Howard wondered how she'd known the four of them were sailors. They were all wearing civies and looked like typical tourists, as far as he could tell.
'You all Jefferson men?' one of the girls wanted to know.
'Sure are,' Paterowski said. 'You heard of us?'
'I think we want find out!' The girls giggled, as though sharing a secret.
Number 21 pressed herself close to Howard, nuzzling his ear. Her perfume threatened to overwhelm him. 'So what you do, sailor?' She laughed. 'On ship, I mean.'
'Uh… actually, I'm a message runner,' Howie said. Number 21's breast was rubbing against his arm, each movement threatening to dislodge the scrap of material covering it. 'I… uh… run messages.'
'Hey, don't be so modest, Howie!' Rodriguez said. 'Don't let him fool you, chica. He's right up there in CATCC with the rest of us.'
'This cat-see,' Bentley's girl said. Her number was 15. 'Is what?'
'The heart of the carrier, babe. The center of the whole damned show.'
'Like radar? We know radar. Very important on ship.'
'Right you are, honey,' Paterowski said. 'We run the radar. The flyboys couldn't even land without us there to help 'em. But hey, we didn't come here to talk shop!'
'We like big, important guys,' Bentley's girl said. 'For you, very, very special treatment! Sanuk!'
'What's sanuk?'
The girls laughed and Howard's girl explained. 'Is fun!'
'Hey, I like the sound of that!' Rodriguez said.
'Yeah,' Paterowski said. 'What say we go someplace where we can enjoy some sanuk in private?'
'You wait.' Number 15 pulled away from Bentley. 'Wait here minute. I call, get special place. We go have fun.'
'Whoa!' Paterowski said, watching her go. 'We got some hot numbers here, hey, Bent?'
'Told you Patpong was a great place. Wonder what she has in mind?'
Number 15 didn't return for nearly fifteen minutes. When she reappeared, she was wearing a leather miniskirt and a fire-red silk blouse and carried a pocketbook. She snapped something at the other girls in That.
Howard's girl replied with a machine gun-like barrage in the same language. He felt her stiffen next to him and sensed that she was angry though he couldn't tell what the argument was about. The first girl spoke again, her tone imperious as she gestured toward the front of the bar. The others seemed to give in, then. All three stood up gracefully and walked away, not even looking back or saying good-bye.
'Hey,' Rodriguez demanded. 'Where're they going?'
'You think they go on street dressed like that?' She held out her hand for Bentley. 'They meet us at special place. I call friend, all fix. You see!'
'What do you say, guys?' Bentley said, smirking. 'Let's party!'
'I'm with you, man!' Paterowski said, rising.
The drinks already paid for, they trooped out of the Golden Coast, following the girl. Howie wondered what her name was. The number seemed so… degrading, somehow.
On the street, Bentley's girl led the way along the crowded sidewalk.
'Hey, where we going', chica?' Rodriguez asked.
'Not far. You see.'
'What about the other girls?' Rodriguez asked.
'They come. You see!'
She led them across the street, then turned a corner into a narrow alley between a topless bar and an establishment which billed itself as a short-time hotel.
Howard pulled back. He didn't like the tawdry feel to the whole scene, didn't like the numbers, the open advances. It made him feel dirty. 'This isn't for me, guys,' he said suddenly. 'You all go on without me.'
'Howie!' Rodriguez said. 'Shit, don't lose it now, man! I mean, these girls are hot!'
'Uh-uh.' Fear… and denial turned to resolve. This was wrong. 'You guys go ahead, Ernesto. I'll be over there.' He pointed to another bar across the street next to a massage parlor. He could hear a thumping beat which sounded like country rock, and its neon sign promised American food.
There was nothing on its marquis about girls or sex. He turned and started across the street, threading his way through the traffic before the others could stop him. 'Get me when you're ready to go, okay?'
'Right, man, if that's what you want.' He checked his watch. 'Shouldn't be more'n a couple of hours, okay?'
'Fine.' He turned and started walking away, resisting the urge to run as he dodged cars, taxis, and speeding tuk-tuks.
He didn't look back.
Major Lin Thuribhopal took the stairs silently, two at a time. He held in his hand a Type 67 automatic pistol, a Chinese design with a built-in silencer which gave it a heavy-barreled, clumsy look. Slung across his shoulder was more substantive firepower, an Israeli Uzi, also silenced. Lin had heard that Hsiao had acquired the weapon from a drug lord in the Golden Triangle.
Nothing Hsiao did could surprise Lin now. The man who claimed to be a high-ranking member of the Chinese intelligence service had an organization which extended into three countries at least, and reached into the highest levels of the governments of both Rangoon and Bangkok.
But now, Lin took a special pride knowing that tonight, at this moment, the entire plan known as Sheng li rested upon him.
He reached the floor directly beneath the control tower booth, a windowless area partitioned into small offices Where flight plans and weather advisories were filed. A bored-looking air force sergeant sat at the reception desk, feet up, a paperback novel in his hands. He saw that he had a visitor and started to rise. 'Yes, Major? What can I-'
The Type 67 in Lin's hand gave one loud, harsh chuff, then another, the weapon bucking in his hand. The sergeant's eyes widened as twin stains of blood appeared high on the front of his uniform shirt, spread, and merged. He groped for the revolver strapped to his hip and Lin fired a third time, this time tearing away part of the man's throat and knocking him back against his chair.
Lin was appalled at the sound. He'd thought the silencer would eliminate the pistol's noise, the way they did in the movies, but the shots had been as loud as someone smashing the desktop with a baseball bat.
'Sergeant Pho?' someone called from the next office. 'What's going on out there?'
Lin's hands were shaking now, but he was ready when the duty officer walked out of his office. He fired again before the air force lieutenant had even seen him. The officer staggered back against the door frame, hands clenched across his stomach, eyes bugging out in shock and pain and surprise.
The next shot caught him high in the forehead, shattering his skull and spraying the wall with bits of scalp, hair, bone, and splatters of blood.
The assassin waited for a long moment, listening for any further movement. The guard on the floor below was already dead, his throat slit when Lin came up on him from behind. The only people left in the building should be the duty traffic controlman and one or two assistants manning the tower, consoles on the floor upstairs. Had they heard? Lin held his breath, waiting for some response.
Nothing.
Moving quickly now, Lin dragged the two bodies back into the lieutenant's office and closed the door on them. There was no time now to mop the streaks of blood on the wall or the linoleum floor, but with luck, no one else would be coming up those stairs until it was too late.
Since he didn't know for sure how many people there were in the tower gallery, Li tucked the pistol into his waistband and unslung the Uzi, yanking back the charging handle to chamber the first round. Quietly, he walked to the door to the stairs going up, opened it, and went through.
The stairwell was kept closed off at both ends and darkened to keep light from spilling through from below and ruining the night vision of duty personnel in the tower. He reached the top of the stairs, paused on the landing outside the closed door, then tapped lightly with the muzzle of the Uzi's heavy suppressor.
