The Judas Spy Page 9

  Chapter 5

  Hans Nordenboss was an excellent cook. Nick ate too much, hoping his appetite would return by the time he rejoined Mata. When he was alone with Hans for a few moments in his study he said, "Suppose we leave the morning after tomorrow for the Loponusias — will that give us time to get in, make plans, arrange for action if we don't get cooperation?"

  "It's a ten-hour trip the way we have to go. Airstrip is fifty miles from the estates. Roads are fair. And don't plan on any cooperation. Siauw is tough."

  "How about your connections there?"

  "One man is dead. Another is missing. Maybe they spent the money I paid them too openly, I don't know."

  "Let's not tell Gan Bik any more than we have to."

  "Of course not, although I think the boy is on the level."

  "Is Colonel Sudirmat smart enough to pump him?"

  "You mean would the kid sell us out? No. I'd bet against that."

  "Do we get any assistance if we need it? Judas or the blackmailers may have their own private army."

  Nordenboss shook his head dourly. "The regular army can be bought for peanuts. Siauw is hostile, we can't use his men."

  "Militia? Police?"

  "Forget it. Bribery, double-crosses. And tongues that wag for cash paid by anybody."

  "Long odds, Hans."

  The stocky agent smiled, looking like a genial religionist bestowing a blessing. He held up an ornate shell in his soft-looking, deceptively strong fingers. "But the work is so interesting. Look — intricate — Nature makes trillions of experiments and chuckles at our computers. We little men. Primitive intruders. Aliens on our own ball of mud."

  Nick had been through similar dialogs before with Nordenboss. He agreed in patient phrases. "The work is interesting. And the funerals are free if there are any bodies found. Man is a cancer on the planet. You and I have duties ahead. What about weapons?"

  "Duty? A precious word to us because we are conditioned." Hans put down the shell with a sigh and displayed another. "Obligation — responsibility. I know your classification, Nicholas. Did you ever read the story of Nero's executioner, Horus? He finally…"

  "Can we pack a greasegun in a suitcase?"

  "Not advisable. You can hide a couple of handguns or some grenades under a few clothes. Put a few big rupee notes on top, and if our luggage is examined you point to the rupees when the case is opened and chances are the guy looks no further."

  "So why not a spraygun the same way?"

  "Too big and too valuable. It's a matter of degree. The bribe is worth more than grabbing a man with a handgun, but a man with a machine gun might be worth a lot — or you kill him and rob him and sell the gun as well."

  "Charming." Nick sighed. "We'll work with what we can.

  Nordenboss gave him a Dutch cigar. "Remember the latest in tactics — you get your arms from the enemy. He's the cheapest and nearest supply line."

  "I've read the book."

  "Sometimes in these Asian countries, and especially here, you feel as if you're lost in a crowd of densely packed people. There are no landmarks. You push through them in this direction and that, but it's like being lost in a forest and circling. Suddenly you see the same faces and you know you're wandering aimlessly. You wish you had a compass. You think you're just another face in the crowd, but then you see an expression and a face of terrible hostility. Hate! You wander and another glance catches your eye. Murderous hostility!" Nordenboss put the shell he was holding neatly in its place and closed the case, started for the door to the living room. "It's a new sensation for you. You realize how mistaken you have been…"

  "I'm beginning to notice," Nick said. He followed Hans back to the others and said good night.

  Before he left the house he slipped into his room and opened a parcel which had been packed in his luggage. It contained six bars of fight green soap which gave off a wonderful smell, and three cans of an Aerosol spray shaving cream.

  The green cakes were actually plastic explosive. Nick carried igniting caps as standard parts of the pens in his writing case. The fuses were formed by twisting together his special pipe cleaners.

  But the cans of "shaving cream" pleased him most. They were another invention of Stuart, the AXE weapons genius. They shot a pink stream for about thirty feet before it broke into a spray that would gag and incapacitate an opponent in five seconds and knock him out in ten. If you could get the spray near his eyes he would be instantly blinded. As far as tests showed, all the effects were temporary. Stuart had said, "The police have a similar device called Klub. I'm naming this AXE."

  Nick packed them with a few items of clothing in a dispatch case. Not much against private armies, but when you're about to tangle with the big crowd you take any weapons you've got.

  When he told Mata he would be out of town for a few days she knew very well where he was headed. "Don't go," she said. "You won't come back."

  "Of course I will," he whispered. They were cuddled on a lounge in the mellow gloom of the patio.

  She unbuttoned his sports shirt and her tongue found the spot near his heart. He began to tickle her left ear. Since his first introduction to Love's Helper they had used up two bottles — perfecting their abilities in achieving, each for the other, greater and more exciting delight. He relaxed as her flickering fingers rippled in the now familiar and always more wonderful rhythms. He said, "You're going to delay me — but only for an hour and a half…"

  "Whatever I can have, my darling," she murmured into his chest.

  It was the ultimate, he decided — the pulsating beat so adeptly synchronized, the twists and spirals, the sparklers at his temples, the elevator dropping and dropping.

  And for her as great a tender impact, he knew, for as she lay soft and replete and panting she hid nothing and the dark eyes glowed wide and misty as she breathed words he barely caught, "Oh, my man — come back — oh, my man…"

  As they showered together she said more calmly, "Just because you have money and power behind you, you think nothing can happen to you."

  "Not at all. But who would want to harm little me?"

  She made a disgusted sound. "The great secret C.I.A. Everybody watches you stumbling around."

  "I didn't think it showed so plainly." He hid a grin. "I guess I'm an amateur in a job where they ought to have a professional."

  "Not you so much, dear — but the things I've seen and heard about…"

  Nick rubbed a giant towel over his face. Let the big company take the credits as long as they collected the lion's share of the brickbats. Or did it prove David Hawk's shrewd efficiency, with his at times annoying insistence on the details of security? Nick often thought that Hawk thrust a man into the posture of an agent — of one of the 27 other United States secret services! Nick had once received a medal from the Turkish government engraved to the cover name he had used on that case — Mr. Horace M. Northcote of the U.S.F.B.I.

  Mata snuggled against him, kissed his cheek. "Stay here. I'll be so lonely."

  She smelled delectable, scrubbed and perfumed and powdered. He enfolded her in his arms. "I leave at eight in the morning. You can finish those pictures for me at Josef Dalam's. Send them along to New York. Meanwhile my sweet…"

  He picked her up and carried her lightly back to the patio, where he kept her so delightfully busy she had no time to worry.

  * * *

  Nick was pleased by the efficiency with which Nordenboss organized their trip. He had discovered the chaos and fantastic delays which were part of Indonesian affairs, and he expected them. There were none. They flew to a landing strip in Sumatra in an old De Havilland, climbed into a British-made Ford and rolled north through the coastal foothills.

  Abu and Tala chatted in a mixture of languages. Nick studied the villages through which they passed, and realized why the State Department paper had said — fortunately the people can exist without money. Crops grew everywhere and fruit trees clustered around the houses.

  "Some of those little home
s look comfortable," Nick observed.

  "You wouldn't think so if you lived in one," Nordenboss told him. "It's a different way of life. To keep down the insects you put up with foot-long lizards. Called geckos because they croak gecko-gecko-gecko. There are tarantulas bigger than your fist. They look like crabs. Big black beetles can eat toothpaste right through the tube and chew the bindings off books for dessert."

  Nick sighed — disillusioned. The terraced rice fields, like giant stairs, and neat villages looked so inviting. The natives seemed clean, except for some with black teeth who spat red betel juice.

  The day had become hot. When they drove under tall trees they seemed to pass through green-shadowed cool tunnels, then the open road felt like an inferno. They stopped at a road block where a dozen soldiers lounged under thatched roofs on poles. Abu talked rapidly in a dialect Nick could not follow. Nordenboss climbed out and went into the hut with a short lieutenant, returned at once and they drove on. "A few rupees," he said. "That was the last regular army post. The next we see will be Siauw's men."

  "Why the roadblock?"

  "To stop bandits. Rioters. Suspicious travelers. It's really nonsense. Anybody that can pay can pass."

  They approached a town of larger, sturdier looking buildings. Another inspection point at the near entrance to the town was marked by a colored pole lowered across the road. "Siauw's southernmost village," Nordenboss said. "We're about fifteen miles from his home."

  Abu pulled into the turnout. Three men in dull green uniforms came out of the small building. The one with sergeant's stripes recognized Nordenboss. "Hello," he said in Dutch with a big smile. "You stop here."

  "Sure we do." Hans climbed out. "C'mon Nick, Tala. Stretch your legs. Hello, Kris. We've got to see Siauw on important business."

  The sergeant's teeth were sparkling white, unstained by betel. "You stop here. Orders. You must go back."

  Nick followed his stocky associate into the building. It was cool and dark. Fans turned slowly, powered by ropes that disappeared into the walls. Nordenboss handed the sergeant a small envelope. The man peeked into it, then placed it slowly and regretfully on a desk. "I cannot," he said sadly. "Mr. Loponusias was so definite. Especially about you and any of your friends, Mr. Nordenboss."

  Nick heard Nordenboss murmur, "I can make it a little more."

  "No. It is so sad."

  Hans turned to Nick and said rapidly in English. "He means it."

  "Can we fade back and pull a spinner or an end run?"

  "If you think you can get through dozens of line backers. I won't bet on gaining any yardage."

  Nick frowned. Lost in the crowd without a compass. Tala said, "Let me talk to Siauw. Perhaps I can help." Nordenboss nodded. "It's as good a try as any. Okay, Mr. Bard?"

  "Go ahead."

  The sergeant protested that he dared not telephone Siauw — until Hans gestured to him to pick up the envelope. A minute later he held out the phone to Tala. Nordenboss interpreted as she chatted with the unseen Loponusias potentate.

  "…she says yes, it is really Tala Machmur. Can't he recognize her voice? She says no, she cannot tell him on the phone. She must see him. It is simple — whatever it is. She wants to see him — with her friends — just for a few minutes…"

  Tala talked on, smiled, then held out the instrument to the sergeant. He received some orders and replied with great respect.

  Kris, the sergeant, gave some orders to one of his men who climbed into the car with them. Hans said, "Well done, Tala. I didn't know you had a secret that is so persuasive."

  She gave him her beautiful smile. "We are old friends."

  She revealed no more. Nick had an excellent idea what the secret was.

  They drove over the lip of a long, oval valley with its far side next to the sea. A cluster of buildings appeared below and on the coastline there were docks, warehouses and activity among trucks and ships. "Loponusias country," Hans said. "His lands go right up to the mountains. Held in other names, a lot of them. Their agricultural sales are tremendous and they've got a finger in oil and a lot of the new factories."

  "And they'd like to keep them. Perhaps that'll give us leverage."

  "Don't count on it. They've seen invaders and politicians come and go."

  Siauw Loponusias met them amid a bevy of aides and retainers on a screened porch as big as a basketball court. He was a rotund man with an easy smile that you could figure meant nothing. His plump brown face had an odd firmness, his jowls did not sag, his high cheeks looked like six-ounce boxing gloves. He came across the polished floor and embraced Tala briefly and then studied her from several angles. "It is you. I could not believe it. We heard — differently." He looked at Nick and Hans and nodded as Tala introduced Nick. "Welcome. I am sorry you cannot stay long. Let us have something cool to drink."

  Nick sat in a large bamboo chair and drank lemonade. The lawns and brilliant landscaping stretched away for 500 yards. In a parking lot there were two Chevrolet trucks, a shiny Cadillac, a pair of Volkswagens that looked brand new, and several assorted British cars and a Soviet-made jeep. A dozen men were either standing guard or patrolling. They were dressed enough alike to be soldiers, and all carried slung rifles or belt holsters. Some had both.

  "…give my best wishes to your father," he heard Siauw say. "I plan to see him next month. I will fly directly to Fong."

  "But we would like to see your lovely lands," Tala purred. "Mr. Bard is an importer. He had placed large orders in Djakarta."

  "Mr. Bard and Mr. Nordenboss are also agents of the United States." Siauw chuckled. "I find out things too, Tala."

  She glanced helplessly at Hans and Nick. Nick hitched his chair a few inches toward them. "Mr. Loponusias. We know that the men who hold your son will come here soon in their ship. Let us help you. Take him back. Now."

  You couldn't read a thing on the brown bumps with the sharp eyes and the smile, but it took him a long time to answer. That was a good sign. He was thinking.

  At last Siauw gave a tiny negative shake of his head. "You find out things too, Mr. Bard. I will not say if you are right or wrong. But we cannot take advantage of your generous help."

  "You'll toss meat to the tiger and hope he'll give up his prey and go away. You know tigers better than I. Do you think that will really happen?"

  "Meanwhile — we study the animal."

  "You listen to his lies. You have been promised that after a few payments and under certain conditions your son will be returned. What guarantee have you?"

  "Unless the tiger is insane, it is to his advantage to keep his word."

  "Believe me — this tiger is mad. As mad as a man amok."

  Siauw blinked. "You know amok?"

  "Not as well as you. Perhaps you will tell me about it. How a man is crazed into a murderous frenzy. He knows only killing. You cannot reason with him, much less trust him."

  Siauw was worried. He had had many experiences with the Malay insanity, amok. A wild madness to slay, stab, cut — so powerfully vicious that it helped the U.S. Army decide to adopt the Colt .45 on the theory that the big slug had more stopping power. Nick knew that men in the throes of amok had still needed several slugs from the big automatics to stop them. No matter the size of your gun, you still had to put your slugs in the right place.

  "This is different," Siauw said at last. "These are — businessmen. We — they — do not run amok."

  "These men are worse. They are running amok now. Into the face of five-inch shells and nuclear bombs. How mad can you get?"

  "I… don't quite understand…"

  "Can I speak freely?" Nick gestured at the other men grouped near the patriarch.

  "Go on… go on. They are all my relatives and friends. Anyway, most of them don't understand English."

  "You've been asked to help Peking. They say just a little. Perhaps politically. You might even have been asked to help Indonesian Chinese escape, if their politics are right. You think this gives you some leverage and protection against
a man we call Judas. It won't. He steals from the Chicoms as well as you. When the reckoning comes you'll face not only Judas amok but the wrath of Big Red Daddy."

  Nick thought he saw Siauw's throat muscles move as he swallowed. He imagined the man's thoughts. If there was anything he knew all about, it was bribery and double-triple crosses. He said, "They have too much at stake…" But his tone was weaker and the words trailed off.

  "You think Big Daddy has controls on these men. It's not so. Judas conned them out of his pirate ship and he has his own men as crew. He is an independent bandit robbing both sides. The instant there is trouble your son and his other captives go over the side with chains on them."

  Siauw no longer slouched in his chair. "How do you know all this?"

  "You said yourself we are U.S. agents. Perhaps we are and perhaps not. But if we are — we have certain connections. You need help and we're the best in sight. You don't dare call in your own military. They'd send a ship — maybe — and you'd wonder if it was half bribe hungry and half commie sympathizers. You're on your own. Or you were. Now — you can use us."

  Use was the right word. It gave a man like Siauw the idea that he might still walk the tightrope. "You know this Judas, eh?" Siauw asked.

  "Yes. Everything I've told you about him is fact." With a few trimmings I've guessed at, Nick thought. "You were surprised to see Tala. Ask her who brought her home. How she arrived."

  Siauw turned to Tala. She said, "Mr. Bard brought me home. In a U.S. Navy boat. You can call Adam and you'll see."

  Nick admired her quick mind — she wouldn't reveal the submarine unless he did. "But from where?" Siauw asked.

  "You cannot expect us to tell you everything while you cooperate with the enemy," Nick replied smoothly. "The facts are she is here. We brought her back."

  "But my son — Amir — is he all right?" Siauw was wondering if they had sunk Judas' boat.

  "As far as we know. Anyway — you'll know for sure in a few hours. And if he's not, wouldn't you like to have us around? Why don't we all go after Judas?"

  Siauw got up and paced the wide porch. Servants in white jackets stiffened at their posts near the doors when he approached. It was not often you saw the big man move like this — worried, thinking hard, like an ordinary man. Suddenly he turned and gave a spatter of orders to an elderly type with a red badge on his spotless coat.