But you never asked. You just said, 'Colonel, you're a genius,' and spooned it into your rice and enjoyed it.
'Take some up to Mac, eh?'
'Good idea. But he's sure to complain it's not cooked enough.'
'Old Mac'd complain if it was cooked to perfection —' Larkin stopped.
'Hey, Johnny,' he called to the tall man walking past, leading a scrawny mongrel on a tether. 'Would you like some blachang, cobber?'
'Would I?'
They gave him a portion on a banana leaf and talked of the weather and asked how the dog was. John Hawkins loved his dog above all things. He shared his food with it - astonishing the things a dog would eat - and it slept on his bunk. Rover was a good friend. Made a man feel civilized.
'Would you like some bridge tonight? I'll bring a fourth,' Hawkins said.
'Can't tonight,' Peter Marlowe said, maiming flies.
'I can get Gordon, next door,' suggested Larkin.
'Great. After dinner?'
'Good-oh, see you then.'
'Thanks for the blachang,' Hawkins said as he left, Rover yapping happily beside him.
'How the hell he gets enough to feed himself and that dingo, damned if I know,' Larkin said. 'Or kept him out of some bugger's billy can for that matter!'
Peter Marlowe stirred his rice, mixing the blachang carefully. He wanted very much to share the secret of his trip tonight with Larkin. But he knew it was too dangerous.
Chapter 14
Getting out of the camp was too simple. Just a short dash to a shadowed part of the six-wire fence, then easily through and a quick run into the jungle. When they stopped to catch their breath, Peter Marlowe wished he were safely back talking to Mac or Larkin or even Grey.
All this time, he told himself, I've been wanting to be out, and now when I am, I'm frightened to death.
It was weird-on the outside, looking in. From where they were they could see into the camp. The American hut was a hundred yards away. Men were walking up and down. Hawkins was walking his dog. A Korean guard was strolling the camp. Lights were off in the various huts and the evening check had long since been made. Yet the camp was alive with the sleepless. It was always thus.
'C'mon Peter,' the King whispered and led the way deeper into the foliage.
The planning had been good. So far. When he had arrived at the hut, the King was already prepared. 'Got to have tools to do a job right,' he had said, showing him a well-oiled pak of Jap boots — crepe soles and soft noiseless leather — and the 'outfit,' a pak of black Chinese pants and short blouse.
Only Dino was in the know about the trip. He had bundled up the two kits and dumped them secretly in the jumping-off point. Then he had returned, and when all was clear Peter Marlowe and the King had walked out casually, saying that they were playing bridge with Larkin and another Aussie. They had had to wait a nerve- wracking half hour before the way was clear for them to run into the storm drain beside the wire and change into their outfits and mud their faces and hands. Another quarter hour before they could run to the fence unobserved. Once they were through and in position, Dino had collected their discarded clothes.
Jungle at night. Eerie. But Peter Marlowe felt at home. It was just like Java, just like the surrounds of his own village, so his nervousness subsided a little.
The King led the way unerringly. He had made the trip five times before.
He walked along, every sense alert. There was one guard to pass. This guard had no fixed beat, just a wandering patrol. But the King knew that most times the guard found a clearing somewhere and went to sleep.
After an anxious time, a time when every rotten stick or leaf seemed to shout their passing, and every living branch seemed to want to hold them back, they came to the path. They were past the guard. The path led to the sea. And then the village.
They crossed the path and began to circle. Above the heavy ceiling of foliage, a half-moon stuck in the cloudless sky. Just the right amount of light for safety.
Freedom. No circling wire and no people. Privacy at last. And it was a sudden nightmare to Peter Marlowe.
'What's up, Peter?' the King whispered, feeling something wrong.
'Nothing . . . it's just-well, being outside is such a shock.'
'You'll get used to it.' The King glanced at his watch. 'Got about a mile to go. We're ahead of schedule, so we'd better wait.'
He found an overgrowth of twisted vine and fallen trees and leaned against it. 'We can take it easy here.'
They waited and listened to the jungle. Crickets, frogs, sudden twitters.
Sudden silences. The rustle of an unknown beast.
'I could use a smoke.'
'Me too.'
