I took that as an indication that he was beginning to become overconfident although he denied it. This came shortly after he had questioned the need to retain the extra, unused bail-out bottle of compressed oxygen I insisted we keep. It was a small matter — the containers weighed very little and were not bulky.
The minor argument showed that Bu Chen was becoming testy and that was bad. He could become a problem. In time I might have to consider inviting him to branch off on his own. I wouldn’t force it, though. For the moment, I’d rather keep an eye on him a while longer. If he was turned loose and got picked up, I couldn’t be sure how long he could resist certain interrogation techniques known to be employed by North Vietnamese authorities.
I called a halt at the first public telephone. It was located inside a passenger waiting shelter at the terminal end of a city bus route. I discussed strategy with Willow. Bu Chen listened in.
“We haven’t much to go on except two names that have a fatal attraction for Keith Martin. One is Phan Wan who is connected to Nho Phu Thone. Martin all but broke his back to find Phan Wan in Bangkok.-She’s here in Hanoi. Martin’s here in Hanoi. And Nho Phu Thone, a man whose name is on a list of those to be liquidated by Martin, is also here in Hanoi. For Martin to be as successful as he has been, he’s got to have someone here in the city who is fingering his victims. I think it’s Phan Wan. Martin’s got to contact her. Nho Phu Thone either has her or knows where she is. To get to Martin, we’ll have to start with Phu Thone and probably save his life in the process.”
“I’ll follow you,” Willow said. Bu Chen lifted his shoulders and dipped the corners of his mouth. It was lie of his concern.
“Telephone Phu Thone’s house and ask for Phan Wan,” I instructed Willow. “Play it by ear, but don’t push too hard. You’ll probably have to con a servant or secretary, so keep your act together.”
I supported Willow’s confiscated bicycle while she used the phone. The conversation lasted long enough to produce promising results. Willow came back with a dark look on her face. “There wasn’t any telephone directory attached to the phone. I spent all that time talking to a couple of operators.”
I guessed that I was going to be disappointed with what she had to say. I asked anyway. “Did you learn anything at all?”
“Phu Thone has a private, unlisted number.”
“It took all that time to learn that?”
“Wait a minute. This isn’t Philadelphia, you know. The phone system is part of the postal service so you get the extra bureaucratic runaround. When I insisted I had to get in touch with Phu Thone, I was told to write a letter. And would you believe, the mamh-san I talked to felt so sorry for the poor country girl lost in the big city that she gave me Phu Thone’s home address!”
A high, thick, cement-finished wall surrounded Phu Thone’s villa. The immense house sat on a sea of lush green grass rimmed with extensive flower beds. Through the closed iron gates barring access via a wide, gravelled driveway, I could see five mattock or shovel-equipped gardeners at work amid the plants and shrubs. Two others were using long lengths of hose to sprinkle shaded areas of the lawn.
It was obvious that Nho Phu Thone had a large staff of servants. One was standing in attendance on a wide, exposed veranda. He wore a white serving jacket and black bow tie. He was pouring liquid from a silver teapot into the cup in front of a slim youthful-looking woman seated alone at a glass-topped, wrought-iron table. “Do you suppose that’s Phan Wan?” Willow asked.
“If it is, I’ve got to speak to her,” I went closer to the gate so I could see as much of the grounds inside the wall as possible. A bent-over woman working with a hoe a short distance away looked sideways at me.
I beckoned to her.
She went back to work, then looked again.
I waved to her once more and took the green bail-out bottle of oxygen from my knapsack so she could see it.
“What are you doing?” Willow whispered, stepping up next to me.
“Get her over here,” I snapped. “Tell her I’ve got this revolutionary new combination insecticide and fertilizer for the head gardener. Get her to let me in and point out the boss man.”
“You’ve got to be mad!” hissed Willow. “You can’t expect to walk in there and start talking to that girl. People dressed like us stay in the streets.”
“I just want to get close enough to test her with a name. Get me inside, then you and Bu Chen wheel your bikes down to the corner. Wait three or four minutes. If I don’t join you, ride back to see what’s going on. Don’t stop, unless it’s apparent that everything is all right. Whatever happens, you know what to do.”
“Maybe I’d better make the contact. It’s too risky for you.”
The old crone’s coming to the gate ended our debate. Willow talked to her, gesturing toward me and the metal container I held. I turned the control valve releasing a spurt of gas with a convincing hiss. The gnarled hands of the old woman unlatched the gate and allowed me to push through. She pointed a bony finger in the direction of two men standing together near one corner of the mansion. I nodded my thanks and started in that direction.
I glanced back. Willow was speaking to the old lady, holding her attention while I veered toward the stand of blooming red rose bushes planted under the ballustrade of the veranda. My approach went unnoticed by the young woman who sat at the table. Her head was bent as if reading something laying flat on the table. She had a striking profile, with delicate, sculptured features. Her long black hair was piled up on her head in a chignon held in place with silver-inlaid pins the size of chopsticks. Her dress was a figure-fitting, high-collared garment made of shiny, richly embroidered material. The young woman and everything surrounding her reflected the aura of great wealth.
The manservant had disappeared inside the house. The lovely Vietnamese girl was alone on the veranda.
I leaned forward against the rose bushes. “Phan Wan!” I called out softly.
Her head came up and turned toward the sound. She had heard, but didn’t know where the voice was located. I stood on tiptoe and said her name again, a little louder.
Her eyes darted in my direction. I backed up a step. “You are Phan Wan?” I spoke clear, distinct English.
From the way her bright eyes widened, I knew that she had understood. She rose from her chair so she could see more of me. A perplexed look came over her pretty face. That changed to a haughty, imperious glare showing her surprise that a mere peasant would have the effrontery to address her at all.
As she was about to summon the missing manservant, I blurted out: “Has Keith Martin come to see you? Keith Martin!”
She was speechless. Her first reaction was to glance over her shoulder fearfully to see if the houseboy had returned. Then she rushed to the railing that separated us. Her English was flawless. “Who are you? Keith... He is here?” Her voice was breathless with excitement.
She raised her head to look out over mine. “Oh, my God!” She cried out in response to what she saw.
I whirled around.
Two men, the foremost being the one pointed out as the head gardener, were trotting toward me. The aggressive way they carried their sharp hand tools made them look like weapons poised to give battle. I jerked my head around to look up at Phan Wan.