She was no longer merely tasting the champagne; she was guzzling. Greedily, she drained the last drop from her glass and reached for the bottle.
He slid it out of her reach. I said I need your help.
She wiped her chin with the back of her hand. What kind of help?
Not much.
Ha. Thats what you always say.
A pistol. Automatic. Plus several clips of ammunition.
What if I dont have a pistol?
Then you will find me one.
She shook her head. This is not the old days. You dont know what its like here. Things are difficult. She paused, looking down at her slightly crepey hands. Saigon is a hell.
Even hell can be made comfortable. I can see to that.
She was silent. He could read her mind almost as easily as if her eyes were transparent. She gazed down at the treasures hed brought from Bangkok. She swallowed, her mouth still tingling with the taste of champagne. At last she said, The gun. What do you want it for?
A job.
Vietnamese?
American. A woman.
A spark flickered in Chantals eyes. Curiosity. Maybe jealousy. Her chin came up. Your lover?
He shook his head.
Then why do you want her dead?
He shrugged. Business. My client has offered generous compensation. I will split it with you.
The way you did before? she shot back.
He shook his head apologetically. Chantal, Chantal. He sighed. You know I had no choice. It was the last flight out of Saigon. He touched her face; it had lost its former silkiness. That French blood again: it didnt hold up well under years of harsh sunlight. This time, I promise. Youll be paid.
She sat there looking at him, looking at the champagne. What if it takes me time to find a gun?
Then Ill improvise.
And I will need an assistant. Someone I can trust, someone discreet. He paused. Your cousin, is he still in need of money?
Their gazes met. He gave her a slow, significant smile. Then he filled her glass with champagne.
Open the caviar, she said.
I NEED YOUR HELP, said Willy.
Guy, dazed and still half-asleep, stood in his doorway, blinking at the morning sunlight. He was uncombed, unshaven and wearing only a towela skimpy one at that. She tried to stay focused on his face, but her gaze kept dropping to his chest, to that mat of curly brown hair, to the scar knotting the upper abdomen.
He shook his head in disbelief. You couldnt have told me this last night? You had to wait till the crack of dawn?
Guy, its eight oclock.
He yawned. No kidding.
Maybe you should try going to bed at a decent hour.
Who says I didnt? He leaned carelessly in the doorway and grinned. Maybe sleep didnt happen to be on my agenda.
Dear God. Did he have a woman in his room? Automatically, Willy glanced past him into the darkened room. The bed was rumpled but unoccupied.
Gotcha, he said, and laughed.
I can see youre not going to be any help at all. She turned and walked away.
Willy! Hey, come on. He caught her by the arm and pulled her around. Did you mean it? About wanting my help?
Forget it. It was a lapse in judgment.
Last night, hell had to freeze over before youd come to me for help. But here you are. What made you change your mind?
She didnt answer right off. She was too busy trying not to notice that his towel was slipping. To her relief, he snatched it together just in time and fastened it more securely around his hips.
At last she shook her head and sighed. You were right. Its all going exactly as you said it would. No official will talk to me. No onell answer my calls. They hear Im coming and they all dive under their desks!
You could try a little patience. Wait another week.
Next weeks no good, either.
Why?
Havent you heard? Its Ho Chi Minhs birthday.
Guy looked heavenward. How could I forget?
So what should I do?
For a moment, he stood there thoughtfully rubbing his unshaven chin. Then he nodded. Lets talk about it.
Back in his room, she sat uneasily on the edge of the bed while he dressed in the bathroom. The man was a restless sleeper, judging by the rumpled sheets. The blanket had been kicked off the bed entirely, the pillows punched into formless lumps by the headboard. Her gaze settled on the nightstand, where a stack of files lay. The top one was labeled Operation Friar Tuck. Declassified. Curious, she flipped open the cover.
Its the way things work in this country, she heard him say through the bathroom door. If you want to get from point A to point B, you dont go in a straight line. You walk two steps to the left, two to the right, turn and walk backward.
So what should I do now?
The two-step. Sideways. He came out, dressed and freshly shaved. Spotting the open file on the nightstand, he calmly closed the cover. Sorry. Not for public view, he said, sliding the stack of folders into his briefcase. Then he turned to her. Now. Tell me what else is going on.
What do you mean?
I get the feeling theres something more. Its eight oclock in the morning. You cant have battled the bureaucracy this early. What really made you change your mind about me?
Oh, I havent changed my mind about you. Youre still a mercenary. Her disgust seemed to hang in the air like a bad odor.