Normally, Noy breakfasted with Den before he was driven off to attend his classes at St. Mary’s School. From the beginning Noy had made it a point to see that Den was raised, as much as possible, like any other child in the city. She refused to send him to a private school but chose to send him to a public one. This decision gave him an opportunity to get to know average youngsters of his own age, and not just the offspring of wealthy families. Also, Noy had been insistent that he go off to school every day in her personal Mercedes with her own chauffeur, Chalie, driving him. She was aware that if she herself accompanied him it would mean fuss and fanfare, with at least half a dozen security guards preceding and following them. Noy did not want this. She did not want to have Den think that he was something special. So she sent him off daily to St. Mary’s with Chalie chauffeuring him in the Mercedes sedan.
But this morning, spurred by her guilt, she had accompanied Den and Chalie to the school. She was suffering a sense of guilt at her time away from the boy, and she wanted to take advantage of every opportunity to be with him and show her interest in him and his classes.
She drove with Den to the main entrance of the school playground, where his three friends—Toru, his best friend, and two others—would be waiting. Den kissed his mother hastily, leaped out of the car, and raced across the sidewalk to greet his friends.
A quick wave and then he was with them in the graveled yard facing the school building.
Satisfied, she sat silently in the Mercedes while Chalie drove her back to the front gate of Chamadin Palace.
Leaving the car, she called back, “Chalie, you pick Den up at two o’clock alone as usual. I’m going to be busy the entire afternoon. Will you do it?”
“As ever, Madame,” called back Chalie.
Starting into the palace, there was only one person Noy wanted to contact on the outside with a report of the great reception the televised announcement of her candidacy had received. That person was, of course, Matt Underwood. Glancing at her wristwatch, she reminded herself that about this time Underwood would be in the Great Hall of the People in Beijing, and unavailable for any frivolous call.
She promised herself she would call him in a few days when he was finished with his official business in China and back at his desk in the Oval Office in Washington, D.C.
Over her shoulder she could see Chalie go off in the Mercedes toward the underground garage, where he could leave the Mercedes until it was time to fetch Den.
Driving down the garage ramp, Chalie parked the sedan in the area reserved for the presidential cars.
He opened his door, stepped out of the Mercedes, and turned away from it. As he did so, he heard the scrape of a movement behind him.
Twisting to see what it was, he had only a glimpse of a thick baseball bat in someone’s hand. It came smashing down on his head before he could avoid it or defend against it.
The bat struck him full and hard on the back of the skull. His knees buckled and he blacked out.
The Mercedes sedan was waiting outside the St. Mary’s School at two o’clock when Den and his friends scampered across the yard toward the exit.
“There’s your car,” called Toni.
“It’s always there,” Den called back. “Chalie is on time every day. He’s afraid of my mother.”
“What’s to be afraid of?” Toru wanted to know. “Just because she’s president?”
“I suppose so,” said Den. “Hey, that was a dumb geography class.”
“Not as bad as history,” said Toru.
“See you tomorrow morning,” Den called back. “Don’t forget the movie on television tonight. Casablanca. I read it was the most popular one on American television. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”
Den dashed out of the yard, leaving his friends behind, grabbed the front door of the Mercedes, yanked it open, and flung himself in beside the driver. His eyes were still on his friends as he waved to them, and the car drove off.
They drove on a half minute with Den looking straight ahead through the windshield. Lost in thought, Den said, “Cripes, another boring day in school, except for arithmetic.”
“Ummm,” said his driver.
They had come to the end of the block when the car veered sharply right.
“Hey, what are you doing?” Den cried out. “You always turn left here.”
He twisted in his seat for Chalie’s reply. Only there was one thing wrong.
It wasn’t Chalie in the chauffeur’s seat.
Chalie had a pockmarked face. This driver had a smooth, plump, brown face with a long, pointed nose.
“You’re not Chalie,” Den said accusingly. “You’re someone else. What are you doing here?”
“Chalie got sick,” said the driver. “He asked me to pick you up.”
“But this is the wrong way.”
“No, it isn’t!” a voice said from the rear. Den whirled in his seat to look behind him. He saw a mustached man crouching there, someone who must have been hiding down low on the car floor during the pickup. Den saw that the man was holding a silver gun, just like the ones in the movies. He put the barrel of the gun against the boy’s head. “Now, you be quiet, young man, if you don’t want a hole in your head.… Shove over. Move closer to the driver and make room.” He gave Den a push. “Now, move!”
Den began to tremble, which never happened in the movies.
The mustached man was short and squat. He climbed over the back of the car seat and squeezed himself down beside Den in front. Den was in a vise between them.
“Now shut your eyes, because I’m going to blindfold you,” the mustached man ordered.
Quickly the man had something over Den’s eyes and secured it behind with a double knot.
“I want to see my mother.” Den’s voice quavered.
The man tested the blindfold and was satisfied. “You’re going to see your mother. Unless you make trouble. Then you won’t ever see her or anyone else again. Now, keep quiet. We’ll get you where you’re going in a hurry.”
Marsop was in Noy’s presidential office, standing at her desk, riffling through her papers for a document he needed.
He was startled by the shrill ring of one of the three telephones on her desk. The ring, and subsequent rings, came from the white telephone, the phone Noy permitted to be used only for calls from members of her cabinet, or for emergencies.
The telephone was clearly for Noy, and Marsop shouted for her. There was no answer. Wherever she was, she was out of earshot.
As the telephone persisted with its urgent ringing, Marsop decided that he could answer it.
He lifted the receiver off the hook. “Hello. President Sang’s office.”
The voice on the other end was a deep rumble. “Who is this?”
“This is Minister Marsop.”
“I must speak to President Noy Sang.”
“I’m sorry. She’s not in her office.”
There was a pause. “You can get a message to her?”
“Of course.”
“Immediately?”
“Why, yes. Who is this?”
“I am on the staff of the army.”
Marsop thought he recognized the voice. It was a strong bass that had impressed itself on him at cabinet meetings and military meetings. It was a voice that sounded like that of Colonel Peere Chavalit, second in command of the army in influence and Nakorn’s closest deputy. Although Marsop could not be sure.
“Are you Colonel Chavalit?” Marsop wanted to know.
“That is of no importance. I wish to speak to President Noy. If she is not there, I will speak to you. You can convey my message to her.”
Marsop nodded at the phone. “I’ll do that.” The tone of the voice, what it was saying, had begun to sound ominous to Marsop. “I am ready to give her any message. Tell me what it is.”
“It concerns her son, Den Sang.”
This was definitely ominous and Marsop held the receiver tightly. “Is anything wrong? Is he all right?”
&n
bsp; “Perfectly well.”
This was puzzling. “Are you calling from his school?”
“He left St. Mary’s half an hour ago, as you can see from your clock.”
Marsop sought and found the time on Noy’s desk. The time was 2:32 in the afternoon. Den had been scheduled for pickup—was always scheduled for pickup—at two o’clock by Chalie, Noy’s driver.
Marsop swallowed hard. “Den—where is Den?”
“With us. With friends.”
“Where are you?”
“We’ll get to that.”
"How do I know Den is there?”
"You wish to hear his voice?”
"I do,” said Marsop.
There was a whispered consultation at a distance from the telephone, then footsteps, then Den. “Marsop,” Den said shrilly, “I’m here. I am—”
Abruptly he was off the phone. Marsop envisioned that it had been snatched away from him.
The deeper voice was on the phone once more. “You have heard him.”
“Is he safe?” Marsop demanded.
“Perfectly, if you attend promptly to the message I wish you to pass on to President Noy.”
“Yes, I promise,” said Marsop. “What is the message?”
“I want to see President Noy at once.”
“You can come to the palace—”
“Don’t be a fool. I want to see her on my terms, right where I am.”
“If it can be done—”
“It must be done if President Noy wishes to see her son alive.”
Marsop’s heart tripped. He tried to keep his tone even. Take this seriously, he told himself, but do not panic. “What—what is your message, sir?”
“Listen carefully. Do you have a pencil? Write down what I tell you.”
“I have a pencil.”
“Very well. Get this right… President Noy Sang must come to the corner of—the southwest corner of—Khan Koen Road and Bot Road, and she must come alone. Do you have that? Read it back to me.”
Marsop choked. “Southwest corner of Khan Koen Road and Bot Road. Alone.”
“Exactly. Have her do that within the hour and she will see her son alive and safe.”
Marsop stuttered. “It—it—it may be difficult for the president to leave the palace alone. She has a security guard that follows her every move. I don’t know if she can manage this.”
The voice on the other end was deeper and angry now. “She will find a way. She must come alone or the boy is dead.”
“Wait! Do you have her car—?”
“Her car is in the palace garage.”
“Let me drive her!”
“No. She must come alone in a taxi, and no one must follow her. She’s to be dropped off three blocks away. Do you hear me?”
“Yes…”
“I repeat. Alone. Or the young boy will be dead.”
The hang-up was loud and reverberated in Marsop’s ear. He held the silent receiver a moment and then he, too, hung up.
This was shocking. The first thing he must do was find Noy, and then reason with her.
He remained at the desk, hurrying through her, papers until he found her day’s schedule.
She was in a meeting with a half-dozen of her agricultural staff in the Rama Room.
He went to find her, opened the door of the room, and saw that she was seated at a round table, listening to one of her advisers read to her from a report.
Marsop crossed the room until he reached her, and then, beckoning, he bent down closer to her ear.
“I must see you immediately,” he whispered. “This is an emergency.”
She met his eyes fearfully.
“Outside,” Marsop said.
Excusing herself, she rose from the table and followed Marsop out of the room.
In the hail, Noy grabbed at Marsop’s arm. “What is it?”
“Don’t get too upset—”
“What is it?” she demanded again. “Tell me.”
“Den—” he began.
Her hand went to her mouth. “Is he hurt?”
“No,” said Marsop quickly, “as far as I know he’s all right. Noy, he’s been kidnapped. The word was never used, but there’s no doubt it is kidnapping. They’re ready to free him, but there’s a ransom demand.”
“What do they want?”
“You,” said Marsop. “I’d guess they’re ready to exchange Den for you.”
Noy was astounded. “Me? What do they want with me?”
Marsop was uncertain. “They want to talk to you.”
“Who are they?”
“I don’t know, Noy. The man who called on the telephone—he was actually calling you; I answered the phone—he had a deep voice, but not one I recognized.”
“Marsop, tell me exactly what was said to you on the telephone.”
He tried to recall every word for her. Then he handed her the slip of paper.
She narrowed her eyes to read it. “Khan Koen Road and Bot Road,” she read. “Go three blocks down to Uhon Square, then walk back to this corner.” She raised her head. “Are you certain it was Den’s voice you heard on the phone?”
“Yes, he was able to say very little. But it was Den.”
“It could be a hoax.”
Marsop was hesitant. “I doubt it, Noy. Den isn’t home from school yet.”
Noy pulled at Marsop’s arms, and her voice choked. “Let’s get to the garage!” she exclaimed.
Preceding him down the stairs, entering the garage, Marsop heard her gasp. “Chalie!” she called out.
Crumpled on the floor beside the Mercedes was Chalie. Noy rushed to him and kneeled, taking his pulse.
“He’s alive,” she said over her shoulder. “My God, look at the blood on the back of his head. Call my office and have someone get a doctor. Wait here for him.”
Back in her office, Noy waited restlessly for Marsop to return, trying to imagine what had happened, and what she herself should do next. In minutes, Marsop was back.
“Chalie is all right,” he reported. “A minor fracture, but he’ll be on his feet by tomorrow.” Noy listened, and then shook her head. “I guess it’s not a hoax. They have Den. I must go along with their demand.”
“I’d like to come with you,” Marsop begged.
“You quoted the man as saying that unless I come alone, Den is dead. Didn’t you?”
“That’s right.”
“Then I must go alone, Marsop. I can’t take chances with those lunatics.”
“It could be dangerous.”
“I have no choice. It’s me or it’s Den. For me, Den is everything.” She wagged her head at Mar-sop. “How do I do this alone with six security guards following every step I take?”
Marsop was at a loss. “I don’t know.”
“Well, I know. Follow me to the kitchen.” As they walked through the dining room, she went on. “The cook, Juliellen, she’s just about my size. Every day”—Noy glanced at her wristwatch—”just about this time, she goes out to the market. This time she will not go out. But I will.”
As they went into the kitchen, Juliellen, who had been reading a newspaper, threw it down and came respectfully to her feet.
“Juliellen—”
“Yes, Madame President?”
“That sweater and skirt and apron you’re wearing, is that what you wear when you go to the market?”
“It is, Madame.”
“Do you have another set I can wear?”
“You, Madame? Of course I have more, but—”
“Never mind, Juliellen, I need your clothes—instantly. Don’t say a word to anyone. I want to wear what you wear to the market.”
“I also wear a shawl around my head.”
“All the better. Go fetch your clothes. I’ll wait for you in the pantry.”
Fifteen minutes later, when Noy emerged from the pantry, she was wearing a gray sweater and blue denim skirt identical to Juliellen’s. Taking the shawl from Juliellen’s hand, she tied it over her head and tr
ied to conceal her face in its folds.
“How do I look?”
“Not very presidential,” Marsop replied.
“This should get me past the front gate. Where do I get a taxi?”
“A block south of the palace. There are always several in front of the church.”
“Then, I must hurry.”
Marsop was at her heels as she started to leave. “Noy,” he pleaded, “I can’t let you go by yourself.”
“You must. Anything else will endanger Den.”
“This may endanger you.”
“Never mind. Just remain at my desk. I’ll get in touch with you. Can you give me some money?”
Marsop reached into his jacket pocket. “What if you don’t call?”
“If you don’t hear from me in an hour, contact the police. They’ll be familiar with the area.” She started to leave. “Marsop, you stand by, and pray for both of us.”
After the taxi brought her to Uhon Square, she hastily paid her fare and left the cab.
She surveyed the area, confused, then intercepted a young man carrying some packages and asked the way to Khan Koen Road and Bot Road.
The boy pointed west. “Three or four blocks that way.”
Checking her watch, Noy saw that she was still within the designated time. She began to walk as fast as she could. The walk seemed interminable. Suddenly she realized that she had arrived at her destination. She crossed Khan Koen Road to the southwest corner and stopped, and stood with her back to a cluster of trees, apprehensive and wondering if Den’s captors would deliver him.
Realizing she was wearing Juliellen’s clothes and might not be immediately recognizable, she untied her head shawl so that her well-known face would be instantly identified.
She waited five minutes and was becoming more and more nervous when she heard light footsteps behind her. She whirled about just as Den, unwrapping a blindfold, stumbled toward her, calling out, “Mother!”
Noy ran to him with an exclamation of relief, and fell to her knees as he came into her arms. She hugged him as tightly as possible.
“Den!” she cried out. “You’re safe. Are you all right? Did they hurt you?”
“No, Mother, I’m fine, but you must look out—”
But by then, when she looked up, there were two others looming over the pair of them. They were both husky young men wearing sunglasses and attired in army fatigues. Around their waists, through their loosely hung khaki jackets, she could see holstered guns.
The Guest of Honor Page 20
