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THE reward of 20,000 piastres for any information concerning Jaffe's last movements before he had been kidnapped led to chaotic scenes outside Security Headquarters.
Inspector Ngoc-Linh had expected this to happen. He knew every shiftless coolie, pousse-pousse boy, street-vendor and the like would come rushing forward with their stories, determined to earn the reward.
He knew he and his men would have to sift through hundreds of stories in the hope of gaining one little fact that might prove Jaffe was in hiding and not in the hands of the Viet Minh. The Inspector hoped too to get a lead on the girl Jaffe associated with. He gave instructions that no one was to be turned away. Everyone coming forward with information was to be interviewed.
A man who could have told him where Jaffe was hiding knew nothing about the offer of the reward for Yo-Yo had never learned to read and consequently never looked at a newspaper.
While the Inspector was probing and sifting the answers to his questions, Yo-Yo squatted outside the Paradise Club, his dirty, vicious face puckered in a perplexed frown.
He saw Charlie arrive. He had seen Charlie before and knew he lived in Hong Kong. He guessed Charlie had been sent for. He knew then for certain that something of great importance was going on. But how was he to find out what this something could be? He wondered if he should go to the taxi-dancer's home and talk to her. He might persuade her to tell him why she had visited the American, but on second thought he saw that if he failed to frighten her into talking he would be in serious trouble with Blackie. The risk was too great.
So he sat in the shade, fidgeting with his yo-yo and waited. Not ten yards from him the food vendor was reading of the reward and wondering craftily what story he could tell the police that would convince them he was the man to receive the reward. He knew Jaffe. He had seen him often going in and out of the club, but he couldn't remember if he had seen him on Sunday night. He vaguely remembered Jaffe had sat in his car outside the club but whether that was on Saturday or Sunday, the vendor couldn't make up his mind.
He decided he might as well tell the police it was Sunday. They would be more impressed if he told them it was Sunday because, according to the newspaper, that was the day when Jaffe disappeared. As soon as the lunch-hour rush was over, he would go to the police and tell them about seeing Jaffe sitting in his car. Even if he didn't get all the reward, surely they would give him something?
In the American Embassy, Lieutenant Hambley sat in his office, digging holes in his blotter with a paper-knife, a thoughtful, worried expression on his face.
He was waiting for Sam Wade to come in. He had telephoned for him as soon as he had got back to his office. Wade had said he would be along in a few minutes.
When he did come in, Hambley waved him to a chair.
"I've got myself snarled up in this Jaffe affair," he said. You knew him pretty well, didn't you?"
"I guess, but not all that well. We played golf together. He was a hell of a fine golfer. I never saw anyone hit a longer ball off the peg."
"What sort of guy was he?"
"A regular fella. I liked him."
Hambley dug more holes in his blotter.
"He wasn't a queer, was he?"
Wade's eyes opened wide.
"Are you kidding?" he asked, an edge to his voice. "Jaffe a queer?
What kind of an idea is that?"
"There's a rumour going around that he was," Hambley said quietly. "It's said he had an association with his house-boy."
Wade looked disgusted.
"The guy who put that rumour around wants his backside kicked. What does he expect to get out of a foul lie like that?"
Hambley looked at Wade's indignant face with interest.
"You're as sure at that?" he asked.
"You're damn right I am!" Wade said, his face flushed. "What's all this about anyway?"
Hambley told him of the Inspector's theory.
"Well, it's a lie," Wade said. "I know for a fact Jaffe had a regular girl. He never chased women. That story about why he borrowed my car is so much baloney!"
"Who was his girl, then?" Hambley asked.
"I don't know. What's it matter anyway? I do know she used to visit his place about three times a week. You know how you get to hear these things. My houseboy is always telling me who is sleeping with who. When you play golf with a guy, you get to know the kind of man he is. Jaffe was a sportsman: he was okay. I'm telling you."
"I'd like to talk to this girl of his," Hambley said. "How can I find her?"
Wade rubbed his fat jowls while he thought.
The most likely one who could tell you is that Chink I slept with on Sunday night; she's a bitch and a thief," and he gave Hambley the address. Hambley reached for his service cap and slapped it on his head.
"Well, thanks," he said, "I'll go and see this Chinese girl."
He looked at his watch. It was just after half past twelve. "You have been a help."
Fifteen minutes later, he was standing outside Ann Fai Wah's front door. He rang the bell and waited. After a two-minute wait, he rang again. He was just deciding that she had gone out, when the front door opened and the girl stood in the doorway, looking at him. Her almond-shaped eyes moved over him, taking in the details of his uniform before examining his face.
"Hambley: Military Police," the Lieutenant said, saluting. "May I come in for a moment?"
She stepped back and made a little flicking movement with her long, beautiful fingers. She was wearing a dove-coloured Cheongsam slit either side to half-way up her thighs. Her long shapely legs were bare and the colour of old ivory. He could see the hard points of her breasts under the grey silk. He didn't think she had on anything under the Cheongsam.
He walked into the sitting-room. On the table was the morning newspaper. By it a tray containing a cup and saucer, a coffee pot and a half-empty bottle of Remy Martin brandy.
Ann Fai Wah sat on the arm of a big leather lounging-chair and rested her arm along its back. Hambley had difficulty not to stare at her leg as the split skirt parted as she sat down.
"You want something?" the girl asked, lifting painted eyebrows.
Hambley pulled himself together.
"Have you read the paper yet?" He leaned forward and tapped the headlines that shouted of Jaffe's kidnapping.
"Hamm."
She nodded, her slim fingers playing with a curl on the side of her neck. "Did you know Jaffe?"
She shook her head.
"He had a girl friend: a Vietnamese taxi-dancer. I'm trying to find her. Would you know who she is and where she lives?"
"Perhaps."
Hambley shifted from one foot to the other. He found the black almond-shaped eyes extremely disconcerting. She was looking him over the way a farmer would examine a prize bull.
"What does that mean? Do you know her or don't you?" She leaned forward to pick up a cigarette. Her breasts tightened their grey silk covering. She put the cigarette between her heavily-made-up lips and looked expectantly at him.
Hambley fumbled for his lighter, found it and had trouble to light it. It irritated him as he lit her cigarette to be aware that he was confused and acting like a teenager.
"Why do you want to know?" she asked, leaning back and releasing a long stream of tobacco smoke down her nostrils.
"We're trying to check his last movements up to the time he was kidnapped," Hambley explained. "We think his girl could help us."
"If she could, she would have come forward, wouldn't she?"
"Not necessarily. She might not want to get involved."
Ann Fai Wah picked up the newspaper and glanced at it. "I see there's a reward. If I told you who she is, will I get the reward?"
"You might. Security Police are paying the reward. You'd have to talk to them."
"I don't want to talk to them. I prefer to talk to you. If you will give me 20,000 piastres, I will tell you who she is."
"So you know?"
Again the painted eyebrows lifted. "Perhaps." "I haven't the authority to give you the money," Hambley said. But I'll put your claim forward through the proper channels. Who is she?"
Ann Fai Wah shrugged her shoulders.
"I forget. I'm sorry. Is that all? You must excuse me."
"Look, baby," Hambley said, suddenly becoming the tough cop, "you can please yourself about this but you either tell me or Security Police. You'll tell one of us!"
Ann Fai Wah's expression didn't change, but her quick shrewd mind warned her of the danger. If this American told Security Police he thought she had information, she would be taken to Headquarters and questioned. She knew what happened to people who were reluctant to talk. She had no intention of having her back lacerated with a bamboo cane.
"And the reward?"
"I told you: I'll put in a claim for you. I don't promise you'll get it, but I'll do my best for you."
She hesitated, looking at him, and then seeing he was determined, she said, "Her name is Nhan Lee Quon. I don't know where she lives. Her uncle tells fortunes at the Tomb of Marshal Le-van-Duyet."
"Thanks," Hambley said. "What's the uncle look like?" "He is a fat man with a beard." Hambley picked up his cap.
"I'll go talk to him," he said and started towards the door. Ann Fai Wah crushed out her cigarette and sauntered to the door with him.
"You won't forget the reward, Lieutenant?"
"I won't forget."
"Perhaps you will come and see me again one evening?" He grinned at her.
"I might at that."
She took hold of the top button of his tunic and examined it. Her face was very close to his.
"Her uncle won't be at the temple until three o'clock," she said. "You have plenty of time. Perhaps you would like to stay a little while now?"
Hambley removed her hand. The touch of her cool fingers made his heart beat a little faster. She certainly was attractive, he was thinking. He wanted to stay.
"Some other time, baby," he said regretfully and he smiled. "I've work to do."
He half-opened the front door, paused and looked at her again. She stared steadily back at him; her black eyes were alight with suggested promises.
Slowly he closed the door and he leaned against it. "Well, maybe I could stay awhile."
She turned and walked slowly across the room to a door. Hambley, his eyes on her heavy, rolling hips, followed her.
The food vendor whose name was Cheong-Su had a long wait before he finally stood before Inspector Ngoc-Linh, but he didn't mind the wait. The activity in the big room fascinated him and there was the suspense of wondering if someone in this long queue waiting to give information would get the reward before his turn came.
When Cheong-Su came to rest before the Inspector, he said simply and firmly that he had come to claim the reward.
"What makes you think you are going to get it?" The Inspector asked, looking at the old man, his little eyes screwed up, and a bitter expression on his tired face.
"I saw the American on Sunday night," Cheong-Su said. "He was sitting in his car outside the Paradise Club. The time was after ten o'clock."
The Inspector pricked up his ears. This was the first piece of information bearing on Jaffe's last movements he had had during the five hours he had sat at the table.
"What was he doing?"
Cheong-Su blinked.
"He was sitting in his car."
"What kind of car?"
"A small red car."
"How long did he sit in the car?"
Cheong-Su blinked. "Not long."
"How long? Five minutes? Ten? A half an hour?" "Maybe half an hour." "Then what happened?" "The girl came and he got out of the car," Cheong-Su said slowly, thinking hard. "He gave her some money and she went into the club. Then she came out and they got in the car and drove away."
The Inspector shifted his eyes. He didn't want the food vendor to see how excited he was.
"What girl?" he asked indifferently.
Cheong-Su shrugged his skinny shoulders.
"I don't know... a girl."
"You don't know who she was?"
"No."
"Have you ever seen her before, entering and leaving the club?" Again Cheong-Su shrugged his shoulders.
"Many girls enter and leave the club. I don't look at girls any more."
The Inspector could have strangled him. He said in a carefully-controlled voice, "The American gave her some money and she went into the club? How long was she there?"
"Not long."
"Ten minutes? Half an hour?" "Maybe five minutes." So she was a taxi-girl, the Inspector was thinking. The American gave her money to pay Blackie Lee his fee so they could go off together. Blackie Lee had been lying when he said he knew of no regular girl.
"You are sure you haven't seen the girl before?"
"They all look alike. I might have seen her before."
"Is that all you have to tell me?"
Cheong-Su looked indignant.
"What more do you want?" he demanded. "I have come for the reward."
The Inspector signaled to the uniformed policeman who gave Cheong-Su a quick hard dig in the ribs with his white baton.
"Move on," he said.
Cheong-Su's eyes bulged.
"But the reward?" he spluttered. "Don't I get anything?” The policeman gave him a hard crack on his shin with the baton, making the old man hop and howl with pain. The waiting queue laughed delightedly to see the old man hopping and rubbing his shin. The baton fell again, this time on the old man's skinny buttocks, and holding his seat in both hands, he bolted down the room and out through the exit.
The Inspector pushed back his chair and stood up. He signed to one of his men to take over. He had to see the Colonel at once. The Colonel might think it was time to pick up Blackie Lee and bring him in for special questioning. The Inspector's face hardened when he thought of how Blackie had lied to him. He looked forward to meeting Blackie in the bleak tiled room set aside for special questioning. The fear that would be on that oily fat face, the Inspector told himself, would be worth seeing.
The subject of the Inspector's thoughts had had a siesta and now went back to his office to see what was happening to his brother. He found Charlie smoking another cigar with his feet up on Blackie's desk.
The two men looked at each other.
"Anything?" Blackie asked hopefully, sitting in his desk chair.
"I think so," Charlie said. "But we'll need more money. The money the diamonds will sell for won't be enough. There is only one way to get him out: on the opium flight."
Blackie lifted his hands helplessly. Why hadn't he thought of that? He asked himself. So simple once you did think of it. That was the difference between Charlie and himself. Charlie had more brains: there was no doubt about that and because he had more brains he had horned in on two million American dollars.
"Who is doing the run now?" he asked. He hadn't been in the opium racket now for a couple of years and he had lost touch. He knew Charlie still smuggled opium from Laos into Bangkok.
"Lee Watkins," Charlie said. "He's a newcomer. He hasn't been long in the game, but he's a good man. His father was English, his mother Chinese. He was a pilot with C.P.A. but he got fooling with an air hostess and they threw him out. He drifted into the Opium game. He's earning big money. He won't look at this job unless we pay him well."
Blackie pulled a face.
"How much?"
"At least three thousand American dollars, then there will be other expenses to take care of. He will have to use a helicopter to get the American to Kratie. There's no safe airstrip here for a plane to land. It'll have to be a helicopter. It'll cost around five thousand American dollars."
Blackie whistled.
"Well, if he has the diamonds, he can pay. If he hasn't got them, then it's no good."
Charlie chewed his cigar.
"He has them." He thought for a moment, then, "When are you seeing him?"
"Tomorrow night."
"Better make it tonight. Find out if he'll pay five thousand. If he offers you more diamonds, take them. Once he has agreed to the price, I'll get in touch with Watkins. He'll have to come to Phnom-Penh. I haven't a visa for Laos."
Blackie looked at his watch. It was twenty minutes past three.
"I'll tell the girl to go to him at once and fix it."
Charlie said, "He must be told you want more money. He might not bring the diamonds with him."
Blackie nodded and went out.
In Colonel On-dinh-Khuc's study, the Inspector was making his report.
"Blackie Lee was lying as I thought he was lying," the Inspector said. "He knows who the girl is. I asked permission to bring this man in for special questioning."
The Colonel pulled at his moustache. He had learned from the police at the airport that Charlie Lee had arrived. He had known Charlie in the past: he knew he was a with influence. If Blackie were picked up, Charlie would make trouble. The Colonel knew that Charlie supplied one of the leading members of the opposition group with opium. The Colonel had no doubt that Charlie would go to this man and demand an inquiry as to why his brother had been spirited away for special questioning.
"Not yet," he said, "but have him watched. Put two of your best men onto him."
"This man can tell you who the girl is," the Inspector said. "I have questioned over two hundred people today without being able to find out who she is. Blackie Lee knows. If it is so important to find her, he can tell us."
The Colonel stared coldly at him.
"You heard what I said — not yet. Have him watched." Shrugging his shoulders, the Inspector went to detail two of his men to watch Blackie: a trifle late for Blackie was by then returning from seeing Nhan, and she was hurrying to catch the five o'clock bus to Thudaumot.
Watched by Yo-Yo, Blackie parked his car and entered the club. Yo-Yo was hungry. He looked around for Cheong-Su from whom he always bought his soup. The old man wasn't in his usual place but Yo-Yo saw him coming down the street, his oven and soup tin balanced on a bamboo pole which he carried on his shoulder.
Cheong-Su took up his position on the edge of the kerb, and after rubbing his bruised shin and groaning to himself, he blew up his charcoal fire and set the soup tin on top of it. Yo-Yo joined him.
The old man immediately launched into a whining angry complaint about the police and how they had swindled him out of the reward. Yo-Yo had no idea what he was talking about and told him to shut up. But Cheong-Su felt his grievance too deeply to pay any attention to Yo-Yo's lack of interest. While he stirred the soup, he continued to complain until the word "American' awoke Yo-Yo's interest.
"What are you talking about?" he snarled. "What American? What reward?"
Cheong-Su fetched out the crumpled newspaper and showed it to Yo-Yo.
Angrily, because he hated to have to admit he couldn't read, Yo-Yo told him to read it to him, but three customers arrived at this moment for soup and Cheong-Su left Yo-Yo to stare at the unintelligible print, seething with vicious fury at his own illiteracy.
The supper rush-hour was now on and Yo-Yo had to wait. He listened to Cheong-Su's account of his unfair treatment at Security Police Headquarters as the old man recounted it over and over again to every new customer who came along.
Could the American, Yo-Yo was thinking, who he had seen at the window of the villa at Thudaumot be the man the police were inquiring about? If he was, then the girl, Nhan, and Blackie Lee were involved. Surely this might be the opportunity to blackmail Blackie for which he had been looking.
He was so absorbed in listening to Cheong-Su recount his experiences for the twentieth time that he failed to notice Blackie leave the club. The time was now twenty minutes past seven. Before setting out for Thudaumot, Blackie wanted to call on a wealthy Chinese jeweller who he was sure would buy the two diamonds Jaffe had given him. It would be a long transaction. The jeweller would try to convince Blackie the stones were of little value. Before Blackie could squeeze three thousand American dollars from the jeweller several hours would be wasted in polite but bitter haggling. Blackie was making sure he had plenty of time before his meeting with Jaffe at eleven o'clock.
When Yo-Yo finally got Cheong-Su to read him the newspaper account of Jaffe's kidnapping, he felt pretty confident that Jaffe was the American he had seen at the window. His immediate reaction was to rush around to Security Police and claim the reward, but remembering Cheong-Su's treatment, he decided first to talk to Blackie. It was possible Blackie might offer more than 20,000 piastres, but when he entered the club he found Blackie had gone.
Yu-lan who disliked Yo-Yo told him curtly to get out. Her husband, she said, wouldn't be back that night. When he wanted Yo-Yo, he would send for him.
Chapter Eleven
Blackie Lee returned to the club a little after ten o'clock. He had been as successful as he could have hoped in the sale of diamonds. After a tussle that had lasted two hours, he had finally sold the stones for two thousand nine hundred American dollars. He locked the money in his safe, and then he went into the dance hall for a word with Yu-lan before setting off for Thudaumot.
As he crossed the hall to the corner table where she always sat, he noted with approval that the dance floor was crowded.
Reaching Yu-lan's table, he paused, lifting his eyebrows. Yu-lan told him that Charlie had gone to bed.
He nodded.
"Looks like a busy night. I can't get back before one o'clock."
He hadn't told Yu-lan what Charlie and he were planning to do. He didn't believe in taking his wife into his confidence, but Yu-lan knew something important was in the wind and it worried her. She knew it was useless either to ask questions or to warn Blackie. He always went his own way.
Blackie left the club and walked over to where he had parked his car.
Two Vietnamese, wearing shabby European suits, were sitting in a car parked a few yards from Blackie's car. They were smoking and talking together. One of them nudged the other as Blackie came out of the club. His companion, in the progress. He had left Ann Fai Wah's apartment after four o'clock. He felt limp and ashamed of himself. He was also irritated that the Chinese girl had set such a high value on her attractions which, from Hambley's point of view, had been extremely disappointing. There had been a sordid squabble over the present he was to give her and finally as she had begun to scream abuse at him at the top of her voice, he had parted with practically a week's pay and had hurriedly left the apartment block before her neighbours came to inquire what the uproar was about.
He hadn't been able to find the mysterious Vietnamese girl's uncle at the Temple of Marshal Le-van-Duvet. As he couldn't speak Vietnamese, he had no means of finding out when the uncle was likely to come to the temple. The other fortune-tellers at the temple stared at him, giggling with embarrassment when he had tried to make them understand who he was looking for.
By the time he got back to his office, he was hot and exhausted. He decided to shelve the affair until the following morning.
Unknown to Jaffe and Nhan, they had gained yet another day of safety. Driver's seat, thumbed the starter as Blackie started his car.
They followed Blackie through the heavy traffic until he reached the Bien Hoa — Thudaumot highway. They were experienced police officers and they knew, at this time of night, there would be very little traffic on the road and Blackie would soon become aware that they were following him. They had had strict instructions from Inspector Ngoc-Linh that Blackie was to have no suspicions that he was being watched.
The driver slowed down, letting Blackie go ahead and in a minute or so they had lost sight of his car. The driver then drove fast to the nearest police box and called the police post on the Bien Hoa highway. To the patrolman, he described Blackie's car and gave him the number. He told the patrolman to follow the car for only a short distance and then to alert all police posts on the highway to have cycle police ready to keep the car in sight until it reached its destination.
Once on the deserted highway, Blackie took the precaution to look continually in his driving-mirror to make sure he wasn't being followed. He had no reason to think he might be followed, but he was taking no chances.
He didn't see the motorcycle patrolman some two hundred yards behind him for the patrolman was riding without a light.
Blackie had to stop at the Bien Hoa -Thudaumot police post which had now been repaired. The policeman in charge checked his papers, and then waved him on. He watched Blackie turn to the left and head towards Thudaumot. There was already a policeman a mile ahead on a bicycle, waiting for him. The policeman went into the police post and telephoned the Thudaumot police post, warning them that Blackie was on his way.
It was exactly at eleven o'clock when Blackie drove over the grass-covered, ruined road to the temple.
The policeman who was waiting patiently a quarter of a mile away saw Blackie's headlight in the distance suddenly go out. The countryside was treeless and flat at this part of the road. The ruined tower of the temple, black and gaunt against the skyline, was the only visible landmark the policeman could see, but his sharp eyes picked out the glimmer of Blackie's sidelights as the car bumped over the potholes, and he realized Blackie had turned off the main road and was heading towards the temple.
He got on his bicycle and began to pedal fast down the road.
Blackie edged the big car through the gateway of the temple and pulled up. He saw Jaffe come out of the darkness and walk towards him. He remained in the car, waiting.
Jaffe opened the off-side door and got into the car.
"Well?" His voice was sharp. "What's been happening?"
In a few moments, Blackie thought, I'll know if he did find all the diamonds. He was aware that his hands were damp with the sweat of excitement and taking out his handkerchief he wiped them before saying, "My brother has arrived. As I had hoped, he will be able to help you. Nhan told you we need more money?"
Jaffe made an angry movement with his big hands.
"You're not getting it! I've already given you a thousand dollars! Where the hell do you think I'm going to get more money from?"
Blackie winced.
"We must have another two thousand dollars," he said. "Once we have that, we can get you out."
Jaffe peered at him, "How?"
"My brother knows a pilot in Laos. He will pick you up here in a helicopter and fly you to Kratie. From Kratie, it will be a simple matter to fly you to Hong Kong. We can arrange for you to leave the day after tomorrow."
Jaffe relaxed slightly. He drew in a deep breath. This sounded like action at last! For two days and nights he had been cooped up in the stiflingly hot little room and had been so bored he thought he would go frantic. Whatever it cost, he was determined to get away.
"Is the pilot to be trusted?" he asked and Blackie caught the eagerness in his voice.
"My brother knows him well. You can trust him, but he will want his money in advance. He will want at least three thousand dollars."
"You pay him," Jaffe said. "I'll settle with you in Hong Kong."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Jaffe, but I can't do that," Blackie said firmly. "If you can't give me a further two thousand dollars, then I must withdraw my help."
Jaffe wished he knew the value of the smaller diamonds. For all he knew, he might be throwing away a small fortune in parting with these stones, but he had no alternative. The finality in Blackie's voice warned him that Blackie had the last word.
"I have one more diamond," he said. "It's worth a thousand dollars. I'll owe you the rest."
Blackie shook his head.
"I'm sorry. I don't like taking diamonds. I had trouble in selling the last two you gave me."
"What did they fetch?" Jaffe demanded.
"Under a thousand dollars," Blackie lied. "If this stone you're now offering me is the same as the other two, the sum realized won't be enough."
Jaffe had brought two of the diamonds with him, each screwed up in a separate scrap of paper. He took out one of the screws of paper and gave it to Blackie.
Blackie leaned forward and put on the dash-light. He examined the stone. It seemed to him very similar to the other two stones he had sold. He was breathing a little faster now. Charlie had been right. The American had found all the diamonds.
"This will only fetch five hundred dollars," Blackie said. "It is not nearly enough."
A big hand reached out and caught hold of his shoulder. Fingers that felt like steel pinchers dug into his fat flesh. He was jerked around. He stared at Jaffe, his heart giving a little kick of fright. The expression on the American's face alarmed him.
"That's all I've got," Jaffe said, speaking slowly and distinctly. "You haven't any choice now, my friend. If they catch me, I'll tell them about you. They'll trace those two diamonds back to you. You know what they'll do to you; I don't have to tell you. You're going to fix this for me or you'll go down with me."
"You're hurting me, Mr. Jaffe," Blackie said unsteadily. He could understand now how easily Jaffe had killed the house-boy. The strength in these steel fingers horrified him. Jaffe let him go.
"You've got three diamonds out of me. When I get to Hong Kong, you'll get the rest of the money, but no more until I get there."
Blackie's mind worked swiftly. With the three diamonds, he now had more than four thousand dollars in hand. It would be enough to pay the pilot and take care of Charlie's air passage. He saw that it would be dangerous to push Jaffe further. He pretended to hesitate, then he smiled, lifting his fat shoulders.
"Because I trust you, Mr. Jaffe, it's a deal," he said. "I will have to pay something out of my own pocket to make up the difference, but for you, I'll do it."
"You'd better do it," Jaffe said grimly. "Don't forget — if I go down, you go down with me."
"There'll be no question of that."
"That's up to you." There was a pause, and then Jaffe went on. "What's the set-up?"
"I'll return now and fix it," Blackie said. He gently massaged his aching shoulder. "Be ready to leave the day after tomorrow. Either my brothel or I will come here at eleven and pick you up in my car. You will be taken to a place to be decided upon where the helicopter can safely land. Not here: it is too close to a police post. Is that understood?"
Jaffe nodded.
"You will bring Nhan?"
"I will bring her."
"Okay: Thursday night here at eleven and with Nhan."
Blackie watched the big American get out of the car, and then he started the engine.
"I'm relying on you," Jaffe said, bending to look in through the window at Blackie. "Remember what I said: we go down together."
Blackie had a feeling of uneasiness. He suddenly wished he wasn't mixed up in this thing. It could go wrong. He remembered his brother's warning about a shooting squad. He felt the damp sweat of fear break out on his face.
"It will be all right," he said. "You can rely on me."
He backed the car through the gateway of the temple, turned it and started down the narrow road to the main road.
The policeman whose name was Din-Buong-Khun had arrived breathlessly a few minutes before, and was now lying in the long grass, his bicycle hidden close by behind a clump of young bamboo. He watched Blackie's car turn to the right as it reached the main road and drive fast towards Saigon. Khun knew that three miles further down the road there would be another policeman waiting to pick up Blackie and follow him back to the police post. He looked towards the temple, wondering what Blackie had been doing up there in the old ruins. He wondered if he should go up there, but he had no flashlight and he knew he wouldn't be able to see anything inside the temple. This was something he would do in the morning.
As he was about to rise to his feet, his sharp ears picked up the sound of movement. He flattened down in the grass, looking towards the temple.
Unaware that he was being watched, Jaffe walked out through the temple gateway and paused, trying to remember where he had left his bicycle. It was a dark night: a few pale stars hung in the sky, but the moon was hidden by a heavy mass of cloud.
Two more days, Jaffe was thinking, then Hong Kong! He felt confident, and sure now that he had thrown a big enough scare into Blackie to bring him and keep him to heel. He worried about the diamonds he had given Blackie. Before he paid Blackie another dollar he would get the remaining stones valued. Blackie wasn't going to swindle him if he could help it.
Without thinking, he took out his pack of cigarettes and lit a cigarette.
Khun watching saw the tiny flame of the match. He could see Jaffe's massive frame outlined against the sky, and his thick lips pulled off his teeth in a grimace of excitement.
His hand slid to his revolver holster, flicked up the flap and his fingers closed on the gun butt.
It was the American: Jaffe, he told himself. There was no mistaking the man's size. The sergeant at the police post had given him his orders.
"This man is armed and dangerous. Your instructions are to shoot to kill."
The gun slid easily out of the holster. Khun lifted it and sighted along the barrel. It was a difficult shot: sixty yards at least and only a black shape to aim at. Not for the first time in his police career did Khun feel a sudden doubt if he could hit his target. He had always been an indifferent marksman, and this would be good shooting with a.38 even for a crack shot.
He began to crawl forward, sliding over the thick rough grass like a snake, his head just sufficiently raised to keep his eyes on Jaffe.
Jaffe at this moment was thinking of Nhan. By the end of the week, they would be in Hong Kong together, he told himself. They would have one of the best suites at the Peninsula Hotel. Their first meal would be at the Parisian Grill. King Prawns, he thought, smiling to himself: they had nothing like them in Saigon.
He drew in a lungful of smoke. Now where had he left his damn bicycle? He set off across the rough grass just as Khun, now within thirty yards, had once again lifted his gun.
This target was even more difficult. A moving man, his instructor had warned him, is the hardest thing in the world to hit with a revolver shot. If you have to shoot, then aim slightly ahead, but it is better to wait until your target stops moving. Khun began to slide over the grass again as Jaffe lengthened the distance between them.
Jaffe found his bicycle half hidden in the grass and he picked it up. As he straightened, Khun, seeing the bicycle and realizing in a moment or so, he would have missed his chance, sighted hurriedly along the short barrel of the gun and fired.
Jaffe was just throwing his leg over the saddle of his bicycle when Khun fired at him. For Khun, it was a remarkably good shot, considering he was flustered and had scarcely taken aim.
Jaffe heard something zip past his face, so close he felt a burning sensation on his skin. This was immediately followed by a gun-flash which seemed to come from a point only a few yards away. The bang of the gun was violently loud in the silence of the night.
Instinctively, Jaffe jerked back, lost his balance and sprawled on the grass, the bicycle entangling his legs.
Khun felt a great surge of excited triumph run through him. He had fired and he had seen Jaffe fall. He had lost sight of Jaffe in the long grass, but he was certain he had hit him. Whether he had killed him or not remained to be seen, but at least, he was sure he had hit him.
Jaffe's first reaction was to throw off the bicycle and get to his feet, but he restrained himself. Whoever had shot him was some thirty yards away from him and lying in the grass. If he moved he would be inviting a second shot and this time, the man with the gun might not miss. Very slowly and cautiously, he moved his hand to his hip-pocket and pulled out his gun, sliding back the safety catch, aware that his heart was hammering and he had difficulty in breathing.
Khun remained where he was, his gun pointing in the direction of his last sight of Jaffe. A thought had dropped into his mind that had given him pause and badly shaken his confidence. Suppose, by ill chance, he thought, cold sweat starting out on his face, this big man he had fired at wasn't the American, Jaffe? He had jumped to the conclusion the big shadowy outline of the man he had seen against the skyline could have been no one else but the wanted American, but suppose he wasn't? Suppose he was some other American?
Jaffe lifted his head slowly and sighted along the rough ground. He couldn't see anything except big grass and a few shrubs. He listened intently, wondering who could have fired at him.
Khun had decided to investigate. He couldn't be certain that the man he had shot was dead. He might only be slightly wounded. If it was Jaffe, Khun knew he was armed. He didn't intend to rise up and present a target of himself.
Jaffe suddenly saw him. The white uniform showed up against the blackness of the grass. The man was creeping forward like a snake, and he wasn't more than fifteen yards from Jaffe.
Khun also spotted Jaffe. His khaki shirt was also visible against the dark grass. Khun stopped moving and stared at the dim outline of the fallen man, his gun thrust forward, sweat trickling down his face while he watched for the slightest movement.
Jaffe could just make out the gun in Khun's hand. He guessed rather than saw it was pointing at him.
He doesn't know if I am alive or not, Jaffe thought, trying to control the panic that gripped him. He'll probably shoot again before coming any closer. If I make the slightest movement, he'll fire. Even if I don't he could still shoot.
He was holding his gun down by his side. He would have to lift it and aim. By lying flat in the grass, Khun had made himself an almost impossible target. Jaffe told himself he couldn't afford to miss. He began to lift the gun, inch by inch.
Khun lay in the grass, staring at the man lying some fifteen yards in front of him. He didn't know what to do. He wanted to shoot at the dim outline, and yet his mind kept warning him that if this wasn't Jaffe, he might be tried for murder.
He lay there, trying to make up his mind. The minutes ticked by. Jaffe watched him. He had got his gun up and it was levelled in the direction of the peak cap Jaffe could just make out against the dark background, but it was still too tricky a shot. So he waited.
After what seemed to be an eternity and was actually five minutes, Khun began to relax. The man was dead, he told himself. No one badly wounded could lie so still for so long. He had to see if it was Jaffe.
Spurred on by the feeling of panic, he rose to his knees, then straightened up and began to walk cautiously towards the fallen man.
Jaffe raised the barrel of his gun, keeping the gun down by his side so the approaching man couldn't see it against the skyline, and when Khun was within five yards of him, he gently squeezed the trigger.
The firing pin came down on the cap, making a loud click, but the gun didn't fire. The three-year-old cartridge had betrayed Jaffe in his most urgent need.
Khun heard the sound and jumped aside, his breath whistling out of his open mouth. He saw a vast shape rise off the ground and come towards him in a lunging dive and he fired blindly.
The bullet scraped Jaffe's arm. He felt the burning pain but it didn't check his dive. Khun had no chance to fire directly at him again. Jaffe's arms encircled his bony legs and his shoulder thudded into his groin. Khun felt as if he had been charged by a bull. He felt himself being flung up in the air and he pulled the trigger of his gun, the bullet whizzing into the night sky, the flash of the gun momentarily blinding Jaffe.
The two men crashed down on the grass. The gun flew out of Khun's hand. He screamed out in terror as he felt an agonizing pain sweep through him. Jaffe struck him on the side of his head with his clenched fist and the little man, hopelessly outmatched, jerked upwards and then fell back limply.
Jaffe knelt over him, breathing heavily. His hands rested lightly on Khun's throat, ready to nip back a second scream. Khun mumbled something in Vietnamese which Jaffe couldn't understand. Then from his throat came a curious dry rattling sound, like the rustle of dry leaves. The sound made Jaffe's hair stand on end. Khun's head flopped sideways, and Jaffe knew he was dead.
He remained kneeling over the little man for some minutes too stunned to move, and then finally he made an effort and stood up.
Another one dead! He thought. These little people are as brittle as matchsticks. I guess I must have broken his spine. Well, at least, this was in self-defence. If I hadn't gone for him, he would have killed me.
Now what was he going to do? He asked himself. If they found this little man's body here, they might set a trap at the temple. Blackie was coming back the day after tomorrow. He would have to move him.
Walking stiffly, his mind jumping with alarm, he went back to his bicycle. He groped around for several seconds before he found his gun. He shoved it into his hip-pocket. The gun was no good, he told himself. It had been just luck that it had fired the first time. He couldn't trust it any more.
He straightened his bicycle and wheeled it over to where Khun lay. Without much trouble, he hoisted the dead man over his shoulder, then wheeling his machine; he started across the rough grass towards the main road.
Just before he reached the road, he came upon Khun's bicycle. He couldn't leave it where it was. Balancing the dead man over his shoulder, he started off again, wheeling the two machines, holding them in either hand. When he reached the road, he got on his bicycle and steering the other, he pedalled off down the road.
I only need to run into someone, he thought. That's all it needs to round off a hell of a lousy night.
But he didn't run into anyone. And after riding four or five miles, he dumped Khun's body in a ditch and the bicycle on top of him.
Before leaving, he took Khun's gun and cartridge belt.
As he rode back to Thudaumot, he hoped the police would think the little man's death was yet another Viet Minh outrage.
Blackie Lee arrived back at the club at twenty minutes to one a.m. He parked his car, got out and stood for a moment breathing in the hot used-up air.
There was no movement in the street. Three rickshaws stood nearby along the kerb. The three rickshaw boys were sleeping in their vehicles. The neon lights that plastered the front of the club were out. They went out every night exactly at twelve. Looking up at the dark building, Blackie smiled to himself. In Hong Kong those lights would blaze until the early hours of the morning. There was no crippling curfew in Hong Kong.
He started towards the club, and then paused as he saw a shadowy figure rise up out of a dark doorway and come towards him. He recognized the hard Mexican hat that Yo-Yo always wore and he frowned impatiently.
Yo-Yo sidled up to him."
"Good evening, Mr. Blackie," he said. "I wanted to speak to you."
"Some other time," Blackie said curtly. "It's late. See me tomorrow," and he walked across to the entrance of the club and fumbled in his pocket for his keys.
Yo-Yo followed him.
"It won't wait until tomorrow, Mr. Blackie. I wanted your advice. It's about the American, Jaffe."
Blackie restrained a start of alarm with an effort. His agile mind worked swiftly. What a fool he had been! He had forgotten he had sent Yo-Yo to follow Nhan. This little rat knew where Jaffe was hiding! He must have read about the reward in the newspapers.
"Jaffe?" he said, looking over his shoulder at Yo-Yo, his fat face expressionless. "Who's Jaffe?"
"The American who was kidnapped, Mr. Blackie," Yo-Yo said, a derisive sneer in his voice.
Blackie hesitated, then he said, "You'd better come up," and he waved Yo-Yo to go on ahead.
As Blackie followed him up the stairs, his elation left him. If this little rat has put two and two together, he thought, and made it four; he can ruin the whole of our plans.
There was only one light on in the dance hall. It was over the cash desk where Yu-Ian was checking the cash. The desk was covered with money. She glanced up as the two men came in. Her head jerked up when she saw Yo-Yo.
Blackie didn't say anything to her. He continued across the floor to his office, followed by Yo-Yo who had paused for a moment to stare at the money on the desk.
In his office, Blackie sat down behind his desk. Yo-Yo stood in front of the desk, chewing on the thin leather strap that hung from his hat.
"Well? What is it?" Blackie said.
"They're offering 20,000 piastres for information about the American," Yo-Yo said. "I know he hasn't been kidnapped and I know where he is. I thought I'd better talk to you first before I claim the reward."
"What makes you think it's anything to do with me?" Yo-Yo picked at a food stain on his coat.
"Isn't it?" he said, not looking at Blackie. "He's the man I saw in the villa at Thudaumot. The man Nhan visited."
"How do you know?"
Yo-Yo looked up and his thick lips parted in a sneering grin.
"I know, Mr. Blackie. I thought I'd come to you first. You've always been good to me. I didn't want to get you into any trouble."
Blackie breathed heavily through his wide nostrils. He felt a cold clutch of fear at his heart, but his face remained expressionless.
"Why should I get into trouble?"
Yo-Yo shrugged his shoulders. He didn't say anything.
To give himself time to think, Blackie lit a cigarette. As he flicked out the match, he said, "It would be better if you didn't go to the police. I'm thinking of the girl. I don't let any of my girls get into trouble if I can help it."
Yo-Yo's grin widened.
"I know that, Mr. Blackie.""Well, okay. You keep away from the police. Just keep quiet about this. Police informers aren't popular around here."
Yo-Yo nodded.
There was a pause, then Blackie went on, "It's time you settled down to a job of work. Come and see me tomorrow. I'll find something for you: something good," and he made a little flicking movement of dismissal.
Yo-Yo didn't move.
"How about the reward, Mr. Blackie?"
I'll have to give him the money, Blackie thought, but it won't stop there. As soon as he has spent it, he'll be back for more. I've got this little rat on my back now.
"The police won't pay you," he said. "They'll listen to you, but they won't pay you. I shouldn't have to tell you that."
"I think they would, Mr. Blackie," Yo-Yo said and a hard note came into his voice. "I want 20,000 piastres."
Blackie looked at him for a long moment, and then he got to his feet.
"Wait here," he said, "and keep your hands off my things."
He went out closing the door after him. He crossed to a door leading to his living-quarters at the back of the club, ignoring Yu-lan who was looking anxiously at him from across the hall. He went to Charlie's bedroom and entered.
There was a flickering nightlight under a large photograph of Blackie's and Charlie's father that stood on a shelf on the wall. The nightlight provided enough light for Blackie to see his brother sleeping in the bunk across the room.
As Blackie shut the door, Charlie opened his eyes and sat up.
"What is it?" Charlie asked.
Quietly Blackie told him of his meeting with Jaffe.
"He has the diamonds," he said. "He has given me one more." Charlie held out his hand and Blackie gave the screw of paper containing the diamond. Charlie examined the stone and nodded.
"This is another of mine," he said. "He agrees to the price?"
Yes."
"I fly to Phnom-Penh tomorrow morning."
"There is a complication," Blackie said and told Charlie about Yo-Yo. "These things happen," Charlie said philosophically. "You must pay him. He'll come back for more, of course. When we have the diamonds we may have to do something about him, but not until we have the diamonds."
"That's what I thought. All right, I'll pay him."
"Do you think he'll go to the police after you have paid him? He might be tempted to try for the reward as well."
"No, he won't do that," Blackie said. "The police know too much about him. I don't think they would give him anything: he knows that as well as I do."
Charlie nodded.
“Then pay him.”
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