The Judas Spy Page 7

"Well…" The clatter sounded again from the rear of the house. Mata said, "Excuse me a moment. I hope the cook isn't annoyed."

  She went through an arch and Nick waited a few seconds and then swiftly followed. He went through a western style dining room with an oblong table that would seat fourteen or sixteen people. He heard Mata's voice around an L-shaped hallway in which there were three closed doors. He opened the first. A large bedroom. The next was a smaller bedroom, beautifully furnished and evidently Mata's. He opened the next door and jumped through it as a man tried to climb through the window.

  "Stop right there," Nick growled. "You won't get ten yards."

  Seated on the sill the man froze. Nick saw a white coat and a head of smooth black hair. He said, "C'mon back in. Miss Nasut wants to see you."

  The small figure slid slowly to the floor, drew in its leg and turned.

  Nick said, "Hello, Gan Bik. Will we call this a coincidence?"

  He heard a movement in the door behind him and took his eyes off Gan Bik for an instant. Mata stood in the opening. She held a small blue automatic pointed at him, holding it low and steadily. She said, "I'd call it being where you have no business. What were you looking for, Al?"

  Chapter 4

  Nick stood still, his mind evaluating his chances like a computer. With an opponent in front and in back — he would take one slug from that peashooter, possibly, before he got them both. He said, "Relax, Mata. I was looking for the bathroom and saw this lad leaving through the window. His name is Gan Bik Tjang."

  "I know his name," Mata replied drily. "Do you have weak kidneys, Al?"

  "Right now — yes." Nick laughed.

  "Put down the gun, Mata," Gan Bik said. "He is an American agent. He brought Tala home and she told him to contact you. I came to tell you and I heard him searching the rooms and he caught me as I was getting out."

  "How interesting." Mata lowered the little weapon. Nick noted it as a Baby Nambu. "I think now you both had better go."

  Nick said, "I think you're my kind of woman, Mata. How in the world did you get that pistol so fast?"

  She had enjoyed his compliments before — Nick hoped this one would soften the chilly atmosphere. Mata led the way into the hall and put the weapon down into a squat vase on a high carved shelf. "I live alone," she said simply.

  "Smart." He turned on his friendliest smile. "Can't we all have a drink and talk this over? I think we're all on the same side…"

  They had the drink, but Nick had no illusions. He was still Al Bard who meant cash money to Mata and Dalam — no matter what his other connections. He drew from Gan Bik the admission that he had come to Mata for the same purpose as Nick — information. With American help at their side, would she tell them what she knew about the next payoff to Judas? Were the Loponusias due to be visited by the junk?

  Mata wasn't having any. She said in her calm tones, "Even if I could help you, I'm not sure I would. I do not wish to become involved in politics. I have had a struggle just to survive."

  "But Judas holds people who are your friends," Nick said.

  "My friends? My dear Al, you do not know who my friends are."

  "Do your country a favor then."

  "My friends? My country?" She gave a small laugh. "I have been fortunate just to survive. I've learned not to become involved."

  Nick gave Gan Bik a lift back to town. The Chinese lad was apologetic. "I wanted to help. I did more harm than good."

  "Perhaps not," Nick told him. "You cleared the air with a rush. Mata knows exactly what I want. It's up to me to see if I get it."

  * * *

  With Nordenboss' help, Nick rented a powerboat the next afternoon and took Abu along as pilot. He took his host's waterskis and a hamper of food and drink. They swam, they skied and they talked. Mata dressed was beautiful, Mata in a bikini — which she donned only when they were away from shore — was a vision. Abu swam with them and took a turn on the skis. Nordenboss had said he was absolutely trustworthy because he paid him more than any possible bribe and because he had been with the AXE agent for four years and had made no false moves.

  They enjoyed a wonderful day and that evening he took Mata to dinner at the Orientale, then to the night club in the Intercontinental's Hotel Indonesia. She knew a great many people and Nick was kept busy shaking hands and memorizing names.

  And she was enjoying herself. He told himself she was happy. They made an impressive couple and she glowed when Josef Dalam joined them for a few moments at the hotel and told her so. Dalam was with a party of six, escorting a lovely girl who, Mata said, was also a much-in-demand model.

  "She is pretty," Nick said, "perhaps when she matures she will have your charm."

  Djakarta keeps early hours, and shortly before eleven Abu came into the club and caught Nick's eye. Nick nodded, thinking that the man just wanted him to know the car was outside, but Abu came to the table, handed him a note, and left. Nick glanced at it — Tala here. H.N.

  He handed it to Mata. She read it and said almost mockingly, "So, Al, you have two girls on your hands. She must remember the trip you two had from Hawaii."

  "I told you nothing happened, my dear."

  "I believe you, yet…"

  Their intuition, he thought, as reliable as radar. A good thing she didn't ask him what had happened between him and Tala after they reached the Machmurs — or perhaps she guessed. A short while later, during the drive to her home, she brought up Tala again. "Tala is a charming young lady. She thinks like a foreigner — I mean, she has none of the timidity that we Asian women have developed about some things. She is interested in politics and economics and our country's future. You must enjoy talking with her."

  "Oh, I do," Nick said heartily.

  "You're teasing me."

  "Since you brought up the subject, why not be active in your country's politics? God knows somebody ought to be besides the con men and hustlers and tin soldiers I've seen and read about. The price of rice has tripled in the last six weeks. You see the ragged people trying to buy rice at those wooden barrels the government puts out. I'll bet it is marked up nine times and short-weighted twice before it is served out. I'm a stranger here. I've seen the filthy slums behind the shining Hotel Indonesia, but will you tell me you haven't? Life in your villages may be possible for the poor, in the cities it is hopeless. So let's not make fun of Tala. She's trying to help."

  Mata was silent for a long time, then she said without much conviction, "In the rural areas one can get along without money, almost. Our climate — our plentiful agriculture — it's an easy life."

  "Is that why you are in the city?"

  She came against him and closed her eyes. He felt a tear spatter on the back of his hand. When they stopped at her house she turned to him. "Are you coming in?"

  "I hope I'm invited. Love to."

  "Not hurrying to Tala?"

  He led her a few steps from the car and Abu and kissed her gently. "Tell me to — and I'll send Abu back now. I can get a cab in the morning or he can pick me up."

  Her weight was tender against him, her hands tight for a moment on his muscles. Then she drew back with a little toss of her magnificent head. "Send him — darling."

  When he said he would like to get out of his dinner jacket and cummerbund and tie she led him matter-of-factly to the bedroom with the feminine decor and handed him a hanger. She dropped onto a French rocking-chaise-lounge and looked at him with her exotic face pillowed on her forearms. "Why did you choose to stay with me instead of going to Tala?"

  "Why did you invite me?"

  "I don't know. Perhaps a feeling of guilt about what you said about me and my country. You meant it. No man would say such things for romantic reasons — they would be too likely to arouse resentment."

  He stripped off the maroon cummerbund. "I was being honest, my sweet. Lies have a habit of staying around like spilled tacks. You must be more and more careful and eventually they stick you anyway."

  "What did you really think about Gan
Bik being here?"

  "I haven't decided."

  "He is honest, too. You should know that."

  "No chance of his being more loyal to his origins?"

  "China? He considers himself Indonesian. He has risked a lot to help the Machmurs. And he loves Tala."

  Nick sat on the lounge which rocked smoothly, like a giant cradle, and lit two cigarettes. He said softly through blue smoke. "This is a land for love, Mata. Nature made it that and man is trampling all over it. If any of us can help get rid of the Judas types and all the rest who stand on the people's necks, we ought to try. Just because we have our own little comfortable nest and angles we cannot ignore all else. And if we do — someday our pattern will be destroyed in the explosion that is coming."

  Tears glistened on the bottom rims of the gorgeous dark eyes. She cried easily — or had a lot of grief stored up. "We are selfish. And I'm like all the rest." She dipped her head onto his chest and he held her.

  "It's not your fault. Not anyone's fault. Man has gotten out of hand temporarily. When you spawn like flies and struggle for food like packs of starving dogs with only one small bone for all, there's little time for honesty… and justice… and kindness… and love. But if each of us does what he can…"

  "My guru says the same thing, but he believes it is all preordained."

  "Does your guru work?"

  "Oh, no. He is so holy. It is an honor to give to him."

  "How can one talk about justice, if others do the sweating for the food one eats? Is that honest? It seems unkind to the ones who do the sweating."

  She gave a little gurgling sob. "You are so practical."

  "I don't mean to upset you." He tilted her chin up. "Enough of this serious talk. You made up your own mind whether you want to help us. You're too beautiful to be sad at this time of night." He kissed her, and the cradle-like lounge tilted as he stretched part of his weight along it, carrying her with him. He discovered that her lips were like Tala's, voluptuous and ample, but of the two — ah, he thought, there is no substitute for maturity. He refused to add — experience. She displayed no coyness or false modesty; none of the tricks the amateur thinks aid passion but which only divert it. She stripped him methodically, shedding her own golden gown with one zip, shrug and twist. She studied his dark cream skin against the brown of her own, tested his great arm muscles reflectively, examined his palms as she kissed each of his fingers and made artful patterns of her own hands for his lips to touch.

  He found her body in the reality of warm flesh even more stimulating than the promise in the portraits or the soft pressures when they had danced. In soft light the rich cocoa of her skin was delectably flawless except for one dark mole, the size of a nutmeg, on her right buttock. The curves of her hips were pure artistry and her breasts, like Tala's and many of the women he had seen in these fascinating islands, were a visual delight as well as an igniter for the senses when you fondled or kissed them. They were large, perhaps 38C, but so resiliant and perfectly placed and muscle-supported you didn't notice size, you just drew in your breath with a short gulp.

  He whispered against the dark, aromatic hair, "It's no wonder you're the most wanted model. You're gorgeous."

  "I must reduce." Her matter-of-factness surprised him. "Fortunately for me curved women are favorites here. But when I see Twiggy and some of your New York models, I worry. Styles can change."

  Nick chuckled, wondering what kind of a man it would take to trade the soft curves nestled against him for a skinny type you'd have to feel around in a bed to find.

  "Why do you laugh?"

  "It will go the other way, dear. Comfortable girls with curves are the coming thing."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Almost. I'll check on it next time I'm in New York or Paris."

  "I hope so." She was stroking his hard stomach with the backs of her long fingernails, her head pillowed under his chin. "You are so big, Al. And strong. Do you have lots of girls in America?"

  "I know a few, but I'm not attached, if that's what you mean."

  She kissed his chest, drew patterns on it with her tongue. "Ooh — you still have salt on you. Wait…" She went to her dressing table and brought back a small brown bottle, like a Roman tear urn. "Oil. It's called Love's Helper. Isn't that a descriptive name?"

  She rubbed him, the slithering stimulus of her palms arousing tantalizing sensations. He amused himself trying Yoga control on his skin, commanding it to ignore the tender hands. It didn't work. So much for Yoga against sex. She massaged him thoroughly, covering every square centimeter of his flesh which began to quiver eagerly at the approach of her fingers. She probed and oiled his ears with delicate artistry, turned him over and he stretched contentedly while butterflies tapped on him from heels to head. When the small flickering fingers flowed around his loins for the second time he discarded control. He removed the bottle which she had propped against him and put it on the floor. He straightened her on the chaise with his powerful arms.

  She sighed as his hands and lips flowed over her. "Mmm… that's good."

  He brought his face to hers. The dark eyes glowed like twin pools flecked under moonlight. He murmured, "You can see what you did to me. Now it's my turn. Can I use up the oil?"

  "Yes."

  He felt like a sculptor permitted to explore the incomparable lines of a genuine Greek statue with his hands and fingers. This was perfection — this was genuine art — with the exciting difference that Mata Nasut was hotly alive. When he paused to kiss her she made pleased, moaning hummms in response to the stimulus of his lips and his hands. When his hands — which, he would be the first to admit, were not inexperienced — caressed erogenous portions of her beautiful body she writhed with pleasure, gave startled gasps of delight while his fingers lingered at sensitive spots.

  She put a hand on the back of his head and pulled his lips near hers. "See? Gotong-rojong. To share fully — help fully…" She pulled harder and he found himself sinking into an ardent, sultry, peppery-pungent softness where spread lips welcomed his as a torrid tongue lanced suggestively with slow rhythm. Her breathing was faster than her motions, almost fiery with intensity. The hand on his head pulled with surprising power and her other one suddenly hauled at his shoulder — urgently.

  He accepted her insistent tugs and settled gently to her guidance, enjoying the sensation of penetrating into a secret, cloying world where time was stopped by rapture. They blended into one pulsating being, inseparable and jubilant, luxuriating in the blissful, sensuous reality which each created for the other. No need for haste, no need to plan or exert effort — the beat, the oscillation, the little twists and spiraling motions came and went, were repeated, varied and modified with unthinking naturalness. His temples were aglow, his stomach and intestines tensed as if he were in an elevator that dropped sharply — and dropped again — and again and again.

  Mata gasped once, freeing her lips, and moaned a musical phrase he could not understand before she locked her mouth to his again. Once more his control vanished — who needs it? As she had captured his emotions with her hands on his skin, now she enveloped his whole body and emotions, her burning ardor an irresistible magnet. Her nails closed on his flesh, lightly, like the claws of a playful kitten, and his toes arched in response, a pleasant sympathetic undulation.

  "Ahh, now," she murmured, as if from inside his mouth. "Ahh…"

  "Yes," he replied, quite willing, "yes, yes…"

  * * *

  For Nick, the next seven days were the most frustrating and fascinating he had ever known. Except for three short photographing appointments, Mata became his full-time guide — and companion. He did not mean to waste the time, but his search for leads and contacts was like dancing in warm cotton candy, and every time he tried to stop someone handed him a cool gin-and-tonic.

  Nordenboss approved. "You're learning. Keep moving with that crowd and sooner or later you'll connect with something. If I hear from my plant with the Loponusias we can always fly up there."<
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  Mata and Nick visited the best restaurants and clubs, attended two parties, saw a play and a soccer match. He chartered a plane and they flew to Djokjakarta and Solo, visiting the indescribably wondrous Buddhist sanctuary at Borobudur and the 9th century Prambana Temple. They flew over side-by-side craters containing lakes of different colors, as if you stood above an artist's tray and looked down at his mixtures.

  They flew up to Bandung, circling the plateau with its neat rice fields, forests, and cinchona and tea plantations. He was surprised at the unreserved friendliness of the Sundanese, the vivid colors, music, instant laughter. They stayed overnight at the Savoy Homan Hotel and he was astonished at its excellence — or perhaps the presence of Mata cast a rosy glow over his impressions.

  For she was marvelous company. She dressed beautifully, behaved impeccably and seemed to know everything and everybody.

  Tala was staying in Djakarta, at Nordenboss', and Nick stayed away, wondering what story Tala had used on Adam this time.

  But he made good use of her in her absence, on a warm afternoon at a swimming pool in Puntjak. He had taken Mata to the botanical gardens at Bogor in the morning; awed by the hundreds of thousands of varieties of tropical vegetation, they had strolled together like long-term lovers.

  After a delicious poolside luncheon he had been silent for a long time until Mata said, "Darling, you're so quiet. What are you thinking about?"

  "Tala."

  He saw the lustrous dark eyes shed their sleepy closure, widen and glisten. "She's all right, I think, at Hans'."

  "She must have gathered a bit of information by now. Anyway I've got to make progress. This idyl has been precious, sweet, but I need help."

  "Wait. Time will bring you what you…"

  He leaned across to her chaise lounge and stopped the lovely lips with his own. When he drew back he said, "Patience and shuffle the cards, eh? That's all right up to a point. But I cannot let the enemy make all the moves. When we get back to town I must leave you for a few days. You can catch up on your appointments."