At first I thought she had slipped and was falling. She leaped backward, her arms outstretched, her body dropping. Then it hung in midair. She had somehow managed to grab hold of the metal eave trough. I heard a metallic groan as it stretched and sagged under her weight. Monkeylike, smoothly and silently, Willow hand-worked her way to the high-perched window. Opposite it, she moved her supple body like a trained athlete on the flying rings. Her legs lifted, speared out straight ahead from her hips as she swung from outstretched arms, gaining momentum. It took three arcs before her thrust-out toe reached far enough to catch under and draw open the window. With the forth swing, she was suddenly gone. She had released her grip on the eave trough and shot through the small aperture like a well-aimed arrow.
I stared up dumbfounded at the spot where she had been. Then I saw a waving hand that was hardly more than a darker shape against the shadow under the eave.
The guard acted exactly as programmed. He glanced up the moment the upper hall became dark. He studied the stairs for a moment. His mouth moved as if speaking, then his head tilted to listen. He shut off the radio and called again. Almost wearily, he put down the book and rose from his chair.
I waited ten seconds after he disappeared from view, then pressed my elbow against the pane. I leaned hard. The glass cracked, then splintered. Now I made haste. The barrel of my pistol knocked the jagged glass out of the frame. I reached inside to unlock the door and entered. My footsteps were muffled by the thick carpeting all the way up to the head of the stairs. I rounded the dark corner of the upper hallway and was immediately blinded. Willow turned on the hall lamp at that instant. The hard-muscled guard lay prone, unconscious and breathing sonorously through his half-opened mouth.
“Paramount Pictures would pay top dollar for that stunt,” Willow said proudly, nodding toward the doorway behind her. “I almost broke my butt on the toilet stool when I zipped in through the window. It’s a wonder you didn’t hear me.”
I looked at the gun in her hand. “Did you dent the barrel? He looks like he won’t be coming around for a week.” I looked up and down the wide hallway, gaining an appreciation of the layout of the massive house. “I’ll help you drag him into this bathroom so he’ll be out of the way until we can round up his buddies downstairs.”
“I’ll manage,” she answered firmly, picking up her victim’s heels. “Go on, I’ll be right behind you.”
I left her. We had to _work fast in case one of the off-duty guards was a light sleeper. I gathered up the inert man’s fallen revolver and tucked it in my waistband. I went down the stairs and through a galleylike butler’s pantry to get to the restaurant-size kitchen. The first closed door I eased open turned out to be a well-stocked pantry. I passed up what was obviously a heavy, spring-latch door to a walk-in cooler.
The mild rumble of snores coming through a closed door on the opposite side of a wide landing at the top of the stairs leading down to the cellar marked my target. Two adjacent doors that I checked led into a servant’s bathroom and a linen closet.
I synchronized my movements with the noisy breathing. With the door partly open, I saw two men on cots placed foot to foot in the far corner of the stifling, smelly room. Both men were naked. One was snoring, the other groaning in the grip of a sensual dream.
The light switch was on the inside wall to the left of the door jam. I shut my eyes so I wouldn’t be blinded when the light came on. I flicked the switch and dropped flat. I held the heavy Webley taken from their companion in a double-handed vise grip.
The snoring one woke so quickly that he choked on his flaccid tongue. His partner, reluctant to leave the dream that held his penis erect, was slower to gain consciousness. I jumped up as the snorer made an automatic response move to reach under his pillow. I brought the butt of the Webley down like an executioner’s axe. The lanyard swivel spearheaded a smashing blow that shattered the lateral condyle of his kneecap. It produced a howl of excruciating pain. The man writhed, totally incapacitated. His companion now lay wide-eyed with fright and wonderment. Except for his instantaneously deflated member, he remained rigid and immobile.
Willow made a face as the stench of the room struck her. I gave her the Webley. “Just hold them here for a moment. That yell could have carried to the other end of the house.”
I turned and ran up the back stairs two steps at a time. There was no need to be quiet. I rammed through the last door at the end of the long hallway. As I did, a light came on in a room beyond the sitting room in which I found myself. I ran forward, Wilhelmina at the ready.
Phan Wan was sitting upright on one side of the king-size bed, a satin sheet drawn up to her chin. A blob of a man lay beside her, a gross, obese figure with shaven head and protruding stomach whose girth was equal to the more generous proportions given to some statues of Buddha. My intrusion brought life to the small eyes buried in Phu Thone’s fat-puffed face. They viewed me as more of an inconvenience than a threat. Phu Thone heaved his naked torso up, blinking in the light. His scornful gaze rejected me. He appeared fully confident that I would be seized and dealt with, or gunned down from behind by his bodyguards.
Phan Wan, smooth-skinned and curvaceous, slipped out of bed and ran into a dressing room without a sound. I spoke French to Phu Thone. “Make no sound, mon ami. Your home has been taken over by persons who mean you no harm, despite the appearance otherwise. You understand me, n’est-ce pas?”
The hunk of blubber nodded. “Oui. Who are you?”
“Your new protectors. We wish to keep you from meeting the same end as Minister Ban Lok Huong, General Limpak Tunk and two or three in between. There is reason to believe you are scheduled to die, too.”
“Who are you?” he repeated. A sliver of respect tinged the tone of his voice.
“That is unimportant,” I said firmly. “All we ask is your cooperation. We hope to leave soon.”
His nearly lidless eyes left mine to look over my shoulder. The shift was not intended to distract me; Willow had come into the room. Phu Thone’s sensuous gaze backtracked when he saw the revolver in her hand. “The bicycles have been brought in,” she advised me speaking in English. “Bu Chen is looking after the boys in the back room. We lashed them to their cots for temporary safekeeping. Where’s Phan Wan?”
I indicated the dressing room. “She’s all right. We’ve got to put Phu Thone where he won’t get in the way. The cellar seems like a good place. I’ll bring him down when he’s dressed.”
It worked out fine. Wooden kitchen chairs backed against vertical supports in the wine cellar made perfect stanchions to which Phu Thone and his three house guards could be tied. Willow splinted the injured man’s leg. She was as familiar as I with field treatment of broken bones.
After the prisoners were secured, I suffered the usual let-down that accompanies the completion of adrenaline-pumping action. Bu Chen went up to stake out a claim in the kitchen. Willow was about to join him. Phan Wan lagged behind. “Are you sure he’s tied up tight?” she said, walking toward Phu Thone.
He was, but my mind was dulled to the point where her remark carried no real impact. Almost... not quite. I spun around. Phan Wan was lunging at Phu Thone, a thin-bladed letter opener held daggerlike in her fist. I leaped and threw out my hand to deflect her thrust. She screeched wildly, mouthing obscenities as her forearm came down.