The Guest of Honor

by Irving Wallace

  “Are we near the main Street?” Underwood asked.

  “You mean downtown, as in America?” Noy said. “Visaka has no downtown. For that matter, it doesn’t have streets either. Just roads and numbers on buildings.”

  Underwood peered out of the car window once more. “I think what confuses me is the mix of temples and churches. How did that happen?”

  Noy laughed. “I can see our history is not so well taught as yours. Let me explain. Just two hundred years ago my ancestors, everyone’s predecessors, lived in Thailand. There the king had decreed Buddhism as the prevailing religion. However, there was a large sect of Thais who had been converted to Christianity by missionaries. They decided to move out of Thailand and establish a new home with greater religious freedom on Lampang. That’s how the churches came to be. When Lampang prospered, others on Thailand wanted to move to Lampang and they followed. They were still Buddhists, and so they built the temples. In genera!, Thai influence is very great over here. Many Christians were eventually impressed by the democracy in the United States, and democracy became yet another influence. Everyone speaks English here and the government is patterned after the very system Jefferson created and would have approved. Matt, look off to your left.”

  “Yes?”

  “The National Museum. Founded in 1784, it is the largest museum in Southeast Asia. We can go inside if you wish, but I’m sure you’ve seen enough of museums everywhere.”

  “Thanks, I’ll pass,” said Underwood. “But it is a stunning building.”

  “There’s something just as stunning not far from here. Unlike anything you have in Washington.”

  Soon the entourage arrived at the Dusit Thani Hotel, and Noy led Underwood, surrounded by security guards, to a moatlike arena.

  “Our Snake Farm,” said Noy.

  Underwood looked down the steep walls. The center was braided with a mass of snakes, every species from king cobras to Russian vipers.

  “Every morning,” said Noy, “our scientists go down into the pit and extract venom from the reptiles to prepare antitoxins against snakebites in more primitive areas outside the city.” She studied him. “Your shirt is clinging to your body, and soon your coat will, too.”

  “Well, it is hot and muggy.”

  “Yes, and you’ve had enough of sightseeing. Come along to the car. In twenty minutes or so you can be at Villa Thap and on the beach. Does that appeal to you?”

  “I can’t wait.”

  “You can get into swim trunks.”

  “And you into a bikini.”

  Noy smiled. “Lampang is not quite ready for a bikini. Will a sarong satisfy you? It doesn’t cover any more than a bikini.”

  “You’ll wear a sarong?”

  “The minute we get there.”

  He tried to picture her. “I certainly can’t wait.”

  Noy had him by the forearm. “Then let’s not waste another minute.”

  From a side window of the sixth-floor apartment that overlooked the street below and the Villa Thap beyond, Hy Hasken surveyed the scene.

  The Street immediately below was crowded by now with the local press, which was held back by the Lampang security guards. Behind them were the curious residents of the neighborhood.

  President Underwood and Noy had arrived a half hour earlier and immediately been escorted down a steep stairway to the villa.

  Hasken with his naked eye and the cameraman with his zoom lens were alone to witness what would come next. The sound man had no longer been needed—there would be no voices to be picked up from the beach at this distance—and Hasken had sent the man back to the Oriental Hotel to pack for all of them and to arrange the earliest commercial flight to the United States—by any route, as long as its final landing place was Washington, D.C.

  “You’ve got a closer view than I have,” said Hàsken to Andrews. “Have our presidents come out of the villa yet?”

  “Not yet.”

  “You couldn’t have missed them?”

  “With this lens? It’s got everything in close-up. Besides, there’s no one on the beach except two American Secret Service men.”

  “Not what I’m looking for,” said Hasken.

  “Keep your eye on the steps leading down from the villa.”

  They both watched silently a minute, and suddenly the cameraman spoke.

  “They’ve just come out of the villa,” he announced. “She’s wearing a red sarong and he’s got on tight white trunks.”

  “Great! I see them all right, but without your lens they’re not completely clear.”

  “They’re descending to the beach. They’re in the sand. Christ, that sarong—”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She could have concealed more with a bikini.”

  “Is your camera going?”

  “It’s going all right. My lens is practically popeyed.”

  “Hey, relax,” said Hasken.

  “Let me concentrate,” said Andrews breathlessly. “They’re going into the water.”

  “Stay with them,” said Hasken excitedly.

  After a few minutes the cameraman said, “They’re playing around.”

  “Playing around?”

  “Well, swimming, leaping up and down like porpoises, rolling in the water.” He paused. “I think they’re coming out now.”

  “Keep that camera tight on them.”

  “Never mind. Wow!”

  “You sound like a wolf,” said Hasken.

  “I’d like to be one and get a piece of that. Noy, I’m talking about, in the sarong. It’s clinging to her body like it’s pasted on, and you can practically see her body like she’s naked all over. Jeez, one boob is practically hanging out. I’m sure I can see the nipple, it’s big and brown—”

  “You can see it?”

  “Je-sus, what I’d give to be in his boots.”

  “You’re not. He’s president of the United States.”

  “Well, she’s more than that. Would you believe me he’s wiping her off with a towel. What an ass she’s got, the biggest, softest, best I’ve ever seen.”

  “Contain yourself, buster. She’s president of Lampang.”

  The cameraman shook his head incredulously. “The president of Lampang has got the biggest and roundest ass in the South Seas.”

  Impatiently Hasken stepped over and pushed the cameraman out of the way. “Let me have a peek through that lens.”

  What Hasken saw was Noy standing in profile facing Underwood. Andrews had been right. One breast was partially exposed, and the wet sarong had slipped up higher over a cheek of her buttocks. Hasken sucked in his breath. She was an object of art.

  Noy was seated now on a bright yellow towel. Underwood had dropped down beside her. She was feeding him from a basket. Underwood was speaking to her.

  “I’d give anything to know what he’s saying,” murmured Hasken. “They’re conversing now.” He stepped back. “Some summit conference. You better take it over. The camera may need a slight adjustment.”

  Andrews was at his lens and adjusting his eyepiece. “That sarong gets me,” he said, mostly to himself. “Could she be wearing anything underneath?”

  “She’d better,” said Hasken, “or Underwood will be on top of her in a minute.”

  “He practically is now,” said the cameraman. “He’s leaning against her. He’s got his left arm around her waist. I swear he’s covering her breast.”

  “I doubt it,” said Hasken. “Not with Secret Service men on the beach, too.”

  “It looks like it. Now, he’s—”

  “He’s what?”

  “Kissing her!”

  “Passionate or chaste?”

  “On her cheekbone. She just jumped up.” He reset the camera once more. “She’s starting back for the steps to the villa. Our Pres is on his feet not far behind her.”

  “They’re leaving?”

  “They’ve left.”

  Hasken stirred himself away from the window. “Then it’s time for us
to leave, too. Let’s beat it back to the Oriental. Your boy should have a plane reservation for us by now. I want to get right on it and get back to Washington before Underwood returns. This is a hot one, and I want to air it as soon as possible.”

  Andrews began to repack, first his camera and lenses, and then his tripod.

  When he was all set, he met Hasken at the door.

  “Hy,” the cameraman said, “do you think he’s humping her?”

  “Don’t be crazy. Presidents don’t do that.”

  “Oh, no? Harding? Cleveland? Kennedy?”

  “Of course. But otherwise, absolutely not.

  Presidents don’t boff presidents.”

  “You’re sure of that, Hy?”

  “Positive. Don’t even think of it. We’re going to give old Matt enough trouble without it. Now let’s get home and get on the air.”

  When President Underwood returned to Washington and the White House, he sought his wife before going to his bedroom.

  Alice was in the Queens’ Bedroom, seated on a sofa, legs crossed, staring at the blank television set.

  “Well, here I am,” said Underwood. “It was a helluva long trip.”

  He crossed the room to kiss her, but she averted her face.

  “No, thanks. You’ve had enough of that.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You mean you haven’t seen television or a newspaper?”

  “Why? Should I have? I just got off the plane. Alice, what’s this all about?”

  “About your extra day in Lampang, about your living it up.”

  “You know I needed the day with President Noy.”

  “Discussing the Red Peril?” She glared at him. “The Communists. Or her sarong?”

  “What’s got into you?”

  “The same thing that got into all the newscasts and the press. Which leads to a better question. What got into you?” She took up the remote control. “Hy Hasken was on the air a few hours ago with a full report on your extra day in Lampang.”

  Underwood was bewildered. “He couldn’t have been. He went back on the press plane a full day ahead of me.”

  “That’s what you think. Would you like to have a look at what he saw in Lampang? Hasken stayed behind and got it all. And now I’ve got it all on videotape to show you what a stupid and lecherous fool you are. Sit down and watch the screen.”

  Confused, Underwood edged into a chair, eyes fixed on the television screen as Alice pressed a remote-control button.

  Hy Hasken’s face filled the screen. He was holding a microphone and standing in front of the White House.

  “This is Hy Hasken back on the Washington beat. I returned from the island of Lampang two hours ago, where I remained with President Underwood during his unscheduled extra day on the island. While the president had intended to return to the White House earlier, and even sent the press back ahead of him, I learned that he was remaining in Lampang one more day for a secret meeting with President Noy Sang. After his meeting with her, which I was unable to attend, the president drove with Madame Noy to her summer villa outside the capital city of Visaka. Our cameraman was able to find a point from which we could cover him. Now, exclusively for you, a glimpse of President Underwood and President Noy Sang on the beach in front of her villa, enjoying a few minutes of relaxation.”

  There were shots of Underwood and Noy cavorting in the water.

  There were shots of Underwood and Noy emerging from the water.

  Underwood heard Alice’s voice. “What’s that she’s wearing? She might as well be naked.”

  “Alice, it’s a sarong. It’s what all the women wear in Southeast Asia.”

  Alice fell silent.

  The screen was filled with shots of Underwood toweling Noy dry.

  More shots of them sitting on the beach.

  A shot of Underwood with his arm around her.

  “What’s your hand doing on her breast?” Alice demanded.

  “I had no idea it was there.”

  A shot of Underwood kissing Noy on the cheekbone.

  “And you’re discussing communism,” Alice said bitterly.

  Underwood swallowed. Hasken, that dirty bastard. Underwood swallowed again. “I’m trying to console her about losing her sister.”

  Alice pressed the remote and shut off the television set.

  Calmly, Alice stood up. “She was still grieving, was she? Bullshit, Matt. The worst kind. She was trying to use you in any way she could. I won’t let you get sucked in like that again. It looks bad, very bad, for both of us. After Hasken released his exclusive tape to all the television stations and press, it ran in prime time on the three major networks, made the front pages of every paper I’ve seen, and Blake tells me both news magazines are using Noy on their front covers. Matt, for God’s sake, you’re the president of the United States. Around you the whole world is falling apart, but you’re uninterested and unavailable because you’re too busy diddling around with the accidental head of some ridiculous two-bit island out in nowhere. If you ever spend another second alone with that woman, I’ll leave you, Mr. President. Don’t you forget that. I’ll leave you. So you keep your britches buttoned up and behave yourself. Otherwise, you’re in real trouble.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The call, on the private line, was from the Department of State to the White House.

  Secretary of State Ezra-Morrison was speaking to President Matthew Underwood.

  “Matt,” he said urgently, “something has come up. I must see you immediately.”

  Underwood was irritated with the call. “I have a lot going on today, Ezra. But I suppose I can squeeze you in if it’s really that urgent.”

  “It’s urgent,” Morrison assured him.

  “Give me a clue to the problem.”

  “It’s in two parts,” said Morrison. “Part one is that you’re set to address the United Nations on Friday after General Secretary Izakov does.”

  “What’s urgent about that?” Underwood mentioned. “This speech has been on the agenda for months.”

  “Well, you’re going to discuss the roles the United States and the Soviet Union have in Third World countries. To make our summit pact possible, it has to be guaranteed by both sides that we are not interfering with other countries. We’re not promoting democracy by force or use of our weapons and the Communists are not doing the same.”

  “Of course. We’ve talked that out a dozen times.”

  “But we haven’t allowed for subsequent events.”

  “What events?” asked the president.

  “It’s just come to my attention that the Soviet Union is actively interfering with another country. It is something you may want to include in your speech.”

  Underwood frowned. “I certainly might want to. Who is this other country the Soviet Union is messing around with?”

  “Lampang,” said Morrison.

  This was a jolt for Underwood. “You’re joking.”

  “I have it all straight from Visaka.”

  “What happened?”

  “I’d prefer not to do this on the phone. I’d prefer to discuss it with you in person as soon as possible.”

  “Come right over.”

  “A half hour,” said Morrison.

  “I’ll make room on my schedule,” promised Underwood. He blinked with disbelief at the telephone. “Trouble in Lampang, is it?”

  “Sit tight. I’ll tell you all about it.”

  “Yes, Lampang,” Morrison repeated, taking the chair across from the president’s desk.

  Underwood impatiently pushed aside the papers on his desk. “Get to the point.”

  Morrison had opened a folder and was reviewing several memorandums. “The Communists moved Out of their stronghold on that second island, Lampang Thon, and invaded Lampang itself last night. I don’t know the strength of the invasion yet. It may be a company, several companies, or even a battalion. I do know that they overran and conquered three villages before General Nakorn co
uld be fully alerted and rush his troops down there.”

  “Is it still going on?” Underwood wanted to know.

  “Yes, but I think it’s a mop-up at this point. Even though the Communists were better equipped than ever before, and inflicted considerable casualties, the Lampang army was able to stand them off and even repel them.”

  “I’m surprised,” admitted Underwood, “truly surprised. Madame Noy assured me a compromise meeting had been scheduled between Marsop and Lunakul.”

  “The meeting was a sham,” said Morrison. “The Communists had no intention of compromising. They meant to take Nakorn off guard and resolve the situation by force.”

  “Incredible,” Underwood said. “Who gave you this information?”

  “General Nakorn. I tried to speak to our CIA headquarters, but Siebert and his aide were off in the hill country. Everything comes from Nakorn. He’s eager to press ahead and subjugate the Communists once and for all. I told him not do to so until he had direct instructions from you.”

  “That was wise.”

  “You may want to work it into your speech at the United Nations. Certainly, after we have more complete information. I think you must confront the Soviets head-on with this one.”

  Underwood was lost in thought. “Let me think about it. Keep me up-to-date. Then I’ll decide what to do.”

  Even during his conversation with Ezra Morrison the president had decided what to do. Now he did it.

  He brought in Paul Blake. He said, “There’s some trouble down in Lampang.”

  “I’ve heard.”

  “I want to get a call through to Madame Noy Sang. Locate her for me and put her on.”

  It was ten minutes before he heard her voice. “Noy, how are you?”

  “Fine, Matt, perfectly fine now. You’ve heard of our trouble here?”

  “I’ve heard from Secretary of State Morrison. He spoke to General Nakorn. Here’s what I heard.” He told her briefly, and then asked, “Does that sound right, Noy?”

  “Yes and no,” said Noy. “I’m not sure. It’s still unclear. We’re basing everything on General Nakorn’s report. We were attacked by Communist aggressors. We fought them off. On the other hand, Marsop talked on the phone to the Communists, to Lunakul, and Lunakul denies it categorically. He insists it was the other way around. His version is that Nakorn and our troops crossed over to strike a Communist garrison, and that the Communists retaliated and fought them back to the mainland. I don’t know yet who’s being honest in this affair.”