Free Assignment - Sulu Sea by Edward S. Aarons Page A

questions to put to him. Durell wished he had the answers
himself. But at the moment, he lacked both the time and the information.
    Yoko Hanamutra’s car was an expensive blue Renault Floride,
a rarity in this island corner of the world. She slid familiarly behind the
wheel, the silk of her blue sarong slipping smoothly across her hips and
thighs. He got in beside her.
    “Is this your car?"
    “Yes. But I could not afford it on my nurse’s salary.
    Tommy bought it for me, as an engagement gift.”
    “On his salary as first secretary?”
    “Please, I don‘t know how much he earns.”
    “That’s not very practical, Yoko, for a girl with her mind
on matrimony.”
    She bit her lip. “I doubt if he will ever marry me now.”
    She eased the little French sports car smoothly into the
steam of bicycle and trishaw and bus traffic. The life of had hem diverted only
momentarily by the terrorist growing dark now, but the tropical heat had not
anything, the humidity was even worse, but the momentum of the car as the girl
drove along the Peninsular Heights was pleasant.
    He let her take him where she pleased.
     
                                                                                                    chapter seven
    THE American consulate occupied a select site on the
promontory above Pandakan. Unlike the European residencies, which dated back to
the previous century in Georgian and Victorian design, the United States had
recently built——with foreign-aid blocked funds-—a sparkling modern cube behind
a high concrete wall and a severe, diamond-patterned steel gate opening onto
the main drive. The marine guard knew the girl and nodded a good evening and
opened the gate with only a casual glance at Durell. The sweeping drive brought
the bright blue car to a quick, dusty halt in front of the vaultlike entrance.
    The westward sky over the sea was a spray of surrealist
colors, making sharp, deep shadows on the consulate lawn among the massed
oleander, frangipani and palms that failed to offset the severity of the modern
building. A boy in a green Malay head-cloth was taking down the hag from its
high pole on the lawn. No ceremony attended its lowering.
    Miss Hanamutra led the way with familiar, clicking high heels
across the circular lobby, and an Indian clerk in a seersucker suit jumped to
his feet as they passed an office doorway.
    “Oh, Miss Hanamutra, a message for you, please!”
    She halted. “Yes?”
    “Mr. Thomas Lee asked that if you come here, you are to wait
for him. He had a most urgent message to run.”
    Durell said: “Do you know where Mr. Lee went?”
    “You are Mr. Durell? But of course. We were advised of your
arrival. No other American national is reported visiting Pandakan in these
troubled times. We have discouraged tourists and managed to evacuate all except
a few stubborn businessmen. So—” The Hindu smiled and bowed. “You are a new
face and I deduce you are Mr. Samuel Durell, the oil technician from New
Orleans mentioned in our advisory cables.”
    The consulate was air-conditioned to a point where it felt chilly
in contrast to the torpid heat outside. Durell asked:
    “Where is Mr. Lee’s office, please?”
    “The last down the corridor, sir. Mr. Kiehle’s suite is locked,
and Dr. McLeod uses Mr. Lee’s office when he is here.”
    “Which isn‘t often, is it?”
    "That is not for me to comment upon, sir.”
    The girl hesitated, and Durell guided her firmly down
the
    hall. He had the feeling that, not having found her fiancé, she
was regretting the impulse that had led her to bring him here. But he did not mean
to release her easily.
    The office was lighted, and Durell went directly to the corner
windows and closed the Wooden inner shutters against the black shrubbery of the
lawn outside. The girl stood uneasily, biting her full underlip, and he asked
quietly:
    “Do you know where Tommy Lee