Assignment Bangkok Read Online Free PDF Page B

death of one of their comrades, impaled on the canal post. Certainly they were surprised by his escape, his prompt arrival here. Mr. Chuk was the jolly old King Cole of the teak and rice mill labor thugs, and no more, so far as his dossier was concerned.
    A thunderclap shook the stadium as the two flyweight Thai boxers stood in the ring. The rhythm of thudding drums and a shrill Java pipe increased in tempo. The only similarity between Thai and Western boxing was in the leather gloves and trunks and the squared ring. Durell studied the boy in the red trunks, Tinh Jumsai. This was Uncle Hu’s other nephew, he thought; the only one who could locate his brother, the bhikkhu , among the tens of thousands of Buddhist monks in the country. Tinh wore a red charm cord around his upper arm and a sacred headband. As a cymbal clashed, the two boxers knelt and faced the four sides of the ring. Tinh looked tiny, but hard and taut as whipcord. His black eyes were emotionless as he prayed to the spirits of the boxing ring and swung his ropy little torso in time with the screeching music.
    “ Nai Durell?”
    “Your boy looks good,” Durell said.
    “He will most certainly win,” Mr. Chuk said blandly. “But you, sir, will only find defeat in your mission here.”
    “What mission is that?”
    “We know you are not an agricultural expert.”
    “Your information service is full of Yunnan fables.”
    “Your arrival here, via Ton Son Nhut Airport in Saigon, did not go unnoticed. Our Don Muang Airport is very crowded. You were lucky, during your wait in Saigon, to escape the nail bomb that was thrown when you were in the Plum Cafe near the Thi Nghe canal. Close to the Bien Hoa highway?” Mr. Chuk was amused. He liked to boast, Durell noted. “Yes, our information service is good. I am a loyal Kuomintang, sir, faithful to Chiang Kai-shek. One of my wives is a Malay girl from Kuala Lumpur. Lovely child. But of course, you are a victim of America’s paranoia and you suspect all Chinese of being Maoist agents. I assure you, I am only a businessman, interested in profits.” Mr. Chuk’s many chins quivered as he smiled again. “Violence disturbs commerce, and who would wish to make Peking hysterical, what with their bombs and vast armies? You really should go home, Mr. Durell.”
    “What do you offer?” Durell asked.
    “Anything. Name it.”
    “No bargaining?”
    “Name your price. Your life alone, sir, must be of some value to you.”
    “Money?”
    “One hundred thousand unmarked, small-denomination American bills,” said Mr. Chuk promptly. “A guarantee of your safe departure. What happened yesterday was a mistake. I see it now. It was not my decision, I pray you to believe me. But it seemed necessary at the time. Now, can we do business?”
    “You’re too late,” Durell said.
    “You hold a grievance?”
    “Let’s just say that I must satisfy my curiosity as to why the murder of innocent people was thought necessary simply because I have arrived in Bangkok.”
    “Sir—”
    The two fighters in the ring were going through the ritual of the Elephant Dance, the Four-Faced Buddha, and making hex signs at each other. The air was gray with smoke. Durell watched young Tinh slide his hands on the ropes to ward off malicious phis . He could not have known about the rape and death of Aparsa, his aunt.
    “Sir,” Mr. Chuk persisted. “I live in Sampeng, Mr. Durell. Please come to see me. It is the Chinese district, and although many Westerners consider the area a hotbed of Communist conspiracy, you will be perfectly safe. We may come to a fine agreement—profitable to both of us.”
    Durell got up and returned to his own seat as the boxing match began. There were no Queensberry rules here. Kicking, kneeing to the groin, elbowing—ail were in demand. The boxers were as agile as dancers, leaping high to aim deadly blows with their heels at chin or knee or belly. Tinh’s naked feet swung like whips, slashing at his opponent’s