The 9th Directive

It's going to be your fault – your fault alone.

The data wasn't new; it had been going into the computer since the day I had accepted the mission; but in sleep there were no distractions and the subconscious was totally engaged.

The sleep curves had shallowed out by noon of the next day, and I woke and spent an hour getting clean and drinking coffee and thinking about nothing. Then I began looking for Kuo.

The streets were more festive every day and there were flags everywhere, and flowers. People began cheering the Ambassador's car when they saw the standard. The florists along Plern Chit Road competed with one another, making immense displays round the gold-framed photograph – red and white flowers, blue ribbons.

I was a specter at the feast, haunting the streets, the stubble growing again, the Toyota taking me through the city in a maze of my own making and spinning out a travel pattern that somewhere and sometime must coincide with his.

Loman wanted me to make contact every day but I kept clear of him when I could because there was nothing to report. On the sixth day of the hunt he intercepted me in the lobby of the Pakchong.

'I may have to tell London to advise the Minister,' he said.

I stood looking at him, aching for sleep.

He said: 'We have five days more. I've tried to convince Police Colonel Ramin that we are on to the Suggest danger – Kuo. It's a case for a dragnet. He won't hear of it.'

'He was keen enough before. Never left the bastard alone.'

'Ramin believes the only danger was from the subversive group he rounded up. He's already taking credit for having cleared the city. There are rumors that Kuo has left Thailand.'

'Naturally. He's circulating them himself.'

He asked me: 'What do you think of your chances?'

'It's a question of time. I told you before. If the police have stopped looking it's a help – I've got a clear field.'

The Person is due here in five days and--'

'You don't have to keep--'

'I'm not just rubbing it in – don't misunderstand me. I mean simply that the Visit can't be called off at the last minute. It's a very big affair. There has to be time to announce the diplomatic cold. At least two days. So we have three days left – it's no longer practical to call it five.'

I thought he'd begun swaying on his feet but the trellis archway into the fountain court was swaying too.

'All right. Three.'

'I would like you to report daily from now on.

'I'll report.'

He nodded. 'You need some sleep now.'

'How did you know?' I said, and went up the stairs, leaving him standing there.

It was no go the next day. I took long loops through the city, checking and rechecking the points where the Kuo cell had shown itself, finding myself again and again in the temple and Link Road area. It was the psycho-cybernetic computer sending me there, correcting my course with negative feedback data. It had the answer. The Phra Chula Chedi. Perhaps it was right. I didn't know.

For the third time I drove out to the airport across the unending rice fields, vetting the few buildings and trying to arrange a set-up that Kuo might use if he meant to kill early and make sure of it before the security net could stop him. There were only a dozen or so buildings that would allow less than a 90-degree shot, and only two of these were placed on a curve in the road or at an angle that would bring a car head-on in the sights.

The airport looked very gay, decked out with flowers filling the main terrace. It looked welcoming. I wondered whether he would come, and if he came, whether he would live.

The duotone Chevrolet in the main parking area was moving forward as I turned toward the gates and I suddenly got fed up and made a quick full circle and forced it to a stop against the fence, leaving my own car and climbing into the back of hers. She just sat there, not turning her head but giving me her steady direct gaze in the mirror as I said:

'I want to know what you're doing here and why you've had me tagged for the last fifteen days. Just straight answers, beginning now.'

7 The Ritual

There's nothing,' she said, 'that I can tell you.'

I had been leaning forward. Now I slid back and rested my head on the rear seat squab, my half-closed eyes on the mirror where hers watched me. It was a big car, comfortable. It would be nice to be driven some where, along a road that ran straight and had no danger spots, no traps.

The airport was suddenly aglow with light as the dusk fell. The flowers became vivid. What is your name?' I asked.

'Maine.'

'All of it.'

'Vinia Maine.'

She turned her lean body and laid one arm along the back of her seat and looked at me directly instead of in the mirror. There wasn't any expression in the wide clear eyes; they were just alert.

I said, 'It doesn't sound very likely. Your cover name, is it?'

She said nothing.

'Who were the tags? The thin one, and the one with the splayfooted walk, who were they?'

The vivid flowers were reflected in her eyes.

'Who were they?'

I watched the pulse beating in her slim throat. She didn't look away from me.

'Where are they now? Why are you having to do their job? Why did you tag me here?'

Her lips parted. A second's hesitation. Then: 'I thought you might be getting on a plane.'

Her voice was low and its clear timbre made my drowsiness worse. It was a voice to send a child to sleep.

'What would you have done,' I asked her, 'if I'd got on a plane?'

'It would have depended where you were going.'

'Oh, come on – come on!' I was suddenly sitting up straight. Loman was a hell of an intelligence director if he couldn't keep this bitch out of my way – I'd told him to, I'd made a point of it. 'Just give me basic answers, will you? Where d'you think I might have been going in a plane?'

'Into China.'

'What would you have done?'

'Stopped you.'

'How?'

'By warning you.'

'Warning me?'

'By telling you why you can't cross into China.'

'I'm taking the midnight so tell me now.'

The smile was tentative, starting in the eyes and then touching the mouth. 'No. You're not.'

I looked away from her through the window. A car had come into the parking area, a taxi. I watched the people get out.

She said, 'I came alone. There was no time to tell anyone where I was going.'

I looked back at her. For an instant, because I was tired and because the big car was comfortable, I wondered what had happened to the left side of her face.

What outfit are you in?' I asked. 'You and the two tags Security? Why can't you do your job on your own instead of following me about like pilot-fish hanging on for the pickings? I've lost the bastard – you know that.

But I'm going to find him and when I find him you won't be there. By God, I'll make sure of that.' I opened the door. 'Tell them to lay off. Keep out of my way. I don't like hangers-on.' I got out and slammed the door. The driving window was open and I leaned in and jerked the ignition key out and threw it across the flower beds.

'If you have to cross into China,' she said looking up at me intently, 'please see me first. I can always be contacted at the Embassy.'

'You won't see me again.'

I got into the Toyota.

At noon the next day I reported to Loman at the safehouse in Soi Suek 3. He didn't ask if I'd made any progress because he knew I'd be only too damned glad to tell him if I had.

That bitch at the Embassy,' I said. 'Who is she?' He said curiously, That's the second time you've mentioned her.'

'I told you to keep her out of my way. She tagged me last night and she's had me tagged for the past fifteen days – who the hell are they?'

After a bit he said: 'I'll try to find out. It's the secretary to the Cultural Attache you mean, is it?'