The Sixth Man

by Ron Lealos

  Someone had chosen the perfect spot for our launch. There was enough light from the market to put us in deep shadow as we crept through the palm trees toward the water. There were no people about, most of the action on the other side of the shops where the restaurants and bars were much closer together.

  At a small dock, Morgan led us to a Zodiac Seahawk 800 inflatable with a Yamaha 350 horsepower V8 engine, all as foreign to me as meat that had to pass sanitary inspection. Morgan had given us a few details about the black boat. He had assured everyone it would be waiting, and he could steer the brute, even going over one hundred kilometers per hour. I hoped the speeding boat didn’t disturb the Con Rit, huge snakelike creatures that lived in the sea up and down the coast of Vietnam. Legend had it there were massive treasures just off the shoreline in sunken sampans drowned by the Con Rit and protected from scavengers by the razor-sharp teeth of the green and gold monsters. We dropped our duffel bags in the swaying boat and climbed aboard, Luong sitting on the bow, Hatati and me in the middle, and Morgan taking the captain’s spot. Luong unhooked the moorings and we pushed off, utilizing the paddles Morgan had drilled us in. Back in Sai Gon, he had demonstrated with brooms since at least two of us had never done anything like this before.

  The trip was going to take awhile, since it was fifty-six nautical miles to Phu Quy. Once we’d rowed out of the harbor, zigzagging between anchored sampans and trollers, Morgan pushed a switch, and the V8 roared to life, nearly shaking the boat into tiny rubber dinghies before we howled into the night. Seconds later, we were bouncing over the gentle waves headed southeast and I was already puking out the headcheese over the side, my hands wrapped through the rope that surrounded the boat, the only thing that kept me from being tossed into the jaws of Con Rit. The Confucius saying that “when you have faults, do not fear to abandon them” resonated as I dumped my stomach into the South China Sea.

  It was pitch black and I had no idea how Morgan kept us going in the right direction. It must have had something to do with his spy skills and a compass. I wasn’t capable of any strong opinion, since my head was over the side, staring at the depths as my body spasmed. Eventually, the retching only brought up air and a tiny bit of bile with no chunks. I looked up, seeing the beams from a lighthouse scanning the horizon straight ahead. It had to be Phu Quy or else Morgan would have turned in another direction.

  Within minutes, he shut down the engine and gestured to us to begin paddling. The course was directly at the lighthouse. When the lamp turned south and east, we could see the flickering lights of the small city a few kilometers away. More importantly, the outline of the house we’d studied in the satellite photos was coming into view, sitting by itself and the closest building to the path of the beacon. Morgan motioned for us to row fifteen degrees north, now pointing at a large rock just a few meters off the shore. It was where we planned to stow the Zodiac. Morgan got us close enough for Luong to jump out and secure the boat to a smaller boulder.

  There was a tiny area of sand about the size of a dumpling cart, and we used the space to unload and fasten our weapons. I’d been ordered to take the tail, no one trusting my climbing or vision skills. Phan Xi Pang was the highest mountain in Vietnam at 3,143 meters tall. I don’t think I would have made that one even on the back of a water buffalo. Here, the height to Quang’s place was closer to that of a five-story building, protected by rocks and Pitaya cactus. As we passed slowly, I could smell the plant’s delicious pink fruit, a delight I loved on vanilla ice cream. While the trek was in the night, reflections off the rocks from the beacon gave us enough light to see. Morgan was obviously well-trained in guiding us behind boulders and cactus, hiding our movements.

  Below the wooden deck that stuck out on the ocean side of the villa, Morgan gave us the hand sign to stop. He pointed to Luong, and the two of them headed around the right side of the home, Hatati going to the left. I was to stay here and only come out if automatic fire started. Certainly, there would be a man on the deck above me. I tried my best to be calm and listen for any commotion.

  It came within seconds. First, the rattle of a rock below where Hatati had disappeared, followed by someone running across the deck floor over my head. Then, a slight phuupp sound and a man’s grunt. We all carried AK-47s and the silenced .22s. It must be Hatati had killed or wounded a guard with her Hush Puppy, the suppressed weapon that had made Morgan a legend. She probably wasn’t strong enough to use the garrote. I didn’t hear a rifle or body clatter to the wood, so she had to have eased him down. This was my signal to follow.

  Around the side of the villa and through an open gate, Hatati was crouched over a motionless man. When she saw me, she stood, immediately going to the sliding doors on the sea side of the villa. We both had our pistols drawn, AKs slung around our necks. Our task was to make sure there was no one else on this side of the house. Hatati would go inside and I would stay as sentry outside. She slipped the door open and vanished.

  The rest of the operation was mapped out so that Luong would make his way to Quang’s bedroom, disabling anyone who got in his way. He would kill Quang, while Morgan found the other guard on patrol and took care of him. Then, they would go to the basement and incapacitate the other two sleeping sentries. That was the stated mission.

  Incapacitate. Disable. Immobilize. All words that had no meaning in this place, on this night. Maybe it was an attempt to not offend the gods and call murder by its real name. Quang and these men would all be dead before we were on the Zodiac. Everyone knew it. The dance was the same. There would be no collateral damage. There were no innocents. If they suffered first, no one would have nightmares. Not even me. And there would be no jokes. We weren’t psychopaths.

  A few muffled sounds came from the house. No shooting. I watched the road, making sure no one was coming our way. If a vehicle appeared, it could only be headed here or the lighthouse. No one did and we were soon assembled on the deck. I could tell Morgan and Luong had lost much of their cargo, but it was no time to ask why.

  Again, Morgan led the way off the deck and onto the rocks below. We weren’t so focused on remaining silent, speed being the objective. It took just minutes to reach the Zodiac, and we threw the gear in, Luong untying us and pushing off. There was no way to debrief with the 350 horses making us fly. I held on, hoping the yacking wouldn’t have enough stamina to keep my head over the side for the entire voyage.

  At Phan Thiet, we reversed our path, packing everything we had taken on our backs. Morgan took out an Ultima fighting knife with a terrifying serrated edge. He plunged the blade into the boat, watching as the air came out and the boat sank, engine and all.

  Back in the garage where the SUV was hidden, we unloaded, Hatati and me taking our places in the backseat. Very few words had been said. Now, Luong and Morgan stood at the front of the vehicle, a cell phone in the Night Snake’s hand. He punched in a number, looked at Luong who nodded, and hit the “Send” key. A few seconds of silence and the rumble of a distant explosion rippled across the water. Hatati smiled, and I knew part of the plan had been kept from me. Morgan must have left the bundles of C4 with a detonator synched to a mobile phone. The villa would be nothing but woodchips and glass shards now. Leaving the bomb behind was why he looked so skinny on the return.

  “I guess he didn’t care about the picture or the cobra,” I said softly to Hatati.

  “No,” she said. “He was the last. Except Nguyen. When he’s terminated, we’ll be leaving your beautiful country.”

  Luong opened the curtain, and, when it was pulled aside, he and Morgan slid into the front seat. We backed out and sped down the 1A toward Sai Gon. We wanted to get there well ahead of daylight and before the search for the saboteurs could be organized. So far, we were on schedule. Morgan turned around, his arm over the seatback, looking at Hatati. There was blood on his hand and shirt.

  “Are you OK?” he asked.

  “Yes. Even a weak woman can take care of herself,” she said, patting him on the shoulder like he was
a lost little boy. “I notice you didn’t ask the captain.”

  “Oh, glad you asked,” I said. “Other than the boat ride and depositing my banh mi in the sea, it was like most nights at Ma Jing’s. This is all a dream, right?”

  “’Fraid not, mook,” Morgan said. He held up his bloodied arm close to my face. “That red stuff came from Quang’s carotid artery. He got a little fidgety when Luong pulled the garrote tight around his neck. I had to help hold Quang still while he kicked out. The old bastard shit his pants, but I didn’t get any on me if you were about to ask about the smell. That’s the essence of Vietnam, not me.”

  “How many guards?” Hatati asked.

  “One by the front door,” Morgan said. “Luong took him out with a knife strike. I was right behind and helped the man to the ground. Luong and I decided they all needed to die or we probably wouldn’t make it out even if the CIA helped. Only one guard was awake inside, and he was reading a copy of Hot Asian Sluts in the basement bathroom. I wasted him and the one sleeping with the Hush Puppy. Upstairs, Luong took point. He can smell flatlanders and he led us straight to Quang. As agreed, Luong took it from there. Then we set the charges and met up with you for the scenic cruise back to Phan Biet. Pretty basic. It almost felt like no one cared enough to protect the old killer very well. Signs of the ‘New Vietnam.’”

  “No snags?” Hatati asked.

  “No,” Morgan said. “Went as planned.” He bent down and came back with something in his hand. “This is for you, Captain. Found it on the table beside Quang’s bed. I hear you guys believe in this stuff.”

  It was a horn. Curved like a scimitar and about a half-meter long, rough and pitted on the outside. Even in the darkness of the SUV, I was pretty sure it was from a rhino. Among all the other myths that seemed to sustain Vietnamese culture, this one had become extremely popular. For the rich of our classless society anyway. The folklore alleged that ground up rhino horn or edible chunks of skin and other bone could cure many ailments including fever, anxiety, boils, impotency, barrenness, and devil possession. Vietnam had become the world’s biggest client for these poached animals that were now nearing extinction. It was said a mature horn could bring as much as 250,000 USD or approximately 5,209,417,047 dong, based on the currency conversion rate that fluctuated by the minute.

  The rhino smugglers made a less lucrative living sneaking in heroin that, pound for pound, was areca nuts compared to rhinoceros parts. The going price in South Africa was about $10,000 for a snout. Even the diplomatic core had gotten involved. In 2008, Vu Moc Anh, an official at the Vietnamese Embassy in Pretoria, was caught by undercover cameras accepting rhino horn from a known trader. It was shown he had been involved in the illegal traffic for years and paid for his mansion outside Hue with the proceeds. Several times, the Saigon drug squad had arrested dealers who had quantities of heroin from the Golden Triangle and rhino parts for sale at the same time, the heroin going for the paltry sum of about $3,000 per kilo. I put the horn on my lap, knowing I would donate it to Nguyen Trung Kien, the leader of the Vietnamese Anti-Poaching League for use in his campaign to educate citizens on the absurdity of their fantasies.

  Along with the sale of rhino parts, Vietnam had lately been named the world’s biggest exporter of rare animals, birds, fish, and reptiles. The black market thrived on nearly extinct species, and there appeared to be no limit to the shameless slaughter as long as there was enough dong to pay for a country club membership, a yacht, and several mistresses. It had recently come to the public’s attention that the wealthy kept rare species in their home for fun. Like owning a stolen Picasso, it was a sign of their superiority in a land of equality.

  The thoughts of slaughtered rhinos had sobered me. Hatati, Luong, and Morgan continued to decompress while I wondered why dead animals meant more than dead Vietnamese. Easy. No rhinoceros had ever insulted, tortured, or discriminated against me. The beasts were helpless to the whims of those who carried the guns. I shook my head, knowing this line of thought wasn’t going to bring any further enlightenment.

  Outside, it remained dark on 1A with the occasional streetlamp highlighting a small store, mostly selling Coca-Cola and local handicrafts like bamboo carvings and painted ceramic bowls. As we approached Sai Gon, cars and cyclos appeared, most likely workers going home or leaving for morning shift work in the meat, fish, and flower markets. The closer we drove to the city, the more activity was apparent, allowing us to blend in with the early traffic.

  By the time we pulled into the underground garage at the safe house, the debriefing was over. We unloaded the SUV, taking all the gear upstairs to the apartment. Inside, we took turns cleaning up in the bathroom and changing clothes. The fridge was filled with cold Tiger bia, and we sat around the front room, toasting.

  Luong was the only one who didn’t act complete as far as the dead commissars went. It had to be about the woman H’Khar and the final act of vengeance in this chapter. Luong was crafting a book, a litany of dead Vietnamese devils he sent to eternity, and Nguyen would play a role. His mission wouldn’t be complete until H’Khar’s and the other’s murders were marked totally paid. There would be no celebration until then and probably never, since the Socialist Republic of Vietnam would still exist no matter Luong’s body count. He sipped the beer, unsmiling, and offered little to the conversation.

  From my vantage point, I could watch Morgan and Luong without ever letting the masterpiece of Hatati out of my sight. I watched her grin, laugh, cross those stunning legs, and touch Morgan warmly, jealous of this white man’s incredible luck. I’d once heard an ex-GI refer to his buddy as an “Opie-looking motherfucker,” finding out later it had to do with a popular American TV show in reruns on Video 4. Morgan looked nothing similar to that Opie, more like an older Willem Dafoe in Platoon, one of my favorite movies because there were lots of deaths on both sides. I listened to their banter, making an occasional comment, waiting for a chance to find out what I really wanted to know. Eventually, the conversation began to wind down and my opportunity came. I sat forward, looking straight at Morgan.

  “I’m mystified,” I said. “How did you ever happen upon a treasure like Hatati. Here, you would have to be worth a few trillion dong to be with such a gem. Are you rich?”

  They both nearly choked on their beer. Hatati nodded at Morgan, giving him permission to proceed.

  “She seduced me at a casino in London,” he said. “I believed she was a damsel in distress. I’m a sucker for that act.” He took another mouthful of Tiger. “In reality, she was working for MI6 and Nutley was her minder. I was totally fooled. She led me by the nose around the globe. Or maybe it was another body part.” He laughed, not in the least embarrassed. “Yes, I do think it was. Well, whatever, her and Nutley made sure I terminated a number of targets, both of their and my choosing. Luong played a part in the Vietnam incidents. Since then, we’ve been relaxing at my place on a tiny Greek island. That was until we got Luong’s call. As you know, I owe him many lives.”

  “Please excuse me,” I said, looking at Hatati, “but what is your version? You are obviously too good for this old man.”

  Even Luong chuckled.

  “The way he told it is true,” Hatati said. “I was paid to introduce myself. Otherwise, it would never have happened. He easily fell into my web. He is a very lonely man, and women have not been significant in his life.” She shook her head back and forth, long black hair swinging from side to side. I was about to faint. “I think he might have assassinated the queen if I asked.”

  The green eyes. Maybe the feature that put her in another universe. Of course she was the most stunningly beautiful woman I’d ever seen. I’d viewed thousands of gorgeous females in this age of the movies, magazines, porn, TV, and Internet, plus many in person. None had those eyes. It was as if the two most priceless dazzling emeralds in the world had been implanted in her face. Not even Miss Ireland’s could compare. Certainly, no one in Southeast Asia. I couldn’t take my eyes off hers.

  �
�Do you want the queen dead?” I asked. “I’ll do it.”

  More guffaws.

  “No,” Hatati said, “I’ve got my man.” She patted Morgan’s arm like he was a puppy.

  The satellite phone buzzed. Morgan had laid it on the end table beside him while we chatted like any four killers would after a successful massacre. Morgan picked the receiver up, pushing one button, and held the handset to his ear, not saying a word. He listened for a few seconds, his head bobbing up and down.

  “Roger that, twonk,” Morgan said. “And stop sucking on that Cohiba. You’re words get arsed up.” He glanced at Hatati, only a tiny smile bending his lips. “And thanks for all your help. Couldn’t have done it without you, mate.” He listened for a while, sitting back on the couch. “One more little piece of work and we’ll be back on Mykonos. We’ll keep that classified for now.” He pressed another key and set the phone back.

  “The gaffer’s chuffed that we’re staying on,” Morgan said, referring to Nutley and looking back and forth between Luong and Hatati. “I didn’t want to listen to him squeal. He thinks we’re in real danger of being caught and he doesn’t want us to grass on MI6.”

  “Those Brits,” Hatati said. “It’s always all about them. What that country needs is a few good dentists and a conscience.”

  “I’ve got holiday time due,” I said. “We could visit Big Ben. I’ve never been outside Vietnam and I love tea and fish and chips.”

  “Enough,” Luong said. The rest of us stiffened, surprised at his abruptness.

  “We have to plan how we are going to find Nguyen,” Luong said. “And kill him. Only then will I be able to enjoy your juvenile jokes.”

  “You’re partly right,” Morgan said. “We do need to start thinking about locating Nguyen. But I don’t believe you’ll ever be able to appreciate our kind of humor.”