Saigon Read online

  Maru trotted down the hall to answer the crisp summons. Toni heard the low ramble of her father's voice and Maru's piping answer. Then Maru left the study and disappeared down the service passage.

  Toni waited, flicking the door frame with her feather duster. She supposed that something of the sort might reasonably be done to door frames. Her hands started to tremble as she waited.

  Maru came back with the tall man and barely glanced at her as he re-entered her father's study.

  Her father's voice rumbled again. Maru replied. This time Toni heard Dupré's answer clearly. "What! I don't believe you!" Maru piped up again and this time Dupré laughed. "Marvelous!" he said. "Come in…" his voice faded and the door closed.

  "Maru!" called Toni urgently. "Maru! Do hurry, please!"

  Maru waddled toward her down the hallway.

  "You must try to get those curtains — are you finished measuring? and I need time to arrange the flowers and things. Please go now!"

  Maru hesitated. He should not leave while Saito was in there with Dupré. Theirs was a very private conversation. But…

  "Please!" She stamped her foot impatiently. For God's sake, why didn't he go?

  "It's only that I thought I might help you with something here first, Miss Toni. I wouldn't want you to do anything too strenuous while I'm gone."

  "Of course I won't. The minute you leave I'm going out to get my hair done."

  Ah. If she was going out too, that was all right. "Yes, Miss Toni. The list?"

  She gave it to him with the money and pretended to get ready for going out. The nervous feeling rose like a tide within her. The precious minutes, wasting!

  At last Maru went out, satisfied that she would leave immediately after him.

  Toni ran lightly down the hallway to the study and put her ear against the heavy door. At first she could hear nothing but a low murmur. Then she heard the stranger's voice rise in what was surely anger.

  "No! I do not care about the belt, or this Moreau, or any of that! I must get back to my lady. She is too long alone."

  "Please! Not so loud. One more day, that's all I ask…" Dupré's voice faded. Toni held her breath. Snatches of phrases came to her.

  "…La Farge… wanted… to help. Madame…"

  "But why can you not go with me yourself?" The stranger again.

  "Hush, Saito! Because my orders…"

  So the stranger's name was Saito.

  Words rose and fell.

  * * *

  "…message… La Farge… American…" "American! How can I know……….?" "……credentials… contact me… be assured…" "……danger……" "……danger? …dead… belt……" "…close. Always… danger… wait no longer." "…tomorrow?.. tomorrow? I will… contact by then……"

  Toni's heart was beating rapidly. If her father suddenly opened the door and found her here — Better go. Lin Tong. Would he be pleased? Angry that she had not heard more? Better wait.

  She suddenly began trembling so violently that her arm struck against the door. To her it sounded like a pistol shot. No one else heard the little muffled thud, but she could not know that. She turned and ran lightly down the hall.

  She must get a message to Lin Tong to come early this evening, even if he got angry when she called. Remember, now. Tell him. Belt… Moreau… my lady… alone… La Farge… message… American… contact… credentials… Madame… belt… danger… belt… La Farge… tomorrow… orders…

  The words turned over and over in her mind. Lin Tong would be able to make sense of them.

  Remember, now. Tell Lin Tong and he will reward you.

  * * *

  Dr. Nicholas Carter spent most of the day with the medical officers of the Ninth Vietnamese Army Corps. His Vietnamese was deplorable but he got along very well in French with a few Chinese words thrown in. He got along so very well that before long they were showing him maps pinpointing the areas of their heaviest casualties. In their enthusiasm for their work they showed him where their field hospitals were located; where they had lost Rescue Platoon B; where they knew the roads to be mined; where the jungle was too thick with both tangled trees and trap-springing guerrillas for their vehicles to pass; where the northern areas of South Vietnam were so firmly held by the Communists that to enter was to run a deadly gauntlet.

  Nick gravely absorbed their every word and every marked area on their charts, translating it to the map he carried in his head. It was a pity that he did not know exactly where the La Farge plantation was in that unmarked area north of the borderline, but no doubt Dupré would give him precise directions.

  On his way back to his hotel through downtown Saigon he stopped at several stores and bought a few items that he needed for his journey north.

  After fifteen minutes of Yoga he showered lengthily, rehearsed his forthcoming meeting with Dupré, and dressed for the soirée. A party to which a friend of Toni's had invited him should be the ideal backdrop to his meeting with Dupré.

  Or so he thought.

  The Inexperienced Spy

  Raoul Dupré's staid house rocked with drums and laughter.

  The master of the house stood in a corner of the patio as far away from the loud band as he could get without seeming to escape the party. His face was calm as he lit his third panatela of the evening, but his mind was turmoil. The man from AXE had not yet contacted him. He had promised to let Saito leave tomorrow. Toni had been marvelous all day, but now she had disappeared into some corner with that slab of slime, Lin Tong. In his house. Oh, yes. Bold Dupré of the French Underground. Stern Father. "I will not have that man in this house!" "My party, Papa. Would you prefer that I held it at his place?" He had lost again.

  A woman near him was already beginning to get drunk and thrust her bosoms at every passing male. Dupré shuddered. He had no quarrel with bosoms, but he did not like them quite so blatant. And they were all so young, these women and their men, but they were burning time like matches and their faces showed experience that even he had never had.

  Where, for the love of God, was Toni and that bestial man?

  She was outside in the garden whispering her desperation to Lin Tong. "You promised! You promised! Haven't I done what you asked? Isn't that enough?"

  Lin Tong shook his handsome head. "Not quite. You have done well, Antoinette. But let us play a little longer, eh? Someone — an American — will be making contact with your father. Or so I would think from those little scraps of conversation you picked up. Find out who he is, will you? I remember my promise, do not worry. But the night is long. Perhaps later, on the beach…" His strong hands tilted her chin to meet his face.

  On the other side of the house, Nick Carter walked on to the noise-mad patio and heard a delighted yell through the thumping of the rhythm section.

  "Nickie!" Michele ran to meet him. "I thought you would never come!"

  "How could I stay away when I knew you'd be here?" He ducked her smothering kisses and said, laughing: "Honey, please! Not in front of the children!"

  "Ah, these children are only just beginning, Nickie. You will see a. thing or two tonight. What will you drink?"

  "I have to greet my hostess first. Where is she?"

  "Oh, I don't know. In a comer somewhere with her latest lover. Let her stay there while you and I…"

  "All right, if you say so. But I think I should pay my respects to her Papa. I met him once, you know. Is he in some corner, too?"

  "Foo!" She made a little grimace. "Yes, he is. Scowling by himself. Oh, no. He is talking to that little Hawley from your Embassy."

  Nick followed her eyes. "Little Hawley" was not one of his contacts at the Embassy. Should be a useful cover for his meeting with Dupré.

  "Don't go away," he said. "I'll be right back." He picked his way through the swaying, drinking figures and headed for Dupré.

  Raoul saw him coming, the tall, bronzed man he had met very briefly several evenings before and whose hard, clear gaze had somehow impressed him.

  "Monsieur Dup
ré?" Nick extended a firm hand. "My name is Carter. Dr. Nicholas Carter. We met…"

  "Ah, yes, of course." Dupré took the outstretched hand and shook it. "I hoped that we might meet again. Dr. Carter, Mr. Hawley, Mr. Hawley, Dr. Carter." Hawley nodded politely. "Always glad to meet a fellow American," he said. "Staying long?"

  "Not very," Nick said. "Off tomorrow or Monday for a quick tour of the field hospitals. Your daughter was gracious enough to invite me, Monsieur Dupré…"

  "But not gracious enough to receive you, I notice," Dupré said crisply. "You do not have a drink. What will you have?"

  "I'll get it," Hawley said helpfully. "How about you, Monsieur Dupré?"

  He took their orders and struggled off through the thickening crowd.

  Nick glanced around. At the moment there was no one near enough to overhear them.

  "I'm glad to have this opportunity to meet you," he said. "I've just had a letter from an old friend, mentioning your name."

  "Oh, yes?" Dupré seemed no more than politely interested. But Nick noticed that his own gaze flickered quickly around the room.

  "Yes, Andre sends regards from Fiorello. He also asked me to return that dollar he borrowed from you years ago." He chuckled. "Compound interest should make it five by now, but I'm afraid you'll have to settle for a single." He dipped into his wallet and selected one at random. They were all perfectly legal tender and distinguished from other singles only in that each one's serial number added up to an even thirty. Actually the number (1+24+5=AXE or 30) was only a double-check for the recipient; the true message of the note was in the picture of George Washington, the man who chopped down a cherry tree with — what else? — an axe, and could not tell a lie.

  Dupré glanced at it briefly. "It looks like the same one I gave Andre," he said. "Old and sticky. You Americans are just as bad with your money as we French with our francs. But how did you come to meet Andre? Ah, yes! I think I have it. Not long ago you got a message that was meant for me, is that not right?"

  Nick nodded. This man knew how to use his brains. "That's right."

  "So that is it. Yes, now it all adds up." Dupré thrust the dollar bill into his pocket. "You have relieved my mind, my friend."

  At the far end of the patio, near the band, Michele had taken off some filmy garment and was waving it above her head while her hips wiggled athletically to the drumbeat. Her circle of finger-snapping, pelvis-jerking admirers was growing by the minute. A sort of frenetic enthusiasm permeated the place. Nick thought he caught a glimpse of Toni through the twisting crowd but he could not be sure. Hawley was still trying to make himself heard at the bar.

  "I gather that Madame is still at the plantation," said Nick. "Who actually put that message in The Times?"

  Raoul told him.

  "You trust him?"

  "Implicitly." Dupré nodded emphatically. "I am quite sure that everything happened exactly as he said it did."

  "Fill in the details, do you mind? Starting with Moreau's arrival."

  Dupré was halfway through the story when he saw Hawley coming toward them, anxiously balancing three glasses and spilling slightly as he picked his way between couples of abandoned dancers.

  "Sacre bleu! but I loathe these affairs," Dupré muttered. "We will talk again later. Much later, when all these people become completely oblivious. As they usually do. Your guide is extremely anxious to leave as soon as possible."

  "Does anyone else know he's here?" Nick asked. Dupré shot him a glance. "My own man, Maru. And Toni — I believe she has caught a glimpse of him. But she knows nothing about him."

  Hawley joined them. "Phew! Sorry to take so long." The three of them were discussing the complexities of Vietnamese politics when Nick suddenly felt that familiar skin-tingling sensation that told him he was being watched. Antoinette Dupré was near the bandstand doing something like a dance with a small dark-haired Frenchman who was doing his best to slide his hand down the low-cut U-line of her scanty dress. But she was paying no attention to her partner. She was looking straight at Nick. He smiled and raised his glass to her.

  "Your daughter," he explained to Dupré. "Will you excuse me? I think she wants to be rescued from her partner."

  Dupré looked across the room and grunted. "At least it isn't that Chinaman she's been going around with. I wish you'd rescue her from him."

  Nick raised his eyebrows. "If I get the chance," he said. Hmm. Chinaman, he thought, dodging the feminine arms that reached boldly for him as he passed. Wonder whose side he's on?

  Michele sprang at him from somewhere in the crowd and threw her arms around him.

  "At last!" she squealed. "What took you so long, cheri?"

  "Oh, you know," he said ambiguously. "I saw Toni around here a minute ago. Why don't you take me to her to say hello before we start to dance, and drink, and all those other things your promised?"

  "Oh, no!" Michele smiled impishly and shook her head. "First we dance. Very close, like this." She put her face down on his shoulder and rubbed herself against him. "For a long time. Then we drink. Then we say hello to Toni, quick before we leave. Then we…"

  "Mickee! Must you eat him alive so early in the evening? Leave something for me!"

  A small, tanned hand lay lightly on Nick's sleeve. The other was doing something that made Michele yelp and pull away.

  "Toni! You little bitch!" she hissed.

  Toni smiled demurely. "I always have to peel her off the more handsome of my guests," she said to Nick. "Go 'way now, big Mike. Jean-Paul is dying to climb all over you. Don't lose your chance."

  "Pah! You stay with him, if he's so marvelous. You don't have to steal my partner."

  "My guest, Mick. Let go of him."

  "Ahem! Ladies! No need to fight over me. I assure you there's quite enough of me to go around," Nick said modestly. "Miss Antoinette, how are you?"

  "Dance with me, Dr. Carter," Toni murmured seductively. "That should tell you how I am."

  Nick took her in his arms and winked at Michele. "I'll be back for you, honey," he promised.

  "Oh, no, you won't," she said bitterly. "Not if I know Toni."

  She knew Toni.

  Toni Dupré's grip tightened as the evening wore on. She went from "Dr. Carter" to "Nick, baby," in one breath, and that was only the beginning.

  She was one of the most beautiful small bundles of curves that Nick had ever held in his arms and she danced as though she was leading him to bed. But her face was more flushed than even the Carter charm warranted, and between the wild dancing sets she drank as though she hated the stuff but had to have it. Far too much of it. For long moments she would be silent, twining herself about him and swiveling her hips with a motion that was less suggestion than demand. Then she would break into a babble of scandalous disclosures about her guests and questions about what Nick was doing in Saigon. He gave her his brief story about the World Health Organization and adroitly led her back to the local gossip, thinking rather grimly that she must be a great burden to a father who was a professional spy. Perhaps it was just as well she had latched on to him. It would give him an opportunity to find out how much she knew about her father's work — and his visitor from the North.

  But she fielded his questions as neatly as he did hers and kept on demanding that he tell her more about himself. It was not long before he began to wonder why she had latched on to him.

  The room grew thick with smoke that did not all come from ordinary cigarettes. A girl leapt up onto the bandstand and danced half-naked and with complete abandonment. Some of the couples gyrating on the floor seemed to have crossed over into a wild world of their own in which there was no reality but that of their half-dulled, half-stimulated senses. Raoul Dupré was nowhere to be seen. Michele, Nick saw, had found a lap to sit on. The face that stared past hers into the crowd belonged to a rather good-looking Oriental. Chinese…?

  "I was given to understand that you had a steady boyfriend," Nick said lightly. "Big, muscular, jealous brute. When is he likely to
pounce on me and beat my brains out?"

  Toni made a disparaging sound. " 'Steady! That is an Americanism. I belong to no one but myself. Besides, I am finished with him," she added, inconsequently.

  The harsh, pulsating music at last came to a halt with a sudden, ear-shattering clash. Toni led Nick to a small table against the wall and sent imperiously for drinks while her entertainers took over the cramped stage.

  Toni drank steadily, her eyes darting from Nick to Hawley to a stupefied American Army officer in mufti and back again to Nick. He watched her out of the corner of his eye, pretending to be mildly interested in the troupe of female impersonators who were performing incredible obscenities onstage. Dupré's daughter seemed to have no interest in them.

  She took a long swallow and suddenly thumped her glass down on the table. "Are you the American who was supposed to contact my father?" she blurted, and then took another hurried sip as if to brace herself for the answer.

  Nick stared. So she did know something. He made himself look vaguely puzzled. "In what connection?" he asked blankly.

  She made a little flapping gesture. "Oh, I don't know. He said some American was supposed to contact him about something important. Did you want to see him?"

  "I've already talked to him," said Nick, watching her reaction closely. "Thought you saw me."

  "Oh?" It was a little gasp. For a moment she looked like a confused child, half-jubilant, half-frightened. Her face was suddenly pale, he saw, and her hands were shaking so that the glass rattled on the tabletop. Another question trembled on her lips and then fluttered out halfway. "Does that mean that you…?" She gave up. "Oh, forget about it. It's nothing to me, anyway. Let's have another drink. Look at those fools up there pretending to be women. If they only knew! If they only really knew…" She drained her glass and her eyes flickered across the room to where the tall Chinese sat fondling Michele.

  Nick was fascinated. The Toni who was a child was trying to ask him something. The Toni who was a woman felt some sort of bitterness toward that good-looking Chinese. And there was somehow a connection between the two self-evident truths. He had to let her ask her question, and he had to give her a fair answer… so that she would tell him what he wanted to know.