Message From -Creasy 5 (9 page)

"That
kind of thing may have happened back in the sixties, but since the early
seventies our policy has been strictly against it."

Again
the two mercenaries laughed, and Guido commented: "Since John F. Kennedy,
the policy of every US President has been not to issue executive orders for
assassinations under any circumstance; but Miss Moore, sometimes they use what
we call in the business 'Becket approval'."

"What
do you mean?"

The
Italian leaned forward. "Do you know who Thomas A Becket was and how he
died?"

She
felt he was being condescending, and the level of her anger rose further.
"Yes, Mr Arrellio, I do have an education."

Guido
inclined his head in acknowledgement. He said: "Then you'll know that when
Thomas A Becket was being a nuisance to his king, the king commented to his
knights: 'Who will rid me of this turbulent priest?' Four knights promptly rode
off to Canterbury Cathedral and ran their swords through Thomas A Becket. The
king claimed to be dismayed. In present times, when a US President is having
problems with a foreign leader, it has often been the case that he might mumble
to his Chief of Staff or National Security Adviser or the Director of the CIA
something like: 'I wish to God that bastard would go away!' Of course it's not
an executive order and of course the President would be horrified to think that
he had given any encouragement." The Italian smiled. "But in the
business it's called a 'Becket decision'...Console yourself with the fact that
it's not only US Presidents who have, and will use, such moral armour."

Looking
at Creasy, she asked: "How much did the CIA pay you to kill Bill
Crum?"

His
answer was direct. "It was not the CIA. It was a group of senior American
officers who were being blackmailed by that gentleman. They paid me two hundred
thousand Swiss francs, which in those days was a lot of money. But then, part
of the job was to destroy all the documents in that temple. I read those
documents before I burned them. It was not edifying reading."

Her
anger had been replaced by massive curiosity. "Are you saying that there
was a lot of corruption in the US Armed Forces during the Vietnam war?"

He
nodded. "More than you'd ever guess. Since you're a student of history,
you might know that by the end of the sixties a vast industry had grown up in
and around the major US bases in Vietnam. The weekly turnover of the PX was
greater than that of Sears Roebuck. It ran into hundreds of millions of dollars
a month. Those bases became huge department stores, selling everything from
women's underwear to hi-fi sets. One Hong Kong Chinese tailor had more than
twenty retail outlets on the US bases. They even had night clubs with Filipino
bands and Australian strippers. It was like a giant spider's web, and the
spider in the middle was Bill Crum. He controlled everything from drugs and
women to whisky. He operated from a villa on the outskirts of Saigon and in
that villa, he lavishly entertained a great number of senior US Army officers,
especially those involved with supply. It was said that Bill Crum could supply
anything from a case of condoms to a brand new Abrams tank. He had girls in
that villa, and drugs, and what was known as Vietnamese gold, which came in
paper-thin strips. It could be moulded inside belts or suitcases or shoes. He
also had a recording system which would have impressed Richard Nixon. When the
war ended, he retired to Hong Kong, bought himself a yacht marina in the New Territories
and converted a disused temple as a home. Naturally, he took with him his
collection of documents, photographs and tapes. The problems started in the
mid-seventies, when some investigative journalists from the NBC Sixty Minutes
programme began to home in on him. Bill Crum was an American citizen, and the
US Justice Department started extradition proceedings. It was then that Bill
Crum applied pressure on certain very senior American generals, and I was hired
to eliminate Bill Crum and all the proof...I have to say that I did a good
job."

Susanna
believed him. There was no reason why he should lie. Jens looked up from his
computer screen and asked Creasy: "So what was the connection between Bill
Crum and Van Luk Wan?"

"It's
obvious. Van must have been working for him. In his own evil way, Bill Crum
must have had loyalties and, for him, a kilo of gold was peanuts."

Guido
said: "If Bill Crum were alive, he would be the one to have baited the
trap for you. Did he have any relatives?"

"Only
one. He had a daughter by a Cambodian woman. He doted on her. She was an only
child."

"Did
she know it was you who killed him?" Guido asked.

"I
would not have thought so. But then, looking back, I got a few things wrong. I
assumed that Jake Bentsen was killed in that fire-fight. I also assumed that
Van Luk Wan died from that bullet I put into his chest. So maybe she did know
who killed her father."

"Do
you know where she is now?" Susanna asked.

Creasy
pushed himself to his feet, saying: "I've got no idea. But maybe we should
start trying to find out."

They
all stood up. The Dane asked: "Do we have a name for her?"

Creasy
said: "She was called Connie, after Bill Crum's mother."

He
looked at Susanna and said: "You've been of great help, Miss Moore, and we
appreciate it. I hope you'll join us for dinner tonight. Afterwards, we'll look
up some of the haunts that I frequented back in the old days, if any are still
left. Maybe we'll hear a whisper or two."

"I'd
be glad to join you," she answered diffidently. "But maybe you guys
prefer to be on your own."

It was
Guido who provided the answer. "Come with us, and keep us out of
trouble."

"He's
hooked!"

Van Luk
Wan's face radiated malicious pleasure. Connie Crum asked: "Are you
sure?"

"Positive. My people spotted him coming through Tan Son Nut airport yesterday. I checked
with immigration. He used his own name. He was accompanied by a man called
Guido Arrellio. Immigration details show that he's an Italian from
Naples."

"Yes, I know about Guido Arrellio. He's Creasy's closest friend. They were in the
Legion together, and later formed a mercenary partnership."

She was silent in thought. Van asked: "Is he also a dangerous man?"

"Yes, very. But from my information he has been retired for some years. The fact that
he's been travelling with Creasy may mean that Creasy suspects he's walking
into a trap. In that case Guido Arrellio may not be the only one on the scene.
We have to be very careful. That bastard Creasy is not one to travel blind."

She gave Van a hard look. "Are you sure that the man you have following Creasy is good?"

Van's voice was reassuring. "Connie, he's the best. Very experienced. I cannot
understand this part of your plan. You want Creasy to notice him and then pick
him up and beat information out of him. Information we have planted. Of course
the follower does not know this plan. He thinks he's just being well paid for
doing a big job. The preparation was very good. He travelled to Chek and was allowed
to see a little bit of our operation. He also saw the 'American' at a
distance, wearing foot shackles. He heard me giving orders about the American.
About an area I wanted cleared of mines. He was very impressed that we had an
American. I told him that we had several."

Connie smiled. "All true, of course. How did the Dutchman feel about having to
wear those shackles?"

Van
grinned. "He was nervous. At first he refused, but I explained it would
only be for a few minutes and that afterwards, he could spend an hour with Tan
Sotho."

"It's
good," Connie agreed. "Creasy will pick him up and learn that there
are Americans in that area. You are sure that the Dutchman was not close enough
so that the follower could give an accurate description?"

"No.
I just had him shuffle around the compound about a hundred metres away with his
face in profile. The description will be of a tall, bearded, sunburnt Caucasian
between forty and fifty years old."

"It's
good," Connie repeated. "So what's wrong with my plan?"

Van
sighed and said: "I keep telling you my man is probably the best follower
in Saigon or even South East Asia. He's an ex-Intelligence officer specializing
in such work. Creasy is just a mercenary. What would he know of such things?
Why don't you let me put some clumsy idiot to follow Creasy, with the same
information?"

Connie
Crum leaned forward and said: "It's one of the reasons why you work for me
instead of me working for you. It's a question of never underestimating the
enemy and always thinking three times before making a move. Now understand,
Van, I've heard that Creasy has a sixth sense about being followed. If we sent
an idiot to follow him, he'd suspect that it was a plant, and he'd be more
suspicious than he is now. He would doubt the information that he extracted. On
the other hand, we sent the best possible. It might take a few days for Creasy
to spot him, but he will. He'll recognize an expert. And he will believe the
information. The only problem is if Creasy decides not to pick up the follower.
He's quite capable of just giving him the slip and disappearing."

"Don't
worry," Van said. "I have informers in the Continental Hotel and in
most bars where he might go. They all have his photograph. We will know the
moment that he leaves for Cambodia." His voice dropped almost to a whisper
and it was loaded with hatred. "I can see his face now. It's printed on my
brain. He was so confident that he fired without sighting the pistol. His face
had no expression as he squeezed the trigger. He looked at me as though he was
shooting a mangy dog. In his mind he was killing me for the sake of a little
cheap tart. He was behaving like God, handing out his own idea of justice. One
millimetre to the left, and I would have died. He shot me down and walked
away." He looked across the bare wooden table. "Connie, I want you to
make me a promise, on the memory of your father. When we have Creasy, I want
one hour with him alone. One hour, before you start on him."

She
stood up, brushing the dust from her backside. He followed her to the door of
the wooden shack and watched as she opened the door of the Isuzu jeep.

She
turned and said: "Don't worry, Van. You'll see him suffer."

"That
I want to see...Where are you going now?"

She
turned to look towards the west, and stretched like a cat awaking from a long
sleep. "I'm going to spend the night in Bangkok. I have an excitement in
me and it must be satisfied."

Her
eyes narrowed at the thought that was in her mind. "I will take a suite at
the Oriental Hotel, looking out over the river. I'll have a whirlpool bath and
a strong, sensuous massage. Then in the early evening I'll put on a dress by
Lagerfeld, long and clean, with nothing between it and my skin. I'll put Joy
perfume behind my ears and below my belly button and a little lower. Then I
will go down to the bar and order a champagne cocktail. There will be many
Western businessmen there. They always have a drink before they go out to find
a girl. I'll pick two of them." She smiled at the thought. "They will
think they have died and gone to Heaven. I'll take them up to my suite and they
will do things to me according to my wishes and my fantasies." She held up
her hands with their long, strong, red-tipped fingers. "I will use the whole
of my body on them, including my fingers."

She
climbed into the jeep and asked: "And what will you be doing?"

He was
breathing deeply. He said: "I think I'll go and see Tan Sotho."

The bar
had an unpronounceable name in Vietnamese. The sign outside was in English:
'Mai Man Bar'. It had been an old haunt for Creasy and several other
unofficials during the war. He was surprised that it had survived.

He sat
on a stool at the end of the bar chatting with the aged owner,
'Billy' Nguyen Huy Cuong. Guido, Jens, The Owl and Susanna sat at a
corner table in the smoke-filled room. Guido was teaching them a particularly
vicious form of liar dice.

It had
been an interesting evening. Creasy had discovered that most of the old bars
and hangouts had closed up immediately after the North Vietnamese takeover. But
as the regime had become more pliable, new establishments had opened up. They
had called in at several cafes and bars and Creasy had looked for familiar
faces but found none. Finally he had asked the taxi driver if any of the old
bars had survived and learned that 'Mai Man Bar' had never closed.

"How
did you manage to stay open here?" he asked the owner.

'Billy' gave him thirty seconds of inscrutable Oriental silence, and then abruptly
grinned and winked. He leaned forward.

"Because,
my friend Creasy, during all the years of the Vietnam war I was a Viet Cong
informer. During all the years that you guys drank in here, I used to listen to
your conversations about where you had been and where you were going. I passed
on that information to my Viet Cong contact. It's why a lot of those
unofficials never came back from their patrols. When the North took over, I was
rewarded by being allowed to keep my bar open."

Creasy
digested that, and then said: "You let those guys give good money for your
drinks and then betrayed them?"

"Oh,
yes. On the whole, they were the scum of the earth being well paid to kill my
people. There were rare exceptions, and you were one of them, Creasy. You never
looked down on the Vietnamese. You never tortured them. You never killed anyone
who wasn't trying to kill you. That was your reputation and the reason why I
never betrayed you, but I have to be honest: you never gave me a chance to
betray you. The others liked to boast about what they were doing and how many
Viet Cong they had killed, and even how many village women and girls they had
raped. You never talked about that. So you're welcome back in this bar."