第 12 页

"Stop dreaming," Massimo said. "A woman like that doesn't go out alone. She's waiting for

either her husband or her boyfriend."

Bruno was not deterred. "Do you think she's Thai?" he asked.

"No, she looks Eurasian. There were many created during the Vietnam war, and by the French

before that. But for sure, she's rich. That's a five-thousand-dollar dress, and her diamond

necklace and ring look like the real thing. So does the gold Rolex watch. She didn't buy that

from a stall in the back streets."

Connie Crum surveyed the room like a panther looking for its dinner. It was crowded,

especially the long bar. Like in all the bars of luxury hotels in Bangkok, ninety per cent of the

customers were men. Many were elderly and overweight, wearing expensive suits and bored

expressions.

She focused on the two Italians and liked what she saw. They were not too young and not too

old. They were elegantly dressed, and although the nose of the elder one was slightly

overhooked, they made a handsome pair. From their looks, she guessed that they were brothers,

and that thought excited her.

They had turned back to the bar and she noticed that they were both looking at her in the

mirror. The body language had started. They were sitting erectly on their stools. The younger

one brushed a hand through his hair and straightened the cream handkerchief in his jacket

pocket. "Fifteen minutes," she thought. "Then one of them will make his move." She glanced at

her watch.

After ten minutes the younger one climbed off his stool and went to the men's room. When he

came back, he managed to pass by her table, giving her a close look. After a whispered

conversation with his brother, he walked across to her, bowed slightly and said: "Signorina,

please allow me to introduce myself. I am Bruno Marccheti from Milano."

She looked at her watch, smiled and said: "You are one minute late, Bruno."

They had dinner at the French rooftop restaurant looking over the river. Massimo was

sardonically charming, Bruno was a little over-eager. They had only been seated a few minutes

when she felt his leg brushing hers. She moved her leg and, because she realized that the brothers

had already reached the understanding that Bruno would be given the chance, she concentrated

her attention on Massimo.

She explained that she lived in Paris. Her father was a French diplomat and her mother a minor

member of Cambodia's royal family. She laughingly brushed aside the notion that she had royal

blood. "Less than a millilitre," she said. "I'm only a distant cousin."

Of course they were intrigued. Men always are, by the combination of beauty and aristocracy.

And she certainly looked the part. She told them that she was in Bangkok to visit her father who

was on one of those interminable peace missions. He had been called away to Phnom Penh for a

couple of days. She had elected to stay and wait in the greater comfort of the Oriental Hotel. She

indicated that she was a little bored. Bangkok was a man's city and it would not have been

proper for her to go out and sample the nightlife alone. She was, she explained with a winsome

smile, a virtual prisoner in a gilded cage. She laughed inwardly at their quick exchange of glances.

She ordered caviar followed by baby lamb provencale. They also had caviar, and then shared a

Chateaubriand steak.

Massimo made a great play of ordering a bottle of Chateau Latour 1971.

She began to work her wiles. Bruno's leg had reached further out and was again touching hers.

She let it stay that way. Then she moved her right foot until it touched Massimo's ankle. Both

men decided that they were making progress. Several times she leaned forward to reach for the

salt or the pepper. Her dress was low-cut. She wore no bra. Their eyes moved as though they

were at a tennis match.

When the dessert trolley arrived, she ordered a banana split and managed

to eat it with such slow provocation that Bruno's breathing quickened. His leg was moving

against hers. Massimo had managed to get his left foot over her right foot and was giving her

shin a gentle but insistent massage.

"Are you married?" she asked.

There was a very brief silence while they glanced at each other. Then Massimo said: "I am

married, but Bruno is in the fortunate position of being a bachelor."

"Liar!" Connie thought. "They both have the smell of married men. Big brother is helping out

little brother, even though he's doing it reluctantly."

They ordered coffee and Cognacs and the waiter brought over a box of cigars. Both men

selected Havanas. As the waiter turned away, she called him back and picked out a black

Brazilian cheroot. The men looked on with scarcely concealed surprise as she clipped the end

and dipped it into her glass of cognac. She then put it between her red lips and leaned forward

to accept a light from the waiter.

"It's one of my rare pleasures," she explained. "A fine meal followed by a rough cigar."

The two men composed themselves. Bruno asked: "Are those your only pleasures?"

She blew smoke at him and smiled to take away the offence.

"Not at all, Bruno. Before dinner I enjoyed a wonderful massage and then spent half an hour in

the whirlpool bath. I just love the feeling of that water pumping over my body." She glanced at

Massimo, whose eyes were a little misty in thought. "I find it almost as pleasant as sex," she said.

His eyes came into focus. "Almost?"

"Yes, Massimo. I'm a healthy woman. I like a massage, I like a whirlpool bath, I like fine wines

and rough cigars...I also like men. In fact, I need them. I need them as much as I need food. It has

been a week since I left my husband in Paris. It is as though I had not eaten for a week. My body

is hungry."

Her voice was almost a whisper. Both men had leaned forward to catch her words. Bruno

found his voice.

"I'm an Italian. It would be a stain on my country if I were to allow such a beautiful lady to

remain hungry in any way at all."

"Yes, it would be a shame," Massimo murmured, as though in some pain.

She smiled at both of them and said: "You are such gentlemen, but I have a problem."

"A problem?" they chorused in true concern.

"Yes. For the past two hours I have been trying to decide which of you I would like to help me

with my appetite. I regret to tell you that the choice is such that I have not been able to make a

decision."

The two men looked at each other with the disappointment apparent on their faces. But then

she said: "Just a few weeks ago in Paris I was trying to decide whether I was going to buy this

dress or another one. For a woman, that is a terrible decision to make. So I indulged myself. I

bought both of them."

She pushed back her chair and stood up, smoothing her dress down her hips. She said: "I'm in

the Maugham Suite. Perhaps you would like to join me in half an hour?" She reached forward

and with a slender finger touched the top of the wine bottle. "Maybe you could arrange to

have-them send up another bottle? 1971 was such a good year."

She turned and walked through the restaurant to the door.

They watched in silence. Then Massimo said: "It's going to be an interesting night, little

brother!"

Chapter 22

Susanna dialled a number, hoping that Elliot Friedman had not yet left home for the office. It

should have made no difference, but she wanted to talk to him in a very unofficial way and

phoning him at the office somehow made it official. His wife, Julia, answered the phone. "Has he

left?" Susanna asked.

"No, he's just finishing his waffles." Susanna heard Julia shout through to the kitchen, and half a

minute later Elliot was mumbling: "Hello" through a mouthful.

"I'm kind of reporting in," she said. "Just to give you a background. I have nothing specific. I'm

in contact with Creasy and his group and tonight we're making an operational move. I've offered

my help as an interpreter. I want to clear that with you."

At the other end of the line the munching stopped and Elliot asked: "What kind of an

operation?"

"I cannot say over an open line, but Creasy is moving down the road and he may have to talk to

a Vietnamese who has no English."

"May it be dangerous?"

"Possible, but not probable."

"When did you last take a holiday?"

"A what?"

"A holiday. When did you last take a holiday?"

"What the hell...?"

His voice was stern. "Susanna. Think back and tell me when you last took a holiday."

She thought about it and then said: "It was eight months ago. I went to stay with my cousin in

California for a week."

"OK. So as of now, you're on holiday for two weeks. When I get to the office, I'll send a fax to

the hotel confirming that fact. And, Susanna, what you do on your holiday has got nothing to do

with the department. As of the moment you receive that fax, you're no longer on official

business. What you do in your own time is your business. If you get in trouble, don't come

running to me."

She laughed down the phone. "OK, boss...Sometimes you're not just beautiful, you can also be

intelligent! I'll phone you at home later and let you know what happened."

"OK, Susanna. I've always admired your common sense. Keep using it..."

As she cradled the phone, she heard a tap on the door. She moved across the room and opened

it. Creasy stood there. He said: "I need to have a talk with you in private."

She stood back, gestured a welcome and pointed at the minibar. "Can I get you a drink?"

He shook his head. "It will only take a few minutes, but there are some things you have to

understand."

She sat down on a chair in the corner, saying: "Go ahead."

He started pacing the room and, without looking at her, started talking.

"You invited yourself into this thing. I'm not unhappy about that, but you need to understand

the reality. What you'll see tonight will not be pretty. I have to terrify a man. I don't like doing it.

You'll watch me do it and you'll think I enjoy it for the sole reason that he has to think I enjoy it.

If he's not convinced, he will not talk. The alternative would be for myself and Guido to torture

him.

You know my history, so you know that I'm no saint: but when we do this kind of work, if

you're going to remain a human being, you have to have a bottom line. My bottom line is that I

never killed anybody who wasn't trying to kill me. And I never tortured anybody. Except once, a

long time ago, and he deserved it. What I'm going to do to this follower may seem to you to be

a form of torture, but for me it is not. I'm just going to give him one hell of a fright. It will shock

you.

But within that shock, keep something clear in your mind. After I get the information from

the follower, I should logically kill him. Most people in my profession would do that. Otherwise

the people who hired him could find out that he talked. No matter what happens I'll not kill him.

So while you might be disgusted by my actions, try to remember two things: first of all, he's

earning his money in a risky business, and second, I gave him his life. Try to remember that. Try

to keep in mind that I'm not a monster."

He had not looked at her at all, but she could sense the importance of his words to his own

mind. In a moment of revelation, she felt sorry for him. He was not a man who was comfortable

explaining himself.

He had sat down on the bed and was watching her. She felt like a priest in a confessional.

Without thinking, she stood up and moved to the bed and sat beside him. She picked up his

huge right hand in hers and looked at it. There were mottled scars across the back.

"How did you get these?" she asked.

"It was a long time ago. I was a prisoner. An interrogator was asking me questions. He smoked

a lot. There was no ashtray."

She looked up at him. "Did you talk?"

"No. The problem was I didn't have any answers. But he did not believe that."

She released his hand. He stood up and moved to the door. She said: "Creasy, I appreciate what

you said to me. But I can tell you that I never believed you were an evil man. Violent, yes.

Dispassionate, certainly. But not evil. I may not like what I see tonight, but I will try to

understand it."

His hand was on the door. He turned and gave a half smile.

Then his face was serious. "Did something happen to you, Susanna?"

"What do you mean?"

"Today, at the cafe, I was watching. You were very preoccupied, as though something was on

your mind. Have you got a problem?"

She smiled and shook her head.

"You asked me to understand you, Creasy. Now try to understand me. I normally work in an

office, totally absorbed in files and data. Now I find myself in Saigon in company with a bunch

of killers. It's not exactly a normal situation. If I seem different, it's because I am different. I have

to make my own adjustments."

He was looking into her eyes, holding them as though trying to judge her. Then he glanced at his

watch and said: "We'll leave in an hour."

Chapter 23

If she had combed the hotel bars and Bangkok for a month, she would not have found a more

perfect pair. They had the vanity inherent in every Italian male. But still they were nervous,

perhaps because they were in a situation which they had never faced before. And they were also

visibly excited. The waiter had preceded them with the bottle of Chateau Latour. She poured the

wine in the spacious lounge. She had left the bedroom door open, and their gaze was constantly

drawn to the Emperor-size bed which was bathed in a strange, glowing, flickering light. They

clinked their glasses and she proposed the toast.