Assignment Bangkok (23 page)

“Come on,” Durell gasped.

He pulled the old man out of the fire quickly. Uncle Hu did not seem to be harmed.

“That was for my nephew Tinh, and my wife Aparsa. . .”

Durell ran for the other room. The fire threatened to envelop the dry teak lumber of the house like an exploding bomb. He coughed, his eyes smarting from the smoke, and he crouched low to find cooler and clearer air near the smoking floor. There was a small woven mat on the plank floor of the next room, and he kicked it aside, revealing the trapdoor into the
klong
jar pit. He found an iron ring inset in the hard planking and tugged at it, heaving against the weight of the trapdoor.

“Jimmy?”

He saw dim movement in the familiar blackness of the confined space below. Jimmy James’ haggard face appeared, a hand groping upward. Durell caught it, hauled on it.

“Hurry.”

In a moment he had Jimmy James out of the pit.

They sat on the bank of the klong, some hundred yards from the burning house, and watched the Bangkok Metropolitan Fire Department pour streams of water on the blazing roof. A huge crowd had gathered, safely granting them anonymity. Nobody paid any attention to them. James sat with his feet in the water, among the reeds and mud, and drew in great, shuddering lungsful of air through his open mouth. He was no longer the elegant, debonair gentleman. His pale hair was awry, his face was haggard, his beige suit was in ruins. He looked as if he had aged ten years.

“You were being used,” Durell said. He wasn’t sure that the man could grasp what he was telling him. “Miss Ku Tu Thiet was Chuk’s daughter. Chuk was the mastermind of the whole drug-smuggling caravan venture up in the Golden Triangle. Ku was also General Uva Savag’s mistress..

“No ...” James protested. “She—”

“She used you. She used Savag, too, just as she manipulated you, knowing all the security efforts that were being made and so was able to tell Savag, in order to outwit the authorities. But Savag is now dead. And so is Ku.”

James’ eyes were haunted. “You did it?”

“I did it,” Durell said bluntly.

“Oh, you bastard. She was—she was so—”

“She was making a monkey out of you, Jimmy.”

“My house—did you see my house?”

“They tore it apart, and planted a booby trap. Chuk’s kamoys did it. They were looking for my report, maybe. Or intelligence data that they could sell to Peking’s agents here in Bangkok. Anything for a buck, that was Chuk’s motto. He wasn’t one to leave a possible dollar lying around loose.”

“My house—all my things?”

“How is it you lived so well?” Durell asked.

“I—I have an old uncle in Newport with lots of money. He sent me—he helped me out.”

“We can check it,” Durell said. “Just to tie up the last ribbon on the package.”

James put his head down between his knees and retched. His long, thin body was convulsed with spasms of agony. Durell sat quietly beside him, watching Uncle Hu’s house burn to the ground some distance away across the klong. He wondered what would happen when the firemen found Chuk’s body and that of the two men he had shot. It was not his concern now. Rogers, at the Embassy, could take care of all that. He was aware of a great depression, a physical exhaustion that weighed him down like an overwhelming burden.

“What—what happens to me?” Jimmy James whispered. “I don’t know.”

“I guess I’ve been a fool.”

“Yes.”

“Will I have to go home?”

“I should think so,” Durell said. He stood up. His body ached all over. “It’s finished here, Jimmy. We all make mistakes. Yours were just bigger than most. Maybe K Section will find a spot for you in D.C. I don’t know about that. It depends on General McFee and how he feels about you.”

“Have you filed it all in your report?”

“Yes.”

“Did you have to?”

“Yes.”

“You have no mercy, have you?”

Durell started to walk away. “It can be a rotten business, sometimes. But you can’t make mistakes and survive in it. Not for long, anyway.”

It was dark and quiet in the room. An air conditioner purred, making hardly any sound. Durell had never been to the Slocum place before. There was a main house, and a small cottage down by the canal, and it felt like an island sanctuary against all the muted rumbles of Bangkok that surrounded them. Benjie had met him at the gate, wearing dark pajamas, and she had led him to the cottage. Mike, she said, was sound asleep in an upper bedroom of the main house, a good distance away across the carefully manicured lawns and shrubbery. Durell watched a pattern of pale light on the ceiling, sifting through the slats of the wooden blinds on the windows. The bed was big and wide and deep and soft. He wanted to sink into it forever. He had showered again, and was wearing nothing under the sheets. The coolness of the air conditioner was refreshing, and he should have been able to fall asleep instantly. But he could not.

“I’m glad you came here, Sam,” Benjie murmured. She lay beside him, her body warm and silken. “Even if it’s just for this last night. I don’t think I can bear the thought of your leaving tomorrow morning. I won’t go to the airport with you.”

“All right.”

“Do you think Jimmy James will be treated with some —some pity?”

“I don’t know. McFee may use him at desk work. James is good at that. He couldn’t do- much harm in Washington.”

“I feel sorry for him.”

Durell said nothing.

“Sam?”

“Yes?”

“Are you sleepy?”

“No.”

“Make love to me, Sam. Now. Please. I wish—I wish you could stay here, even for just a little while. I know it couldn’t be permanent. I know I’m too wrapped up in the Thai Star businesses. Sooner or later, I’ll probably go back to being what I was before you came into my life. But maybe I’ll never be the same again.”

Her body was impatient, growing imperative. He felt her weight over him.

The telephone beside the bed began to ring.

“Oh, damn . ..” she said.

“Don’t answer it,” Durell suggested.

“I have to—it might be business—”

“Forget it, Benjie.”

But she picked up the telephone, lying across him to reach it. She listened, and he felt her soft, warm weight across his thighs, and then she wriggled about and laughed in the cool darkness and said, “It’s for you, Sam.”

“Nobody knows I’m here.”

“The Embassy knows,” she said.

It was Rogers. “Glad I caught you,” the diplomat said. “There are several things you should be advised about, sir. Your hotel is taken care of. The dead Thai girl has been removed. Your name is off the register. There’s no record of your being there now, and the Thai people have promised to be discreet.”

“Very good.”

“We’ve also kept you out of the affair with Mr. Chuk. However, an old man came to the Embassy and he asked us for money to build a new house. Says you promised it to him, sir.”

“I did,” said Durell. He felt Benjie’s soft breasts press against his chest. She’s changed, he thought, amused. He said, “The old man is Uncle Hu. He was a great help. It will have to be taken care of in Washington, out of the Y funds. I’ll see to it myself, when I get there tomorrow.”

“But you are not leaving Bangkok tomorrow, Mr. Durell,” said Rogers. “I’m sorry, sir, but your plane ticket and reservation have been toned over to James D. James.” Young Rogers’ punctilious manner changed a bit. “There’s a man who has gone through hell, I must say. Terrible thing. He’s being shipped back to D.C.”

Durell thought about his own past three days. He said, “What about my travel requisitions?”

“Canceled,” Rogers said. “You are ordered to set up a new Bangkok Central, it seems. New files, new codes, radio, everything. New safe house, office, cover identities and occupations, the works.”

“But that will take several weeks,” Durell objected.

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“I won’t do it.”

“Those are your orders, sir.”

“To stay here in Bangkok?”

“For the time being, yes, sir.”

Durell heard a soft giggle in his ear. Benjie’s hands explored his body. He felt wide awake, suddenly. Benjie said, “Don’t fight it, darling. Relax. Enjoy it.”

He held the telephone in one hand, the other on Benjie’s silk-smooth back. It was very comfortable in the room. The bed was big and soft. He weighed the phone in his hand for another moment, considering more objections to the impersonal orders from the young Embassy man.

Benjie reached across him and took the telephone from his hand and cradled it. Enough light came through the slats of the wooden jalousies to gleam in a liquid, pearly line along the curves of her hips.

“That’s that,” she said with satisfaction. “I’ve had my wish. You’re not going away tomorrow, are you, Sam?”

“It doesn’t look like it.”

“How long can you stay?”

“As long as the job takes.”

“Oh, that’s good. That’s very good.” She sighed, and he rolled over and took her in his arms. She said, “Oh, my. You’re not sleepy at all, are you? Oh, that’s wonderful, Sam. Just right. You’re going to help me, you know.” “How?”

“I’m going to make up for lots of lost time,” Benjie said.

Then she was silent.