Finest of His Generation

PLEASURE

Chapter 1

As the travel brochure said the view was breathtaking. An azure crystal clear ocean, bleached white sand beaches, dark green high mountains rolling away from the sea for miles and miles.

Tom sipped his coffee and let the view and the morning sun warm his sense of well being.

He watched Chuck enter from the side entrance of the restaurant.

Chuck sat down and smiled. Some place you've picked here, ole buddy. Pity the natives had to blab to the whole world and infect the place with tourists.

He summoned the Thai waiter and ordered an American breakfast. When his apple juice was served, he looked at Tom and slid two photographs face down across the table. His lips smiled, but not his voice. Thought they might be of interest.

Tom picked up the photographs and turned them over. He felt a quick thump in his chest as his heart started to race.

One photograph was of a young Thai woman screaming at him and throwing money at his chest. The other was of her trying to kick him but being held at arm's length by Tom. They were surrounded by a large crowd of onlookers. Many were smiling or laughing at his predicament. Others were disapproving. Although the image was blurred, one of the onlookers resembled the girl he had met later that evening.

Chuck waited patiently for Tom's explanation. Tom was reluctant to offer one, but had no choice.

Those photos are exactly what they seem to be. Snaps of yours truly being abused by a Thai whore in front of a crowd of hundreds. The crowd found her madly entertaining. They particularly liked the bit when she abused me for paying her for not fucking her. It was a wonderful experience. Sorry you missed it. I'm sure you would have loved it. Everyone else did.

Chuck laughed at Tom's heavy sarcasm but he was not to be fobbed off.

I think I need to know a bit more than that. If our competitors were to get hold of these, they could be very damaging to the mission.

Tom sighed deeply, silently, resentfully. He was leader of the mission. Not just any mission, but probably the biggest trade mission ever assembled. Now he was being asked by a subordinate for a 'please explain'. The trouble was that the subordinate represented the American partner in the venture and had every right to ask why he had been involved in a public scene with a prostitute in the main street in Patong.

His acceptance of Chuck’s right to an explanation didn't sweeten the bitter pill of resentment.

The night before you arrived, I was at a loose end and foolishly accepted the invitation of one of the local ladies of the night to spend some time with her. The photos do not do her justice. She was exquisitely beautiful and although a bit light on dialogue, seemed a suitable diversion for a lonely bachelor for the night. Unfortunately, on the way to my hotel I had an attack of good sense and realised what a bad idea it was. So I told her I had changed my mind, gave her some money and was saying good night when she threw one loud, very long, and very public tantrum.

Chuck smiled but the voice remained businesslike.

Is that all there was to it?

Tom didn't like being interrogated. He noted that Chuck’s soft southern American accent that he had become accustomed to over the last twenty years had disappeared.

That was all there was to it. A couple of security guards from the Merlin hotel put her in a tuk tuk and apologised for her behaviour. The crowd dispersed and I retired to the hotel feeling an absolute idiot.

He sipped his coffee and looked expectantly at Chuck for support. Subject closed.

The voice was still quiet. Tom, you are a bloody fool. Here you are, the leader of the Australian-American trade mission trying to win a twenty billion dollar contract from the Viets, and you're following your prick like a horny teenager.

Chuck suddenly realised he had gone too far. The anger in Tom's face was obvious. Tom was the leader of the trade mission even if his principals thought that was more in name than fact. The bottom line was, no Tom, no mission, whatever his principals liked to think.

He apologised quickly, feebly.

Sorry, sorry, sorry. That was way over the top, and laughed. The size of this contract is so large that I'm getting the nervous heebie-jeebies. My humblest apologies.

Tom was not appeased. But he couldn't afford a falling out with his second in command. Better to swallow the resentment and get on with the business in hand.

No need. I'm responsible for this little incident, so I have to wear its consequences. The question is, who sent you those photos and why?

A rare frown crossed Chuck's freckled brow. The furrows starting to meet the start of what had once been a crew cut, but now only a subterfuge for encroaching baldness.

The clearest of blue eyes looked deeply into Tom's.

I don't know who, but I suspect they are from a friend giving us a warning.

Tom held the look, What warning?

Chuck cleared his throat with a short cough. That we are now in the big league and better start behaving as if we belong.

You mean, I'd better start behaving like an adult.

Chuck didn't respond. The question was an argument looking for somewhere to go.

Tom's relaxed. Who sent the photos?

Chuck kept it serious. Good question. Obviously not one of our competitors. The French, English, Japanese and Germans certainly wouldn't let us know they had the pictures. They would be far more useful if suddenly, during our conference with the Viets, they appeared in the media. Could cause some nasty problems.

Tom decided it was time to stop playing games with each other. They were supposed to be on the same team. He smiled grimly.

You mean that after my well publicised recent indiscretion with Dallas, the photos would confirm there's something lacking in my character. That I'm a guy who is constantly involved in public and ugly scenes with women. Not really the sort of man you'd want to trust with a twenty billion dollar contract. Is that what you mean?

Chuck smiled at Tom's intensity. That's not exactly how I'd put it, but it is probably the way our competitors would put it to the Viets.

Okay. How would you put it?

Chuck put up his hand and smiled broadly. Whoa! I'm not putting it anyway. I'm speculating about how the photos could be used if they fell into the wrong hands. We've been all through that business with Dallas. The Viets have been told that you knocked her out accidentally. Just a reflex reaction to unexpectedly copping champagne in the face. They not only accepted your version of the incident, they were most insistent you remained as part of the delegation.

Tom's anger returned. What do you mean 'they were insistent' I stay on the team. What do they have with me being in or out of the team?

Chuck gave his most patient look. I'm surprised that you don't know. And I'm sorry as hell that I've brought it up if you didn't. I thought your government must have told you.

What must they have told me?

That the only reason you are still leading the mission is because of Prime Minister Li's request that you not be dropped because of the Dallas thing. For Chrissake Tom, you must have realised that every feminist in the world wanted your head and balls on a plate.

Tom nodded dumbly.

God, your Senator Bronson, the government's 3.I.C wanted you off the team. She spent hours on television saying you were unfit to represent Australia. Tom, you must have been aware of the hostility, the hate against you.

The grim smile returned.

'Unfit to represent Australia in a crapping contest' I believe was the term the dear lady used. Of course, I was aware of the feelings running against me. I was expecting one of those 'owing to unforeseen circumstances' type letters from the government. When I heard nothing from the foreign trade minister I thought it had just faded away. I should have known better. Hitting one the world’s favourite women, accidentally or not, doesn’t just fade away. What's it got to do with Prime Minister Li?

Chuck sighed. Putting it simply, the word was out you were to be dumped. Your foreign trade minister thought that would score a few brownie points from the Viets, so he told the Viet ambassador that was going to happen. Within half an hour he had a 'phone call from the ambassador saying that Prime Minister Li would be extremely disappointed if you were not with the trade delegation. Li wants you there. What Li wants, Li gets. Money talks, and twenty billion dollars talks pretty loud.

The Thai waiter served Chuck's scrambled eggs. It was a welcome excuse for both to break the conversation.

Chuck gave his breakfast his exclusive attention. Tom looked out to the ocean, the beaches, the mountains. His sense of well being had gone.

Chuck was right. The incident with Dallas had been a nightmare. The fact that it wasn't his fault didn't seem to matter to anyone, particularly anyone in the media. He was innocently minding his own business at a cocktail party in Washington, chatting to the wife of the Belgian ambassador when a stream of cold champagne hit him in the face. Instinctively he threw a right cross in the direction it had come from. When he saw the punch was heading straight at Dallas's jaw, he tried to check it but was too late. He knocked her out cold.

He had never struck a woman in his life. That was irrelevant. He had publicly struck one of the world's most loved and admired women. It had been a wonderful piece for the media. He had been universally vilified. He was a cad, a bounder, a swine.

He drew a deep breath. It was history. Nothing he could do about it. The incident was now part of his CV. The toughest part was that he had not heard from Dallas since. He had attempted to contact her. She would not accept nor return his calls. In some respects, that may have been a blessing in disguise.

He still had no idea why she had thrown the champagne.

The Thai waiter cleared Chuck's plate and cutlery. He sipped his coffee and said apologetically.

I'm sorry about blurting that out. Still, I suppose it's better that you know that the Viet Prime Minister is looking forward to your return. Any idea why?

Tom laughed. Probably looking forward to discussing telecommunications with someone who knows the countryside.

Chapter 2

Tom took in the countryside in the soft purple twilight. How different it had been when he had arrived here in nineteen seventy one. He checked himself from walking too far down memory lane. There would undoubtedly be one or two courses of 'remember when' on this evening's menu.

The Mercedes turned into a long wide curving driveway that cut across a vast lawn. It stopped in front of an imposing French colonial residence.

Before Tom could ring the door bell, the door opened. General Fan Look Johnson was smiling broadly. He pumped Tom's hand and steered him into the house chattering greetings.

He was led through a spacious entrance lobby to a large and exquisitely furnished sitting room. The room was softly lit. Large leather armchairs surrounded a marble coffee table. Silk screens interspersed with impressionist art. Small sculptures completed the tableau.

At first, Tom didn't take in the gallery aspect of the salon. The room's centrepiece commanded his attention.

A large oil painting under a bright strip light dominated the room.

A gaunt white-haired man knelt before a Japanese officer. He was about to be beheaded in a public execution. His clear blue eyes looked contemptuously and defiantly at his executioner. European onlookers turned their heads from his fate.

The texture of the painting was broad, the brushwork crude. The contrasts of black earth centre square, lush jungle surrounds, white-headed victim in ragged uniform, polished militarism, fear and courage, life and death, paid no tribute to subtlety. It was a harsh, cruel, compelling work of art. It was magnificent.

Tom's attention returned to his host. I am sorry. I was so taken by that painting. I've forgotten what you asked me.

The General smiled indulgently. I had only asked if you would like a drink before dinner.

When the General had poured the drinks, Tom raised his glass to the painting. To the very gallant Richard Johnson.

The General beamed at Tom like a favourite pupil. You are most kind Major Bennett and completed the toast.

Tom had expected a positive response, but not a bullseye with his first shot.

I was given a very brief history of modern Vietnam before leaving Australia. Your father's exploits against the Japanese in the Second World War would captivate any listener. To a former soldier, his achievements were superhuman considering the odds against him.

A second bullseye and the beam broadened.

Who painted that extraordinary picture?

The General regained his poise.

"The picture was painted by Pierre Girdon, who witnessed the execution. When he died in nineteen eighty six, I was fortunate enough to acquire it from his estate.

I had the good fortune to meet him when I visited Paris about a year before his death. Although he had shown the painting in several of his exhibitions, he had never offered it for sale. I asked him if he would sell it to me. He laughed and said 'Yes, but not yet.' He had a very droll sense of humour. He was suffering from inoperable cancer.

Tom smiled appreciatively. The General was allowing him a glimpse of his personal self. It was very encouraging.

The General returned to being his host.

We shall be joined for dinner by my assistant Mai Lai Look. I must apologise, I've only just realised that I failed to introduce her to you this afternoon. You may have noticed her at this afternoon's session. She was the young woman sitting next to me.

Tom grinned You mean that very beautiful young woman sitting on your left?

Another bullseye, but before the General could respond the doorbell rang. The General excused himself and left the room. Through the partly opened door, Tom could see the General welcome Mai Lai with a few words, an old-fashioned and peculiarly western kiss on the wrist and an even more western kiss on both cheeks. The girl returned a dazzling smile.

Tom suspected that the salon door had been deliberately left ajar for him to witness this cameo. The suspicion had no real basis. There was just something too staged about the illuminated painting and the over-civilised greeting. Probably no bullseyes, so far. More likely, magpies or outers. Tom smiled at his gullibility. Seasoned campaigners like the General don't lose control of their bladders when someone flattered their parents and their girlfriend. Back to the drawing board.

The General ushered Mai Lai into the room. I don't believe that you were formally introduced to Mai Lai at the conference. Please allow me to rectify that oversight. Mai Lai, this is Major Tom Bennett.

The girl extended her hand and gave Tom a cool direct look and a How do you do.

As he didn't know the rules of the game, he returned the look with a mumbled My pleasure.

The General led his guests into a dining room as elegantly and expensively furnished as the salon. Three places had been set at one end of a dining table that could have comfortably seated twenty.

The main features of the room were large ornate gold candelabras on the dining table and sideboard. Tom grinned to himself at their appropriation by the State or the General. Some Archbishop would be pretty pissed off if he knew the fate of cathedral property.

Tom didn't realise that his grin was not just in his mind until the General said I see something has taken your fancy, Major.

Tom laughed. I didn't mean it to show. I was just thinking how apoplectic the Bishop of Saigon would be, if he saw the new home for these magnificent candelabras.

Mai Lai looked startled by his gaffe. A small dark cloud briefly crossed the General's brow before he smiled. "I don't know if the Bishop would disapprove. After all, this was his home. He