“Is Phu Thone there now?”
“No. Otherwise I would not dare use the phone. Is it important to know?”
“Yes. When will he return?”
“Of that I cannot be sure. Usually quite late... not for some time. There is no way for me to let you know.”
“Perhaps there is. Where is his bedroom located in the house?”
“On the second floor, in the rear... the southwest corner.”
“Can it be seen over the wall from the street?”
“I do not know. I am there now, but with the lights on, I cannot tell. Wait a moment.”
I waited, framing more questions.
“I am sorry. I cannot tell. The wall and street are dark and some distance away, but there are no trees in the way if you come to look.”
“What alarm systems are installed in the house?”
“None, I think. We have men instead who stay in the house. You saw two of them. There is another. All are strong and have weapons, handguns. Only one remains awake after the master is home. The other two sleep in a room off the kitchen on the ground floor.”
“I didn’t see any dogs.”
“Phu Thone dislikes all animals. Any found on the grounds are killed instantly.”
I issued hasty instructions to which Phan Wan agreed. Her immediate chore was to spread the word that Phu Thone was leaving for Haiphong shortly, ostensibly for health reasons. The onset of a sudden illness which would preclude Phu Thone from attending the upcoming funeral of his old and dear friend, General Tung, would raise eyebrows. The news would create speculation throughout the capital as to what the two connivers had going in the port city that required Phu Thone’s personal and immediate attention.
Only one aspect of the plan bothered me.
It wasn’t that Martin wouldn’t get the word.
My concern centered on Phu Thone’s waking in the morning and learning Phan Wan was the undisputable and reliable source of the false story.
Phan Wan was clearly risking her life and would certainly lose it if the rest of my plan failed.
She understood the consequences. She was willing to take the risk. She loved Keith Martin as much as she hated Phu Thone. She was ready to sacrifice her life to save the life of Keith Martin.
I was about to put mine on the line so she wouldn’t have to.
Sixteen
Willow followed intently while I outlined my plan. At one point she held up a hand to silence me. She cocked her head to one side, listening. I heard it then too: scraping sounds and stealthy footsteps.
We flanked the shed door, pressing flat against the wall on either side. Each of us had handguns ready, Willow nodded when I indicated they were to be used for sapping, not shooting.
I relaxed the moment the door was pushed open from the outside. Anyone unaware of our presence would have hesitated upon finding the padlock gone and hasp standing open.
Bu Chen came in wearing his big-toothed grin. It evaporated when he saw me with a gun in my hand. “Guess I should have come up whistlin’ Yankee Doodle.” He held out two take-out food cartons. “I felt guilty for stuffin’ my gut without bringing you any before.”
Willow stepped out from around the swung-back door. “You could have told us where you were going!” she noted.
“When I saw your September morn act under the water hose, I figured Nick here would be giving you a little hosin’ of his own and I’d be back before you knew I was gone. Sorry.”
Willow’s eyes flashed. I stepped between them. “We haven’t got time to get into a hassle. Willow’s got a point, though. From now on, anyone that goes out of sight tells someone first. No more silent disappearing acts.” Bu Chen bobbed his head. “Thanks for bringing the food,” I added.
“I brought more than that. The old guys playing pin gow in the noodle shop were gossiping about some special mobile army patrols staking out homes of members of the Central Committee. The old codgers were whispering things like ‘purge’ and ‘liquidation.’ Folks are uptight with rumors that a Party housecleaning is underway. So the word is filtering down that bigwigs in the government are being knocked off and security is being tightened.”
Bu Chen had brought back valuable news, but it didn’t cheer me. If anything, it was more important now than ever before to corner and curb Martin. While Willow and I stuffed ourselves with hot, spicy noodles mixed with bits of pork in a piquant sauce, I repeated once more what I had in mind. Neither Bu Chen nor Willow found fault with the plan.
The first time I pedalled along the street past the high wall, lights were burning in the windows of Phu Thone’s bedroom. It was close to two o’clock in the morning. I knew the king pimp wasn’t up there reading a book. Phan Wan had guaranteed that the lights would be off as soon as her zaibatsu fell asleep. She had ways of exhausting him even though having his fat, heaving body ramming against hers in a crude, lustful act of love disgusted and sickened her.
Thinking of what Phan Wan was tolerating heightened my resolve. Only moments after the bedroom lights went out I was picking the simple lock on the front gate. Bu Chen remained behind just inside the gates. Willow crept alongside me across the lawn to the house. Outside light fixtures above the main door and over the kitchen entrance around in back were aglow. I left Willow at a darkened corner of the house near the rose bushes bordering the veranda.
The six-tumbler Japanese locks on the multipaned french doors were tricky. I spent five minutes on one before I gave up.
Phan Wan was going to leave one of the veranda doors unlocked. None were. Either she hadn’t had the opportunity, or the night guard had discovered it open. I padded back to Willow and had a consultation.
Interior night-lights were burning in the entry foyer which cast some illumination through the large, interconnected rooms on the ground floor. A lone light burned in an upper hallway. By pressing my face up against one door windowpane, I could see through a broad, long room and a wide archway at its end into the lighted foyer. A thick-necked man with weight-lifter’s arms sticking out of his short-sleeved, open-collared white shirt sat in a straight back chair close to the foot of some stairs. A credenza next to him held a telephone, a clock radio, and a reading lamp. He was awake. I saw him turn a page of the paperback book he was reading.
I backed away and padded over to Willow to describe what I’d seen. We held a conference. Willow made a sound suggestion. We crept around to the back of the house. She pointed up. The high, second floor windows were the jalousie type, their horizontal slats partly opened to let in the cooling night air. Willow pointed out one that was different. It was a side-hinged, cat-size window left slightly ajar. Its frame angled outward, leaving no more than a six inch gap.
“Must be a closet, a scrub room, or a toilet,” Willow surmised. “But it’s a way in,” she added.
I peered up. “Even with a thirty foot ladder we’d need to reach it, it’s too high under the eave to get in.”
“Watch me,” she whispered confidently. “If I make it to the window ledge, you scoot around to the veranda and keep your eye on the guard by the front door. When he leaves his chair to see what made the upper hall light go out, you punch out a door pane and get inside. Hopefully, we’ll bracket the guard if you don’t waste time getting up the stairs behind him.”
Willow kicked off her thonged sandals. Where she found the breaks in the walls that gave fingernail and toe tip purchase was a mystery. She inched her way up astride the corner of the house. Spiderlike, she felt and tested every hand and toe hold. It was slow work demanding utmost concentration and strength. When her head came level with the eave, she stopped. I thought she was stymied, but she went on. Soon only her legs were visible, feet pigeon-toed as if hammered into the wall surface. She could go no further. She was scrunched up under the overhead eave. It was impossible for her to get up onto the roof. The tiny window was thirty feet away with an impassable, tile-smooth wall separating it from Willow.