Murray stepped out of his clothes and lay down on the bench beside Pol. Murray’s girl had unfastened her coat, letting it hang open as she went to work. Like her partner she wore only a pair of navy-blue pants underneath. Murray relaxed under the tiny strong fingers which started first on his shoulders.
‘You had no trouble getting in?’ Pol asked: ‘No complications downstairs?’
‘I was kept waiting for some time at the desk,’ Murray said, still speaking French, which is not widely understood in Thailand.
‘Bien. But you had no trouble?’
‘No. Why?’
The Frenchman’s eyes were closed, his cherry lips parted in a half-smile as the masseuse bent over him, kneading the deep mounds in the small of his back. ‘A little matter of security, that’s all. This morning someone tried to kill me.’
Murray went rigid under the girl’s hands. ‘You’re joking?’
‘Joking!’ Pol gave his peel of high-pitched laughter. ‘My dear Murray, I have a sense of humour — but I trust not a gallows humour. I still enjoy life.’
Murray lay with a dull lump growing in his guts. ‘What happened?’
‘They sent me a bomb for breakfast. Plastique in a brandy bottle. Imagine the impudence of it.’
‘You know who it was?’
‘Eh bien —’ he shrugged a shoulder like a side of beef — ‘not precisely. But I have my ideas. They were professionals, for a start. The explosive was packed in a carton with the detonators primed to go off as I opened the lid. Simple, but subtle. In fact, if it hadn’t been so subtle I’d be dead now. You see, they exaggerated on the details. Always a mistake — especially when the details are good. It came up beautifully wrapped, with a typed note saying “compliments of the management”. And as I’m in the best suite, right up on the roof, at eighty-five dollars a day, I was only agreeably surprised — until I noticed the label. Hine VSOP — my favourite of the ordinary brands.’ His red lips opened slyly: ‘And in Bangkok of all places! I was more than surprised now — I became curious. You see, I have a nose for these things. I got a knife and slit the box open from the bottom. The wiring and detonator were an excellent job. They knew what they were doing.’
‘The same people who killed Finlayson?’
‘Ah! There we can only guess. And guesswork in these matters, my dear Murray, can be a dangerous occupation. What do they say in the papers — that he was killed by bandits, don’t they?’
‘If that’s what they want to believe.’ Murray glanced across at the glistening pink face on the bench beside him, wondering for a moment if Pol’s tone were just a little too casual for the occasion? ‘Whoever killed him was looking for something — and it wasn’t money.’
‘Ah oui?’ The Frenchman had hauled himself on to one elbow, blinking through tears of sweat. ‘How can you be sure?’
‘I was there — I found him. And his wallet was still in his pocket, stuffed with money.’
Pol grunted and rolled on to his back. He said nothing, and for a moment there was just the smack of hands on his loose trembling breasts.
‘How did they find out you were staying here?’ Murray said at last.
‘Oh I didn’t make it a secret. Perhaps I should have done, as it’s begun to turn out.’
‘And who pays for the King Rama Suite?’
Pol tittered, his eyes still closed: ‘My dear Murray, that’s not very delicate of you!’
‘Nor of you, Charles. If someone’s trying to kill you, you’re making it pretty easy for them.’
‘So what would you have me do? Seek asylum in the French Embassy?’
‘Move into another hotel.’
‘And risk even less security, for less comfort? The arrangements here are as good as I’ll get anywhere — unless I choose to involve the police, which I don’t! The management is most discreet. Besides, I like it here. And a man must live.’ He smiled luxuriously as the girl’s hands crept round his groin where his genitalia sprouted beneath his Buddha belly like a second umbilical cord.
‘You’re not afraid?’ said Murray.
‘Afraid! Ah mon cher, the string of my life is by now so long that when I pull it, I can’t feel the end.’
‘You’re in great danger.’
‘Perhaps.’
‘They’ll try again.’
‘We shall see.’ He relaxed happily as the girl worked in vain to coax the turtle-head out of his loins. ‘I shall be leaving Bangkok late this afternoon — but first we have some business to discuss. What progress have you made in Laos?’
‘I found two pilots,’ said Murray. ‘Or rather, they found me. Through Finlayson’s agency, I suspect.’
Pol nodded, still without opening his eyes. ‘Americans?’
‘One is a Negro — a navigator who seems about as good as they come. The other’s a Rhodesian — a mad Jew who’s been run out of his own country, out of South Africa, South America, and almost every other trouble-spot you can name. This is about the last place that’ll have him — outside the Communist bloc.’
‘Ah. Is he a man of the Left?’
‘Slightly to the Left of Genghis Khan, I’d say’ — and he sensed Pol wobbling with silent laughter beside him. ‘He fought for Tshombe in the Congo.’
Pol’s laughter went on for several seconds, while he wiped the sweat out of his eyes and beard. ‘To the Left of Genghis Khan,’ he repeated: ‘Oh that’s
