The Guest of Honor

by Irving Wallace

  “You must be completely frank,” said Hasken. “Otherwise, I cannot help you.”

  Underwood surrendered. “All right. Noy and Den. As you seem to know, Noy is missing. She’s been kidnapped. The ransom demand is that she withdraw as candidate for election.”

  Hasken gasped. “Do you have any leads, Mr. President?”

  “No leads. Suspicions, but not a solid lead.”

  “Suspicions can become clues.”

  “How can we find Noy?”

  “Well, now that I know it’s Noy, and that her son was involved—”

  “And Minister Marsop, too. He was drawn in when he took the call from Noy’s son.”

  Hasken appeared reassured. “Okay, we may be getting someplace. Maybe I can help you. But I’ll have to hear the whole story, every detail of it, down to the most minor, seemingly unimportant fact. I’ll have to question the boy. Then Marsop. But first you. Start talking… sir.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  From his suite in the Oriental Hotel, President Underwood put through a call to Minister Marsop at Chamadin Palace.

  “Marsop? This is President Underwood at the hotel. I’m with someone who thinks he can help us."

  “To find Madame Noy?”

  “Yes, to find Noy.”

  “Is he a detective?”

  “No, not really. His name is Hy Hasken, and he’s a White House television correspondent from Washington, D.C.”

  “He will not let this matter be public?” asked Marsop anxiously.

  “Mr. Hasken is sworn to secrecy. He is what we call an investigative reporter.”

  “I am familiar with the expression.”

  “Even, though he’s not really a detective, he works like one, maybe even better,” said Underwood. “He wants to interview both you and Den about everything that happened. Is Den there?”

  “Yes, I thought it better to keep him out of school until everything is resolved. Den is in his bedroom, watching television.”

  “We’ll need him and we’ll need you. Mr. Hasken wants to review the whole matter with both of you personally. He’ll probably have questions I did not think to ask.”

  “We will do the best we can.”

  “Good. Hasken and I are on our way over.”

  In thirty-five minutes the four of them were gathered together in Noy’s office in Chamadin Palace.

  Den and Marsop were seated erect and alert on the sofa, facing Hasken, who had taken a small notebook and pen from his jacket pocket. Underwood sat nearby behind the reporter. He wanted to be unobtrusive and allow Hasken to have center stage.

  Hasken addressed himself to the boy. “I’m going to ask you a lot of questions, Den. No matter how silly or unimportant they may seem to you, I want you to answer each and every one in the best way you can. Will you do that?”

  “I will try,” said Den.

  “Let’s start with where you began and go right up to the moment you were released by the kidnappers. Shall we?”

  “Yes.”

  “Now you left school. Who left and what happened?”

  Listening to Den, Underwood heard it all again, and he couldn’t imagine how Hasken would find any more clues in what he heard than in what Underwood had heard.

  But suddenly Hasken was asking Den something that Underwood had failed to ask because he had seen no purpose in it.

  “Your three school friends,” Hasken said. “Do you want’ to tell me about them?” —

  “Tell you what?”

  “Their names, let’s begin there.”

  “Toru is my best friend. Then there are Sorik and Sassi.”

  “What are their backgrounds?”

  Den was puzzled. “What does ‘backgrounds’ mean?”

  Hasken, at once aware that young boys of that age would have little awareness of background, revised his question.

  “Den, do you know what work their fathers do?”

  The boy thought about it. “Toni’s father has a factory.”

  “What kind?”

  “Uh, I don’t know. Yes, I do. He makes ceramic plates. Sorik’s father makes—publishes a magazine about Visaka. Sassi’s father is a lawyer.”

  “Do your friends ever talk about what their fathers are interested in?”

  “Interested in?”

  “Like hobbies that your friends know about.”

  “Toni’s father collects foreign cars. Sorik’s father writes stories, and lets Sorik help him. Sassi’s father saves lots of money.”

  Hasken laughed. “A good hobby. Let’s go back a bit. You’re in the Mercedes and your eyes are covered.”

  Den went on from there, relating everything he had told before.

  “You’re sure it was two flights up to the apartment where they held you.”

  “Two flights up.”

  “How many people in the apartment?”

  “Four men.”

  “Can you describe them, tell me what they looked like? Tall, short, heavy, skinny, mustaches, scars, anything?”

  Den fumbled trying to describe the men. To him they were just four soldiers who looked alike.

  “The room where you stayed,” Hasken persisted. “Was it empty?”

  “There were places to sit.”

  “Describe them if you can.”

  Den couldn’t very well. He remembered wooden chairs, a table, and a couch.

  “Were there windows?”

  “Two.”

  “Could you see outside?”

  “No, they would not let me near the windows. But I could see from across the room. There was another apartment across the street.”

  “Across the street. Not next door.”

  “It was further away. So it must have been across the street.”

  Den went on to the telephone call to his mother. He had not heard it all, except that he knew his mother was not near her emergency phone. Marsop had answered instead.

  “Did you speak to Marsop?”

  “Yes, they pulled me to the phone and said to me, ‘Tell him you are here. Just so he can know it’s you. Not another word.’ So I said that, and when I wanted to say more, the man took the phone away from me and pushed me back to my chair.”

  As he concentrated on the questions and answers, Underwood could not see where this was leading, or that Hasken’s so-called investigative reporting was turning up anything at all.

  Hasken had finished with Den and was concentrating on Marsop.

  “They told you to tell Noy to come alone to the southwest corner of Khan Koen Road and Bot Road?”

  “To go beyond it three blocks and go back to the corner and wait for Den.”

  “Marsop, can you find me a map of Visaka?”

  “I’m sure Noy has several in her desk.” He was going through her drawers as he spoke, and at last he found a map and unfolded it. He scanned it quickly, then rose and took the map to Hasken and pointed.

  “There it is, Mr. Hasken. The southwest corner of Khan Koen Road and Bot Road.”

  Hasken studied the area on the map. “It seems to border on a park. I can see the wooded area, beyond the corner.”

  As Marsop sat down, Hasken resumed questioning him.

  When Hasken had finished his interrogation, he said, “Thank you, Minister Marsop. Thank you, Den. I’m sure you’ve told me everything you can remember. I appreciate that.”

  Hasken swung around in his chair and directed himself to Underwood.

  “I think I have everything I need to know. It isn’t much, but it may give us a start.”

  “Is it helpful?” asked Underwood impatiently.

  “It might be. Now we’re going to find out.”

  “How?”

  Hasken was thoughtful for a half minute. Then he spoke again. “By starting where the whole thing began, and reenacting it every step of the way, as far as we can go. I’d like to start with the school, with the moment the school day ended and Den came outside with his three friends. Let’s take two cars. You and I, Mr. President, can take the
little Volvo I rented. Den and a driver—is Chalie well enough?... He is?… Chalie can drive Den in the Mercedes, and we’ll follow them to the school.” He jumped up. “Let’s get going.”

  There were four cars in all heading for St. Mary’s School.

  With the chauffeur, Chalie, his head bandaged and Den beside him, leading the way driving Noy’s Mercedes 450 sedan, the others followed. There was Secret Service Director Frank Lucas and an armed agent in the front seat of the next car. After that came Hy Hasken and President Underwood in the Volvo. Another Secret Service car and agents brought up the rear of the small caravan.

  Arriving at the chain fence that surrounded the school, they all left their cars and gathered before the open gate.

  “You wait here,” said Hasken. “I want to speak to the principal briefly. Den, take me to the office.”

  Underwood, surrounded by his Secret Service men, wondered what this would accomplish, but he crossed his fingers and kept his silence. He watched as Hasken and Den hurried across the yard.

  Inside the school, Den led the way. Hasken followed him across a stretch of tiled floor, around a corner, and then into a reception room.

  “The principal’s office,” Den announced.

  A drab-looking gray-haired woman, obviously the principal’s secretary, looked up.

  “Den Sang,” she called out, “we didn’t expect to see you today. Minister Marsop called and told us what happened.”

  “It was scary,” Den said.

  “Did someone really kidnap you?”

  Den confirmed this. “They kept me just a little while, and then they let me go.”

  The secretary studied Hasken. “Den, who is this gentleman?”

  “He’s an American reporter. He’s trying to find out who kidnapped me. He wants to see Miss Asripon.”

  The secretary stood up. “I will tell her you are here.” The secretary disappeared into the inner office, and quickly reappeared. “You may go in now.”

  Before they could start for the principal’s office, Hasken put a hand on Den’s shoulder. “Den, you wait here. I want to see Miss Asripon alone.”

  Hasken went into the office by himself.

  Miss Asripon, a thin, small, worried middle-aged woman, was on her feet expectantly.

  Hasken shook her hand and introduced himself.

  Miss Asripon said, “This is in relation to the awful kidnapping attempt of Den yesterday?”

  “Yes. I’m with the president of the United States, Matthew Underwood, who is outside with his Secret Service. As a friend, I’m trying to give him a hand. Actually, I thought I’d start my investigation here.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t be of much assistance,” said Miss Asripon stiffly. “I did not witness it. I only know what Minister Marsop told me earlier.”

  Hasken made it clear he understood that. “It’s not you I’m after,” said Hasken. “I really want permission from you to talk to three of Den’s friends who did witness the kidnapping.”

  The principal said, “They’re in their history class just now.”

  “I wonder if I could borrow them from the class for a short time?” asked Hasken.

  “You have their names?”

  “Toru, Sorik, Sassi.”

  Miss Asripon softened. “Fine young men. They’re on the third floor. It will be less disruptive if I fetch them myself. You wait in the courtyard with Den. I’ll deliver them shortly.”

  Watching from amid his Secret Service guard, President Underwood observed Hasken and Den before the building, and then saw a woman hurry three small boys out the front entrance of the school.

  Underwood could see that Den was having a joyful reunion with them.

  The president broke free of his Secret Service detail. “Frank,” he said to Director Lucas, “I think I should be over there with Hasken and the boys. Stay here. You can keep an eye on me. You have a faint idea what this is all about. So for now, stand tight. I don’t want those kids intimidated by the bunch of you.”

  Starting across the gravel school yard, Underwood met Hasken and Den and Den’s three companions halfway.

  Politely, Den introduced Underwood to Toru, Sorik, and Sassi.

  “Are you showing Mr. Hasken how you went to Den’s car yesterday?” inquired Underwood.

  “I’m showing him,” said Den, waving to his companions to keep pace with him.

  Den began to run across to the gate, as the three boys scrambled after him.

  As quickly as they could, Hasken and Underwood stayed at the youngsters’ heels.

  At the gate, the boys came to a halt. “There was the Mercedes, just like it is now,” Den said, indicating the car he had been driven to school in yesterday and the car he had just been driven in to show Hasken and Underwood to the gate.

  “But that’s not the Mercedes you jumped into,” said Hasken.

  “I thought it was,” said Den. “That’s why I got right into it.”

  “What about you boys?” asked Hasken, addressing Toru, Sorik, and Sassi. “Did you think it was the same Mercedes that always picked Den up?”

  “Yes,” Sorik and Sassi each answered.

  “No, it wasn’t,” Toru piped up. He added, “When it started to drive off, I could see that it was different. I called out to Den, but it was too late. He was gone.”

  Hasken took a hard look at Toru. “You know about cars. You can tell one from another.”

  “My father collects them,” Toni said.

  “All right, Toni,” Hasken went on. “What did you see that was different?”

  “The wheels,” said Toni promptly. “The Mercedes that took Den away had special custom-made wire spokes. Fancy ones.”

  Hasken was impressed. “Very observant of you, Toni. The regular Mercedes doesn’t have those spokes on the wheels?”

  “Never. Spokes like that have to be customed specially. Only one car dealer in Visaka does that.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “Muchizuki. Not far from here. He makes fancy things for cars that are different. He makes wheels with wire spokes.”

  “Muchizuki? Do I have the name right?”

  “That is correct. I have gone with my father to see him many times.”

  “Does your father have spokes on his wheels?”

  “No. It is too expensive.”

  “And Den’s mother doesn’t either.”

  “No, as you can see.”

  “But the Mercedes that picked Den up did have these spokes?”

  “Yes. Beautiful ones.”

  “So Mr. Muchizuki must have made them?”

  “He is the only one in Visaka to do this.” Hasken spun from Toni to Underwood.

  “Maybe we’re getting somewhere, Mr. President.”

  “I hope so.”

  Hasken took the president’s arm. “I think the time has come to see Mr. Muchizuki.”

  Toru joined Den in Noy’s Mercedes, which Chalie was driving.

  Hasken, after sending Sonk and Sassi back inside the school, followed Chalie, Den, and Toni, with President Underwood in the front seat beside him. Frank Lucas and the Secret Service detail drove in front of and behind Hasken’s Volvo.

  They had driven a mile when Underwood could see up ahead that Toni’s arm had darted out of the car window and was pointing toward their destination a block ahead.

  As they drew near, Underwood could see that Toni was pointing toward an automobile repair shop. There was a display window in front, with a yellow BMW filling the window and a spacious work area toward the rear. Alongside the shop was an alley that led to a parking area in the rear. Hasken drove around a Secret Service car, beckoned the others to come after him, and he turned into the alley with the other three cars right behind.

  Once they were parked, they all jumped from their cars and followed Toni and Den into the shop. A small, begrimed man in coveralls was spraying the chassis of a Honda. Quickly Toni went to him and interrupted him to say, “I am Toni, and I have been here with my father many times.”<
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  “Ah, yes, yes,” said Muchizuki. He peered past the boy at the others, and was troubled by the number of men who were filling his shop. “There is something I can do for you?”

  Toni edged closer to the repairman and began to whisper to Muchizuki, bringing his friend Den in closer to explain about him, and then turning to identify Hasken and Underwood.

  The repairman was instantly awed by the fact that he was receiving the president of the United States as well as a famous television personality from America.

  After further explanations by Toni, the elderly repairman set down his can, wiped his hands, and accompanied Toni and Den. He did not shake hands, but bowed to Hasken and Underwood instead.

  “You want to know if I make wire spokes for the wheels of the Mercedes,” said Muchizuki.

  “We’re told you are the only one who customs these wheels,” said Hasken.

  “It is true,” the repairman answered. “I have tried to import spokes from the United States and from Germany, but it is impossible. I have to make them myself by hand.”

  “Are you sure that you are the only one in Lampang who does this?” Hasken asked.

  “The only one. It is difficult and costs high sums.”

  “Have you made many such wheels?” Hasken inquired.

  “Four in ten years,” said Muchizuki. “I have a sample wheel in my office. The other three I have made on order for customers.”

  “Only three?” interjected Underwood. “Three. I remember exactly, since there are so few.”

  “These were ordered by men?” Hasken asked.

  “Men who are interested in dressing their cars the best possible.”

  Hasken stepped forward. “Mr. Muchizuki, do you have the names and addresses of these three people?”

  “I do, of course.”

  “Were they all sedans?”

  “They were. You would like to know of these three gentlemen?”

  “Their names and addresses.”

  “I have those. If you will excuse me, I will go through the work ledgers in my office.”

  “We will be glad to wait,” said Hasken. Muchizuki left them, walked to a corner glass enclosure that served as his office, and could be seen taking ledgers off a shelf and placing them on his desk.