Message From -Creasy 5 (23 page)

"In
what way?"

"I
was with Jens, but he only talked to me. He looked at my face for a long time
and then told me that I was in great danger. And that the danger was
represented in the form of a woman."

"That's
all?"

"Yes.
I suppose it's nothing. But the man had a strange influence on me. I'm not
religious or superstitious, but somehow he had a presence, and an air of deep
understanding."

"Is
that why you want to call in the Americans?" Guido asked.

Creasy
shook his head. "No, that's not the reason. This well-laid trail is going
to end at that temple. It lies four kilometres to the south-east of a village
called Tuk Luy, which is the headquarters of the largest concentration of Khmer
Rouge troops in Western Cambodia. There's no way that I can simply drive over
there and take a look. I need help to get in and before that, I need good
intelligence of what's happening in the area." He glanced at Susanna.
"Since it's possible that there are American MIAs there, I take it that
assistance will be forthcoming?"

"Of
course. I'll phone Colonel Friedman and he'll set things in motion. I'd better
do that from my Embassy on a secure line. What will you need?"

Creasy
sighed and answered: "I have no idea yet. But the first thing is to get
information on the whole area south-east of Battambang and particularly the
Cardamom mountains. I'll need detailed maps and, if possible, satellite
surveys. I'm sure the CIA will have them. I'll also need to know the level of
Khmer Rouge concentrations and, if possible, the names of local commanders. I
don't want to have to go through any Cambodian officials. That's too risky
because many of them still have secret ties with the Khmer Rouge."

Susanna
glanced at her watch and made a calculation. She said: "It's eight o'clock
in the evening in Washington. Elliot will be home. I'll call him there. I'll
get the address of the American Embassy and then take a taxi."

Jens
was sitting at his computer. He punched at the keys and then read from the
screen: "The address is 27 EO Street 240. The ambassador is called Henry
Gates and the CIA resident is probably a senior military attache whose name is
William B. Garner. Aged forty-two, married with two children, and plays a lot
of tennis."

"I'm
impressed," she said. "How do you get this stuff?"

He just
gave her an enigmatic smile and answered: "That's my job." He looked
at Creasy and said: "I'm wondering if Colonel Friedman has enough
seniority to pull the right strings."

Susanna
answered that query. "Yes, he does. And if he runs into any problems,
he'll make a call to Senator Grainger, who can pull just about any string in
America."

She was
interrupted by a knock on the door. The Owl opened it and came back with an
envelope.

"It's
from reception," he said, "and addressed to you."

She
opened it. Inside was a single sheet of paper with a typed message which read:
I have information of interest to you. I will send it to the hotel on Thursday
afternoon. It is important that your associates do nothing in the meantime.

It was
unsigned. She passed it to Creasy who read it and then showed it to Jens, Guido
and The Owl.

"Let
me see the envelope," Creasy said.

She
passed it to him. It was addressed to Captain Susanna Moore, US Army, MIA
Department, care of Cambodiana Hotel, Bungalow 4.

Creasy
looked at the envelope for a long time as though it was conveying information,
then passed it to Jens. The Dane took the magnifying glass from his briefcase
and carefully studied both the envelope and the letter. Then he stated:
"It was printed on a modern laser printer with high resolution."

From
behind him The Owl said: "There was one in the office of the Lucit Trade
Company. A Japanese OKI."

Creasy
took the sheet of paper back and said: "It's another piece of the paper
trail...but why do they want us to wait until Thursday?"

Nobody
had an answer. Creasy said to Susanna: "Make your call to your boss
anyway." He turned to Jens. "In the meantime, I want you and The Owl
to get to Hong Kong as soon as possible and start looking into the background
of Bill Crum's last years. It would be good to know something before Thursday
afternoon."

Susanna
picked up the photographs and put them into the folder along with her
translation of the correspondence, and then said: "I should be back in
about an hour. If Jens needs a secure link from Hong Kong, I could arrange that
through our Consulate there to our embassy here."

"It
could be useful," Creasy agreed. He was still looking at the printed
message. "Maybe they're stalling," he said. "Maybe we're moving
too fast for them."

Moira
Friedman had made a beef casserole with fresh spring vegetables. Following a
long-established ritual, she carried the pot to the table and lifted the top.
Elliot leaned forward, inhaled the aroma and spoke the often-repeated words:
"You are beautiful, creative and the light of my life."

He was
about to ladle himself a large portion when the phone rang. In exasperation, he
rolled his eyes at his wife and said: "Whoever it is, I'll get them to
call me back."

It was
not to be. She heard him say: "Hi, Susanna. Where are you?" Then he
listened intently for a couple of minutes and reached for a pad and pencil. He
made some notes and said: "Wire me the photographs, all of them, including
your transcripts."

Moira
Friedman could hear the excitement in his voice. He said: "I'll be at the
office in twenty minutes. And I'll have State communicate with our Ambassador
with orders to cooperate with you in every way. I'll arrange for them to set up
a mobile SAT phone for you so you don't have to go to the Embassy too
often." He listened again and then said: "I don't think I'll need
Grainger, not with those photographs. It's the first break we've had in years.
But I'll keep Grainger informed anyway. Maybe I'll send someone out there as
back-up for you." He listened again, then nodded and answered: "OK,
I'll hold my fire until Thursday night your time. Just wait there at the
Embassy and I'll call you back when I've talked to the guys at State. By the
way, your friend, Professor Woodward, has been calling the office two or three
times a day trying to get hold of you. He seems agitated...OK, I'll tell him
you'll be in touch in due course. Be careful out there. It's a dangerous
place." He listened again and then chuckled. "Yes, I guess you are.
OK, wait for my return call."

He
cradled the phone and returned to his wife. "That was Susanna Moore
calling from Phnom Penh. She's there with a bunch of mercenaries and she's got
photographs of what may be three MIAs being held captive by the Khmer Rouge.
One she's certain about. I have to check the dogtag numbers of the other two."
He made a forlorn gesture at the casserole dish. "Sorry, honey. You'll
have to keep that warm. I'm going to be late at the office."

She was
not upset. She knew the frustrations of his work and she could see the
excitement in his eyes. She walked over, kissed him and said: "On your
way, Elliot. Call me if you have a chance."

Ambassador
Gates was not a happy man. He was a career officer, and quite reasonably liked
to do things by the book. He sat in his office with the Stars and Stripes hanging
behind him and a photograph of the President on the wall. He said:
"Captain Moore, I understand the importance of anything relating to our
MIAs and I'm ready to help you in any way I can. I just had the Assistant
Secretary of State on the phone telling me to do just that. But can't you tell
me anything more? It's all so vague. There may be some Americans held by the
Khmer Rouge and you're mounting some kind of an operation to find out and, if
possible, to rescue them. Is that all you can say?"

Susanna
answered: "I'm sorry, Mr Ambassador. It's all I can tell you at this
stage. I'm working undercover with some very unofficial people who demand the
utmost security and secrecy."

"The
CIA?"

She
smiled and shook her head. "Hardly that. I can tell you that we have a
strong lead and that the people I'm working with are very competent."

"Are
they Americans?"

She
shook her head. "I think that one was once, but it's an international
group. And I must ask you not to probe any further. I hope I can give you more
information by the end of the week. In the meantime, I understand that you can
issue me with a mobile satellite phone and fax. Over the coming days I may
request that certain necessary items be brought in to Phnom Penh by the
diplomatic pouch."

"Like
what?"

"I
don't know yet, but they could include weapons and communications
equipment."

"Weapons!"

"Yes,
Mr Ambassador. My colleagues may have to go into Khmer Rouge territory and it
would be rather stupid to walk in with a white flag."

He was
a tall, thin man with an austere face. But a lifetime of diplomacy had not
broken his sense of humour. He gave her a smile and stood up, saying:
"We're at your disposal, Captain. I take it that I won't have to smuggle
in a detachment of Abrams tanks or a battery of Cruise missiles?"

She
also stood up, returning his smile. "No, sir. It would be small arms and
ammunition and perhaps secure radio transmitters and receivers. I'm sorry I
can't tell you more at this moment. But I can tell you that events have been
developing rapidly and seem likely to continue doing so."

"Where
are you staying?" he asked.

"At
the Cambodiana Hotel. But my colleagues and my superiors would be very upset if
the Embassy were to arrange any kind of surveillance. And I can assure you, Mr
Ambassador, that if that happens, my colleagues would very quickly be aware of
it."

"It
won't happen," he answered. "But understand one thing, Captain. I
represent our government in this country and I would prefer not to have any nasty
surprises." He pressed a button on a console on his desk and a moment
later a young man knocked on the door and entered. The Ambassador said to him:
"Mark, please issue Captain Moore with the communications equipment she
needs and instruct her how to use it."

He held
out his hand and Susanna shook it. "Thank you, Mr Ambassador."

"You're
welcome, Captain...Be careful. We don't want any more MIAs."

They
stood at the bottom of the gently sloping hill looking up at the outline of the
temple. Connie Crum was in the centre. The Dutchman was on her left and Van Luk
Wan on her right. The Dutchman pointed to the bright red line of string that
zigzagged up the hill to the entrance of the temple wall.

"That
string is laid exactly in the centre of the mine-free pathway, which is one
metre wide. It changes direction three times. You'll have to learn to take
bearings which I'll point out. That means you take a bearing on an object
nearby and line it up with a tree or a mountain peak in the distance. There'll
be three such bearings, and only the people who know them will be able to get
in and out of the temple compound." He pointed to the members of his team,
who were about fifty metres from the temple wall. "The minefield will be completed
by nightfall tomorrow. So in the afternoon I'll show you the bearings and then
we take away the string."

Connie
Crum patted him encouragingly on his shoulder. She said: "You've done
well, Piet. I assume that all of your team know the bearings."

"Of
course."

She
turned to Van and said: "I want every member of the team to be given a
bonus of two hundred US dollars tomorrow night."

"On
their behalf, I thank you," the Dutchman said. "For them it's a
fortune."

She
smiled cynically. "And they'll spend it on drink and women. That's the
circle of their lives. I won't keep you any longer, Piet. Van and I will return
tomorrow, at five in the afternoon. Again, well done!"

The
Dutchman walked up the hill, very carefully following the line of the red string.
Connie watched him in silence and then said: "Tomorrow, when the last mine
is laid and those men have come out, I want them all shot."

The
Vietnamese showed no surprise. He said: "Before or after I give them the
two hundred dollars each?"

She
laughed. "Before, of course. And the Dutchman we put into handcuffs and
leg irons. His work will be finished tomorrow, and I haven't decided what to do
with him."

Piet de
Witt reached the interior perimeter of the growing minefield and stood behind
his team, watching them work. He had trained them well; but of course some were
better and quicker than others. His best man could lay and set a mine every
three minutes. He turned and measured the approximate distance to the compound
wall. It was about forty metres. He did a quick calculation in his mind and
then relaxed. The minefield would be ready. They would not even have to work
under floodlights tonight. That was dangerous work, and he was glad they didn't
have to do it. In the evening he would drive into Tuk Luy and buy some fresh
fish in the market and then take it to Tan Sotho.

They
would make love and afterwards she would cook the fish with saffron and rice in
the way he liked so much. And he would teach the young boy a little more
English. It had become a routine two or three times a week, the love-making,
the food and the hour-long lesson. The boy was only three years old, but he was
bright and a quick learner. The Dutchman laughed inwardly at the thought of
himself being a teacher. Who would believe that?

Jens
and The Owl shared a large room at the New World Hotel looking out over the
harbour. Both of them had been to Hong Kong before a few years ago on a
previous assignment with Creasy, and had been massively impressed. The city and
its harbour literally buzzed with people and activity. Across the water in
Victoria skyscrapers rose like stalagmites.