Whistleblower and Never Say Die Read Online Free PDF Page A

Thirty-two years old. Five foot two, dark blond hair cut short, gray eyes. Staying at the Oriental Hotel.”
    “American?”
    “Yes.”
    Siang paused. “An unusual request.”
    “There is some…urgency.”
    Ah. The price goes up, thought Siang. “Why?” he asked.
    “She departs for Saigon tomorrow morning. That leaves you only tonight.”
    Siang nodded and looked back at the stage. He was pleased to see that the girl in the middle, number seven, was looking straight at him. “That should be time enough,” he said.
     
    Willy Maitland was standing at the river’s edge, staring down at the swirling water.
    From across the dining terrace, Guy spotted her, a tiny figure leaning at the railing, her short hair fluffing in thewind. From the hunch of her shoulders, the determined focus of her gaze, he got the impression she wanted to be left alone. Stopping at the bar, he picked up a beer—Oranjeboom, a good Dutch brand he hadn’t tasted in years. He stood there a moment, watching her, savoring the touch of the frosty bottle against his cheek.
    She still hadn’t moved. She just kept gazing down at the river, as though hypnotized by something she saw in the muddy depths. He moved across the terrace toward her, weaving past empty tables and chairs, and eased up beside her at the railing. He marveled at the way her hair seemed to reflect the red and gold sparks of sunset.
    “Nice view,” he said.
    She glanced at him. One look, utterly uninterested, was all she gave him. Then she turned away.
    He set his beer on the railing. “Thought I’d check back with you. See if you’d changed your mind about that drink.”
    She stared stubbornly at the water.
    “I know how it is in a foreign city. No one to share your frustrations. I thought you might be feeling a little—”
    “Give me a break,” she said, and walked away.
    He must be losing his touch, he thought. He snatched up his beer and followed her. Pointedly ignoring him, she strolled along the edge of the terrace, every so often flicking her hair off her face. She had a cute swing to her walk, just a little too frisky to be considered graceful.
    “I think we should have dinner,” he said, keeping pace. “And maybe a little conversation.”
    “About what?”
    “Oh, we could start off with the weather. Move on to politics. Religion. My family, your family.”
    “I assume this is all leading up to something?”
    “Well, yeah.”
    “Let me guess. An invitation to your room?”
    “Is that what you think I’m trying to do?” he asked in a hurt voice. “Pick you up?”
    “Aren’t you?” she said. Then she turned and once again walked away.
    This time he didn’t follow her. He didn’t see the point. Leaning back against the rail, he sipped his beer and watched her climb the steps to the dining terrace. There, she sat down at a table and retreated behind a menu. It was too late for tea and too early for supper. Except for a dozen boisterous Italians sitting at a nearby table, the terrace was empty. He lingered there a while, finishing off the beer, wondering what his next approach should be. Wondering if anything would work. She was a tough nut to crack, surprisingly fierce for a dame who barely came up to his shoulder. A mouse with teeth.
    He needed another beer. And a new strategy. He’d think of it in a minute.
    He headed up the steps, back to the bar. As he crossed the dining terrace, he couldn’t help a backward glance at the woman. Those few seconds of inattention almost caused him to collide with a well-dressed Thai man moving in the opposite direction. Guy murmured an automatic apology. The other man didn’t answer; he walked right on past, his gaze fixed on something ahead.
    Guy took about two steps before some inner alarm went off in his head. It was pure instinct, the soldier’s premonition of disaster. It had to do with the eyes of the man who’d just passed by.
    He’d seen that look of deadly calm once before, in the eyes of a Vietnamese.