Assignment Bangkok Read online

  “Benjie?”

  “I’m all right, Sam.”

  “Come down here. Lights out. Lock the office.”

  “Did you hurt your leg?”

  “Just a bit. Hurry.”

  She was not fast enough. He did not know where the other men came from. He could not count them all. They ran up the ramp from the canal in a dark, overwhelming wave. Benjie’s gun went off again, but he had no chance to help himself. Bodies came over him in a bruising, crushing torrent. Fists and clubs rained upon him, and he went down alongside the Chinese. He kicked at one face, and hopefully broke another’s neck with a karate chop, but there were too many of them. There was a roaring in his ears, and he thought he heard Benjie yelp in sudden anguish, and then he was picked up and hurried away among a thick knot of panting men. He still tried to struggle, but his arms and legs were tightly pinioned. They swept him across the sawmill yard toward the dark sheds where the saws were silent. They had Benjie, too. He heard her cursing like a man among the dark mass of their opponents.

  Light blinded him. He was thrown down on a steel table. There was sweat and blood in his eyes, and he could not see well. Something began to whine, whipping up a deafening scream of spinning steel. He twisted his head. One of his captors grinned and pointed. The huge circular saw blade in the shed was going, not more than a few inches from his stomach.

  “Wait,” he gasped.

  He smelled teak sawdust and saw the loom of sawed logs around him, and steps going up into the darkness of high rafters overhead. One of the men laughed. There was a spate of Thai, the smells of sweat and garlic. The spinning saw was a huge steel blur before his eyes. He tasted blood in his mouth.

  “Wait,” he said again.

  “Yes?”

  The reply was quiet under the whine of the roaring blade. The Chinese in the Western suit bent over him on the saw table. The man’s glasses were broken, and there was blood on his coat. He held his side, where Benjie’s bullet had nicked him. Durell looked for the girl, but the men who held him would not let him turn his head.

  “Tell us,” said the Chinese, “Tell us everything.”

  “About what?”

  “Why did you go to Hu Gan Tranh’s house?”

  “To hell with you,” Durell said.

  The Chinese raised his voice against the scream of the saw. The steel table vibrated. “You wish to die?”

  “Let me see Mr. Chuk again.”

  “You had your opportunity to talk to Chuk. Now you talk to me. Why did you go to Hu’s house? Why did you speak to Hu’s nephew?”

  “I’m a friend of the family,” Durell said.

  The Chinese said, “I have no time to waste.” He nodded to one of the men standing out of Durell’s sight. The speed of the saw suddenly increased. The hands that pinned Durell to the table tightened, began to shove him toward the blurred arc of shining steel. He felt the hot wind from the revolving blade against his face. Suddenly he knew there was no hope. There was an implacability in the Chinese face that backed away from him.

  Above the scream of the saw he heard the hooting of a siren, shouts, a series of shots. Feet shuffled uneasily around the saw table. The faces retreated. Several of the men who held him loosened their grip. Their faces wavered. The Chinese shouted angrily, but one spoke back, chattering with alarm. There were more shots. Footsteps pounded in the compound yard. Durell suddenly bunched his muscles and heaved up and away from the spinning saw. He broke free on one side, twisted, slid partly off the table. The hands that held him grabbed for new grips and slid away. He fell to the floor, ducked under the table, choking in the sawdust. There were more shots, more yells. The gang of sawyers around him ran away. Durell rested for a moment on hands and knees. His mouth ached where he had been clobbered by someone’s fist, but none of his teeth were loosened. He heard a shouted order, and the great saw blade slowly whined down to a moaning halt.

  He heard Benjie say, “Oh, Sam . . .”

  He stood up and looked into the muzzle of a gun pointed squarely between his eyes.

  10

  “You are under arrest, Mr. Durell.”

  “What for?”

  “Let us say you have been disturbing the peace.”

  “I’m an innocent bystander.”

  “Not so innocent, we think. Come, we’ll give you medical attention.”

  “Stop pointing that gun at me, Major.”

  “Of course. Sorry. You were inciting a riot?”

  Durell said, “I do my best.”

  The Thai wore a military uniform with the pips of his rank. A number of Thai soldiers stood about in the sawmill yard. Someone had put on all the floodlights. There was no sign of the wounded Chinese or his men. Durell was not surprised.

  “You didn’t find the men who attacked Miss Slocum?” “We understand there was a labor disturbance here. The men are on strike, we believe. But your presence is another matter. And you have been quite active in Bangkok tonight, Mr. Durell. We are advised that your presence in Thailand is that of an undesirable alien. I am sorry.”

  Durell walked out with the Thai officer through the wide doors near the concrete ramp to the klong. His ribs ached and the back of his shoulders felt as if he spent an intimate time with a medieval torture rack. Walking, he tested his left leg. It was all right, except for some new twinges.

  “Where are we going?”

  “You are under security arrest. Protective custody.” The Thai’s English was smooth and melodious. He was a small man with graying hair and a smooth, boyish face. He introduced himself as Major Luk Ban Long of the Thai Third Army Security Forces. His smile was apologetic. “I am truly sorry about the difficulties you have been having in our country, Mr. Durell.”

  “You’re a long way from home. You’re supposed to be chasing guerrillas out of the mountains, Major Luk.”

  “My work takes me everywhere. Come, please. I shall try to intercede for you.”

  “With whom?”

  “General Uva Savag. Do you know him?”

  “That bastard,” Durell said.

  “Then you have heard of him,” Luk said calmly.

  Durell said, “He wiped out three villages up in Nan province, last year. Charged the tribesmen with being insurgents, without trial, just lined them up, men, women, and children, and shot them.”

  “Do not mention that to him, Mr. Durell.”

  Durell saw Benjie walking amid a squad of other Thai soldiers. The girl looked angry, but she gave him a wry, lopsided grin as they met at the main gate to the sawmill. “You’re pretty good, Cajun. A real tiger.”

  “You’re not bad yourself, Benjie.”

  “Are we under arrest?”

  “For disturbing the peace.”

  The road outside the sawmill led away from the klong. The gravel crunched under their feet. The moon was rising over the palms that lined the canal. Across the water were low, thatched houses, each with its own landing. The aii felt cooler. He favored his left leg again as he walked.

  A small convoy of army trucks was parked just around the first bend in the road. A heavy limousine stood at the head of the column. As Major Luk hastened to open the door, the light went on inside and Durell stared at the cruelest face he had ever seen.

  “General Uva Savag,” Major Luk murmured.

  11

  “I’ve had enough,” Durell said.

  It was an hour later.

  “We have not yet begun, Mr. Durell,” said Savag.

  “I want the American Embassy, and the Ambassador.”

  “What you will get is a quiet, unmarked grave, if you do not cooperate. You did not confide in the man you call Uncle Hu. You did not talk much to the man we know as Mr. Chuk. You found the young boxer, Tinh, dying of poison. You destroyed government property in removing a microphone from your hotel room.”

  “Ah. It was you.”

  “And this is enough for us to hold you forever, under our military laws,” Savag went on smoothly. “However, I believe you prefer t
o tell me your real mission in my country.”

  “It’s to confirm your own job,” Durell told him.

  “My job?”

  “The insurgents in your frontier district seem to have a free hand.”

  “My job is intelligence.” General Uva Savag paused. “As is yours. But there is something special about you, I think. It troubles me. I do not like to be troubled, eh? So you will be frank and cooperative with me.”

  “I’ll give you the same answer I gave Chuk,” said Durell. “To hell with you.”

  General Savag did not look like the ordinary Thai. There was none of the pleasant geniality of the Thai peo-pie in him. Somewhere in his ancestry was northern blood, Chinese or Mongol, from ancient conquerors of Indochina’s tortured land. Perspiration shone on his round, brown face. Unlike most Thais, he sported a moustache. His uniform was extremely neat, the brass polished, and he had a swagger stick laid across the top of an empty, immaculate desk.

  A fan whirred noisily in the little office. They were in an empty barracks on the outskirts of Sampeng, not far from a highway from which came the rumble and racket of diesel trucks. The soldiers under Savag’s command were tightly disciplined, and they kept out of sight. A blue porcelain teapot steamed on the desk near Savag’s elbow. He drank noisily, and his obsidian eyes never left Durell’s face. He did not offer Durell any of the tea.

  “Are you concerned about Miss Slocum?”

  “Not particularly,” Durell said.

  “But she is an old friend, I understand.”

  “I don’t think she’s any man’s friend.”

  “Ah. You do not like her? And her brother? A rascal, a whorechaser, improvident, living on his sister’s hard and persistent labor.”

  “It’s not my problem.”

  “Is not Mike Slocum your problem?”

  “I’ve been looking for him,” Durell admitted. “He does odd jobs for me. We’re all trying to help your country—if Thailand is your country, General.”

  Something flickered briefly in Savag’s black eyes. “I will overlook the remark. You have had a difficult time since your arrival here. You could use some medical attention.” “Who told you about it?” Durell asked. “Miss Ku Tu Thiet, in James’ house?”

  Tiny muscles bunched in Savag’s jaw, under his ears. His eyes were malevolent. “We are both in the same business. Yes, yes. Miss Ku works for me. A lovely child. It is her duty to report to my intelligence staff. We are riddled with traitors, saboteurs, terrorists, Mr. Durell, who work for the enemy. I will not tolerate it, I will use any means, any tool, to learn what I must know. You interfere with my work. I will not tolerate that, either. I speak plainly, you see. Miss Slocum, by the way, will be sent home under protective custody. But you will be kept here. I will not soil my hands further with a fahrang like you. I shall turn you over to Major Luk, who will question you further. In the morning, you will be escorted to> the airport for a plane bound for the United States.”

  Durell felt relieved. He did not think he could tolerate any more abuse at the moment.

  Major Luk was in another office in the deserted barracks building, and through his window the lights of Bangkok made a pale haze in the night sky, seen through a screen of wild banana trees that had grown up against the outer wall. Luk was very polite, very urbane. He apparently ate at odd hours. He had a paper plate of Thai bacon and a bowl of pineapple and coconut rings before him, and he was putting lime juice on a slice of papaya when Durell was escorted in.

  “Ah. My apologies. You wish a doctor now? You look rather—ah—desolate.”

  Benjie sat in one corner, her legs crossed. She had fixed her hair, pulling it back into her usual severe style. Her greenish eyes told Durell nothing.

  Durell looked at the girl. “I thought they let you go.”

  “I refused to leave until I heard about you. Was Savag very bad?”

  Major Luk said, “You must make allowances for my superior. He is a dedicated man. Perhaps he goes to extremes in his dedication, but he has been badly treated in the past, especially by you Westerners.”

  “He told me that Miss Ku, in Mr. James’ employ, also works for you.”

  Major Luk nodded. “She is helpful, now and then. Are you surprised? It is all in the business, is it not?” He sprinkled more lime juice on his papaya. “Come, Mr. Durell, we are not uncivilized. I believe our ancestors had a highly developed culture when yours were still swinging from the trees, so to speak. We are very proud of our Thai heritage.

  To us, you are barbarians, relatively speaking. Americans are General Savag’s particular dislike, I am afraid. You do not comprehend our ways and customs, nor do you try to.”

  “Let’s not have any lectures,” Durell said flatly. “Just let me out of here.”

  “You must forgive me. You know I have orders to put you on a plane tomorrow.”

  “I’m going up-country. Into your security area.”

  Major Luk smiled. “You are honest, at any rate. I have heard about you, Mr. Durell, and read your dossier. It is formidable. I truly believe you may accomplish what you have set out to do.” The Thai soldier’s eyes moved, smiling, from Durell to Benjie. “But you must leave Bangkok in the morning. If you do not, General Savag will be most annoyed. I would not recommend that you cause him any distress.”

  “The bastard,” Benjie said. “His reputation stinks.” “There are rotten apples, as you would say, in every barrel. Am I correct?” He turned to Benjie. “You are free to go. I understand you wish to travel to Chiengmai?”

  “Yes. On business.”

  Major Luk said gently, “Ah, Chiengmai. Once a beautiful city, the capital of a Laos kingdom, you know, for which the Burmese and Thai people fought. Your teak rafts start there, going down-river to Bangkok?”

  “You know it,” Benjie said.

  Major Luk looked at Durell. “It was once an important junction, in ancient days, for caravans to Yunnan and the Shan states. Now, of course, it is our strategic base for the battle against insurgents . . . and others. The moi—the tribesmen—are most unsettled. General Savag is determined to halt their activities. He is very proud of our traditions. ‘Muang Thai’ means the Land of the Free, you know. Over two thousand years ago we migrated from the Yangtse, pushed south by the Chinese, and we established the kingdom of Nanchao, on the Yunnan plateau, about 700 A.D. Eventually, Nanchao was destroyed by Kublai

  Khan, the Mongol emperor of China, in 1253, and we trekked south again to fight against the Khmers and established the Kingdom of Sukhothai, which means the ‘Dawn of Happiness.’ The first king of the Thais is our national hero-figure, Phra Ruang. His third son was Rama Kamheng, a warrior, statesman, scholar, lover, devout Buddhist, and patron of the arts. He invented the Thai script, too. You know something of Sukhothai pottery, and the delicate bronze Buddhas from the area?”

  “I’m wondering why you give us a lecture,” Durell said. “I was briefed on Thai history.”

  “Of course. My apologies. Miss Slocum, you may go.” “What about Sam?” she asked defiantly.

  Durell said, “It seems to me you still have a few Mongols from Kublai Khan’s day with you, Major.”

  Luk smiled. “You refer to General Savag?” Then a telephone on Luk’s desk rang. He seemed to have been waiting for the call. He spoke briefly, then stood up. “Excuse me. It is urgent.”

  He went out. Durell and the girl waited for a moment. Then Durell said, “Let’s go.”

  Benjie was surprised. “It’s too easy. It’s a trick.”

  “No trick. He wants us to get out.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “He hates Savag’s guts. He’s sympathetic to us. He told me so, when he mentioned caravans out of Chiengmai. He knows what my job is. He wants me to get it done.”

  “You’re building a lot on a few casual words.”

  “The Thais are like that. You ought to know.”

  The office door was not locked. The corridor was empty. Benjie followed him out. From an op
en doorway down the hall came the sound of high-pitched Thai argument. General Savag’s voice was a low growl over Major Luk’s protests. Durell gave Benjie the signal to go the other way. At the head of some stairs going down there was a dim light, and below was an open door going outside. The sounds of highway traffic seemed louder.

  “They must have my jeep here,” Benjie whispered.

  They went silently down the stairs. There was no alarm. The single unshaded lamp made a dangerous pool of illumination, and from behind them came the continued argument in Savag’s office. Durell wondered where Savag’s platoon was posted. Then he took Benjie’s hand, and, together, they ran across the lighted hall and out the doorway.

  Among the weeds and trash that littered the barracks area, they felt isolated, as if the place were deserted. Then Durell noted a cigarette glow near the sagging gate posts that led to a rutted road going toward the highway. Headlights flared from the traffic there, above a small rise clumped with vegetation. He pulled Benjie silently to the left, around a corner of the sagging doorway, and exhaled softly.

  Two army trucks and Benjie’s jeep were parked in the shadows under some leaning palm trees. She dug into the hip pocket of her baggy blue denims.

  “I have a spare key,” she whispered.

  They ran for it. If any of the soldiers in the shadows of the wire gate saw them, they gave no sign. Benjie tumbled in behind the wheel, jabbed the key into the lock, and switched on the engine. The racket sounded enormous. Over its roar, Durell thought he heard a shout of alarm, but Benjie paid no attention. The jeep swung in a wild turn that kicked up a cloud of dark dust around them, and then she switched on the headlights. The guards at the gate were caught by surprise in the glare. Benjie tramped on the gas. One of the soldiers tried to raise his rifle, but he was sideswiped by the jeep and sent sprawling into the dust. Before any shots could be fired, they were through and heading for the open highway.