Free Message From -Creasy 5 by A. J. Quinnell

paid one
kilo of gold to get Van Luk Wan released."
    "What
was his name?"
    "His
name was Bill Crum."
    She
took a tri-shaw from the restaurant. It wove its way through the narrow,
crowded streets of Cholon and then across the river into the equally chaotic
streets of downtown Saigon. She was buzzing with excitement. Perhaps it was
brought about by her competitive spirit. The detective Jens Jensen had given
her a long-shot of a query, and less than twenty-four hours later she had
obtained the answer. She was impatient to present her accomplishment.
    She
tapped her fingers on the armrest as the trishaw squeezed its way through the
traffic to the hotel.
    At the
hotel reception desk, she glanced at the rows of keyboxes. Jensen was in room
36. The key was not there. She did not wait for the lift but ran up the two
flights of stairs and rapped sharply on the door. She had composed a little
speech in her mind. She would be nonchalant and simply give her information as
though it were the slightest of gifts.
    The
door opened. She looked up, and then looked up a little higher. She was staring
into a face that reflected a miasma of mystery and menace. Then, somehow, the
menace was dissipated.
    She saw
the deep-set eyes and the scars, and she found her voice. "Mr Creasy, I
presume?"
    His
voice was low and strangely reassuring. "Yes. You must be Susanna
Moore."

Chapter 15
    She
felt like an outsider. She also had the absurd feeling of being a schoolgirl
reading out a report to a bunch of teachers.
    They
had all gone down to the bar and sat at a circular table in the corner. Creasy
was directly opposite her, with his Italian friend Guido to his right. Jens and
The Owl sat on either side of them. They drank beer and she drank coffee.
    She
felt an outsider because there was a palpable bond between the four men. They
were easy with each other as though they were among family. As they waited for
the drinks she listened to their conversation. They talked and joked about old
friends and past times. It was not as though she was deliberately excluded; she
just felt there was an invisible sheet of plate glass between her world and
theirs. She felt a sudden loneliness and to get away from it, she studied the
four men.
    Creasy
and Guido were alike, though at first sight the Italian had appeared to be
simply, lazily handsome. His thick black hair was greying at the temples. His
tanned face was lined in exactly the right places. His smile was easy. He wore
a black, silk polo neck shirt and black slacks. He could have stepped right out
of Giorgio Armani's show room. When he looked at her, he was seeing a face and
a body. When Creasy looked at her, she had the feeling that he was watching
only her mind.
    The Owl
was his usual silent self, observing and listening. The Dane had set up his
computer and was studying the green screen.
    He
glanced up at her and said in an informal voice: "Please proceed,
Susanna."
    She
started to recount the conversation with Dang Hoang Long and Creasy asked:
"What language were you using?"
    "Vietnamese,"
she answered.
    "Do
you speak it well?"
    "Fluently."
    "What
other languages do you have?"
    "Good
French and passable Cambodian."
    His
face remained impassive, but she noticed his glance at Guido. She continued her
report, still feeling a bit like a schoolgirl. In some ways, she was junior to
these men; obviously in age, and certainly in experience. She was well informed
about their backgrounds and although she was a confident woman, she could not
dispel the feeling of nervousness.
    They
listened for a few minutes in silence, and then Guido interrupted to ask about
the background of Dang Hoang Long.
    She
gave a thumbnail sketch including his watershed meeting with Ho Chi Minh in
Paris. As she spoke, Jens was tapping the information into his computer.
    "Why
does he trust you?" Creasy asked.
    "Because
I've always been honest with him, and unlike many Americans, I do not treat
him, or other Asians, with condescension."
    "It's
a good