Ryderbeit’s face cracked into a painful grin. ‘I like it, soldier. I like it a lot.’ He looked round at Jones. ‘What d’yer think, No-Entry?’
The Negro nodded. ‘I think it has great potential, Mr Wilde.’ Somewhere in the distance they heard a dull clapping noise.
‘That sounds like our helicopter,’ Murray murmured; but no one moved.
‘So we disappear on a rollercoaster up north,’ Ryderbeit said at last. ‘Another crew of poor bloody Air U.S.A. boys written off without mention. Then what?’
‘We’re in wild country up here. Where there’s not too much rule of law — to use your own words this morning. We could try a lot of things — providing we make sure the price is right. The opium trails, for instance — through Burma and down into India. With that sort of money we could buy the whole Burmese Government. How much do you think U Thant gets paid?’
Ryderbeit chuckled softly. ‘Yes, I like it. More and more. I suppose your French friend’s got some ideas in that line?’
‘He’s working on some. All you’ve got to worry about is flying that plane.’
‘And landing it in five hundred feet. Let’s just hope to hell it is a Caribou. With a plane like that I’m happy. They call it the “flying wing” — it’s got so many flaps I’ve seen one land across the width of a runway. But if they’re using something heavier —’ He shook his head and looked at his watch. ‘Well, children, time for the chopper.’ He stood up and came across to the bed, smiling. ‘No ill feelings, soldier? Because I’ve enjoyed our little chat. A lot more than I thought I would.’ He took Murray by the arm and led him past No-Entry Jones, who held the door open for them both, closing it behind them. ‘In fact,’ Ryderbeit added, as they started down the stairs, ‘I think we can consider ourselves in business.’ He squeezed Murray’s arm. ‘A fifth share of one billion U.S. — that’s what I call a couple o’ bob to be gettin’ on with!’
CHAPTER 3
They had some explaining to do at USAID headquarters, in the little water-logged French square where the rain had just started, and they were already fifteen minutes late. The helicopter had struggled all the way up from Luang Prabang to get them out, and the pilot, an elderly man with a balding crewcut, was silently furious that they were not there on time.
Their appearance did not help. Wedgwood was aghast, clearly imagining some terrible incident with the local populace with whom his job was to live in peace and harmony until his year was up. But Ryderbeit’s explanation was so disingenuously true as to be totally disarming. They’d had a touch too much of Wedgwood’s bourbon which had led to a slight fisticuffs in which Murray Wilde had come out the winner. (This was just plausible, since Murray’s injuries were abdominal rather than facial.)
Ryderbeit was in good form. He offered his empty flask to the helicopter pilot, laughed and apologised; then offered to pay Wedgwood for the bourbon, but the American refused, with big helpless gestures. Jackie sat all the while quietly in a chair against the wall, with no more emotion than a look of boredom, and perhaps faint disgust. Murray tried once to catch her eye, but failed, and thought it better not to try again. The pilot then led the way, in single file, to the helicopter — a slim steel skeleton with a glass bubble for a face. There was still no sign of the Thais. Poor bastards, he thought. What it was to be privileged!
Later, as they whirled up through the cloud with a strange tranquillity after the poor dead C 46, he found that Jackie had taken hold of his arm. No one else noticed. Ryderbeit and Jones were slumped in deep sleep, and the pilot was intent on his instruments.
She said, ‘Thank you for what you did. It was very gallant.’ Then added: ‘I caused you a lot of trouble, didn’t I?’
‘No, it doesn’t matter. It was nothing serious.’
‘They hurt you, didn’t they?’
‘Not badly.’ He nodded at Ryderbeit’s slouching puffed face. ‘I hurt him too.’
She squeezed his arm: ‘He’s mad. And dangerous. They should not permit him to stay in this country. He has no principles, he is just a killer. He talks about the Foreign Legion, but he knows nothing about the Legion. Only about the worst of them, the scum of the earth — Germans and people from the east of Europe who cannot remember anything except how to kill. I despise those people. I hate them.’
Although she spoke quietly and close to his ear, the passion in her voice had an intensity that cut above the clattering roar around them. Murray kept glancing at Ryderbeit, wondering if he heard — even with his mongrel white African French. But Ryderbeit slept on —dreaming of what horrors? Murray wondered.
She kissed him, softly, bumping against him with the motion of the helicopter. ‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured again. ‘I should have stayed.’
‘There was nothing you could do.’
‘But there were two of them — that Negro as well. I should have stayed.’
‘No. No.’ It seemed a pointless argument: she hadn’t stayed, and there was nothing more to be said.
Then she surprised him: ‘What were you all talking about after I left you?’
He pulled away from her, studying her solemn unsmiling face. ‘Talking about?’ he repeated.
‘You were there so long — you must have been discussing something.’
‘Just patching ourselves up. I didn’t feel too good.’ He tried to smile, but something
