'Perhaps I can reach him there,' Hsiao said. 'In one hour.'
He was about to hang up the phone. The message, that he needed to meet personally with the agent known as Sword at a particular rendezvous in an hour, had been delivered. But he heard Sword's sharp intake of breath over the phone. 'Please! Wait,' the man said. 'This line is clean. We can talk.'
Hsiao frowned. This was a flagrant violation of the security rules he'd laid down at the very beginning of this operation. Sword should have known better. 'We will talk,' he said sharply. 'In an hour.'
'No. Now.' Sword was persistent. 'There is trouble… an American naval aircraft lost near U Feng. The Americans have scheduled a meeting with members of the government. They are demanding permission to mount search-and-rescue operations in the area. I may not be able to put them off much longer.'
Hsiao glanced at his watch. 'It is already past seven,' he said. 'It is rather a late hour for government meetings, is it not?'
'The Americans are… upset.'
'You will be at this meeting?'
'Of course, sir. General… our people fear what the Americans may do!'
The voice sounded desperate. 'We could lose everything!'
Hsiao forced himself to remain calm. Sword could jeopardize much more than the Americans would if the man lost his nerve now.
'We have lost nothing,' Hsiao said gently. Now, he judged, was the time for soft words and assurances. He needed Sword to guide upcoming events within the government, especially once word of U Feng reached Bangkok sometime later this night. 'We shall use the Americans, not avoid them.'
'Are you saying we will confront the Americans directly? Your MiGs will never get within a hundred miles of their carrier!'
Hsiao laughed. 'You talk about the Jefferson as though it were magic!
She is a large warship, to be sure, but she is not invulnerable!'
'You have a battleship or two hidden in reserve, perhaps? Or a cruise missile?'
'We have something much better, my friend. Surprise… and the Americans' own feelings of safety within a friendly port!'
'I fail to see how that can help us.'
'You, my friend, are the key. You can make everything work. Remember!
I chose you because you can make the bureaucracy work for us! Reports can be mislaid, orders delayed, decisions postponed or deferred.'
'That doesn't help us with the Yankee carrier. If they should decide to openly side with the government-'
'They will have other things to worry about.'
'What, General?' The voice carried almost open scorn. 'Suicide motor boats? An armada of hang gliders? This is a nuclear-powered aircraft carrier we face!'
'A nuclear-powered aircraft carrier, yes. A ship which is enormously vulnerable.' He chuckled. 'You know many today claim that the aircraft carrier is already obsolete. That its vulnerability, its total dependence on the other ships of its battle group, would actually make it a liability in a war.'
'You have an idea.' It was a statement of fact, not a question. 'What is it?'
Hsiao laughed gently. 'Not over the phone, Sword. Attend the meeting and report to me afterward. Then I will tell you what I have in mind.'
CHAPTER 11
Liberty in Bangkok was proving to be memorable, but not at all what David Howard had expected. It had started on the mike boat, when Bentley, Paterowski and Rodriguez had closed in on him like predators, escorting him ashore, standing in line with him waiting for the bus, then regaling him with improbable stories of sexual athletics for almost two hours as the ancient vehicle rattled its way up Route 3 into Bangkok.
They'd spent an hour simply wandering the streets, gawking at the sights and discussing what to do next. Bentley was in favor of visiting a bar he'd heard about in Klong Toey, an idea that terrified Howard since the waterfront district was strictly off-limits to American military personnel. The others preferred a trip to the infamous Patpong Road which they'd heard so much about from Bentley. Howard wasn't much happier with that idea, but he didn't want to be the one to argue about it.
Patpong won out in the end. Patpong Road had been pretty much like Bentley had said it would be, a glittering, tawdry, neon-bright strip of bars, nightclubs, sex theaters and cheap-looking hotels. The villainous-looking taxi driver dropped them off beneath a towering, red-lit sign flashing five repetitions of the word 'topless.' A sign across the street proclaimed the most sensual massage in Bangkok. Nightclubs abounded, and bars were everywhere, each with its own gimmick: nude dancers, dart contests, old movies, and special shows that promised 'Sex! Live Girls! On Stage!'
According to Bentley, Patpong was just another street by day, but at night it became the sex and sin center of the city. Traffic crowded the narrow road, mingling freely with bands of laughing, jostling That men and small groups of foreigners. The street smelled, a mixture of spice, garbage and raw sewage. Howie fought to control his stomach. He didn't belong here, and he felt out of place and embarrassed.
They had dinner first at a Japanese restaurant called Mizu's Kitchen, then spent another hour roaming the street before choosing a bar called the Golden Coast. It was dark inside, and crowded. The very air throbbed to the beat of hard rock. They were met as soon as they stepped inside by four dazzling That girls, each wearing high heels and three wisps of golden silk and string which with considerable generosity might have been called bikinis.
There were numbers on small badges pinned to their bras. Paterowski explained to Howie with a wink and an elbow nudge that the numbers allowed the bar's patrons to ask for a particular girl, just in case there was further business they wanted to transact with her later.
There seemed to be a scantily clad, numbered girl for every male in the bar, drinking with the customers, laughing and talking. Howie's girl wore the number 21. She had a sweet smile, and Howie thought she was the prettiest girl he'd ever seen except, possibly, for Charlene back home.
But Charlene had never worn a bathing suit like that. When Number 21 turned around to lead the way to a table, it looked like she was wearing nothing but a couple of pieces of gold string, and Howard didn't know how to react to the sight of her bare buttocks. How did you talk to a girl who walked around like that in public? He felt a fiery, stiffening urgency in his loins he'd not known since Charlene had let him kiss her in her father's car, and was immediately ashamed of the comparison.
'C'mon, guys and gals!' Bentley cried, sitting down at the table.
'What'll it be?'
They ordered something fiery and potent the English-speaking bartender called Mekong Wine and Bentley called 'Patpong panther piss.' Howie's head was swimming after the first couple of sips, though whether that was from the drink, excitement, or fear he couldn't tell.
'Boy oh boy,' Paterowski said, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his hands together. He was looking toward a brightly-lit stage at the back of the room. 'Get a load of that!'
If Howard was surprised by the brief attire of the hostesses, the floor show nearly finished him. The girl was stark naked, dancing with rhythmic, sensuous gyrations. Howie stared, unable to take his eyes off her.
'Ai!' Rodriguez exclaimed. 'ital tetas!'
'I'll stick with this one here,' Bentley said, leering as he pulled his girl closer and toyed with her bra. 'She's got class! You can tell…'
Paterowski's girl grinned as she rubbed her hand down his shirt front toward his crotch. 'And you horny sailor men,' she said. 'We know.'
'Right you are, babe,' Bentley said. He took another swallow of Mekong.
'Best in the fleet!'
