"Trevor, Elleston as Hall, Adam - Quiller 01 - The 9th Directive 1.1" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hall Adam)

'Pure entertainment espionage at its best' The Times

It's been two years since Quiller was in Bangkok. Now he's back at the request of Loman, a top control in the
Bureau. Quiller loathes the man but has to listen to what he says:

'In three weeks' time a representative of the Queen is to visit Bangkok on a goodwill tour. Since he is neither a statesman nor a diplomat there will be no political functions. There will be a day's yachting, a polo match, visits to hospitals and welfare organisations. One might say he will be our representative of the humanities.'

Loman pauses, and then: 'During the visit, we want you to arrange for his assassination...'

'Nobody writes better espionage than Adam Hall' New York Times

Adam Hall (1966)

Quiller - The 9th Directive.





1 The Bloodstone

The place was halfway along Soi Suek 3 and I walked there from the main road where the trishaw had dropped me. It was a narrow street of shop-houses, roofed at this moment by the twilight.

There was no one in the gem shop except the small old Thai at the workbench behind the counter; he did not hear me come in because of the noise of the gem tumbler that churned at the back of the shop. There was no air conditioner and the heat was as bad as in the street. From a room above came the weird notes of a pinai.

I stood watching the old man. He was making a ring, setting an opal in gold. It was a cabochon stone and the blade of his burnisher closed the bezel deftly. The light of the hooded lamp reflected the gold and struck fire in the gem. When the bezel was pressed home he turned to look at his work under the lamp and saw me. I said at once: 'Mr Varaphan?'

He put the ring down onto the black cloth and made me the wai greeting with his hands, gently as a priest.

I asked: 'Is the bloodstone ready?'

'It has been lost,' he said.

'But it was worth more than a million pounds.'

'Much more, yes.'

Then you must pay me.'

'I am a poor man,' he said. 'You cannot get blood out of a stone, even a bloodstone.'

Then give me my pound of flesh.'

He bowed slightly in passing me and went to the open doorway, watching the street, his head turning from left to right. I waited, listening to one stone, heavier than the others, falling against the side of the tumbler as it went on turning slowly like a miniature concrete mixer.

Mr Varaphan came away from the doorway. 'If you will be so kind . . .' I followed him through the back of the shop, passing some steps in the center of the house. The piping of the pinai became louder from above, then faded as we came to the other room. Much of it was taken up with cabinets and safes but there were some rattan chairs and a table. The walls were timbered and there was the smell of sandalwood. The bleakness of the fluorescent tubes took half the value from a rosewood Buddha in the corner but at least you could see where you were. In strange places I hate not being able to see things.

'Your presence in my house does me great honor,' said Mr Varaphan.