Message from Hell (A Creasy novel Book 5) Read online

  She translated that, expecting the woman to be amused. But she simply nodded silently and then asked: ‘Will I be safe with these two men?’

  Susanna glanced at them and then answered: ‘They will do their very best to protect you and your daughters.’

  The woman shook her head. ‘I didn’t mean that. We’re going to be sort of locked up together for many days and nights. What if they get drunk and try to rape me?’

  Susanna started an answer, but then stopped and put the question to the two men.

  They showed no offence. Maxie said: ‘First of all, while in this house, we will drink no alcohol.’ He glanced at René. ‘And secondly, if it will reassure her, you can tell her that we are both gay.’

  She looked at them both and then translated to the woman.

  For the first time, Mrs Tran smiled. Then she laughed and said: ‘Of course they are not gay. But now I trust them. Please tell them thank you, and welcome to my house.’

  Chapter 27

  She had seen the scars on his face, but not those on his body. And her eyes were drawn to them in morbid fascination. It seemed almost impossible to be able to place even a fingertip on his torso without covering a scar.

  She had tapped on the door of his room a few minutes earlier. He had only been wearing shorts; the air-conditioning in the hotel had broken down yet again, and on a windless evening the room was as hot as an oven.

  He poured them both a glass of cold water from a flask and listened intently as she briefed him about the arrival of Maxie and René, and their preparations at Tran’s house.

  ‘It was reassuring,’ she said. ‘They seem to be very competent.’

  He gave her one of his rare, brief smiles. ‘The fact that they’re alive is proof of their competence. It all comes from experience. You can take a twenty-year-old athlete and turn him into a bodyguard by training him in the martial arts and the use of a variety of weapons. He can become a total expert physically, and to some extent, mentally. But the only time he gets actual experience is when someone tries to kidnap or kill his charge. And then you have a situation of a highly trained man or woman having to do a job at which they’ve had no experience. It’s like training a company of soldiers and then sending them into battle without experienced officers or sergeants. The minute the fire-fight starts, their training goes out the window. It’s ironic. René and Maxie both passed fifty years old. There’s no protective organization I know of who would think of hiring fifty-year-old bodyguards. And yet those two are the best in the business.’

  She was looking at the scars again. She gestured at his body and asked: ‘Do they have as many scars as you?’

  ‘They have enough,’ he said. ‘To my knowledge, René was wounded several times in Algeria when he was in the Legion. And again in the Congo. Maxie was once left for dead on the Zambian border during the Rhodesian war. He dragged himself ten miles back into Rhodesia. He was in hospital for over three months. The point is, Susanna, that they’ve been through it all many times.’

  ‘Why do you do it?’

  He shrugged. ‘It’s all we know. I joined the Marines when I was seventeen to get away from a lousy life at home. I’ve never known anything else except being a soldier of one kind or another. The same applies to Maxie and René, and of course to Guido. There’s nothing romantic about it. We’ve been called the dogs of war and the orphans of society. Maybe the truth lies somewhere in between. Mercenaries have a bad reputation and usually it’s deserved. By its nature the profession attracts very low-life types, but they’re not all bad. The best time of my life was in the Legion. It was like the family that I’d never had before. The same applied to René and Guido. We were brothers in that family.’

  ‘You had to retire?’ she asked.

  ‘No. No soldier ever has to retire from the Foreign Legion. If he wants to stay on after his fighting age, then they give him other duties or he goes to their vineyards in France. Under normal circumstances, he’s never forced out of the family.’

  ‘So why did the three of you leave?’

  ‘It was at the end of the Algerian war, when de Gaulle decided to give the Algerians their independence. Some of the generals and other officers rebelled, including those commanding our own parachute regiment. Legionnaires always follow their officers. When the rebellion failed, our regiment was disbanded. De Gaulle was very vengeful, and perhaps with good reason. At one point we were within forty-eight hours of parachuting onto Paris.’ He shook his head at the memory. ‘It was madness, but it was a mad time.’

  Abruptly, he stood up, walked to the window and tried to force it even wider to let in a shred more air. He looked down at the buzzing street below and said over his shoulder: ‘So they kicked us out.’

  He turned. She could see the discomfort on his face. He was a taciturn man not given to long monologues and definitely averse to showing his own feelings.

  ‘End of speech,’ he said, ‘and change of subject. Tomorrow I’m heading to Phnom Penh. I don’t think we’ll make any more progress here. Guido will stay on for a couple more days to keep an outside eye on Tran’s house and on Tran himself.’

  ‘Is that what he’s doing now?’

  He nodded. ‘I think we can trust Tran, but you can never be sure. In this country there are many wheels within wheels. And there may be more than one puppeteer pulling the strings.’ He moved back to his chair and sat down and said: ‘I’m grateful for your help. Your introduction to Dang Hoang Long was very useful. I’m sorry you had to go through that unpleasantness at the river.’

  She hardly heard his last words because her mind was forced back to a decision she had put off for the last two days. The speed of events and their emotional impact had allowed her to push her own personal problem to the back of her mind. But she would soon have to face it. She must have been lost in her thoughts for a long time because she suddenly heard his voice.

  ‘Are you all right, Susanna?’

  Her head jerked up. ‘Yes, I’m fine. I was just thinking about something.’

  ‘It must have been something sad.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘It shows on your face. It’s been that way now for the past couple of days. You’re not the same person. Has something happened?’

  Abruptly, she realized that his tone of voice had changed. The hardness had left it. For a moment she felt an urge to tell him everything. Maybe it was because he was twenty years older than her and so much more experienced. But then her eyes looked at the scarred body and face, and her mind asked the question: What would such a man know of the emotions of a woman who realizes that a child is about to grow inside her? What would he know about the disappointments of a man she thought she might love and who might love her? What would he know about anything, apart from weapons and killing? His world was as far from hers as a planet a million light years away.

  She stood up and smoothed her skirt, saying: ‘I’m fine, Creasy. I’ll probably stay on a couple more days and then head back to Washington. I hope everything goes well for you in Cambodia . . . for all of you. I’m glad I was a little help.’

  She went back to her room and took a cold shower, wrapped herself in a towel and lay on the bed. She could not seem to focus her thoughts in any clear direction. Slowly, it became apparent that she had reached a crossroads in her life. She was of an age and in a condition that required one of life’s decisions. She felt lonely and even abandoned. She pushed herself up against the headboard. She made a decision. It was an easy one. She would decide tomorrow. She would have dinner in the hotel and drink a good bottle of wine, sleep late and then decide.

  The phone rang. It was Creasy. His deep voice said: ‘I just had a fax from Jens. He has made good progress and I will definitely be leaving in the morning. Now let me tell you something: when I was here all those years ago, a Frenchman called Jean Godard ran a restaurant on Co Ban Street. He served the best French food in Indo-China. Of course he was forced out when the communists took over and he wen
t back to France. But I heard today that he’s back and has been allowed to rent his own premises. I’m going there for dinner tonight. If you have no plans, why not be my guest and give me a chance to thank you properly for your help?’

  She thought for only a moment before she answered: ‘You don’t have to thank me. I was only doing my duty . . . But I’ll be very happy to join you for dinner.’

  Chapter 28

  Mr Ponnosan lifted the lid of the box and, in spite of himself, felt and heard the slight gasp he let out. There were no opals this time, nor any other gemstones. Only the six large pieces of jade. They were of a size he had never seen before. He composed himself and then looked up at the smiling face of Connie Crum across the table. It was the same setting as the previous few occasions. The wooden house in the jungle, a bare room and the two black-clad young women standing at her shoulders with their holstered pistols.

  He had done well on the last three trades, earning a profit of more than fifty per cent. This was the big one. He studied the tiny ‘windows’ cut into the stones. They revealed the creamy white of Imperial jade, and he knew they must have come from the northern mountains of Burma. He was not a great expert in jade, but he could recognize what he was now turning in his fingers. He tried to keep his face expressionless as he asked: ‘What do you want for them?’

  She leaned forwards. Her voice was cold and crisp.

  ‘Four hundred thousand dollars. And I’m not going to bargain. If you’re not interested, I’ll take them to Bangkok myself.’

  He looked again at the grey lumps of stone.

  ‘It’s a great deal of money,’ he muttered.

  ‘No,’ she answered. ‘Not for that jade. You would not be here if you had not made a good profit on the previous occasions. You know the rarity of such jade. And you know that it normally goes straight from Rangoon to Hong Kong for auction. I will take nothing less than four hundred thousand . . . not a cent. You know very well that you can double your money.’

  The two young women were watching his eyes. They could see the greed in them. Abruptly he closed the box and nodded his head, then reached for his money belt.

  As he walked out the door in his Italian silk suit, clutching the box, Connie Crum looked up at one of the girls and grinned like a cat that has just had a lobster put before it. Then she went back to counting the money.

  Van Luk Wan came in and raised his eyebrows at the small mountains of thousand-dollar bills.

  ‘You made a good trade?’ he asked.

  She gave him her cat smile.

  ‘I sure did! Mr Ponnosan won’t be coming back. When he arrives in Bangkok and shows those stones to a real expert, he’ll discover that he paid four hundred thousand dollars for Alaskan jadeite worth no more than fifty bucks!’ She stretched and yawned. ‘I don’t know what gives me more pleasure: an orgasm, or ripping off a complaisant Thai business man.’

  Van grinned, but his eyes never left the pile of money. He asked: ‘Did you have a good time in Bangkok?’

  She almost purred at the memory. ‘A very good time! It has been an excellent week.’

  ‘It’s going to be better,’ Van said. ‘I just had the news that the Dane and the Frenchman arrived in Phnom Penh. They checked into the Cambodiana Hotel an hour ago.’

  Slowly, she sat back in her chair. The money was forgotten. She said: ‘So he caught the follower?’

  ‘Obviously. But that Creasy is clever or rich. The follower is still sending in reports. So he was turned. Creasy is still in Saigon. And his friend, Guido Arrellio, has disappeared.’

  She was nodding her head thoughtfully.

  ‘Yes, he’s clever. He sends in an advance guard to dig around for information while he keeps up a facade. He will go to Phnom Penh soon and then we begin the next stage.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘You threatened the follower with the death of his family if he talked?’

  ‘Yes. It made our deception more authentic.’

  ‘Good. As soon as Creasy has left Saigon, arrange for the follower’s family to be killed.’ ‘Is it necessary?’

  ‘Of course. We must be seen to keep our threats. It will become known. It will strike fear.’

  Chapter 29

  They were never shown a menu.

  The old patron of the bistro had greeted Creasy with a kiss on both cheeks and a bear hug, and Susanna with a kiss on her hand. Then he had waved them to a corner table.

  They could have been in the neighbourhood bistro in a Paris suburb; check tablecloths, old mirrors and pictures on the walls. Simple home-cooked food. They ate a thick fish soup followed by a rack of baby lamb and then French cheeses and local fruit. There was one difference: there were lighted candles on the tables, a thing one does not often see in Paris. The wine was good and Susanna drank too much of it.

  Apart from a little small talk, there had been no conversation. The bistro was busy but not noisy. The music coming out of the loudspeakers was French and muted; Yves Montand and then Edith Piaf singing ‘Je ne regrette rien’. As the song started, she noticed something strange. Creasy turned his head towards the bar, behind which the patron sat on a high stool. She saw the old man raise his right hand in a brief salute. She saw Creasy return it.

  ‘What was that about?’ she asked.

  He hesitated for a moment, and then explained. ‘It’s a footprint of history. Jean is an ex-Legionnaire. He fought at Dien Bien Phu and then stayed on. He knows the Legion’s history and my part in it. In Algeria, when the rebellion failed, my regiment, the second REP, blew up our barracks and marched out to oblivion. As we marched we sang . . . we sang “Je ne regrette rien”. That song was stamped into our minds. When Edith Piaf died, the Legion sent an honour guard to her funeral. Every year on the anniversary of her death, flowers are laid on her grave in Paris with a card that simply states “La Légion”.’

  There was a catch in his voice, and Susanna felt strangely moved. It was a contradiction that such men could have such emotions; but then she realized the connection. The life of Edith Piaf and the life of a Legionnaire were somehow similar. The ‘sparrow’ had been as much an orphan as all of them.

  She knew from the Interpol file she had read back in Washington that Creasy had been married twice. His first wife and only child had died on Pan Am 103 over Lockerbie; his second wife had been blown to bits in a car bomb in London. She realized that just being close to him constituted an act of danger. Maybe it was the wine, or that fact, which sent a surge through her. She looked at his battered, candlelit face with its eyelids which seemed to droop against cigarette smoke, although he did not smoke; his grey, closely cropped hair and his inbuilt air of menace. With a shock, she realized that he affected her sexually.

  Into her confusion, he said: ‘I can’t remember ever having dinner in such romantic circumstances with a captain of the US Army.’

  She laughed and said: ‘Maybe I should have come in uniform.’

  Solemnly, he shook his head. ‘I would never like to see you in uniform. That dress suits you perfectly. You have a strange beauty, Susanna. At first glance, you are quite severe, but as time goes by, it softens and develops.’

  She felt absurdly pleased at the compliment. It had been a long time since she had received one.

  ‘Is there a woman in your life now?’ she asked.

  ‘No. I seem to be a liability to women.’

  ‘Creasy, that’s understandable. You don’t exactly work nine to five in an office.’

  He leaned forwards, resting his elbows on the table. His voice dropped a decibel.

  ‘Let’s talk about you, Susanna. To stay alive, I have to be alert and observant. I’ve watched you these last few days and something has happened. You may not believe it, but I care for you. At first I thought it was the business with the follower at the river. Now I think it’s something different.’

  Maybe it was the ambience of the room, but she just blurted it out.

  ‘Three days ago, I discovered I was pregnant.’

  He did not r
eact, except to pick up his glass and take a sip of wine. Then he said: ‘You may as well tell me all about it. I’m not your father or your boss or your lover. I’m just a friend.’

  So she talked. After listening in silence for fifteen minutes, Creasy said: ’In this case, having an abortion is like running away.’

  ‘It’s my choice, Creasy.’

  ‘Of course it is. But it would be a tragedy.’

  ‘How can you say that?’

  ‘Because you need a baby.’

  ‘A baby without a father?’

  ‘A father can be useful, but isn’t essential. If a child has the love of the mother, it can be enough.’ He sighed reflectively. ‘Yes, I’m old fashioned and unrepentant about it. I agree with abortion under some circumstances, but you admit that when you conceived that child you were, in a way, in love with that guy in Washington. The fact that he doesn’t want to know any more does not make that concept ugly or wrong. The fact that you phoned him when you knew you were pregnant and the fact that you still haven’t made the decision of what to do about it, means only one thing: there is a part of you that wants that baby. What we have to find out is how big that part is. In essence, we have to find out how strong your maternal instinct is.’

  She sat back and laughed. Then she asked: ‘Creasy, you keep saying “we”. How can you find out how strong my maternal instincts are?’