Assignment - Cong Hai Kill (15 page)

“On my word, I did not
—!” Danat exploded.

“Okay, okay. Did old
Chang get through all right?”

Durell said grimly: “No.
The Cong Hai got him, aboard the boat. He wasn’t very pretty when we
found him.”

Lantern was silent,
scratching his golden beard. “Sorry about that. Uncle Chang was a good enough
guy. His twin brother will be right broken up about it. You know Paio?”

“Not yet,” Durell said.

“He’s Papa’s plantation
boss. He might help us.”

“We’ll do it alone. Does Paio know
you’re here?”

“Nobody knows but Papa.”

“Yet somebody shot you.”

Lantern looked startled.
“Yeah. But I figured it was a lucky gook from the Cong Hai on the
trail. He plugged me in the shoulder and it hurts like hell. I also got a fever
that’s killing me and I’m never gonna make it unless you get me out pronto,
Durell. That won’t be easy, with the Congs all around. Lucky they
didn’t find me when they came rompin’ through the town. But
they’re lookin’ for me, all right. And they’ll get me, unless you’re fast
and smart.”

“Has your wound been
looked at?” Durell asked.

“No need to. It’s
through my shoulder. Missed the lung but scraped some bone. I could use one of
Papa’s dream pipes, except I never went for the stuff.”

The man’s eyes gleamed
with bitter amusement. “So make up your mind, Cajun. Either pull me out of
here—what's left of me—or grease me now, as you’d like to do.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Durell
said shortly.

“You think I’m scum,
huh?”

“Worse than that.”

“Nothing lower than a
traitor, right? Well, I could cite you chapter and verse from a nifty little
magazine called 
Hung Chi
, the Red Banner, where I been called a
hero of the people’s revolution and a shinin’ example

of integrity. It depends
on your point of view, I reckon.”

“From where I stand,”
Durell said slowly, “you’re just carrion meat. I don’t want to bring you back.
I didn’t ask for the job. I tried to get out of it. For my part, the Cong Hai are
welcome to you. You might as well know how I feel.”

“I knowed that from the
start.” Again came the grin, the spasm of pain on the bearded face. “That‘s why
I put all the data in my head. Like insurance, right? You want what I got, you
have to bring me back alive.”

“I’ll do it,” Durell
said.

Papa Danat sighed
and sat down on a crate. His bald pate glistened in the glow of the oil lamp.
He looked as if he were going to cry. “And my daughter loves him,” the
Frenchman whispered. “She loves him.”

                                  17

DURELL left Danat with
the wounded man and walked back through the darkness to the main street. He
felt a rare tension within himself. He knew he had come close to shooting Orris Lantern
out of hand. Yet he had to protect him, whatever provocation Lantern offered.
Lantern plainly was enjoying the situation. He could look forward to more
goading and taunting by the man, and it wouldn't be easy to check his temper.

Neither would it be easy
to keep Lantern alive. So far, only Papa Danat knew where Lantern was
hidden. But the man was wounded. And now he would have to let Major Muong know,
and ask Muong’s help. A showdown with the Thai officer was sure to
come. But perhaps a truce could be arranged as long as they were mutually
trapped here. Durell had the feeling he was watched by a hundred enemy eyes as
he walked away from the godown. Not only Lantern, but all of them would be
lucky to leave Dong Xo alive.

The villagers were
moving about uncertainly in the glow of their lamps, searching the wreckage
left by the Cong Hai raid. Some women sat, rocking quietly and
weeping, in front of their ruined houses. The old men who were left stood with
stunned, vacant eyes, or helped to clear what rubble they could. Burial parties
were being organized. As always, with the astonishing resilience of the human
spirit, some women were cooking evening meals, and other men were gathered
about Muong’s three jeeps, asking for arms to help scour the jungle
for the Cong Hai marauders.

“M'sieu Durell? Vous étes M’sieu Durell?"

The voice was high and
thin, the French Words issuing from a Chinese-accustomed throat. Durell halted
in the village street. It Was like standing in a spotlight on stage, with the
dim native houses rising on their stilts around him and beyond, the dark
glimmering river and the loom of the black hills closing the valley around
them.

“Mr. Durell?”

He thought he was seeing
the impossible, that the mutilated Uncle Chang on the riverboat had come back
to life. The fat and elderly Chinaman waddled quickly toward him. This must be Paio Chu,
the dead man’s twin brother, the estate manager for Papa Danat’s tea
plantation.

“Paio?”

“Yes, Mr. Durell. Major Muong sends
urgently for you. But first—you have seen M’sieu Danat?"

“He's all right.”

“He was with his
woman-Giralda. Unfortunate. But every man has his weakness. Mr. Durell?” The
Chinese paused. “I am sorry, you are a busy, important man. But I must ask
about my poor brother, Chang. The major says you found him.”

“Yes. I’m sorry, too.”

Paio
 
Chu
was no ordinary Chinaman transplanted to the southern jungle, Durell reflected.
He was taller and somewhat fatter than his dead twin brother,. although he had
the same round, bland face and dignified Mandarin beard as Chang. Paio looked
prosperous and thoroughly Westernized, however; a result of his long service on
the Danat plantation, Durell guessed. He felt a twinge of irrational
suspicion, and dismissed it. Not all the millions of Chinese outside of Red
China could be condemned simply for being what they were.

Durell spoke quietly.
“Your brother’s murder was as senseless as the raid on this village, Paio.
These people ask the same questions. Why were they killed?”

“But these Cong Hai wage
war upon us—”

“And your brother Chang
was involved in that War.”

“With Yellow Torch? It
is what I hear."

“Didn’t Chang confide in
you?”

“Only a little. He was
most—evasive. I did not understand his visit, except that he was homesick for
the plantation. He was fond of Mademoiselle Anna-Marie. She called him ‘Uncle
Chang,’ as you know.”

“And she showed no such
affection for you?”

Paio
 
bowed
slightly and smiled self-deprecatingly. “I am a man of business, always
concerned with the estate. It is a big job, sir. Much work must be done, at all
times. And in late years, especially—since M’sieu Danat became
—ah—careless of his personal habits.”

“Since he became
addicted to drugs?”

“I cannot control his
customs, sir. As for the native woman, Giralda—” The Chinese shrug was
eloquent. “You must imagine him as a lonely, elderly man, a Frenchman—”

“Where does he get his
opium?”

“Oh, but that is common
here. In the Chinese shops of Dong Xo, you see—well, we are far from authority.
We try to live in a civilized fashion, as best we can.”

“All right,” Durell said
briefly. “You said Major Muong wants to see me.”

“Of course. I regret
interrupting you with my petty, personal affairs.”

The fat Chinese turned
away down the village street. He wore a fine yellowish linen suit and a white
shirt and a dark necktie. He was by far the cleanest and most collected man in
Dong Xo, Durell thought.

Durell smelled the acrid
Dutch cigar smoke before he saw Muong. The slender Thai officer stood on
the front seat of his jeep. He had just finished addressing the villagers and
posting his slim platoon as guards along the town’s perimeter. Viewed against
the dark thunder that now rolled over the river valley, they all seemed nakedly
exposed to the terrors that might lurk in the jungle around them.

Major Muong jumped
down from the jeep.

“Ah, Durell. The women
have been quartered in the government post, over there. Two rooms were suitable
for them. May I ask where you’ve been?”

"Only a little. He
was most evasive. I did not understand his visit, except that he was homesick
for the plantation. He was fond of Mademoiselle Anna-Marie. She called him
‘Uncle Chang,’ as you know.”

“And she showed no such
affection for you?”

Paio
 
bowed
slightly and smiled self-deprecatingly. “I am a man of business, always
concerned with the estate. It is a big job, sir. Much work must be done, at all
times. And in late years, especially——since M’sieu Danat became
—ah—careless of his personal habits.”

“Since he became
addicted to drugs?”

“I cannot control his
customs, sir. As for the native woman, Giralda—” The Chinese shrug was
eloquent. “You must imagine him as a lonely, elderly man, a Frenchman—”

“Where does he get his
opium?”

“Oh, but that is common
here. In the Chinese shops of Dong Xo, you see—well, we are far from authority.
We try to live in a civilized fashion, as best we can.”

“All right,” Durell said
briefly. “You said Major Muong wants to see me.”

“Of course. I regret
interrupting you with my petty, personal affairs.”

The fat Chinese turned
away down the village street. He wore a fine yellowish linen suit and a white
shirt and a dark necktie. He was by far the cleanest and most collected man in
Dong Xo, Durell thought.

Durell smelled the acrid
Dutch cigar smoke before he saw Muong. The slender Thai officer stood on
the front seat of his jeep. He had just finished addressing the villagers and
posting his slim platoon as guards along the town’s perimeter. Viewed against
the dark thunder that now rolled over the river valley, they all seemed nakedly
exposed to the terrors that might lurk in the jungle around them.

Major Muong jumped
down from the jeep.

“Ah, Durell. The women
have been quartered in the government post, over there. Two rooms were suitable
for them. May I ask where you’ve been?”

“Our governments both
want this man you call Yellow Torch. Let them decide what happens to him. For
you and me, our task is clear. We bring him to Bangkok and let higher
authorities discuss it.”

“Fine. We’ll settle it
that way for now.”

“Then take me to him,
please.”

“I don’t think that
would be wise,” Durell said. “The villagers are Watching us. Some of them are Congs,
you can be sure. We can’t be Judas goats and lead" them to slaughter our Orris Lantern.”

Muong’s
 
dark
eyes flickered, then he jerked his head up as a violent burst of thunder shook
the air. Lightning ribboned and split the vault of the night sky like
an egg being cracked.

Then the rain came.

Muong
 
stood
there, a slim, straight, defiant figure.

“Now we cannot use the
jeeps. We are trapped here,” he said softly. “I had best see the village priest
about quarters for my men. Until later, I hold you responsible for Yellow Torch
and his safety.”

“Thanks for nothing,”
Durell said.

He felt the heavy rain
pound his shoulders with brutal force as he turned away.

18

IN THE DARK and the
rain, it was impossible to see more than a few feet in any direction. Even the
glimmering oil lamps of the village were blotted out. Land and air dissolved.
The rain seemed to fill the lungs with water; the mud dragged at the muscles.
Durell turned to Giralda’s house, where he had found Danat. Now
was the time to move Lantern to a safer place.

He turned the corner of
the big native house on the riverbank, ducking his head against the water
pouring from the upturned pagoda eaves, and someone clutched his sleeve.

“M’sieu Durell.
Sam. Please!”

It was Anna-Marie. She’d
been hiding in the gloom under the ladder-stairs, and the rain had darkened her
blonde hair and plastered the thick strands to her small head. Her eyes seemed
luminous in the night. She touched Durell’s chest with a nervous, tentative
gesture.

“Please.” She lifted her
voice against the hiss and thunder of the rain. “Forgive me. For what I tried
to do in the hotel, I mean. It was so foolish.”

He ignored that. “Where
is Deirdre?”

“In the government rest
house, with Uncle Paio and Muong’s sergeant and some
soldiers. I slipped away to find you and Papa. Where is Papa?”

“Where you want him to
be, I think. With Orris.”

“You have seen him? You
have seen my Orris? He is well? He is safe?”

“He’s been hurt; but
he’s all right.”

“You have not—you did
not—?”

“No”