The Night-Comers

Product Description

Set in Southeast Asia, STATE OF SIEGE covers 24 critical hours in a military coup d'etat. Fraser, an oil technician on leave and caught up in this explosive whirlwind, tries to extricate himself and pursue his pleasure--namely an Eurasian beauty. But he is hopelessly entangled in the conspiracy and the final outbreak of violence which ends the day. Our reader finds STATE OF SIEGE "an exciting tale of revolution in a small Southeast Asian country, riddled with plot, counter-plot and treachery. As always Eric Ambler creates characters we can really care about and sets them in vividly described situations. The exotic locale is superbly drawn."

Review

“A superior Ambler tale of intrigue.” --San Francisco Chronicle “As good as Ambler’s very best.” -- The Observer“A sophisticated , assured novel of third world politics where lives, as well as ideas, are armed and ideology creates a dangerous terrain.” - The Times“All the elements that Ambler has dveloped to such an art are here.” -- Chicago Tribune

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

1

The weekly Dakota from Selampang had never been known to arrive at the valley airstrip before noon, or to leave on the return journey before one. After the farewell party they had given for me the previous night, I should have slept until eleven at least. But no; I was wide awake, packed and ready to go at dawn.

Not that I had had much packing to do. Most of my clothes--the dobi-battered slacks and bush shirts, the mosquito boots and the sweat-stained hats--I had given, with my camp bed, to Kusumo, who had been my servant for the past three years. The few things that were left--shoes, some white shirts, underwear and other personal oddments--had gone easily into one small metal suitcase. The only suit that I possessed, I wore. Like a fool, I had ordered it by mail from an outfitters in Singapore, and it hung on me like a shower curtain; but that morning I did not care how I looked; nor, indeed, how long I had to wait for the plane. What mattered most to me just then was the fact that I was leaving, and that in my breast pocket, along with my passport and a ticket for a B.O.A.C. Qantas flight from Djakarta to London, was a letter. It was from the Singapore branch of the Hongkong and Shanghai Bank, and advised me that, on the completion of my contract as resident consulting engineer to the North Sunda Power and Irrigation Project, there stood to my credit the sum of fifty-eight thousand eight hundred and ninety-six Straits dollars.

Soon after eleven, I borrowed one of the maintenance department jeeps and drove across to the Chief Engineer's office to say goodbye.

Now that I was leaving the place I could look at it with friendlier eyes. As the jeep bounced along the corduroy road past the new attap houses and the row of quonset huts in which the European employees lived, I was even aware of a feeling of pride in what had been done.

It was a Colombo Plan project, and there had been no shortage of American and British Commonwealth capital to finance it; but it takes more than money and good intentions to build dams in places like the Tangga Valley. When I had first arrived at the site with the advance party, there had been nothing but swamps, jungle, leeches and a colony of twenty-foot pythons. It had taken the contractors nearly a month to get their first two bulldozers up from the coast; and there had been a period during the first year, just after the monsoon broke, when we had had to abandon all the equipment and move up to the high ground in order to stay alive. Yet now there was a camp as big as a small town on the site, and an airstrip, and, there, wedged in the throat of the valley, the huge mass of stone and steel and concrete that was the keystone of the whole project. Because of that dam, it had been possible to turn something like two hundred square miles of scrub country down by the Tangga delta into rich padi fields. That year, for the