Making a Killing

by John L. Hart

  “No, not now.” They could venture into the complications of their affiliation with that mutual friend, Phillip Jordan, later. The moment was too perfect to spoil. “I would much rather talk about you. Tell me about your school. When you were a little boy.” She imitated JD’s earlier clicking noise to the dolphin. “Talk to me.”

  The candles they had lit were flickering, giving his eyes a distant cast. “I was sent away after my mother died.”

  “That must have been very hard.”

  “Yes.” He paused again. “It was a very difficult time, and a difficult school, but I was fortunate to be taken in.”

  “Like a boarding school?” she coaxed.

  “Yes, like a boarding school. Except it was a monastery with monks for teachers.”

  “Like a Catholic monastery in Italy?” She was confused. He hadn’t mentioned living outside Vietnam as a child, and while they hadn’t discussed religion, she was pretty sure JD wasn’t Catholic. “Or maybe France, since that’s where your mother was from?”

  “No, no. An Asian monastery with Asian monks.” He laughed. “And thank Buddha for that.”

  Kate walked her fingers up JD’s chest, past scars and other evidence of violent encounters she would not ask about, and tapped the small dimple in his chin. “Tell me more. Just a little bit.” When he hesitated she considered a different angle—turning it to the Chinese step-brother she was on her way to meet. Other than JD’s adulation of him, what she knew could fit into a thimble. “Did Zhang go to the same school?”

  “Actually, he did. You might even say that’s how I got accepted. It was something of a tradition that went back generations for the men on my step-mother’s side of the family. Zhang was a superlative student.”

  “And you?”

  “Let’s just say I wasn’t Zhang. But I tried to compensate where I could with my lessons.”

  “Like in linguistics?” She still couldn’t get over JD’s mastery of Asian dialects and other languages—a list that ran longer than her arm—or the way he sometimes entertained her by translating overheard conversations while out and about in Nha Trang. Amazingly, there was a plethora of world travelers who availed themselves of the oceanside paradise, despite the inconvenience of a war.

  “Yes and no and not exactly,” he responded, “and because I’ve tired of playing twenty questions for the night, I will tell you a story about the way my schooling started. But only if you promise, no more questions.”

  “Cross my heart, hope to die, stick a needle in my eye.”

  She hand signed each promise should she welch.

  “Very well,” JD agreed, and began, “I was seven when I was taken to a temple. It was, and still is, a secret monastery near the border of China where I was left to wait outside the gates, alone, until they opened. They looked enormous to me as a little boy, and because they really are massive, they still do. As it turned out, I was left outside those gates for two full days before they opened.”

  “Two days! How could anyone leave you there for two whole days, all alone, without any food or water. That’s terrible.”

  “It wasn’t quite as bad as it sounds. A rain barrel was outside the gates, so I had water, and Zhang showed me a nearby Asian pear tree where I could jump to reach the pears, and then a lychee tree I could climb if I got tired of the pears. So I had food, I had water and, even though he’s denied it, I strongly suspect Zhang was watching out for me from the forest nearby the whole time. Of course, thinking he was there only made me want to prove how brave I could be and pass what I understood to be a test of endurance. The worst part was getting wet when it rained, and then I got cold . . . All right, the truth is, the very worst part was not having my favorite blanket to hide under when I got a little scared at night.”

  Kate tried to imagine a little JD attached to a blanket that he had not been allowed to take to a faraway place after losing his mother. How she died, he had not told her, and she wouldn’t ask no matter how much she wanted to know. Holding her silence, Kate said all she needed to as she reached for the silk sheet that had fallen to the floor and pulled it over them, then threw one of her legs protectively over his.

  In response JD drew her closer and went on, “When the gates finally opened—and it did seem a lot longer than two days, I can tell you that—I was greeted by two young monks, who took me inside to meet the abbot of the monastery. At least, that’s what they said, and I was so happy to get inside, where they fed me some soup and all the hot tea I wanted, that I didn’t care that I had to wait another day and night before another monk showed up and announced, ‘The abbot has summoned you,’ and then took me to a private chamber. And there he sat, the abbot, looking for all the world like somebody’s great-great-grandfather in a long robe and bare feet. The way he smiled you couldn’t help but smile back. He had to be the oldest man I’d ever met, but he got up and he moved so fluidly, stood so erect when he came to greet me, that he seemed ageless. And he smelled good. Like incense. But he didn’t say anything, just motioned for me to come sit across from him on the floor. And that’s how we sat for what seemed forever, while he just looked at me, until I began to wonder if this was some other kind of test to find out how long I could go in a silent staring contest without being the first to break and start talking.

  “Finally, the abbot spoke to me first. He had such a calm voice, and such a gentle manner about him, that when he asked about my life before coming there, I started talking. And talking. Maybe because I was so young and out of my element, or maybe because Zhang had told me that the monks were wise and kind, especially the abbot, I told him everything. I told him about Maman dying, about how much I loved The Jungle Book because she had read it to me since my earliest memories, and how I liked to draw all the animals, especially Kaa the snake.”

  JD stopped there and Kate waited, waited some more, until she couldn’t stand it. “And then what,” she pressed. “What happened next? Tell me!”

  JD gave her a look that informed her that she had broken her promise to not ask more questions, and he had just won the game.

  Too late, she clamped her hand over her mouth.

  JD chuckled, sifted his deeply tanned fingers through her hair. It was long and blond, and she never tired of the contrast between his dark to her light, his yang to her yin, as JD had put it. Their East-West differences were many, and she relished them all. She had always grown easily bored with the familiar, while the unfamiliar and the risky were like a narcotic and she could never get enough.

  No wonder she was hooked. She could never tire of this man. He was, in fact, the only man she had ever worried might tire of her first. Not that she would ever let that happen.

  Just as she was about to try another means of persuasion, JD rolled out of bed, extended a hand and said, “Let’s dance.”

  He was, as with all things JD, an accomplished dancer, and he knew she was a sucker for all his smooth moves and firm handling, whether on a dance floor or barefoot on the sand, whether a tango or the latest craze, with a band or a record or a radio; but this time he pulled out all the stops.

  A slow dance while he held her gaze and sang, “Can’t take my eyes off of you . . .”

  It was like something out of a dream, and she was wondering if it could even be real, hearing JD sing, “I love you, baby—” when an abrupt knock sounded at their cabin door.

  “Major Mikel, are you in here?” demanded a military-crisp voice. “Please state if you are in here before we come in.”

  “Dammit,” JD muttered, before snapping back, “Yes. Yes, I am in here. Do not open the door. I will answer it shortly. Remain at your post.”

  Then, to Kate, he whispered, “I’ll take care of this. But first, let’s take care of you.”

  Back to bed she went, this time solo under the sheets, followed by a pillow JD plopped over her head. He left her with the warning, “Stay put,” before uttering
a crude profanity that told Kate how completely pissed off he was—JD rarely swore, at least not in front of her—and strode naked to the door. She was too curious not to peek out from under the pillow and listen to the curt conversation that commenced.

  “Major Mikel?”

  “Yes?”

  “Our apologies, sir.”

  “For what?”

  A short, awkward clearing of the throat from the marine she could just barely make out on the other side of the threshold.

  “For interrupting your travels, sir. Sir, we have been given orders to bring you immediately to a meeting.”

  “And that would be where? And with whom?”

  “The Ambassador is expecting your arrival and we have been dispatched to ensure you are on time. That is all we are authorized to say.”

  JD plowed a hand through his hair, so dark it was nearly black. He had a very fine ass.

  “Very well. I’ll meet you on deck in fifteen minutes.”

  “But, sir, this is an urgent command. The helicopter is waiting.”

  “Then it can wait twenty minutes . . . Captain.”

  “But—”

  “Or we can make that an hour.”

  “Sir, yes, sir. We will—”

  “That is all.”

  JD shut the door and turned around, his front side as impressive as his back. And she should certainly know, just as she knew the way he moved on absolutely silent feet across the floor boards that creaked when she walked over them. It was eerie, a little unnerving. Sometimes she felt as if she had lost her heart to a ghost. Or a demon according to Gregg, a dear friend who did not share her fondness for JD, and who was thankfully safe again in California since serving his year as a drafted psychologist at the 99KO—the army’s frontline psych unit in Nha Trang.

  JD joined her under the silk sheet, put the pillow behind their heads, and sighed deeply. “You heard. Duty calls. I’m sorry. Phillip has rotten timing.”

  Their mutual friend from Paris, Phillip Jordan, ex-ambassador to France. He still preferred to be called the Ambassador, even if his position on the world stage had moved in more clandestine directions. Kate couldn’t help but wonder if the timing of his summons was deliberate. She and Phillip had a complicated relationship, more complicated than JD would ever guess. He knew some—after all, Phillip was the one responsible for their meeting to begin with—but she wasn’t secure enough, at least not yet, to tell JD everything he deserved to know before they took their own relationship to where she longed for it to go. And where it definitely seemed to be heading, given this trip to meet Zhang, JD’s only living relative.

  She lay in JD’s arms while he studied her wrist. Her left wrist, where he had slipped on the silver bracelet the first time they made love. It matched the one he still wore. These are my Montagnard tribal friendship bracelets. They are very special to me. I never take them off. And then he had. Just the one she had worn ever since.

  “I don’t want to leave you, Kate.”

  Then don’t, she wanted to say. Kate knew she would bite off her tongue before she made such a mistake. Smart girls knew better than to corner a man who wasn’t meant to be put on a leash.

  Instead she risked confronting the elephant in the room. “Do you think he’s set up a meeting because he knows we’re together?”

  JD considered her question for a moment and then shook his head. “If Phillip had a problem with us being together he wouldn’t have connected us in the first place. He does nothing by accident. He knew what would happen. Well, some of it, at least.”

  Their borrowed time passed much too quickly, as time with JD always did, before he had to dress for the summons she tried not to resent, or question the real purpose of.

  “I’ll be back,” he said, with a kiss to her forehead.

  “Okay, you will be Bach, I’ll be Beethoven, and we will make beautiful Mozart upon your return.”

  She loved to make him laugh. JD laughed now, and as if he were a magician pulling substance from air, he handed her a small, white clamshell stone. She recognized it as a playing piece from the highly complex game of Go, an Eastern, war-like game of strategy that put chess on a par with tiddly-winks. This stone in particular belonged to the centuries-old game board JD kept in his little hideaway bungalow on an island off the coast of Nha Trang. Although JD didn’t seem to have many possessions, or any real wish for them, the exquisite game board with 360 stones, divided between black and white, was something he dearly prized.

  “For my lady.” He bowed as he folded the game piece into her palm. “Keep it safe, as I will always keep you.”

  He was gone before Kate could form a response. Her head felt as if it had filled with ether, her arms reached for the heavens—and the silver bracelet trickled down her wrist as she squeezed the Go stone in her palm.

  She knew what this was: he would now be short a stone, and this was JD’s way of saying his complex life was incomplete without her. Tangible proof that Agent J. D. Mikel most certainly was in love with Katherine Lynn Morningside, and the evidence of it as solid as a rock.

  She could already hear the too-good Dr. Gregg Kelly say in disgust, Kate, you are dancing with Satan.

  And so what if she was?

  Kate tapped out a French Gauloises from her pack beside the bed and lit up. JD would share it with her, while Gregg would wrinkle his nose and cite the new health warning on American cigarette labels.

  She blew a smoke ring into the air and laughed.

  Life was too short to be as pure as Gregg. She would rather be in league with the devil, who played life with the intention of winning, rather than playing not to lose. Winning always involved risks. Hindsight was always 20/20. And while some risks would inevitably falter or fail, she was banking on this one to pay off extremely well.

  2

  Saigon, RVN

  Later that night

  It was raining again in Saigon. Sitting alone in the back of a long, black Cadillac limousine, JD finished rifling through General Glen Claymore’s briefcase. After returning it to the exact spot where the general had left it momentarily untended—on the generous leather seat facing his—JD watched heavy drops bounce off the tarmac as a black-ops helicopter landed.

  Sheets of brilliant light points from the rotor blast illuminated Claymore solicitously extending a large umbrella over the man emerging from the chopper. Phillip Jordan wore his past ambassadorship with the same aplomb he wore his clothes: an elegant, English bespoke suit, with custom-made shoes from an Italian cordwainer who catered to the feet of the world’s most privileged. Even from where he sat JD could see the shine of Phillip’s shoes, the precision, the perfection of shirt, coat, trousers, tie. Like everything else about him, they befitted Phillip’s aristocratic bearing and impeccable taste, which extended to an array of exquisite women.

  The subject of their mutual attachment to Kate had thus far been carefully avoided. Do you think he’s set up a meeting because he knows we’re together? Although JD had initially dismissed the idea, he wasn’t completely sure. There was a lot he wasn’t sure about lately, and that was disturbing. Uncertainty could be deadly—and so could the kind of distraction that had caused him to be so attuned to Kate he hadn’t even heard the Green Berets who had come on board until they were already knocking at the cabin door.

  The doors swung open on either side of the limo. Phillip got in on JD’s right, Claymore to his left. They took their places on the expansive seat across from him, Claymore’s briefcase like another occupant facing JD. The doors shut in tandem; guards remained outside at attention, rigid silhouettes, dark against the glass.

  JD wasn’t in the mood for pleasantries.

  “Why are we here? Or, more specifically, why am I here instead of on the boat?” With Kate, he silently added with a sharp glance at Phillip.

  “Always a pleasure to see you as well, JD.” Phil
lip shook out his silver hair. It was still thick, a lion’s mane, his skin, even his hands, unlined in an almost preternatural way. He had always lived a life of privilege in the inner circles of power, but also a life of service to his country—or at least to those that ran the country. Despite their difference in age he and JD shared a long history that blurred the lines between family, ambition, and duty. Especially duty since Phillip had hired him for the handling of secretive US agendas for the CIA. Phillip was not publically associated with the CIA, and he did not answer to them.

  The CIA, quite privately, answered to him.

  When JD didn’t reply, Phillip checked his pocket watch. “Let’s get to it, Glen,” he instructed Claymore. “You have the materials I requested?”

  “Yes, sir,” Claymore responded. Then, to JD, “As I’m sure you’ve surmised, we have a situation that goes beyond all the latest, goddamn grenade fraggings taking out our officers and NCOs, but we think they may be related.” Claymore pulled a file from the briefcase he hadn’t wanted to get wet and which JD had inspected the second Claymore went to greet Phillip.

  Even if his snooping was to be expected, grumbling, “We always have a damn situation” clearly was not.

  The other two men exchanged looks.

  JD took the extended file, said briskly, “Explain.” Yes, better to keep his eyes on the enclosed intelligence and pretend his attention wasn’t elsewhere.

  Phillip sighed softly. “You will excuse us now, Glen. I will take it from here.”

  “Sir, I—”

  “Now.”

  “Sorry, sir, excuse me,” Claymore mumbled, and took his four stars out of the limo with him.

  Then it was just JD and Phillip and the rain on the roof.

  Phillip slightly bowed his head. “I regret the situation, JD. The circumstances, all of it, I wish were otherwise. This operation would be messy enough without certain complications . . . ” His long pause, punctuated by the rain, gave JD time to reflect.

  It was not a comfortable reflection. This was one of the few people JD truly admired and trusted—at least until Kate had entered the picture. And yet, Phillip was the one responsible for that, so what wasn’t there to trust? JD slightly bowed his head in return, knowing the monks at the monastery who had taught and trained him—and, worst of all, his brother Zhang—would be disappointed in his suddenly behaving like a petulant adolescent who was angry because his personal life had to take a backseat to the sense of duty with which he had been raised.