Message From -Creasy 5 (8 page)

The fan
in Dang's office circled slowly, barely stirring the humid air. From a Thermos
flask he poured a glass of chilled water for his visitor. For some reason she
always made him feel paternal. It wasn't just because she was about forty years
younger than him. It was her attitude. He felt that she respected him and
looked up to him. She had visited his office several times over the past few
years and occasionally they had dinner or lunch together. He respected the fact
that she had taken the time and trouble to learn his language. He had made a
particular effort to try to trace the whereabouts of her father's remains and
always regretted his lack of success. He admired the fact that she treated her
father's case on an equal footing with the scores of others.

He
said: "Susanna, we now have only eighteen files still open, and they are
very obscure. I have to say that we are beginning to lose patience. Surely we
have done everything asked of us. During the war more than two million
Americans passed through our country. About fifty-two thousand of them were
killed or went missing. During the same period many more of your citizens were
killed in traffic accidents in America, and even more simply disappeared. What
else can we do?"

She had
heard such comments many times before, and she sympathized with the ageing man
across the desk. "I can only speak unofficially, Hoang Long, but the buzz
around Washington is that recognition is around the corner, and all that
follows. I assure you that all my recent reports have been in favour."

He
inclined his head in acknowledgement and asked: "So what brings you to
Saigon this time, and how can I help?"

She
passed across a slip of paper, saying: "I would like either to locate this
man or find out what happened to him."

He read
the name and the brief details on the piece of paper, and then looked at her
under raised eyebrows. "Do your agencies now look for missing Vietnamese
policeman?"

"It's
tangential. He may provide a lead to one of our MIAs."

He
picked up the piece of paper and stood up, saying: "Because you enjoy
Cantonese food, I'm going to take you for lunch at one of our few remaining
Chinese restaurants in Cholon. In the meantime, my best assistant will try to
track down this Van Luk Wan."

She
decided he was flirting with her and she was not displeased. She knew he was
close to seventy-five years old, but his charm was unfaded. With the long
serving chopsticks he picked out for her the most succulent pieces of abalone.

"Why
have you never married?" he asked.

She
looked into his dark eyes, noting the hint of mischief.

"Because
nobody ever asked me."

"That's
because you gave them no encouragement...I think you are too severe with
men."

"I
never found a man I really wanted to encourage."

"Then
you have never cast your net wide enough."

"Must
a woman cast a net to catch a man?"

His
voice turned very serious. "Certainly. But it must be a net with big holes
so that the little fish go through it. Only a big one must be caught."

Equally
seriously, she answered: "Maybe the holes in my net were too wide even for
the big fish."

With a
trace of irritation he shook his head. "I fear, Susanna, that you have
cast no net. How old are you?"

She was
not surprised by his directness. Although it was unusual for a Vietnamese, she had become used to it with him.
Perhaps she had encouraged it. "I'm thirty-four," she answered.

He
reached forward and picked out another piece of abalone for her, and then gave
her a long look. "You are a captain in your army, so your career is
successful. I know that you're well regarded by your superiors. You are
attractive and intelligent...Have you had many lovers?"

She
laughed. The man gave her a stern look. She asked: "In your mind, Hoang
Long, what number would be adequate or appropriate?"

He
considered the question, and answered: "Not less than five and not more
than ten."

She
found herself mentally calculating and laughed again. "You have it exactly
right. There have been seven, not counting the drunken one night stand I had on
my graduation night."

"You
have no lover at the moment?"

"In
a way, but it's mainly cerebral."

"Which
means?"

"Which
means we talk a lot and not much else."

The
waiter brought the last dish of chow fan, and again the old man served her.
"You would make a good mother," he said. "I know that you made a
good daughter. The one follows the other. This Vietnamese is very unhappy that
your father lost his life and his presence in this country. I would like you to
find happiness here. Our country has seen too much grief and blood. It is time
we gave it a little happiness."

She was
disconcerted both by his words and by their sincerity.

She
glanced around the almost empty restaurant and saw the young woman come to the
door. She watched as the woman crossed the room and handed an envelope to Dang,
uttered a few words and left.

The
waiter served tea while Dang opened the envelope and read from the two pages.
She saw his ironic smile, then he looked up and asked her: "Does the date
30 April 1975 mean anything to you?"

"Of
course. That was the day the South Vietnamese government surrendered."

"Yes,"
he said. "That was the day that the last Americans were helicoptered out
from the roof of the US Embassy together with the ambassador and of course, his
dog. There were many thousands of Vietnamese puppets pounding on the Embassy
gates trying to get in. It seems that one of them was your friend, Van Luk Wan.
He didn't make it. Together with many others he was arrested by the Vietnamese
Patriotic Army." He was looking down at the two pages spread in front of
him. "He claimed to be a minor functionary in the Duong Van Minh regime,
and at first was sent to a detention camp in the mountains. It was then
discovered that he had been a senior police officer in that same regime and he
was returned to Ho Chi Minh city for interrogation."

"And
I suppose, subsequently executed," she said.

He
shook his head. "I would have assumed that. He committed many crimes
against the Vietnamese people and at that time, there was an understandable
thirst for vengeance." He looked up at her. "Your Mr Wan was not
executed. He was, in a way, ransomed."

"Ransomed?"

"Yes.
There was massive corruption in Saigon under the old regime. Regrettably, some
of that corruption continued afterwards and remains to this day. A bribe was
paid, a very large one. And Van Luk Wan was allowed to leave the country."

"Where
did he go?"

The old
man looked down again at the paper. "He was traded across the Cambodian
border."

She
took a sip of her almost cold tea, then asked: "Can you tell me anything
more, Hoang Long?"

She
could detect his air of embarrassment. He said: "You have to understand,
Susanna, they were strange times. Then as now, money talked. It appears that
Van Luk Wan had a strong business connection with a man who traded in our
country during the war. He was a very evil man. He bribed both Americans and
Vietnamese. This report indicates that he also bribed some communist cadres
after the fall of Saigon. The indication is that he was the man who paid one
kilo of gold to get Van Luk Wan released."

"What
was his name?"

"His
name was Bill Crum."

She
took a tri-shaw from the restaurant. It wove its way through the narrow,
crowded streets of Cholon and then across the river into the equally chaotic
streets of downtown Saigon. She was buzzing with excitement. Perhaps it was
brought about by her competitive spirit. The detective Jens Jensen had given
her a long-shot of a query, and less than twenty-four hours later she had
obtained the answer. She was impatient to present her accomplishment.

She
tapped her fingers on the armrest as the trishaw squeezed its way through the
traffic to the hotel.

At the
hotel reception desk, she glanced at the rows of keyboxes. Jensen was in room
36. The key was not there. She did not wait for the lift but ran up the two
flights of stairs and rapped sharply on the door. She had composed a little
speech in her mind. She would be nonchalant and simply give her information as
though it were the slightest of gifts.

The
door opened. She looked up, and then looked up a little higher. She was staring
into a face that reflected a miasma of mystery and menace. Then, somehow, the
menace was dissipated.

She saw
the deep-set eyes and the scars, and she found her voice. "Mr Creasy, I
presume?"

His
voice was low and strangely reassuring. "Yes. You must be Susanna
Moore."

She
felt like an outsider. She also had the absurd feeling of being a schoolgirl
reading out a report to a bunch of teachers.

They
had all gone down to the bar and sat at a circular table in the corner. Creasy
was directly opposite her, with his Italian friend Guido to his right. Jens and
The Owl sat on either side of them. They drank beer and she drank coffee.

She
felt an outsider because there was a palpable bond between the four men. They
were easy with each other as though they were among family. As they waited for
the drinks she listened to their conversation. They talked and joked about old
friends and past times. It was not as though she was deliberately excluded; she
just felt there was an invisible sheet of plate glass between her world and
theirs. She felt a sudden loneliness and to get away from it, she studied the
four men.

Creasy
and Guido were alike, though at first sight the Italian had appeared to be
simply, lazily handsome. His thick black hair was greying at the temples. His
tanned face was lined in exactly the right places. His smile was easy. He wore
a black, silk polo neck shirt and black slacks. He could have stepped right out
of Giorgio Armani's show room. When he looked at her, he was seeing a face and
a body. When Creasy looked at her, she had the feeling that he was watching
only her mind.

The Owl
was his usual silent self, observing and listening. The Dane had set up his
computer and was studying the green screen.

He
glanced up at her and said in an informal voice: "Please proceed,
Susanna."

She
started to recount the conversation with Dang Hoang Long and Creasy asked:
"What language were you using?"

"Vietnamese,"
she answered.

"Do
you speak it well?"

"Fluently."

"What
other languages do you have?"

"Good
French and passable Cambodian."

His
face remained impassive, but she noticed his glance at Guido. She continued her
report, still feeling a bit like a schoolgirl. In some ways, she was junior to
these men; obviously in age, and certainly in experience. She was well informed
about their backgrounds and although she was a confident woman, she could not
dispel the feeling of nervousness.

They
listened for a few minutes in silence, and then Guido interrupted to ask about
the background of Dang Hoang Long.

She
gave a thumbnail sketch including his watershed meeting with Ho Chi Minh in
Paris. As she spoke, Jens was tapping the information into his computer.

"Why
does he trust you?" Creasy asked.

"Because
I've always been honest with him, and unlike many Americans, I do not treat
him, or other Asians, with condescension."

"It's
a good attitude," he said. "I can't think why any American should
treat a Vietnamese with anything less than full respect. After all, they took
on the mightiest military machine in the world and defeated it."

She
could not help herself. She said: "You were part of that machine."

He
smiled. It was only a brief movement of his lips. He said: "Yes, for a
short time I was. And I have to say that it was an education. I came here from
the wars in West Africa and even though the Viet Minh had beaten the French, I
still tended to look on the Vietnamese as inferior soldiers. I was quickly
disabused of that notion. When it comes to jungle warfare, only the Japanese or
the Ghurkas are their equals...Please continue."

She
explained how Van Luk Wan had first been detained by the victorious North
Vietnamese and later ransomed for a kilo of gold. Creasy leaned forward and
asked: "Do you know who provided the gold?"

"Yes,
a Chinese-American called Bill Crum."

Creasy
had a poker face, but she saw the flicker in his eyes as he sat back in his
chair. She asked: "Do you know him?"

Creasy
was looking over her shoulder far into the distance. His mind was obviously
back into history.

She
repeated the question, and he slowly nodded.

"Yes.
Bill Crum is probably the most evil man I ever met and I've met many..."
He glanced again at Guido, who was watching him with interest. "I've done
a few things in my life which I regret. I guess we all have. But on a cold
night in early 1977 I did something of which I'm proud...I killed a monster
called Bill Crum. I killed him in a converted temple in the New Territories of
Hong Kong and I burned him and the temple until nothing was left."

Jens
stopped tapping the keys of his computer. He was looking at Creasy in
fascination. He said: "You had left Vietnam ten years earlier. Why did you
kill him?"

"It
was a job," Creasy answered. "I was hired to do it. I don't normally
do jobs like that, I'm not a hit-man, but on this occasion, it was a
pleasure."

"Who
hired you?" Susanna asked.

He
studied her across the table and then answered: "An American group."

The
reaction was automatic. "My government does not hire assassins!"

Both
Creasy and Guido laughed and she felt her anger rising.