Message From -Creasy 5 (10 page)

"I was no saint, Billy."

The bar owner laughed. "In those days this country had no saints on either side.
It was just collective madness and evil." He shrugged. "We don't have
many saints here even now; the ideals of communism were lost within a couple of
years. Now we have the same corruption and the same greed. I'm seventy-five
years old, Creasy, and I've never met a saint."

Creasy
took a sip of his drink and glanced at the corner table.

The men
were engrossed in their game of dice, but the woman was watching him. Their
eyes locked for a moment; then he turned back to Billy and said: "Talking
about corruption, do you remember a policeman called Van Luk Wan?"

"Of
course I do. He was the most evil of all. I heard a rumour that you shot him
before you left, but he survived."

"The
rumour is true. You know where he is now?"

"For
sure, he's not in Vietnam. I heard he somehow escaped."

Creasy
took a sip of his drink and then pulled out a ten-thousand dong note and passed
it across the bar. He said: "I would be very interested in finding out
where he might be now."

The old
man pushed the note back, saying: "I will ask around. Keep your money,
Creasy, for old times. Where are you staying?"

"At
the Continental, Room 212. Thanks, Billy. I didn't have many good memories of
Vietnam; but you're one of them."

He
picked up his glass and walked through the crowded room to the corner table. As
he sat down, he glanced at Jens and The Owl and then at Susanna. He said:
"A word of severe warning: Guido has been teaching you Mexican liar dice.
It looks ridiculously simple, but it
takes a lifetime to play it with expertise. After a couple more sessions, Guido
will start flattering you; telling you how well you play, that your gift is
natural. Then he will discreetly suggest that you start playing for money instead
of matchsticks. At first, just for a few cents, and of course he'll lose. He'll
continue to lose for a few sessions, and the flattery will multiply until you
think that you're reincarnated Einsteins and then he'll clean you out."

He
looked at his friend, who sighed dramatically and said: "In this kind of
work, a lot of time is spent sitting around. I just wanted to help pass the
time."

Creasy
patted him on the shoulder. "Of course, Guido. Just like you teach
amateurs to play stud poker and backgammon. You missed your vocation. You
should have been a schoolmaster."

Guido
did not answer. He was staring over Creasy's shoulder at the other side of the
room. He said: "I think we're being followed."

Creasy
did not look around. He nodded slightly and said: "I spotted him at the
last two bars." Suddenly he hissed to Susanna, who was turning her head.
"Don't look. Just act normally."

Jens
said: "He's probably local security. After all, this is a communist
country and they're bound to keep an eye on independent travellers."

"Maybe,"
Creasy said. "But if somebody has lured us to this country, then he could
be working for them."

"So
what do we do?" Susanna asked.

"We
do nothing. Just act normal." He gave her an appraising look. "This
friend of yours, Dang Hoang Long. Do you think you could arrange for me to meet
him?"

She
thought about it and then answered: "I don't see why not. I'll call him in
the morning."

Creasy
glanced at his watch and said: "It's been a long night. Let's head back to
the hotel."

Susanna
had brought a light cardigan with her. As they stood up Creasy lifted it from
the back of her chair and helped her on with it. She felt that it was an
uncommon courtesy in this modern world. By now she had decided that he was an
uncommon man.

Creasy
was a cautious man, especially when it came to forming an opinion on people: he
was wary of instinct. But he could not help liking Dang Hoang Long. He had been
shown into the old man's office five minutes earlier. The meeting had followed
traditional Vietnamese courtesies; first a handshake, followed by cups of tea
and sweet, sticky cakes. He expressed his appreciation for being allowed the
interview.

Dang stated: "I consider Susanna Moore to be a friend. Of course I had to grant
her request. However, before doing so I asked her to give me a description of
your background. I have to be honest and tell you, Mr Creasy, that you're not
the kind of man I admire. You kill for money. The vast majority of Americans
who came to kill Vietnamese had no choice. They were young men, almost boys.
They came to our country by order of their government. They came frightened,
and those who went home carried physical and mental scars that will stay with
them all their lives. You, on the other hand, came by choice. You came for money."

Creasy looked him in the eye and answered: "I am what I am, but I came this time
for a different reason. I came to look for one of those boys whose government
sent them here. No one is paying me."

The old man took a sip of his tea and asked: "Are you telling me that you have a
conscience?"

Creasy shrugged. "That's not a word I ever thought about. Do you have a
conscience, Mr Dang?"

"I like to think so."

Creasy leaned forward and said flatly: "Are the boat people on your conscience?
Are the tens of thousands of your people who were tortured and brutalized in
your so-called 'reeducation camps' on your conscience?"

The old man nodded. "Yes, they are. Even though I'm a very high ranking official
in my government, I had no power to stop the abuses...But they are on my
conscience, Mr Creasy."

Creasy sat back in his chair and stated: "I believe you, and I will ask you in
turn to believe that if I knew what a conscience really was, then I hope I have
one too."

Dang Hoang Long finally smiled. Even though the smile added more lines to his face,
it made it look much younger. They had found a rapport.

"Are you having me followed?" Creasy asked.

"Of course."

"Is he a young man with a broken nose and a scar on his forehead?"

Dang shook his head. "No. The two people I have been using are women." He
raised an eyebrow. "Don't you think it's strange, Mr Creasy, that when a
man thinks he's being followed or watched, he always assumes that it must be
another man? I always use women. Did you spot them?"

"I spotted one. Long hair, riding a new Honda moped, a blue shirt and jeans, Nike
trainers. Good body."

The old man was nodding. He said: "She will be reprimanded. Now what can I do for
you, Mr Creasy?"

"I would just like your opinion," Creasy answered. "You know from Miss
Moore that I'm interested in a man called Van Luk Wan. Is it possible that he's
in Vietnam and if not, is it possible that he has a network of people here?"

The old man answered immediately: "As to the first, it's doubtful, and as to the
second, it's probable. Since I spoke to Susanna yesterday, I've been making
more inquiries about Van Luk Wan. It's rumoured that he's in Cambodia and
linked to the Khmer Rouge. He handles some of their business affairs. I do not
think he'll risk coming back into Vietnam himself, but he certainly has
contacts here. Perhaps your man with the broken nose and the scar belongs to him."

Creasy stood up and held out his hand, saying: "I'm grateful for your advice. In
return for your help, I give you my word that I'll keep you informed of what I
do and learn, either directly or through your friend, Susanna."

Dang also stood up. They shook hands formally, and the Vietnamese said: "I
believe you. I'll call off my surveillance people. If you spot anyone following
you, they'll not belong to me...Meanwhile, in some ways this is still a
dangerous country, and Cambodia is even more so. I want you to watch over
Susanna. She's a fine woman."

"I'll take care of her."

It was the first time and it made Susanna Moore very nervous. With all the travelling
and the excitement of meeting a different breed of men, it was not surprising
that she had not noticed. It was only that morning when she went to take her
shower and opened her toilet bag that she saw the large box of Tampax. She had
packed it in Washington knowing that her period was due. Ever since puberty,
she had been as regular as a Rolex.

She immediately went back into the bedroom and checked her diary. She was four days
late. She sat on the bed and tried to think back, and realized that it was just
possible. It had been three weeks since she last made love to her professor.
For the last couple of years they had never bothered to take precautions during
their rare love-making. Pregnancy had seemed so remote. She tried to reassure
herself: maybe it was the travelling and change of climate and diet that had
delayed her period. Then she felt an urgency verging on panic. She knew there
was a modern drugstore on Thu Do Street. She was there in ten minutes buying a
pregnancy test, and, fifteen minutes later, back in her hotel room, was
studying the little stick with its two panels.

The top panel was blue, and she knew that if the bottom panel also turned blue, she was
in an interesting condition. Very slowly the colour changed and she let out a
deep breath: it was blue. She sat there for several minutes, then phoned down
to room service and ordered a pot of coffee. She felt very strange. It was as
though her body had been invaded.

She had always pushed the thought of children out of her mind.

She was old-fashioned in that way: for her, children came with a happy, settled
marriage. Of course she realized that at the age of thirty-four she only had a
few more years to find herself in a happily married state, and as she sat on
that bed in her Saigon hotel room, the prospects did not look encouraging. In
the first place she was not sure about spending the rest of her life with her professor.
She had never even considered him as a lifelong partner. It had somehow just
drifted on. Since leaving Washington he had hardly entered her thoughts. Too
much was happening, too many impressions, and she had to admit it; too much
attraction to the man called Creasy.

She put
down the tell-tale stick, stood up and started pacing the room. Her options
were stark: either fly home and have an abortion, or become a mother. She tried
to perceive herself as a mother. The picture was very blurred.

She
spent half an hour trying to clarify those options and give them an element of
human consideration. Then she decided that the putative father should also
consider the options. She looked at her watch and calculated that it would be
just after eight o'clock in the evening in Washington. Jason would be home. He
always ate his evening meal at seven o'clock precisely. About now he would be
lighting his pipe and putting up his feet to watch the news on TV. She gave him
fifteen minutes to digest his dinner and the world's events, and then picked up
the phone.

His
voice was warm. She could picture him in the leather chair in the book-lined
room, the telephone in one hand and his pipe in the other. Probably his cat,
Thomas, was lying asleep on his lap. She felt a sudden surge of affection
combined with a longing for the simple uncomplicated things in life.

After a few minutes of chatter, she simply stated: "Jason, I've just discovered
that I'm pregnant."

The silence went on for so long that she began to think she had lost the
connection. Then his low voice came, as though discussing a conspiracy:
"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"You've seen a doctor?"

"No, I bought a testing kit from a drugstore here. It proved positive."

His voice went lower. "You can buy those things in Vietnam?"

"Of course. I'm not in the middle of a jungle. This is a modern city."

Another long silence and then, with anxiety in his voice, he asked: "What are you
going to do?"

"It's why I called you," she said. "We have two choices."

Unconsciously, she had emphasized the word 'we'. "I either fly back and have an
immediate abortion, or we keep the baby."

She could hear his breathing down the line. Then he asked: "What do you want
to do?"

"I don't know. I only found out an hour ago. That's why I'm calling you. I wanted
to get your reaction."

Suddenly his voice became brusque. "Susanna, we have to think about this in a
logical way. I'm sorry that it happened. Obviously, two mature people like us,
we should have taken precautions. A child at this time of life would be
disruptive to say the least. You must think about your career. You're
approaching the age when promotion to major is a very strong possibility. You
must consider how much a child would tie you down. I know that it's a modern
thing these days for a career woman to be a single parent, but I'm personally
against the idea."

She
felt the anger wash over her, but she controlled her voice.

"Jason,
you would be the father of that child. Of course I have the right to make my
choice; but since it's your seed that is inside me, I thought it was only
civilized to inform you before I made that choice."

Another
silence. Then he said: "It's very important not to get emotional. Of
course I understand that you're in a foreign city and not among friends. You
did the right thing to call me. My advice is you fly back to Washington. I'll
arrange a private clinic."

The
anger was like a cold stone in her stomach. She said: "I'll think about it
for a couple of weeks."

She
hung up and lost control. The tears poured unattended down her face and her
shoulders shook uncontrollably. She had wanted warm words, whatever the advice.
She had wanted understanding and compassion. Instead she got the cold logic of
a man terrified of losing his status quo. She felt unbearably lonely.

"He's good," Guido said. "Very good."

Creasy nodded in agreement.