'And why not?' Sokha's father said with a touch of pride. The very fact that one of the world's great and most respected leaders is coming to Cambodge will give us the kind of world-class status we have been seeking for many years. He has promised us substantial aid and his foreign minister, Couve de Muirville, will meet with representatives from Hanoi. The French influence can still serve to keep us secure."

  Rene made a disgusted face. 'He's a throwback, your Prince Sihanouk. A product of an older generation. He does not understand that the times are changing; that new methods must be sought to achieve true independence for Cambodge.

  First, he allows the Yuons to infiltrate the country.' He was

  85

  using the colloquial term for the Vietminh and the Vietcotu 'Then he -' '

  'Excuse me, Monsieur,' Khemara said, 'but the Prince's pohc, of allowing North Vietnam sanctuary in Cambodge can on), ensure our own sovereignty. Their gratitude '

  'Do you really think that Ho Chi Minh, Le Duan or Phaj Van Dong will even remember this great favour Cambodge, granting them?' The Frenchman was incredulous. 'How man times must Sihanouk witness for himself their lies and deceit before he will cease to trust them.' His voice lowered, 4 sibilants increasing with the force of his emotions. 'They at Vietnamese. For the love of God, Monsieur, they hate the Khrnei You think if you knuckle under to them you will -'

  'Not knuckle under,' Khemara said softly. 'They are on neighbours." His words came slower as if he were speaking t( a slightly retarded child. 'They always will be. We must be abl to make our peace with them. The two-thousand-year war » have fought with them must cease for all of us to survive. Tk is what Prince Sihanouk believes most fervently.

  'Look here, Monsieur Evan, even the French - even 4 Gaulle - has made his peace with Germany. They are neigh bours; the war is over. Even a hero of the war must seek anothe road.

  'Peace, Monsieur Evan, is a much more difficult course thai

  war.'

  'You speak to me of the French President as if he were th saviour of Cambodge. I am no Gaullist; I have no desire ti return to France. It is no longer my home. Thirteen years aftf this country achieved its independence from France, it still seel to return to a protectorate status. Don't you think that a bi odd?'

  'We seek aid from our allies,' Khemara said steadfastly. 'Thi

  is all.'

  'And I tell you that these times will not bear such a burdei Kampucheans are starving, workless in the countryside whi "high personalities" within the splendid villas of Chamcar M»' demand higher bribes from the enjoyment of the masses.

  'This is an intolerable situation. Aleady the montagnards -

  86

  'The montagnards,' Khemara interrupted, annoyed, 'are, in Kou j^oun's own words, "being Khmerized".' The montagnards ere groups of ethnic minorities within Cambodia, undifferen'ated hill people given that name by the French.

  'Oh, yes!' Rene laughed harshly. 'And listen to how proud

  Ou are of those words while they are being herded into camps,

  vilely maltreated.' Rene's eyes slid to slits. 'You've heard of the

  ntaquis?

  'I want no such talk in my house!' Khemara exclaimed. He was at last alarmed. The Frenchman's needling had done its work after all.

  'Why not?' Rene persevered. 'Your children should know, surely, what lies in store for them.'

  'Monsieur Evan, I must ask that you -'

  'You mark my words, Monsieur Khemara. Your regime's maltreatment of the montagnards will be part of your own undoing. Revolution will come and all the sooner because those people will join with the maquis. Perhaps not this year but the next.'

  'Silence!' Khemara thundered.

  Those around the table were thunderstruck. For himself, Sokha could never remember his father raising his voice in that manner.

  Samnang was first to clear his throat. Sokha had noticed that he had not said a word all through dinner.

  'I think we had better go now, Rene.' He touched his friend lightly on his forearm.

  Rene Evan stood up. He was shaking, white-faced. He stared at the man across the table from him. 'Knowledge is a dangerous thing, eh, Monsieur?'

  'Please leave my house,' Khemara said softly. He did not look at the Frenchman.

  Rene gave a small ironic nod of the head, almost a formal bow. Thank you for your gracious hospitality.'

  Samnang touched his arm again and he turned away from the table. When the eldest son had followed him out of the room, Herna said, 'Dinner is over, children. I'm sure you all have schoolwork to attend to.' She had deliberately switched to

  8?

  Khmer as if to wipe out the memory of the recent dialogue i, French. But Sokha, for one, did not forget.

  As he left the room, he saw his mother with her arm aroun( his father.

  'Own,' his father said, smiling softly. Then Sokha had left 4

  room.

  He did indeed have work to do, not only from the Lycj, Descartes but that given to him by Preah Moha Panditto. Som, time later, he did not know how long, Samnang put his hea( inside the doorway to his room.

  'Still up, Own?'

  'Yes. I'm just finishing.' He looked up. 'Is it late?'

  Sam nodded, came into the room. He sat on the edge o Sokha's bed. 'That was some scene tonight.'

  'You ought to know better by now, Sam.'

  'I'm doing it for Pa's own good.'

  'What?'

  Sam nodded. 'Rene's right in everything he says. I think oc world is going to change radically during the next year.'

  'I don't believe you,' Sokha said but he felt a warning tighten ing in his stomach. Was Sam right? Then what would happa to them all?

  'Well, it's true, Own. The marquis forces in the northwest at already beginning to build. There's revolution coming, all nghi It's in the air.'

  Sokha felt frightened. 'Even if it is true, Pa will protect v He won't let anything happen to us.'

  Sam looked at his younger brother and said nothing. Th silence became intolerable for Sokha so he said, 'Where wei you all this time? With Rene?'

  'No. He had his own car. He gave me a lift ... to where was going.'

  There was an odd look in Sam's eyes. Sokha cocked his heat 'A girl's house,' he said with that odd intuitive thrust Sam h> come to expect from him.

  He laughed softly now, an easy sound. 'Yes. A new g11 but a special one, Own. I think I'm in love. I want to ma" her.'

  Now Sokha laughed himself. 'Well, I wouldn't ask for Pa's permission tonight.'

  Sam smiled, nodded. 'In a few months, when this has all blown over. You know how traditional he is in some ways. He'll want to know everything about the girl and her family.'

  Do I know her?'

  Sam thought a moment. 'I think you met her once. At Le Royal; a reception for the French ambassador. Do you remember?'

  Sokha did. 'Tall and slender. Very pretty.'

  'Yes. That's Rattana.'

  'A diamond,' Sokha said, translating the Khmer name into French. 'Beautiful,' he mused. 'Almost as beautiful as our Malis.'

  Sam laughed. 'It's good you have a crush on her. You're too young to be getting into trouble with a real girl.'

  'Like you and Diep.' It was out before he could think about it. Diep was the eldest daughter of the Vietnamese family two villas down the street. Sokha had seen the look on his brother's face on those occasions when she would pass by.

  Sam's face darkened. 'Whatever it is you think you know, Own, I would forget it if I were you. I could feel nothing for Nguyan Van Diep. She is Vietnamese, after all.

  'Remember the story of the poor Khmer peasant who found a baby croc lost and alone, without its mother. Out of the goodness of his heart, he took the creature home with him and fed it well every day, even though he could not really spare the food.

  'Naturally, the croc grew ever larger. The peasant would feed it rabbit and monkey, picking fruit and vegetables for himself long after the creature, sated, was fast asleep.

  'But one day, the croc grew bored with his fare and at dinnertime it pushed aside the fresh-killed monkey the peasant had set before it and gobbled him down in one enormous gulp.'

  He stood up. 'Crocs and Vietnamese - they're both the same.'

  He went out and down the dark hallway. The villa was quite st"l, just the chirrupping of the crickets and the wheezing drone

  89

  of the flying insects, the humidity hanging in the air like sopping laundry.

  Sokha closed his books and began to undress for bed. Naked from the waist up, he padded silently down the hall towards the bathroom. On the way he passed Malis' room. Tonight the door was slightly ajar and he stopped opposite it.

  He felt his heart thudding in his chest. He had no cleat conscious thought. He listened, heard only his own unquiet breathing. Then a thought came to him that seemed to whoosh all the air out of his lungs. He took a step towards the door before he could stop himself. As if in a dream, he saw his hand reach out and press against the partially opened door.

  Visions of Malis dancing dazzled his mind as the door opened further so that he could see in an arc that moved inexorably towards the right and her bed.

  His head strained forward on his neck. His mouth was dry with anticipation. He pushed gently at the door so that it gave

  even more.

  Now he could see fully a third of the room. The bed. And on it, Malis. She slept with her feet towards him. She had thrown off the covers, had drawn back the curtains to allow whatever air there was this night to circulate.

  Sokha strained to see in the semi-darkness and as his eyes adjusted to the lack of light, he bit down on his lower lip to stifle the gasp that rushed up into his throat. Malis was naked on the bed. He saw the swell of her budding breasts, the curve of hei belly and below that, lying in deep shadow, what?

  As he watched, he saw her toss and turn. Had her eye< opened? Was she awake? He felt a chill go through him. He wanted to turn and run but he was rooted to the spot. He could not avert his eyes. What if she were awake and saw him? He tried to bring saliva to his parched mouth. He could not even thinl of such a possibility.

  She was moving on the bed now, her legs whispering apart her hands snaking to the dark mound that swelled just belo» her belly. And then, abruptly, startlingly, she had flopped ova on her stomach. Both hands were between her legs and i1

  90

  uied to Sokha that her hips were moving up and down in a k nd of slow rhythm he found hypnotic.

  uer rounded buttocks were clear in the werehght, tensing

  A relaxing The crease between them was very dark; it drew , JS gaze like a magnet He felt a curious heat suffusing him and he saw that his outstretched arm was trembling like a bough in

  storm His legs felt weak and his penis felt funny, as if it had grown heavier and enlarged as he watched He put his free hand down there, felt that great lump forming, pushing out the fabric of his trousers There was a kind of pressure there that hurt and felt good at the same time

  Mahs was slightly arched now, alternating pushing her groin up against her working fingers and down against the giving support of the mattress. Sokha was not certain but he thought he could hear her breathing heavily or moaning slightly every so often

  Her buttocks worked in fascinating rhythm, swaying and clenching dramatically Now her thighs were split wide and she began to draw her knees up under her so that he could now clearly see her fingers plunged into the core of her. Sokha had no idea what she was doing, he only understood that whatever it was moved him in a new and terribly exciting way

  He could hear her moaning now, a breathy kind of soft sighing that shivered him all through his body His erection was bending him over slightly and he fought without thinking to open the front of his trousers in an effort to relieve the tension building there Freed, he held on to his engorged penis, enjoying its silky feel and heated wetness

  Mahs had opened herself so wide that he could make out the matted wet hairs around her pubis The fingers of one hand had spread apart the hidden secret folds of silken flesh, stroking madly there The other hand now reached upward spreading apart the tensing mounds of her buttocks Into the infinitely dark crack they slipped so that Sokha could not believe his eyes

  A great wetness seemed to engulf him and his legs failed him He slipped silently to the floor, his eyes on his own jerking member but his ear still linked to the soft guttural sounds that emanated from the partially opened doorway

  9i

  His palms were filled with a hot viscous fluid; his insides fe]t as if they had survived a sandstorm. The heated night beat on around him to its own rhythm, synchronized to the steady thump-thump of his rapid heartbeat.

  Outside the hallway window a night bird trilled sweetly.

  92

  When Thwaite left the office early that afternoon everyone on his floor breathed a deep sigh of relief. Something had really got under his skin today and he had been downright nasty. Speculation was high that his Holmgren impasse was driving him crazy.

  Actually, the rumours were not far from the truth. The plain fact was Thwaite could not get the entire deal off his mind. To his way of thinking, the Governor's death had been cockeyed from the word go.

  It was Thwaite's considered opinion that the Monserrat woman had called Richter first, not 911, as she had stated. That would account for the forty minute discrepancy. There was nothing to go on but his nose - the instinct of years but he could feel the set-up. He wanted to nail Richter for that. He wanted it badly.

  That was what made him writhe all day, snapping at anyone who was unfortunate to get in his way. It was also what made him grab his jacket and leave the precinct early. He was going to take another crack at Richter.

  He parked illegally on Sixth Avenue, pulling down his POLICE BUSINESS card pinned to one sun visor and went quickly into the building housing Tracy's office.

  Tracy was on his way out when the elevator door opened and Thwaite emerged onto the floor.

  Tracy checked when he saw the detective. 'Thwaite,' he said, 'you've caught me at a bad time. I'm already late for an appointment What d'you want?'

  'For starters I'll take a coupla hours with the Monserrat woman to go over her story again.'

  'Haven't you given up yet''

  'Why should I? My tob's to get at the truth.'

  tr , J J CJ

  iou know what your job is and I think your captain should '"formed you're not doing it. This city's filled with criminals,

  93

  Thwaite. Do something about them instead of standing here an<] butting heads with me.'

  'Look, what's the big deal? If, like you said, everything went down as the Monserrat woman said, what could hurt if I talk to her again."

  'I just spoke to her,' Tracy said. 'She breaks down after ever other sentence. Frankly, I don't think you'd get anything coherent from her. Does that satisfy you?'

  Thwaite stared hard at him. 'Why should it? I only have yout word to go on. I want to see her for myself. There's nothing else tangible left of this case.'

  'What is it with you, Thwaite? The Governor dies of a heart attack and you get your bowels in an uproar.'

  Thwaite took a step forward. 'In case you forgot, Johnny, boy, the Governor of New York State is news no matter what he did, including dying.' He took a deep breath. 'So what about it?'

  'Moira Monserrat is off limits. Period.'

  'Okay. Have it your way. But there're a coupla reporters on the Post who'd just love to take down my suspicions and put it into print.'

  'That's suicide, Thwaite, and you know it. The force would bounce you halfway to Cleveland for that.'

  'Only if they had proof it was me. And who's gonna tell them. Me? Reporters don't reveal their sources. It's me against you.'

  'I've got more than enough clout,' Tracy said. He was thinking of Mary Holmgren now. He knew he had to protect John's good name and Mary's peace of mind at all costs. It was his duty 'You'll get bounced, believe me.'

  'I do,' Thwaite said steadily. 'But you know something? 1 don't give a shit anymore. I want the truth on this one and b) Christ I'm gonna get it.'

  'No matter who gets hurt.'

  'You betcha, Johnny-boy.'

  Tracy's intuition told him that Thwaite was bluffing. All h« knew of the man told him that this was a career cop. What could he do out on the streets if the force dumped him? Become at

  94

  ndustnal security guard for $125 a week and lose his pension? He'd often gambled on his intuition but now he had other eople to think of. If there was even one chance in a thousand that Thwaite might carry out his threat, there was only one choice open to him.

  'AH right,' he said. 'If you give me a couple of days I'll see what I can do. I wasn't kidding about her emotional state.'

  'I don't wanna wait, Richter.'

  Tracy felt the tension returning to his body and, unconsciously he went into an aggressive stance. 'Well, you'll just have to, Thwaite, won't you? That's all you'll get from me Take it or leave it.' That was no gamble at all

  Thwaite grunted. 'Don't take too long,' he said and, turning went down the corridor, disappearing into an open elevator.

  Out on Sixth Avenue, the traffic was piling up, making an unholy stink in the heat. The air was blue with exhaust Thwaite took the light, went quickly west. He held his breath as a bus cruised slowly by behind him.

  He headed towards the honky tonk of Broadway with its glitter of huge movie marquees and giant advertising billboards Between Eighth and Ninth Avenues the old turn-of-the-century tenements still proliferated with their worn stone stoops cracking under layers of cheap enamel. Rock and Latin music blared from wide open windows, battling with each other, and groups of young muscled men in sleeveless shirts joked and growled in the gutter Spanish of the neighbourhood while daydreaming of fast cars and even faster women.

  Three-quarters of the way down the block, Thwaite crossed the street to the south side. He passed an open doorway strewn with garbage, went up the gritty steps of the next building.

  He went quickly down the long narrow hall. He smelled the sour stench of old cabbage, the sharp hint of Tabasco. One unshielded 4O-watt bulb hung, burning, high above his head, washing the confines in its sickly glow He knocked on the last door on the right. Through the thin wood panels he could hear a brief welter of voices, abruptly cut short He glanced at his watch He was a half-hour early but he didn't care. His confrontation with Tracy Richter had left him frustrated and angry.

 

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