Black Heart, page 64
He was conscious of a long cool line of sweat tickling him as it snaked its way down his spine He looked down and, unfoldmg the paper, read the telex
REGRET TO INFORM CONSIGNMENT SPOILED - REPEAT COMPLETELY SPOILED CROP OVER FOR SEASON DID ALL HUMANLY POSSIBLE CONDOLENCES
OPAL LIGHT
Dead
The word hung in his mind, suspended like a pall Dead Until it began to lose its shape and meaning, until he could no longer understand it as part of the English language
'Dead '
He said it aloud as if that might help but still it ceased to mean anything at all
Tisah is dead ' And then it all fell into place, her name lending meaning to the phrase
Macomber crushed the telegram in his fist He was shaking now with a rage such as he had not felt since the war For a time, Tisah had been revived During all those long years he had always believed that she was alive, somewhere The Monk's words had merely added to that belief, making it a virtual certainty Until this telex Consignment spoiled meant that she was dead Crop over for the season meant that she had been dead for some time and that, given what the Monk had told him, meant only one thing Tracy Richter had killed her He had been her last contact, he had stumbled upon her duplicity - had tried to knife her
Well, Macomber thought now, so he succeeded after all At 'his moment his anger seemed limitless Just as his despair at the abrupt loss of Tisah seemed limitless It seemed inordinately fruel to him to have her offered to him - so close only to find °ut that she was no longer alive
r-
S9Q
His mind was very clear as he stared out at the winking lights of Manhattan's moneyed towers. It was cool in the darkened office, blue light playing in on him from the nighttime halo of the city agglomerate illumination against the heavens. The sweat had dried along his back. A decision had to be made and he was the one to make it. Just one of a thousand such he made during the course of a long day. A business decision. Yes. That
was it.
All the long years of wanting, of suppressing that want, the renewed hunger at a chance to regain the past, the utter desolation in the aftermath of the dashing of those hopes, all now combined inside him, swirling around the central core of his memories, his eternal love for Tisah.
He walked purposefully to his desk, sat down in the highbacked swivel chair behind it. Reaching down to one of the bottom drawers, he produced a key and unlocked it. Inside was a well-oiled, long-barrelled Magnum .357 and half a dozen cardboard cartridge boxes. He tore one open, saw the tiny cross sawed into the blunt end of each bullet. These were steeljacketed, their tips made of a softer metal amalgam than the store-bought variety. One of his own plants manufactured this bullet specially for him. It was his own variation on the dumdum principle, the soft tip, the sawed cross expanding outward on impact, ripping through flesh, organ and bone. No man now walking the earth could survive a shot from this gun. Even a mis-hit in a limb would tear the appendage right off the torso. Macomber, a strange yellow light in his eyes, began to calmly and methodically load the Magnum, thinking all the while of Tracy, the pulsing of his hatred for the man, and how good it would feel to level the .357 at his head or heart. Head or heart. That was his only decision now. Which would he go for when that delicious moment came? For a moment he allowed himself to fantasize about that moment. He sighted, went for the head. He sighted, went for the heart. He imagined the resulting carnage and knew the spot for which he would aim.
Then, with the gun half-loaded, he stopped stock still as if listening to a sound only he could hear. He was aware of the trip beat of his heart, the rushing of his blood through his veins and
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Aeries, the accelerated pulse He stared down at the weapon he C0uld never use now
pje had the angka to think about, fourteen years of intricate
larining to achieve the absolutely ultimate aim a man could
hope to acmeve manipulation of America's national policies
and through them, a degree of control of the world undreamed
offer millennia
$Tiat was his own petty revenge when compared to that pinnacle' It was less than nothing He put the Magnum away ,n jts chamois holster, locking the drawer He could not afford to involve himself directly Not now, not when he was so close to his goal ne could scent its magnetic pull on him
Yet he burned with a fire that required venting His eyes were alight as he picked up the phone, dialled a local number When he heard the voice at the other end answer, he said, 'Khieu, there is something very important you must do to ensure the safety of the angka, something very important you must do for me
'Kill Tracy Richter '
He cradled the receiver without knowing it, swivelling around to stare out at all the winking lights of Wall Street He was breathing hard, there in the darkness, the filtered blue light like the reflection of massed diamonds bathing him in tenuous shadow
Lauren glanced at her watch 'I think I'd better be getting back to my hotel'
The Monk smiled and stood up from the table He took her hand, began to lead her out of the Jin Jiang Club's restaurant You have been such delightful company all evening I almost hesitate to ask this favour of you '
'What is it''
The Monk's broad face turned towards her and for the first time Lauren became aware of the lines there And it seemed to her now that each one of the many represented one deliberate Wow that life had dealt him This man intrigued her, in much 'he same way Tracy and Louis did It was almost as if these men a'l belonged to a worldwide secret society, far-reaching in its llrns, hidden from the normal people walking the streets There Was, she thought now, nothing mundane about these men
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'If it's in my power to help you,' she added, Til be happy to,
The smile returned to the Monk's face and, as if they had never existed, the lines of fatigue and concern disappeared.
'There is someone who would like very much to meet you She could not, unfortunately, attend the performance tonight could not meet us for our most enjoyable and enlightening dinner. Nevertheless, she is a devoted fan of yours.'
Involuntarily, Lauren glanced at her watch again and, noting her gesture, he added, 'I have sought and obtained permission from your Mr Vlasky. He has been most co-operative. I ani grateful to him.' He shrugged his shoulders. 'But it is up to you If you are fatigued ..."
'No, no,' Lauren protested, though she was tired. The thought of sleep seemed faraway to her now. 'It will be my pleasure. Really.'
The Monk's face lit up. 'Splendid!' He clapped his hands in delight. 'I am most grateful.' He gestured with his open hand. 'This way, if you please.'
He swept her out into the Stirling night. The roan Mercedes waited patiently for them, its powerful engine thrumming. They went silently through the streets, the city seemingly ghostly and deserted through the tinted glass.
At length, they drew up at Seven East Lake Road, a monstrous red brick mansion in the Edwardian style. It was surrounded by a high cement wall. An iron gate opened silently at their approach, closed again after the car had gone through.
'This seems an odd place for China,' Lauren said.
The Monk was smiling slightly. 'Do not forget the foreign influence in Shanghai. Westerners were here for many years before the Cultural Revolution.'
The mansion loomed out of the night, spotlit by the Mercedes' amber headlights, gabled, surrounded by trees and shrubbery, all immaculately manicured. The area enclosed by the wall seemed enormous.
'Six acres,' the Monk said in response to her question.
Lauren knew enough about life in China to realize that was an awesome amount of space for any one man to possess.
'Impressive, yes?' the Monk said, helping her out. 'Do you
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igiow £he name Wang Hongwen? No? He was one of the "gang Of four". This was his house, once upon a time.' He led her towards the front door. 'Now it is mine."
The interior of the house was entirely in keeping with its Western fa9ade: marble flooring, an enormous walk-in fireplace. The living room was high-ceilinged; a curving staircase filled the hallway to the left.
Regency sofas and chairs upholstered in pale gold and pink raw silk shared the cavernous space rather uncomfortably with a rather superb French Provincial desk. There was a chair to match and, behind it, an overly carved ornamental sideboard.
The Monk crossed the living room, moving with a rather delicate grace over an antique Persian rug in dusky reds and golds. He stopped beside the sofa faced towards the fireplace and, with a slight start, Lauren realized there was a woman sitting there. But now she rose and turned towards them.
She was a shapely woman with breasts larger than was normal for an Oriental. But it was her face which drew Lauren's attention. It was sleek and sensual with much of the - for want of a better term animal in it. Yet it was a face filled with a most unusual kind of intelligence. Lauren was certain that this must be the Monk's mistress.
She came towards them, smiling, and that expression alone told Lauren just how unutterably miserable this woman was, despite her red silk embroidered Mandarin gown, the diamond bracelet around her slim left wrist, the emerald stud earrings.
'Miss Lauren Marshall,' the Monk said from beside her, 'I'd like you to meet Tisah. My daughter.'
Lauren almost faltered when he said that but recovered in time to extend her hand. The other woman took it briefly.
'It's an honour to meet you, misss Marshall.'
'Please. It's Lauren.'
There was an awkward moment when the two women stared into each other's eyes. Lauren thought she caught a hint of some emotion swimming darkly up to the surface in Tisah's black eVes, something long buried, something best left forgotten. I hen it was gone.
Tisah, my darling, won't you get us drinks?' the Monk said,
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rubbing his hands together. He turned to Lauren. 'What Wouu you like? A brandy, perhaps?'
'Just a Perrier, if you have it, thank you.'
'Please sit down,' he said but he did not take his own advice walking back and forth behind the sofa. He seemed slightly On
edge.
'Is there something ... ?' Lauren began.
'This man you were talking to me about earlier this evening' the Monk said slowly as if he were reluctantly squeezing out each word. 'The one whom you thought had been responsible for your brother's untimely death ...'
'What about him?' Lauren had twisted around on the couch in order to keep him in view.
The Monk looked at her, stopped his pacing and squared his shoulders as if coming to a decision. 'I believe I know him.'
Lauren felt her stomach doing flip-flops. 'Do you?' Her voice
was very faint.
'His name is Tracy Richter?'
She nodded numbly, accepted the iced glass of Perrier from the returning Tisah. Something screamed inside her.
Tisah came around the couch, handed her father a drink. He put his arm around her waist. 'We both know him, Lauren.' 'I don't think I want to hear this,' she said, getting up. 'Please!' The Monk took a step forward. 'What I have to tell you is of the utmost importance. You must listen; you must stay.' With the intuition of the present lover, Lauren glanced at Tisah. 'She's the one, isn't she? The one Tracy dreams of?'
Tisah's mouth was trembling, her eyes enlarged by incipient tears. Lauren had the impression that she was holding herself together with a supreme effort of will.
'I will ask you a question,' the Monk said earnestly. 'Do you love Tracy? Really love him?'
'Yes.' She answered without conscious thought because it was
the truth.
'Then you are the answer,' he said, sighing. Tension went out of him and it seemed a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. 'The time has indeed come to repay the debt.' He turned to his daughter. 'Yes?'
For an instant, Tisah was as still as a statue. Her eyes raked
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Over Lauren's features, probing, seeking ... what? There was j,ate there and anger, envy and that peculiar kind of misery Lauren had never before seen in anyone. Then the bubble seemed to burst and all those seething heated emotions melted away- The face was calm again. Beautiful and calm. Tisah nodded her head once in acquiescence.
The Monk stretched out a hand. 'Please,' he said. 'Sit.'
As if in a fog, Lauren complied.
'Years ago,' the Monk began, 'my daughter, Tisah, worked for me. She is, as you may have observed, of varied nationality. I have never married. But I have had many ... liaisons.' He stopped for a moment as if considering how best to continue. 'Of all those liaisons, Tisah has been the only issue. That makes her all the more precious to me.'
He came around from behind the couch, sat down nervously at right angles to Lauren. Tisah, standing behind him, put one hand lightly on his shoulder. 'In those days, the danger was very great much more than now. The war in Vietnam and Cambodia was in full flame. My country called on me to perform certain, ah, duties. I complied.'
He put his palms together, rubbing them back and forth. 'I ran clandestine missions into Southeast Asia. Tisah, being part Cambodian, was perfectly suited for work there. I sent her; she went. She was put in place in Ban Me Thuot.' He looked at Lauren. 'Does that name mean anything to you?'
'It was the Special Forces encampment,' Lauren said. 'Where Tracy and my brother Bobby were stationed for a time.'
The Monk nodded. 'Quite correct. Her objective was to infiltrate the encampment, relay back whatever information on US missions into Cambodia she could.'
'Is that what happened to Tracy?' Lauren said wide-eyed. 'Did she trap him -'
'Calm yourself, Lauren,' the Monk said leaning forward. He put the tips of his fingers on her knee for just a moment. 'You are jumping ahead.'
'But -'
'I assure you there is no cause for alarm.' He saw her glance UP at his daughter. 'Believe me.'
Lauren stared at him. 'Go on.'
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The Monk nodded. 'Towards that end, she contrived to meet one of the key men there. They entered into a liaison.'
Lauren felt as if she were strangling; there seemed to be n0 oxygen in the air around her for her lungs to extract. She was suffocating in an alien atmosphere. She put her hand up to her throat. 'Who was that ... key man?' She closed her eyes; part of her still did not want to know.
'A lieutenant named Macomber.'
'Thank God.' Lauren's voice was a sigh of relief. Her eyes were wide and very bright. 'For a moment I thought you were going to tell me Tisah had been sent in to ... spy on Tracy.'
The Monk smiled in avuncular fashion, nodded understand-
ingly.
'But as for Macomber ... I've never heard of him.' The Monk sat very still. His eyes were glittering, as wary as an animal's. 'Yes?' He was able, within the one syllable of that word, to convey many things: Curiosity; bewilderment; concern; interest. 'Can this really be so? A man so prominent in the business world of, er, armaments? Your Tracy has never mentioned him to you?'
She shook her head. 'No. Never.'
'Indeed.' The Monk glanced up and back over his shoulder at Tisah. 'You see, my dear,' he said to her, 'we are doing the
right thing after all.'
'I'm sorry,' Lauren said, 'but I don't understand any of this.' The Monk smiled thinly. 'When I am finished you shall, never fear.' He squirmed on the sofa as if he were uncomfortable and Tisah went to refill his drink.
'You see,' he said, 'in the time I have been speaking of- 1969 to be precise - a man found Tisah out. This man was your Tracy. For a time, he allowed the liaison between my daughter and Macomber to continue. But there was a crucial difference.
'She had fallen in love with him as Macomber had fallen in love with her. He was able to turn her. Now he fed her disinformation ... do you know the meaning of this word?' 'I read the New York Times.''
He smiled. 'Yes. Your country is so different from mine. So you know. Good. This is what she began to relay back to me-
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[4e sighed. 'And for a time, I was fooled. I passed on the ^formation to the, er, appropriate apparatus. But there came a time when I began to perceive the seams in this otherwise flawless quilt of lies. From that I determined what had occurred.'
He leaned towards her, his voice lowered. 'But now what was I to do? If I no longer passed on information, my superiors v^ould question what had become of my operative. I could not tell them she had been turned; they would have ordered her summary execution. I tried to recall her without success. She would not leave Ban Me Thuot; she would not leave Tracy.
'So I was caught in a dangerous bind. I was forced into passing along her false information. My only hope was that my superiors, being less familiar with the situation there than I, would not become aware that they were being fed disinformation.
'Perhaps you cannot imagine the life of fear I lived for those long months. I could not sleep, I rarely ate and, at last, I resolved to go to Ban Me Thuot myself and pull her out by force.'
He accepted the full glass from Tisah, continued. 'It would have been a suicide mission, as you can readily understand as I myself understand now. But at the time, I was beside myself witfci worry for her. I was not thinking very clearly. However
I was spared that indignity.' He took a sip of his drink.
'Somehow, the Americans got wind of her presence, of what she really was. Now she was in danger from both sides." He put his glass down, took Lauren's hands in his own. 'And it was Tracy who saved her. He took her out of Ban Me Thuot, spirited her away and in her place left a trail of false rumours. Stories circulated that she had been murdered, no one knew for certain by whom but several supposedly reliable witnesses swore it was a Special Forces soldier.'
Lauren was having difficulty absorbing all this new information. Her head was whirling and to the Monk's credit he waited patiently until she caught up with him. 'What did he really do with her?' she asked a little breathlessly.
'He could have killed her,' the Monk said. 'Strictly speaking,
