The Japanese, Hideo, is a technician and one hundred per cent efficient. He always uses a cyanide spray, possibly impressed by the clinical success of the KGB agent Bogdan Stashinski who in 1961 acknowledged the killing of Rebet and Bandera (leaders of the Ukrainian emigres) in Munich, 1957. Hideo has three major political assassinations on record, including that of the Turkish Ambassador to the United Kingdom (the 'Gold Pencil Murder' – the finding of the victim's gold pencil on the pavement in Curzon Street led to the discovery of his body in an abandoned taxi in Wallace Mews). Hideo the technician has the most elaborate model railway in Japan.
Zotta is the son of a member of one of the Mafia's original 'Murder Inc.' groups and his specialty is the miniature bomb. He claims that his weapon is 'personalized' and that accurate placing will ensure a quick clean kill with no danger to anyone else in the vicinity of the victim. This is probably true: Sherman Wills, president of the Charter and Equity Bank, was opening his pen in the board room at the start of a meeting (New York, 1963) and nobody else was hurt. A year later the half brother of King Riyadh Ali switched on his electric shaver in the royal yacht standing off Damascus and the stateroom windows remained unbroken. Zotta is a technician like Hideo, but far less stable. When he dies there will be a woman there who will not grieve.
They are all specialists and each has his own method.
Kuo uses the gun.
Pangsapa was very good. He sent someone with me – a small nervous Hindu, half-scared of himself or of someone, perhaps of Pangsapa – to find Kuo the Mongolian and look at him.
He was watching the professional karate training bouts in the gymnasium of the Royal Thai Athletic Association, not far from the Lumpini polo grounds. A fight was in progress and we chose a seat on the side of the main entrance. The place was air-conditioned but smelled of embrocation, resin and sweat. My guide sat for a few minutes idly watching the spectators and suddenly looked down, murmuring, 'He is in the second row up, halfway along on the right side. He is the one in smoked glasses.'
By his tone I knew that it was Kuo he was scared of.
I slowly raised my eyes.
'You can go now,' I said. 'If you are certain.'
'Yes. I knew him well once.'
I looked down again at the fighters until the Hindu had gone, in case his movement was noticed. Then I looked across again at Kuo. Even if my guide had not pointed him out I would have known him for what he was: a man of authority, a man of affairs. He was in European clothes, a white Tergal suit impeccably cut and worn with indifference, a dark blue tie with a gold motif, small gold cuff-links. His authority was in the way he sat, in the angle of his body and the poise of his head. Nothing of this was deliberate; he was engrossed in the fight. On each side of him sat a bodyguard, dressed also in Western clothes. Their deference was as explicit as his authority.
I wished I could see his eyes. I would have to recognize him later, recognize him immediately, even at a distance, even in bad light. The eyes are so important – the eyes and the walk. I would have to stay until he left, so that I could see him walk.
The feet of the karate fighters stamped. You could hear their breath. They were the Thai champions and would fight here during the Visit. Their shadows fought on the resined boards under their feet, sharply thrown by the grouped lamps.
Kuo was sometimes tense and I remembered Pangsapa watching the fish; sometimes he tilted his compact head and laughed to one of the bodyguards. He was enjoying himself.
I watched him for an hour, every gesture, every movement of his head. When some people came into my row I got up and sidled between the seats with my back to the arena and made my way round the end of the gymnasium, finding a seat above and to one side of Kuo so that I could impress his back view on my Memory: tomorrow I would begin to follow him, to live with him and learn him until I knew him as if he were my brother.
When he left the gymnasium I watched him walk across the clear space at the end where there were no seats. It was a good walk; his arms swung easily, the hands relaxed; he placed his feet with deliberation, his head half-turned attentively as one of his men spoke to him. He could have been a president leaving the conference hall. He reached the doors and I let him go. If he did not come here again tomorrow Pangsapa could find rum. Then I would take over.
First thing in the morning I telephoned Varaphan and told him I wanted the bloodstone ready as soon as possible. Loman rang me within the hour and I went down to Soi Suek 3. He looked wary.
'They said you were flying out.'
'I'm not,' I said.
'What changed your mind?'
'Do you know who arrived in Bangkok yesterday?'
'Pangsapa told me.'
'What made you see Pangsapa? I thought you meant to keep clear.'
'I meant to, yes. Then I heard you were restive so I wanted to know if he'd turned anything up.'
'I was getting bloody tired of trying to contact you and I didn't like being vetted at the Embassy. Who's that woman they've got there?'
He said curiously, 'There are quite a few women.'
'She's in the Cultural Attache's office. Is she Mil. 6 or Security or what?'
'You mean Vinia Maine, I think.'
'She is our group?'
'Oh no.'
'Well, tell her to keep out of my way. She had me checked and then followed me. I don't like her. Listen,' I said, 'I'm accepting the mission but on my own terms. This job isn't in your field but you roped in the Bureau the minute you caught wind of this thing because there's the chance of a tin medal, isn't there?' I was watching his face. 'If anything comes unstuck on the Visit and it's left to me to stop Kuo there'll be credit owed in high places and you know what I think of medals – but someone's going to cop for one and you're ready at the head of the queue, the Bureau's director in the field who pulled the whole thing off.'
His eyes were very bright and he kept perfectly still, looking me back, shining with hate.
I said: 'That's all right. All I want you to get quite clear is that I'm not working for you. I'm working for him. Because I don't like to think of a decent man with a wife and kids getting shot in the guts and I don't care if he's the postman or the King of Hong Kong. Now I'll tell you my terms.'
He moved away and put both hands on the glass top of the display case, leaning on it and looking in at the gems. But he was listening.
'You, said there'll be conferences at the Embassy. Count me out. I'm working alone. But I'll need up-to-the-minute information from you that I won't have time to get for myself – arrival schedules on the 29th, program and final itinerary for the tour of the city, stopping-off points, so forth. If things get hot I want to be put into contact with you at a minute's notice whether it's here or a new safehouse. Unless there's any change of plan I want to be left alone.' He stood for a while leaning on the case and then turned to me and asked: 'Is that all?' 'Yes.'
'What have you in mind?' His tone was even. I was a louse and he was interested in lice and wanted to know how they worked.
"Kuo. That's all I've got in mind. You know his reputation: he's top in his class as a long-range rifleman and he's never been known to miss.'
He nodded. 'Pangsapa tells me he has come to Bangkok simply to watch the karate fights – they'll be putting on a very special show, of course, and he's a keen aficionado. It may be true. We shall just assume he's here to attempt an assassination and work on that.' 'You've briefed me to make the arrangements and give you the set-up and that's what I'm going to do. First I've got to learn the man and try getting his local travel patterns. If I'm in luck I might even get a lead on his arrangements – they'll be more efficient than mine, he's done it before.'