The Tale of the Lazy Dog

by Alan Williams

  A waiter in shorts and singlet came and poured Murray some coffee. ‘Fine except for you. What the hell did you think you were doing?

  ‘Drunk. Smashed into small pieces. And how’s the lovely Mrs Conquest? Playin’ it pretty close there, aren’t you, soldier?’ He leant closer across the table, breathing the sweet aniseed odour of Pernod. ‘Come on, Murray boy, credit where credit’s due. If you didn’t screw that lady last night, I’m a pork chop in a synagogue!’

  Murray nodded into his coffee. ‘What’s that got to do with you?’

  ‘Trouble, that’s what. If we want to set up an operation like ours, and you go and screw the wife of a high Yank Intelligence officer, you’re asking for trouble. For all of us.’

  Murray began to stand up. ‘Forget it,’ he said. ‘Forget it, I’m tired.’

  ‘I bet you’re tired. But don’t forget it. Just work on it. Work on it hard, soldier — because if my reckoning’s right, you’re on to a good thing.’

  ‘I don’t follow you.’

  ‘Don’t you? Sit down. Sit down and finish your coffee.’ Murray sat down. ‘Let’s talk about little Jackie Conquest.’

  ‘Like hell we will.’

  ‘Not about what she’s like in the sack — though I can’t say I’m not curious, and just a little envious. I mean, what she does out o’ the sack.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘Her job.’

  ‘She doesn’t have a job.’

  ‘Not in Laos, maybe. But back in Saigon she does — or did before they posted Maxwell temporarily up here. I knew there was something else about that girl. She used to be quite a high-powered secretary with MACV. In fact, I heard talk that she was a kind of personal assistant and Girl Friday to General Greene himself.’

  ‘Greene?’

  ‘That’s the joker. Virgil Luther Greene, one-star Army general in charge of what is laughingly called the Saigon Precinct. Which includes Tân Sơn Nhất Airport. You beginning to read me?’

  ‘How do you know all this?

  ‘I just remembered. There was a lot o’ sneaky gossip about it — how Virgil was hirin’ a French bint and knockin’ her off on the quiet. Though I didn’t entirely believe it.’

  ‘Why not? You believed it of me.’

  ‘Ah but you’re a swordsman, soldier. Virgil Greene’s maybe one of the last shooting generals — believes in zappin’ Charlie Cong personally from his own private chopper, usin’ it like a howdah in the good old days of the Raj — though he’s reputed to be not so hot between the sheets.’

  ‘So what’s this got to do with Mrs Conquest?’

  ‘Just this. If she’s still got that job, she most likely has access to the General’s office, which is in the heartland of the Tân Sơn Nhất complex. In there, they’ve got closed circuit TV, two-way radio, alarm systems — the whole security shoot wired up direct to that one little room. And in there, if we’re really lucky, sits the lovely Mrs Conquest. Reading me, soldier?’

  ‘Not entirely.’

  Ryderbeit frowned into the dregs of his glass. ‘You’re being dull, Murray boy.’

  ‘I feel dull. Enlighten me.’

  ‘Well, in my more sober thoughts this morning I’ve been workin’ on one of the little problems that lie ahead. Now supposin’ we get on to that Saigon airfield in one piece and manage to seize the plane and get it airborne. As you said, it’s a pretty short run into Cambodia — not more than fifteen minutes. But these Yanks are goin’ to get pretty wet around the crotch when they find they’ve lost a fair little slice of their Federal Reserve. So what we need is something to keep ’em busy for a few minutes. A little diversion.’

  Murray nodded. ‘If they send up fighters after us we’re not going to last five minutes — let alone fifteen. Then there’s always the danger they’ll chase us into Cambodia and risk violating neutral airspace.’

  ‘That’s a gamble we’ll have to take, as well as them. But what I’ve been thinking of is something nice and simple. Like a full Red Alert.’

  ‘A Red Alert! But that’ll have every plane on the field in the air?’

  ‘Exactly. But they won’t be after us — they’ll be spottin’ for a full-scale V.C. attack. And if I know the drill, the moment an alert like that goes out, it’ll be followed by several minutes o’ beautiful, organised chaos. Three or four thousand men grabbin’ up guns and pullin’ on boots and foldin’ poker hands, while the sirens start up and the fighter pilots make for their planes. So what’s wrong with a few more men runnin’ out to that rich little transport plane and tellin’ the crew to step down because the flight’s postponed?’

  Murray smiled. ‘And you think Jackie Conquest can get into Virgil Greene’s office and send that Alert?’

  ‘She’ll have to, won’t she? Otherwise we’re not goin’ to stand a virgin’s chance in a nuclear sub. You just sleep on it, soldier! We’ve got to get the whole local U.S. and Arvin units thinking there’s a serious V.C. Tet-style offensive taking place against Tân Sơn Nhất — and goin’ on thinkin’ it for at least those fifteen minutes. Then, when they’ve found out the plane’s gone, there’ll be another fifteen minutes confusion tryin’ to decide whether it was the scheduled flight after all, or maybe the plane’s been hidden for extra security. And even when they find out the truth, and the shit hits the fan, they’ve still got to work out which way their one billion has gone. And after about another thirty minutes, when the radar’s picked us up over Cambodia, then poor old Virgil’s hair starts turning white, and a few hours later he’s in the padded cell.’

  ‘And what happens to Jacqueline Conquest?’

  Ryderbeit stared thoughtfully at his fingernails, which were immaculately kept, cut to the quick. ‘She sends the alert and comes out after us. She must have every kind of pass that’s needed on that airport. She has her own official car — she just drives out across the apron and gets on to the plane.’

  ‘And you think she’ll do it?’

  ‘For love or money she will. And to be on the safe side we’d better see she does it for both.’

  Murray nodded: ‘All nice and cold-blooded. And supposing she still doesn’t want to play?’

  ‘Well, you’ll just have to try bloody hard and see that she does. But for the moment it’s not Mrs Conquest who worries me so much. It’s what we do when we’re clear of the dam and Wattay Airport, and on that rollercoaster up here again over North Laos. You mentioned you might have some ideas — and I don’t mean gettin’ that little bee-lipped bastard U Thant on our payroll, or anything jokey like that. I mean a serious business proposition.’

  Murray shook his head. ‘Not now, Sammy. First I have to confer with my business associates. You and Jones may have muscled in, but you’re not the only ones.’

  Ryderbeit gave his crooked smile: ‘Still don’t trust me?’

  ‘Would you respect me if I did?’

  ‘True. But for nearly a hundred million pounds Sterling each — who’s going to start squabblin’ over that?’

  ‘The rich are greedy and mean, Sammy. We both know that. Certainly I’ve got some ideas, but I’m not giving them all to you now — not over a breakfast of Pernod on our second morning.’ He stood up. ‘First I’m going to have a shave.’

  ‘You came all prepared for a stopover?’

  Murray shrugged: ‘Mrs Conquest and I went out and did the necessary shopping this morning while you were still in your pit. She’s a practical married woman.’

  Ryderbeit leered: ‘This morning! A bit late, weren’t you?’

  ‘You’re a dirty-minded aviator, Sammy. Just toothbrushes and a razor. And I don’t want a single bloody word out of you, drunk or sober, when she comes down.’

  ‘Not a bleep, soldier. Now you just run upstairs and get on with the good work!’

  CHAPTER 3

  The plane back to Vientiane was a DC 3 of the national airline and departed, amazingly, on time. It was only half full, mostly of sleeping Royal Lao officers and three gun-metal cases with s
tencilled lettering: HANDLE WITH EXTREME CARE.

  Jackie Conquest, who had emerged from her room only minutes before the bus arrived for the airport, slept throughout the flight. Since coming down she had treated Murray with a studied indifference which he found perplexing and faintly ominous. In his experience adultery usually made women conspiratorial or flauntingly reckless. Mrs Conquest was being neither.

  Ryderbeit and No-Entry Jones sat together near the tail of the aircraft, talking quietly; Murray still found their relationship obscure. Ryderbeit was comparatively simple: a free-booting, blood-thirsty boaster who could no doubt be dangerous — though probably not as dangerous as Jackie Conquest made out. But the quiet grey Negro was an enigma; Murray decided he must find out a great deal more about him before he committed him to Pol and the full plan.

  They landed near the little air terminal with the balcony and the clocktower. This time there was no plimsolled policeman to meet them. The reception committee consisted of three Americans. Two of them were in dungarees, waiting with a trailer-truck; one jumped aboard and began handing down the three gun-metal cases, which appeared mysteriously light. The third man, in a grey suit with knife-edged creases and a narrow tartan tie, was Maxwell Conquest.

  Murray felt no alarm. He realised that it would have been very odd if a husband had not come to meet his wife after she’d survived a crash-landing. But he would also have expected the man to look pleased or relieved. Maxwell Conquest looked indifferent.

  He stood quite still on the tarmac waiting for them to come down the steps. His wife went first and he said something quickly to her, but she just shrugged, and Conquest turned back and looked at Ryderbeit.

  ‘Mr Ryderbeit. I hear you lost your plane up at Phongsaly.’

  ‘That’s right, Mr Conquest. And I bloody nearly lost your wife and all the passengers with it. This airline of yours ought to abide a bit more by IATA rules.’

  ‘It happened yesterday morning. Why wasn’t I informed until today?’

  ‘How should I know? I don’t run the CIA.’

  ‘My wife was on board your aircraft, Mr Ryderbeit. That made you personally responsible for her safety. I got a report this morning that you were heli-lifted out of Phongsaly to Luang Prabang yesterday afternoon. Why didn’t you come on back to Vientiane?’

  ‘Because there was no plane, and you know it.’

  ‘If I’d been informed, I could have arranged the necessary transport. Why wasn’t I informed?’

  Throughout this exchange no one moved. Jackie Conquest stood beside her husband, looking bored. Conquest’s eyes were like chips of dirty ice. ‘I repeat, why was I not informed last night, Mr Ryderbeit?’

  Ryderbeit laughed: ‘Look, I’m not one of your bloody spooks and I don’t carry a walkie-talkie tucked in my crutch. How could I inform you unless —?’

  Conquest cut him short: ‘I will not tolerate that kind of language in front of my wife, or any other woman for that matter, Mr Ryderbeit!’ He took a step forward until they were within sparring range. ‘I repeat again, why was I not informed last night that you were in Luang Prabang?’

  Ryderbeit flung out his hands and said wearily: ‘So why the hell didn’t your USAID man up in Phongsaly inform you? You boys run this bloody country, not me. I’m just the hired help.’

  ‘Not for much longer you won’t be, Mr Ryderbeit.’ Conquest’s face had turned the colour of impure wax. ‘You know damn well there’s a USAID office in Luang Prabang. They could have radioed us here and we could have had you all back before dark.’ He turned suddenly to his wife, his face tight with rage: and in that one glance Murray understood. Ryderbeit might have known about the USAID office, but had been in no hurry to get back, preferring a boozy evening with the French pilots. On the other hand, Jacqueline would almost certainly have known too — which could only mean that she had been in no hurry either to get back to Vientiane by nightfall.

  Murray now acted, not out of any sense of honour because the Rhodesian was in the firing-line, but simply to intervene before Ryderbeit lost his temper. Whatever Maxwell Conquest might suspect about the lost night in Luang Prabang, he clearly had Ryderbeit in his sights, not Murray.

  ‘Mr Conquest,’ he said, stepping between them, ‘I don’t think you quite appreciate what happened yesterday. I mean, you should try bringing down your plane on one engine through a high mountain pass in a heavy storm and make a successful forced landing in a paddy field. By some miracle no-one was hurt. But we were all just a little shaken up — you’ll understand that, won’t you? You’ll understand that when we got to Prabang, we didn’t go racing off to the second USAID office in one day, we went to the hotel and got our heads down. So if anybody’s going to get the big stick over this it should be the Air U.S.A. traffic controller who sent up a clapped-out C 46 into an electrical storm with a faulty port engine. Anyway, your wife’s alive and well, Mr Conquest — and for my money there isn’t one other pilot or navigator in ten thousand who could have brought that off.’

  Conquest stood listening with a dull stare. ‘Are you an aviator too, Mr Wilde?’

  ‘No, but I can make a damn good witness.’

  Conquest nodded. ‘Excuse me.’ He took his wife’s arm and without another word turned her smartly away to a side-door in the terminal building. She and Murray had not even exchanged a parting glance. Murray watched her for a moment, then began to walk with Ryderbeit and Jones towards the main Arrivals door. There was to be no V.I.P. treatment for them; even internal passengers from the Royal Capital had to be checked through Immigration. Laos was a country at war, he remembered, as Ryderbeit said: ‘That bastard didn’t look sweet, did he?’

  Murray shrugged: ‘Maybe he loves his wife?’

  ‘He sure doesn’t love me,’ Ryderbeit said, kicking one of the baggage-touts in the entrance hall. ‘Anyway, thanks for the recommendation. I may need to quote you on my accident report.’

  ‘Thank you too, Mr Wilde,’ said No-Entry Jones: ‘It’s of especial help, when you lose a plane, to have a friendly, independent witness.’

  ‘Friendly!’ said Murray, smiling wryly as he waved at one of the Toyota taxis outside. ‘You mean that friendly little afternoon we passed yesterday, Mr Jones?’

  ‘I am sorry about that,’ said Jones, ‘but I hope it will prove beneficial in the long run.’ He declined the taxi. ‘I have to check in with Control. You coming, Sammy?’

  Ryderbeit winced. ‘What the hell for — I’ve had the push, haven’t I? I need a drink.’

  ‘You haven’t really got the sack?’ Murray said, as the taxi swung out on to the dusty highway into Vientiane. ‘Conquest can’t have that much influence?’

  ‘Conquest is CIA, and CIA is Air U.S.A., and the name of Samuel David Ryderbeit is getting to be international bad news by now. It’s not just Conquest, anyway. There’s a whole load of other things catchin’ up. That aircraft-carrier business, for instance. A lot of people got very unhappy about that.

  ‘It’s a funny thing,’ he added, staring glumly at the streams of bicycles outside: ‘Try sellin’ a perfectly good watch to a stranger in the street, and he won’t touch it. But just mention some bloody great carrier and you get every arms merchant in Europe offerin’ you air-tickets to Geneva to start discussions. That’s another funny thing — always Geneva.’ He turned suddenly: ‘Is it going to be like that with us, soldier? A planeload o’ greenbacks and a lot o’ nice serious gentlemen in dark suits and homburgs meetin’ us at Geneva airport to discuss terms?’ For the first time since they had met, Ryderbeit sounded subdued, almost sad.

  ‘You getting sacked just now’s been a great help,’ Murray said brutally. ‘Couldn’t you have tried to smooth Conquest down? You’re the hero, remember — you saved his wife’s life, not me. I’m just the one who spent the night with her.’

  Ryderbeit sat stroking his hairless chin. ‘Yeah. She looked pretty uptight this morning, didn’t she? I just wonder what young Maxwell’ll do if he finds out?’

  ‘Wh
at the hell can he do? Sue me for enticement through the Saigon courts?’

  ‘He could try and get you run out of Vietnam. At least, that would be the more official line — the State Department way of doing it. Only we’re not quite under State Department jurisdiction here, so he might try to play dirty. They have a nasty habit in Vietnam of rewarding adultery by cutting off the offending member. It depends on whether Maxwell’s one of the Ivy League or not. I suspect not.’

  Murray nodded. ‘And all in the interests of getting his wife to send a Red Alert on Saigon airport. It looks as though I’m getting to become a different sort of hero.’

  The taxi had pulled up outside the Hotel des Amis.

  The girl behind the bar handed Murray another vellum envelope in which this time was a sheet of paper with the copper-plate heading:

  FOREIGN AID RESERVE CONTROL

  ROYAUME DU LAOS

  Georges Finlayson, Directeur

  Underneath, in ballpoint, was scrawled, ‘Be at the White Rose at 8 tonight. Yrs G.F.’

  Ryderbeit leant across and read it over his shoulder, laughing: ‘Ah, he’s a naughty lad, is our Filling-Station! That place, the “White Rose”, is the dirtiest knockin’ shop in Asia — the girls there are like tins o’ worms with outboard motors! Still, you won’t catch any CIA boys in there.’

  Murray ordered two beers. ‘Tell me about Jones,’ he said.

  ‘Jones?’

  ‘How do you come to be flying with him? A bloody kaffir, as you call him. Or small-part kaffir — it doesn’t matter. He still doesn’t fit in.’

  ‘He’s the best navigator there ever was. And don’t let any of those other Air U.S.A. bums tell you otherwise.’

  ‘You like him?’

  ‘Sure. I’m broadminded, see. And No-Entry’s a good man. I’d stake my life on him — I do most times I go up with him on one o’ those rollercoasters.’

  ‘You trust him?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘What’s his background?’