Message From -Creasy 5 (28 page)

He
tapped a spot under his left armpit. "I've got my Colt 1911 right here,
and it's going to stay there until Susanna is safely out of Indo-China."

Creasy
glanced at Susanna, who was trying hard not to smile. "OK, it's
agreed," Creasy said. "We'll all feel better knowing that you're
around. You can also handle the collection of the weapons we need and the two
four-wheel-drive vehicles."

"That's
in the pipeline," Jennings answered. "They'll be ready by noon
tomorrow." He looked at his watch and said to Susanna: "We
have to leave now. Those guys will be waiting."

They
all stood up and Creasy said to Susanna: "Try to find one who's got a
really serious grudge against the Khmer Rouge. Something that will give him
more motivation than mere money."

"I'll
do my best," she said. "And incidentally, how much money do I offer
him?"

"Five
hundred dollars."

"That's
all?"

"Yes,
that's all. If you offer him more, he'll think it's a suicide mission." He
turned towards the door, saying: "And for him it will be. If he gets
out... if we all get out, he'll get a bonus."

He was
tall for a Cambodian, with clean-cut features and intelligent eyes. Susanna
felt an empathy with the man. She had not felt it with the previous four. They
had been mere pawns in the ever-shifting Cambodian scene. This man was of a
higher calibre. He was in his mid-forties and he had a stillness about him, a
watchfulness. As he sat down, he greeted her formally and after listening to
her opening sentences, complimented her on her Khmer language. She looked down
at the file in front of him. His name was Nol Pol, and he had turned himself
over to the Cambodian army only a week before. Mark Jennings sat to her left,
slightly behind her. He had been studying the local language, but only for a
short time. He could take no part in the discussions.

"Why
did you defect?" she asked the Cambodian.

"It
was a family matter."

"In
what way?"

Nol Pol
sighed and asked: "Do you know the history of Cambodia over the last
twenty or thirty years?"

"I'm
not an expert," she answered, "but I'm familiar with it."

"Then
you know that when the Khmer Rouge was formed, its ideals were of the purest
communism. I joined them out of idealism against the wishes of my family,
especially my elder brother. Many families were split at that time. For many
years I managed to keep my idealism, even through the killings. The ideals
started to fade after the Khmer Rouge turned against the results of the
election and continued to fight. The ideals died completely when I recognized
my elder brother as a prisoner of the Khmer Rouge. I had no chance to speak to
him. It was too late. I could only watch as a woman ordered our soldiers to
force the prisoners, my brother included, into a minefield to clear it with
their own lives."

Susanna
felt goose-bumps on her skin. She glanced at Jennings, whose face showed total
lack of comprehension. The Cambodian continued talking, his voice very tight as
he struggled to control it.

"There
must have been a hundred prisoners. I did not realize what was happening until
the explosions started and their bodies were thrown into the air...I saw my
brother die."

"You did not try to help?" Susanna asked.

He shook his head. "I could do nothing. If they had known I had a brother in
the Cambodian army, they would have sent me also into that minefield."

"Who was the woman that gave the order?"

"She's the local commander."

"What's her name?"

"Her name is So Hoan in our language. Her nickname is Talian, which means a very
dangerous snake. Foreigners call it a cobra...But she has another name. She's
only half Khmer, the other half is Western."

"What is the other name?"

"Connie Crum."

With those two words she felt Jennings beside her come alert. She raised her hand to
keep him silent and said to the Cambodian: "So she ordered your brother's death?"

"Yes; and many others. For her, making death is as easy as chopping leaves from a
tree. I have seen much evil these past years, but none more than Talian."

Susanna looked again at the file and then said: "You're from the town of Pursat?"

"Yes."

"And you know the Cardamom region well?"

"Of course."

"Do you know a town called Tuk Luy?"

"Of course. I was stationed there for three years."

Susanna drew a deep breath and asked the all-important question. "If you had a
chance to see So Hoan killed or captured, would you take it?"

The Cambodian leaned forward and answered immediately: "I would give my life to see it!"

Susanna turned to Jennings and said: "I think this man's C.V. fits the job profile."

"I'm going in with you," Susanna said.

Creasy sighed, knowing that he was in for another argument. He said: "That's out
of the question."

"Because I'm a woman...and pregnant?"

They were lying in bed in Creasy's room. They had just been making love. It was only
the third time, but it seemed to be reaching an ever-increasing level of
intensity. Susanna pushed herself up and propped the pillows behind her. He
looked up at her and said: "Maybe that's ten per cent of the reason. But
ninety per cent is that you're not trained for it. You would be a liability.
I'm going to have the same argument with Jens in Bangkok tomorrow and he's
going to get the same reason. You have to understand that I fought with all the
others many times. The very fact that we've survived means that we know what
we're doing. We have an almost telepathic understanding. I hardly have to give
an order. They know how I work. If you came along, one of them would have to
look after you, and I can't spare any of them, it's that simple. So forget
it."

"Maybe
Mark could come along and look after me."

Creasy
chuckled. It seemed to come deep from his belly. It was a sound so rare that
she treasured it. He said: "Then I'll have to detail someone to look after
Mark...I don't have an army, just four very experienced firefighters." He
also pushed himself up and put an arm around her. "You've been a major
part of this whole thing. We wouldn't be here now without your knowledge of the
language, without your connections. You'll continue to help in Bangkok. But
Susanna, after we cross that border it's a question of believing in the motto:
'They also serve who stand and wait'. The
waiting will be hard. It'll be hard for you and it'll be hard for Jens. It's
always like that. But it won't take long. We have to get in there and do the
job and get out by dawn. You and Jens and your bodyguard Mark will be waiting
at the border. I repeat that you've been a major part in the whole operation,
especially in finding that guy Nol Pol. It could make all the difference. By
the way, did he accept the offer of the money?"

"Yes.
His parents and his elder sister are still alive, living in Battambang. The
money will keep them for at least a year. Times are tough in this
country."

Creasy
nodded: "And they're going to stay tough for a long time. If he comes out
alive, I'll make sure they're comfortable for a long time."

"What
about the language? How will you communicate with them?"

"It's
not a problem. You said he speaks a little French."

"Yes,
but not perfectly."

"It'll
be enough," Creasy said. "Guido and I speak French from the Foreign
Legion. Rene speaks it as his first language." He pulled her close and
brushed her lips with his. "We didn't do anything back there, did
we?"

"Back
when?"

"Back
about half an hour ago."

"Nothing
that I can remember."

"Me
neither." He pulled her back down onto the bed.

It was
a city that Creasy had never liked.

"It's
a whore's place," he said to Guido. "Every fat, ugly German or
Englishman or Frenchman who hasn't got the charm or the time to find a
girlfriend in his own country flies in here and pays for women who always look
like teenagers. They suddenly become Cary Grant about an hour after they step
out of the jumbo jet."

"It's
always been like that," Guido answered.

"No
it hasn't. Two events created this whorehouse. The Vietnam war and the tens of
thousands of GIs who came in here on their five days of R-and-R with their
pockets full of money, and then the boom in tourism and the advent of charter
flights. If a German or an Englishman wants to go to a high class whorehouse in
Hamburg or London, the cost of the night with a couple of girls is more than
the cost of a two-week package holiday in Thailand. Half of Europe's
paedophiles save their weekly wages to spend their holidays here."

The
Italian glanced at his friend. "Are you suddenly getting moralistic?"

Creasy
grunted. "I've always been moralistic. I don't blame the men. Too often
it's the only chance they have to get into bed with a woman. I don't blame the
women either. They're just the victims. I blame the fat cats and the
government. Most of the massage parlours and whorehouses are owned by army
generals and their compliant politicians. It's been estimated that more than a
third of their foreign exchange comes from sex tourism."

The
taxi was jammed up behind a row of cars and trucks which moved at a snail's pace. Creasy gestured out
of the window. "It wouldn't be so bad if they used some of the billions of
dollars they earn from that trade to build a metro or supply decent drinking
water to the millions who live here."

The
Italian shrugged noncommittally He said: "You've seen Naples. We have
slums there as bad as they've got here. The only difference is that it's not
army generals making the money, it's the Mafia."

"It's
about the same thing," Creasy answered, and then shrugged off his mood.
"It was fortunate that Susanna questioned those defected Khmer Rouge. This
guy Nol Pol is a real find. If we'd hired some other guy, he could have led us
right into a trap for a little more money than we are paying. This guy is
motivated and Susanna was clever enough to pick it up."

Guido
did not answer immediately. He was looking out at the crowded streets. Then he
turned and asked seriously. "Are you falling in love with her a little
bit?"

Creasy
thought about that while they edged forward another few metres. Then he said:
"Just a little bit. She is kind of special."

"Is
she good in bed?"

"That's
a strange thing," Creasy answered. And then he uttered the phrase that he
and his type always answered if asked if they ever killed anybody: "I
can't remember."

The
Italian laughed softly. "Then she must be. I agree with you, she's a fine woman.
And I think she's good for you."

Again
there was a silence. Then Creasy said: "Maybe. I'm not sure about these
things any more. Everyone I get close to ends up getting dead. Maybe Susanna is
better off with a guy like Jennings, or that professor back in
Washington."

Guido
chuckled. "I don't know about Jennings. After all, he's CIA. Not exactly a
safe profession."

Creasy
snorted in disagreement. "For CIA in-house agents, life is safer than
being a bank manager. It's only the poor non-American agents out in the field
who get chopped down because some guy back at Langley takes half a million
bucks to buy a new house. Jennings is crazy about her."

"That's
his problem," the Italian said. "He shows it too much. Women like the
strong silent types."

The
taxi had finally reached the splendid entrance to the Ducit Thani Hotel. Creasy
punched Guido on the shoulder and said: "Spoken like an Italian."

They
had become friends.

Creasy
realised it as she was getting dressed. Her body was beautiful, and also her
face, and he realized that even after the recent love-making he looked on her
as a friend more than a lover. He loved her mind more than her body.

"Do
you feel all right?" he asked.

She
finished buttoning the silk blouse she had bought that afternoon and looked at
him curiously. "It's not like you," she said, "although you are
born American, you don't act like an American."

"What do you mean?"

She shrugged. "A lot of American men need assurances after they've made love.
They ask silly questions like 'how was it for you, honey?' It's the last thing a
woman wants to hear."

"I didn't mean it like that. We didn't do anything in the last hour except somehow
communicate. And the communication was good."

She smiled. "Of course we did nothing...And yes, it was good. And what did you mean?"

Creasy swung his feet to the floor, picked up the sarong he habitually wore in bed and
tied it around his waist. He said, "We haven't had a chance to talk since
Phnom Penh. The minute you walked into my room we somehow got involved in
things other than conversation. I asked how you felt because of your condition."

She laughed softly. "It's such a quaint old-fashioned expression,'My
condition'...You mean how am I handling my early pregnancy?"

Creasy had moved to the minibar in the corner of the room and taken out a bottle of
mineral water. As he poured the water into two glasses he said: "I may be
old-fashioned and proud of it, but I'm not quaint. How are you feeling?"

The tone of his voice was serious and she answered in the same way.

"Physically, I'm feeling fine except for a little nausea early in the mornings, which I'm
told will get worse before it gets better. Mentally, I'm a little
schizophrenic."

Creasy carried over her glass and asked: "What do you mean?"

She took a gulp of the water and answered: "I feel the reflection of a great
deal of affection, both from you in a physical way, and of course from
Jennings. It's a little strange. In all my life I never had a young man like
that literally at my feet; but I also feel the affection from Jens and The Owl
and from Guido. I even felt it from Maxie and Rene during the short time that I
was with them in Saigon."