according to Ruamsak the man was entering the terminal stages of opium addiction and, what was worse, to support his habit he was selling information to the Vietnamese in Laos as well as to the CIA. Ruamsak had also thrown doubt on the accuracy of that information. He had written: / am seeing copies of what he sends to you, they are not right, sir, he changes truth. This I know for I am one who brings to him the news he sells you. Ruamsak had gone on to correct the misinformation that Jacoby had sent and this had been enlightening, to say the least.
In the adjacent room a door opened and closed and he glanced up to see Bishop beaming at him, his sheepskin jacket dusted with snow. "Thought you might still be here," he said cheerfully. "Stopped in to see—"
He waited because a red light had surfaced on the phone box, followed by a quiet buzz, and Carstairs picked up the receiver. Into the phone he said, "Carstairs here." To Bishop he said, "To see what?"
"See what you've heard from our friend Mrs. P... she's checked in okay?"
Carstairs gestured to him to sit down. "Perfect timing, Betsy reports a call from Chiang Mai coming through right now."
"Wonderful," said Bishop, and sat down and picked up the extension, smiling in anticipation. His smile faded as he heard the voice that came on the line; it was not Mrs. Pollifax, it was a man's voice, piercing and distraught, and it was saying, "I was given this number to call if—my name's McAndrews, sir, and—"
Bishop experienced a sinking sensation in his stomach. He thought, Something's gone wrong.
Carstairs reached over to switch on a machine and record this. Interrupting the rush of words, he said sharply, "Pull yourself together, McAndrews, I can't understand what you're saying, you seem to be babbling about a body.
"Yes, yes, body," repeated McAndrews frantically. "Sir, I've never been in such a situation before, and I can't reach—"
Body, thought Bishop, suddenly very still.
"Breathe deeply," counseled Carstairs. "Better still, begin at the beginning. You were assigned two people to follow in Chiang Mai, a man and a woman, right?"
At the other end McAndrews could be heard taking deep breaths, and they waited patiently. "Yes, sir," he said at last. "Except it didn't—but to begin at the beginning, sir, I followed them to this place on Thapae Road. That was an hour ago, it's not quite nine in the morning here."
"And?"
"Well, the lady went down this alley while the gentleman—Mr. Reed, is it?—stopped to admire a jug—"
"A what?"
"Water jug, sir. Large water jug outside a lacquer shop. So I waited, thinking he'd join his wife or she'd join him in a few minutes but these two men walk up to Mr. Reed and start talking, very pleasantly, too—"
"American?"
"No, Thai. And although I could see that Mr. Reed wanted to pull away they just kept talking with him, and then suddenly he sagged—only word for it, sir, a big man like that. The two men catch him and sort of pull and drag him across the street to a van, which took a while, what with the size of him, and all the traffic, and just as they're trying to get him into the rear of the van—to take him off to a hospital, I thought—his wife came out of the alley, screamed 'Cyrus!' and the men slammed the doors shut, hopped in and took off."
Carstairs said sharply, "Was Reed conscious or unconscious? What condition was he in?"
"Dopey at first, unconscious by the time they reached the van."
Under his breath Carstairs began swearing. "Go on."
"Yes... Well, the lady's in the middle of the street, cars stopping and people shouting, and this chap who followed her out of the alley—"
"What chap? She was with someone?"
"Yes, and he takes her by the arm, pulls her to a truck and they hop in and take off after the van."
Carstairs gritted his teeth. "And you did what? McAndrews, are you calling to tell me—"
"That's it, sir," groaned McAndrews. "My own car was parked too far down the street, very discreetly, you understand, so by the time I got to it both the truck and the van were gone. I drove up and down streets looking for them but there was no sign of them so I came back and parked the car and went down the alley to take a look at where the lady had gone, and there was this hut, and—" His voice broke.
"Yes, yes," Carstairs said impatiently.
"That's where I found it."
"Found what?"
"The body, sir. The only occupant of the house was— is—a dead man, Thai or Chinese, on the floor with a knife wound in his ribs and his body still warm."
"Good God," Carstairs said, his mind racing ahead to form pictures of Mrs. Foil if ax either committing a murder or witnessing a murder.
In a rage, Bishop flung himself out of his chair and began pacing back and forth. The fool, he thought furiously, any fool would have realized that Reed was being kidnapped, not taken to a hospital, and any fool would have made a dash for his car—if he'd been so stupid as to not have it nearby and ready... Christ!
"What you do next," Carstairs said evenly, "is find them, McAndrews. Check the hospitals and see if anyone answering Reed's description has been brought in, which I doubt very much, but it's the first thing to establish. Then go back to Thapae Road and question people, see if anyone can identify the two men who carried off Reed, or if anyone recognized the man with Reed's wife. There must have been dozens of witnesses, see if you can find out what happened to Reed, what made him collapse... I suspect a hypodermic needle... Don't call in the police yet, get facts."
"Yes, sir. I'm terribly sorry, sir."
"Done much surveillance before, McAndrews?" he inquired in a silky voice.
"No, sir, only in training. This is my first job."
Carstairs looked appalled. "I see... well..." He sighed. "Since you're already on the scene and know the cast of characters there's no point in bringing in anyone more experienced just now. Report back to me, McAndrews, and try to remember we're pinning all our hopes on you. Find them!"
He hung up and met Bishop's blazing eyes. "Pinning all our hopes on him!" exploded Bishop. "The man's obviously a klutz and you know—you know damn well what I told Mrs. Pollifax, I told her—I assured her—they've both disappeared now!"
"Gently, Bishop."
"Gently, hell," snarled Bishop. "Are you forgetting Hong Kong? I told both of them this was a simple courier operation, I gave them my word—just pick up the package and—what are you doing?"
Carstairs had picked up the phone. He said, "Ju
st because I'm not having a tantrum, Bishop, doesn't mean that I'm any less enraged than you. This was Mornajay's inspiration, and it's Mornajay's head mat I'd like on a platter. Betsy, connect me with Upstairs... Mornajay's office, Southeast Asia division, and if he's left I want to know precisely where to contact him."
"That's more like it," Bishop said with feeling, and stopped pacing and sat down. He listened to Carstairs, suave and courteous now as he spoke with Mornajay's assistant and asked where Mornajay could be reached. There was a pause and then Carstairs said firmly, "But I must reach him, Mrs. Hudson. You were at the conference last Saturday night—the Ruamsak affair—so you'll know why I need to talk to him when I tell you that all hell seems to have broken loose over there, and—what?"
Carstairs looked startled. "Don't know what'? Yes, of course I'll wait..." He hung up, looking puzzled. "Put some coffee on, Bishop, she's coming down here."
Bishop was equally as startled. "For pete's sake why?"
Carstairs was frowning. "I don't know, but she says she can't tell me where to reach Mornajay and she sounds upset."
Bishop went out to his office and reheated stale coffee and when Mrs. Hudson arrived he ushered her in to Carstairs and handed her a cup of the brew.
"Thank you," she said, placing it on the desk but making no move to touch it.
She was a plump and capable woman with sandy hair worn in a bun, a no-nonsense person famous for her efficiency; now Bishop was astonished to see tears in her eyes.
"I simply haven't known what to do," she was saying in an anguished voice, "and I simply have to tell someone, Mr. Carstairs. Mr. Mornajay has absolutely disappeared and I haven't seen him since Monday. He left the office in the middle of a ten o'clock appointment—just walked out and never came back. I've been doing everything possible to cover for him—lying, working nights to keep up, stalling people... I've checked all the hospitals, Mr. Carstairs, I've even contacted Minneapolis, where he still has an aunt living."
And this is Wednesday evening, realized Bishop, jarred by her disclosure.
Carstairs was frowning. "This certainly doesn't sound like Mornajay, he's not done this before, has he?"
"Never," she said passionately. "Always at his desk, except for his vacations, and I've worked with him for thirteen years now. I feel I can trust you with this, and frankly I need help, he's got to be found!"
Carstairs looked puzzled, his fingers tapping the desk as he considered what could only be a bombshell in Bishop's estimation. He said quietly, 'Tell me about Monday morning, Mrs. Hudson."
"Yes, of course," she said.
"You say he left in the middle of an appointment?"
She nodded. "I've gone over and over it, Mr. Carstairs. There was a phone call that he accepted, in spite of that appointment, and soon after that he simply walked out without explanation. It was a phone call from Bangkok."
Carstairs's eyebrows shot up. "Bangkok! Any idea who from?"
"Yes, from a woman named Chin-Ling."
"Someone he's in regular contact with?"
She shook her head. "You mean an operative—no, the name's not one of ours, I've looked into that. I remember her name very clearly because I told her he was busy, tied up with an appointment. She said it was terribly important and begged me to tell him that Chin-Ling was calling, so I did, and—I must confess I was surprised—he said he'd talk to her at once."
"And it was after this that he left? How long did he and Chin-Ling talk?"
"I suppose that would be important, yes. Let's see..." She closed her eyes, thinking back. "I'd guess about five minutes but there'd be a record of it down at switchboard."
At this moment Bishop would have given a week's wages to know what Carstairs was thinking and how much of his reaction he would share. Carstairs was a man who operated on intuition as well as logic; it was what made him special. For himself, he was baffled as to what could possibly lead to Mornajay's mysterious disappearance. He was certainly not a man given to whimsical impulses or to any spontaneity at all; he was a man who seemed to have no private life and to live totally for his work.
Bishop listened to Carstairs quietly tell Mrs. Hudson that he would use his contacts discreetly to locate Mornajay, that she was not to worry, that he was glad she had told him of Mornajay's disappearance and that he would not betray her confidence. When she had left, Carstairs gave Bishop a long and thoughtful glance. He said, grimly, "This is completely out of character for Mornajay."
Bishop nodded and reached for the cup of coffee that Mrs. Hudson had left untouched.
There followed a long silence and then abruptly Carstairs snapped his fingers. Picking up the phone, he asked to be put through to Bangkok, to the U.S. Embassy first, and then to the CIA, which occupied an office in the same building. Since the phone in Bishop's office was buzzing he did not hear what happened next; when he returned, Carstairs was sitting at his desk staring at his desk blotter.
"I surprised them very much," Carstairs told him with a strange little smile. "Neither the Embassy nor the CIA have any knowledge of Mornajay being in Bangkok. They wondered why he would be."
Bishop said in astonishment, "You think that's where he is?"
"He had that call from Bangkok," mused Carstairs. "If he's not at work in his office, not hit by a car and in the hospital, not in his apartment and not in Minneapolis—" He stopped, adding thoughtfully, "He spent nearly ten years in Thailand during the Vietnam War, you know."
Bishop said bitterly, "Lining up people like McAndrews?"
Carstairs gave him a long and interested look. "Exactly... Now while I sign these last papers and file them, Bishop, put me through to Bangkok again, will you? This time to a place on Patpong Road called the Indiana 500." Seeing Bishop's face, he added kindly, "A bar where expatriates and foreign newsmen hang out. I want to speak to the owner, Chuck Holloway."
"Right, sir."
The call and the connection came through quickly and Bishop frankly eavesdropped. He heard Carstairs and Holloway greet each other cordially, and following a few inquiries about business at the Indiana 500—booming but not like in the old days—he heard Carstairs ask if Holloway remembered Lance Mornajay.
Holloway laughed. "Who could forget him? Mr. Know-It-All we called him. How could I forget a guy who always had to tell me how to fix a margarita? Sure, I remember the guy."
Carstairs asked if by any chance he'd seen Mornajay recently. Ridiculous, thought Bishop, and then his jaw dropped as Chuck Holloway said, "Sure, he was in here just last night. I didn't speak to him, he was with another guy, and in heavy conference over in a corner, you know? Here about—not long, maybe forty minutes. Late last night it was, very late."
Bishop thought that even Carstairs sounded startled at this news. "We're talking about the same man, you're certain?" he asked.
"Sure I'm certain. Haven't seen Mornajay for a long time but the same mop of curly gray hair and cold blue eyes, and damned if the barmaid didn't say he ordered a margarita. Cold as ice and an ego a mile wide, that man."
"That's Mornajay," Carstairs said, and "Thanks, Chuck, keep this under your hat, will you?"
"You bet."
So Mornajay was in Bangkok, thought Bishop, staggered by this information. As Carstairs hung up Bishop shook his head and said, "What on God's green earth is Mornajay doing over there—strictly on the sly—when he has operatives and field men to do the work?"
Carstairs said slowly, 'Totally out of character, which makes it very interesting, don't you think?"
"Not to me," Bishop said, scowling. "Does he know who you sent to Chiang Mai to pick up Ruamsak's package?"
Carstairs shook his head. "Only a nameless man and woman from our courier list."
"So he hasn't gone to rescue Emily and Cyrus."
Carstairs gave a short bark of a laugh. "Scarcely, no. But he's there. Bishop."
Bishop nodded.
"And he shouldn't be there." Carstairs frowned. "I don't like it, Bishop. I don't like the sound of it and
I don't like the smell of it either." He added grimly, "In the space of a few hours we've lost Mrs. Pollifax, we've lost Cyrus, and in all probability it was Ruamsak dead in that hut, and now one of our top men Upstairs gives every evidence of having gone berserk."
'Trouble," Bishop said flatly, and sighed.
CHAPTER
6
Mrs. Pollifax, hearing that a motor-cycle had kept pace with them since Thapae Road, wondered if she believed Bonchoo. She could see no reason why they should be followed, and in spite of their brief conference she couldn't fathom Bonchoo's motives; there remained any number of scenarios that could explain him and she disliked almost all of them. There might have been an amused glint in his eye back at the hot springs—and humor implied intelligence—but she had met her share of thoroughly wicked people who were intelligent and sometimes even humorous. She thought Bonchoo very adroit at concealing himself, and no matter how she tried to overlook the scar across his face it continued to suggest a life of violence. Worse, he'd made no attempt to reassure her, and had already admitted that he was no better than the men who had stolen Cyrus.
Nevertheless his suspicions about the two men on the motorcycle left her uneasy and after they had driven a mile or two at their slow and stately pace she found herself turning her head to look at the road behind them, and it was proof of her unease that she turned her head very slowly and carefully.
The motorcycle was behind them again. And motorcycles, she reflected, did not customarily drive at thirty-five miles an hour, and hang back from passing. Giving Bonchoo a sharp glance, she said, "Friends of yours?" and was immediately sorry that she'd said this because she discovered him looking intensely worried, an expression she'd not seen on his face before, and since she was worried too it gave them something in common. When he didn't reply to her flippant remark she shouted at him, "How far now to Chiang Rai?"
"One and one half hours," he shouted back, and returned to his thoughts, which were obviously dark ones.
Mrs. Pollifax and the Golden Triangle Page 5