Targets: A Vietnam War Novel

by Don McQuinn

  “It’s no big thing—he had me puckered, but I don’t think he was serious. There’d be nothing in it for him, you know?”

  “Maybe. For all you know, he’s thought up a way to set you up and turn a profit at the same time.”

  “Thanks. No, I think he’s gloating because he’s out and back in business.”

  “And you better watch yourself. Business would be a lot easier for him if you were dead.”

  “He knows better. I told him you’d even things up if anything happened to me.”

  Harker grinned wryly. “Well, shit. Goody. Now he’ll be looking for both of us.”

  “It’ll keep you alert.”

  Harker snapped his fingers. “Speaking of such fun things reminds me of something I forgot and meant to tell you before I got sidetracked. Tho worked over Tu. Want to guess what he learned?”

  “Tu’s the illegitimate son of Ho Chi Minh?”

  “Not even that. Tho gave him some of his best and Tu just kept screaming he’d never talk. He really wants to be a martyr.”

  “Then Tho’s his best friend.” Unobtrusively, Taylor moved his head closer to the guardrail, where he could pull the superheated air rising up the cliffside of the building through his nose and drown the smells oozing through his memory.

  Harker caught the sudden distance in Taylor’s eyes. It disturbed him. The more he thought about it, the more he decided the Major had been behaving differently for quite a while.

  He tried to put his finger on it. There wasn’t anything physical he could see, no nervous movements or habits. And the eyes were the same as he’d first seen them, volatile, changing all the time. But something was missing. He tossed the notion around for a bit and discarded it. Nothing was gone. Something was added. That was it. That would explain the change.

  The man wasn’t careful now, he was cautious. For all his professionalism when he first arrived, he seemed to be edging toward a fuller involvement in what was going on around him. It was as though he’d come to Vietnam prepared to do whatever was asked of him to the best of his ability, and in doing it, had learned to care how it turned out.

  It was amusing conjecture, but nothing to push. He was still a man to be treated with care. Harker decided to hoard his discovery and indulge in more harmless small talk.

  He asked, “When you were down in Vung Tau did you get a chance to drive around?”

  Taylor continued to stare down on the squirming mass of traffic. “No, we got out to the beach and that was about it.”

  “I just wondered.”

  “Why?”

  “I thought you might have been near Allen’s ranch.”

  Taylor’s head swung around and his brows drew together in a line. “His ranch? He’s shacking with someone in Vung Tau?”

  Harker’s stomach jumped, the surge that comes with recognizing a stupid error. He worked to be nonchalant.

  “Not really in Vung Tau. There’s a house they visit sometimes. You met her at the Cercle Sportif, remember? The woman with Mrs. Ly?”

  “For Christ’s sake, she’s married!” He balled a fist on the railing, looking as if he would strike at the city. “What’s wrong with him?”

  “Old story. Young wife, old husband.” He hurried on, nervousness tightening his voice. “They’re in love, Major. Really.”

  “Who gives a damn? Here we’re busting our butts to keep as far out of sight as possible and he’s making it with a married woman? Does Winter know any of this? He can’t know—he’d have fired Allen up-country long ago.”

  Silence fell over them, padded by the shuffling and bleating from the streets. Harker turned toward it, letting his eye carry down Nguyen Hue to the heavy brown river. The swamp-smell of it came to him at that moment, carried in on a cooling breeze. He turned back to Taylor.

  “I probably shouldn’t have told you, but you’d have learned pretty soon, anyhow. Mrs. Ly’s apartment’s in the same building as hers, Major. The first time you go see her in the new pad, you’ll probably hear the whole story from them.”

  “How long’s it been going on?”

  Relief loosened his muscles and Harker took a surprisingly welcome deep breath. The scenario was familiar now—Taylor grim, but trying to understand. When he was angry, he was a little frightening, as though all of his attention wasn’t necessarily concerned with a solution, but that part of him was straining to jump directly to the source of the problem and destroy it.

  “They’ve been together almost since Allen got here. She’s got it all set up to go to the States as soon as he rotates. Once she’s there, they’ll get married. She’s not a legal wife, Major. Once she’s out of here, her Colonel won’t be able to do a thing.”

  “How do you know she’s not another PX lover?”

  Harker blanched and struck back. “Is that what Mrs. Ly is?”

  Taylor’s face froze, then, “I deserved that. You think this deal is straight, do you? Allen and the woman—what’s her name?—they’re serious?”

  “Her name’s Dao, Le Thi Dao, and I’ve never seen two people more in love. Never saw anyone suffer so much for it, either. They’re good people. They don’t like this slipping around.”

  “The Old Man ought to know about it. He could get caught with his ass out.”

  “No chance. They’re too careful. Allen’s only got something over a month to do and then it’ll be all over.”

  Taylor squeezed the guardrail, making up his mind.

  “OK, I’ll go along. But it’s a mistake. If two people know anything in this place, it’s a cinch someone else knows it, too, and they’re just laying back waiting to use it for some kind of profit. I just hope Allen gets a drop and gets the hell out of here before the lid flies off.”

  Harker recognized the time to end the conversation. “You going back to the villa?”

  Taylor nodded, and they left for the elevator. “I’ve got to tell Winter about this thing with Trung,” the older man said, and Harker laughed.

  “I’d like to have been there to watch Trung being brave. And I’d like to see what old Winter does when he hears about it.”

  “You’ve got some sense of humor.” Taylor made himself grin and turned away to punch the elevator button, grateful for something to do that guaranteed Harker couldn’t see the anger swelling in him all over again.

  Chapter 29

  Willy and Ordway stopped at the corner, leaning against the wall of the Rex BOQ, watching the activity in the park that divided Nguyen Hue. To their right front, beyond the looming Vietnamese Marine Memorial, the Senate building cowered behind its concertina wire, an anti-climactic dot to the exclamation point of Le Loi Boulevard. Closer, the fountain at the intersection danced in the sun, its splashing a delight to the eye and denied to the ear by the traffic. A tired breeze brought them the smell of sunbaked dirt freshly watered. Miller paid no attention, but Ordway closed his eyes and was overwhelmed by memories of lawn sprinklers and shaded porches. His tension refused to be so easily dissuaded and his eyes popped open.

  “You see him?” he asked.

  “He said to be here. He’s around,” Miller answered, filtering apprehension from his voice. He thought of every name he’d ever heard and called them down on Mantell. Where the hell was he?

  A black trooper in fatigues approached them, his face half-hidden by huge reflective shades.

  “You Miller?”

  “Yeah. Who’re you?”

  “This your honky?”

  Ordway leaned away from the wall and half turned to Miller.

  “I told you this was a bunch of shit. I knew we’d run into a bunch of heads.” He turned back to the stranger. “You just blew it, asshole. The fucker you work for can’t move his stuff without Willy and Willy can’t do a fucking thing without me, and you piss me off. The deal’s a bummer.”

  Miller’s knees trembled. “What?”

  “I said fuck it, Willy. I don’t have to put up with this asshole, even if you want to. Fuck him!”

  “Hey, man,
hey, hey. Just be cool, man.” The trooper put a careful hand on Ordway’s shoulder. “I wasn’t thinkin’, you know? Like, I didn’t mean no harm. I didn’t know you was so tight with the brother here, you know? Just be cool.”

  Naked fear reverberated from the man’s manner. Miller had been there himself, known the feeling of looking down a tunnel with a beating waiting at the other end. Ordway had put them in good position.

  “It’s OK, buddy,” he said, playing the game. “He didn’t mean nothing. We can go along, see what’s on.”

  Ordway stepped away from the guide’s hand. “Keep your fucking hands to yourself.”

  Miller sidled a few inches closer to him, afraid to interfere and afraid Ordway would push too hard. “Let me handle it, OK?” He got between Ordway and the stranger. “What’s the deal?”

  “You follow me,” the man said, glad to deal with Miller. “Let me get ten, fifteen yards ahead and you follow. Don’t make no signals and don’t go lookin’ around. Anything funny and we got people around to put a stop to it.”

  “Anything funny?” Miller was contemptuous. “Shee-it. We’re here to take care of business, man. Go ahead and take your lead. We’ll be behind you.”

  The man moved off, to any observer no more than another GI enjoying some free time in the city. Miller and Ordway trailed him, wondering how many of the eyes on the street were watching them, wondering which window or vehicle might hide an aimed gun. They tried to make conversation for a block, but by the time they reached the intersection at the end of Nguyen Hue, both were grateful the other had run out of things to say.

  They were led in a complete round of the block, turning on Le Thanh Ton toward the towering steeple of the Catholic church in Kennedy Square until they intersected Tu Do. Turning right again, they moved toward the Senate building and the Caravelle Hotel. Right again on Le Loi, they passed the Marine statue. At the Nguyen Hue corner, the trooper waited for them to catch up.

  “Everything’s cool,” he said. “You wait here. Be a van come along in a minute. You get in the back.”

  “How do we know it?” Miller asked.

  “You don’t.” The man grinned and a gold tooth sang in the sunlight. “We know you. The man’ll call you.”

  Watching him leave, Miller said, “You scared me to death, you crazy hillbilly.”

  “Us southern boys know how to handle uppity niggers.” Ordway buffed his nails on his jacket.

  Miller shook his head.

  When they heard the voice call out “Miller!” they both jumped. Another black leaned across the front seat of a Navy gray van, gesturing. They trotted across the sidewalk and climbed in the back. The voice from the front shouted “Close it!” and Miller did. They were in darkness immediately, a partition between them and the driver, and the rear windows painted out. Over the sound of impatient honking a key grated in the lock outside. They barely got planted on the benches against the walls when the machine jerked into motion.

  The ride seemed interminable. Miller agonized in the hot-metal darkness, afraid for Ordway. Imagining the things that could happen to them if anything went wrong, he looked at his thoughts as objectively as possible and conceded that an unworthy part of his fear was purely for himself. Bouncing and pitching, he kept reminding himself that getting inside a major drug operation was worth any risk. They were into their big step. Without it, their best bust would be Mantell.

  He noticed the van was moving differently, with a pattern shaping up. First, a dead stop, then a steady acceleration, a steady deceleration, and another stop. Residential patterns. They were out of the main part of town and moving on a long street with less traffic and regular intersections.

  The movement stopped, as though even that slim notion of location was too much. They bounced harder, despite slowing to a bare crawl. Miller was sure it was an alley and congratulated his judgement when the van stopped to make a slow torturous turn. A noise behind them could only be the closing of a gate. The next noise was garage doors slamming. The back of the van opened and the driver was ushering them out. Another man, Vietnamese, watched with eyes as unrevealing as the M-16 leveled across his forearm while the driver checked them for weapons. Satisfied, he indicated a paneled door and shoved them toward it, using just enough force to overcome their inertia.

  Taking the lead, Miller pushed through and stepped into the room beyond. He stopped so suddenly Ordway bumped him from behind. Jammed in the doorway, they both goggled at the scene before them.

  A naked man, his body polished with sweat, sat on the only furniture in the room, a bed with no legs. The man was black, color and size startling against the sheets. His back was against the wall, legs flat in front of him. The lap formed was occupied by a tiny naked woman, her shining black hair barely even with the man’s lips. Twin lamps flanked the bed, providing the only light, enough for the two arrivals to see there were no windows and only one other door. Nor was there paint or wallpaper. Every surface inch except the floor was totally covered with pictures of women, ranging from centerfolds to the clinically obscene.

  The girl on the man’s lap smiled greeting with a dazed mindlessness. The man laughed throatily, twisting the taut breast nearest Miller and Ordway to aim the nipple at them.

  “Don’t move, cats. Got you covered.”

  He threw back his head and bayed amusement at the ceiling. The girl looked slowly back to him and burst into childish laughter with him before looking down at the hand still gripping her. She had difficulty focusing and seemed puzzled by what she saw. Relocating the two men in the doorway proved just as difficult and when she accomplished it, she laughed again, as happily as before.

  The unreality of the thing set off a hum in Miller’s ears. He inhaled to steady himself and was hammered by the sweet, thick smell, a composite of hash, tobacco, sweat, and sex. He had an almost instant erection and perspiration washed his face as he tried to think away the swelling in his trousers.

  The man on the bed boosted the woman to her feet and slapped her rump. She struggled to balance.

  “Run along, baby,” the man said, never taking his eyes from Miller. “I got business. Go do something.”

  She wobbled across the mattress, her stability only slightly improved when she reached the harder surface of the floor. She was still smiling as she left.

  “Pretty.” The word snapped Miller’s and Ordway’s attention away from her and back to him. “Startin’ to run down, though. Oriental chicks can’t handle hard shit. Don’t take long, and it’s all they little heads got left. She be on the street earnin’ her keep in a little while. Plenty to take her place.”

  Miller nodded, totally dumb.

  The man took his silence to be impatience. “Not much for small talk, are you? All right. You been sayin’ you can get my stuff back to the States. How much?”

  With his crotch finally under control, Miller could act more sure of himself. “We got a system. But I don’t know your name. I can’t say, ‘Hey, you,’ all the time.”

  “That’s good for now. When I think you need my name, I’ll tell you. What’s your deal?”

  Miller shrugged and started again. “My cousin’s an officer on a merchant ship. Ordway’s uncle owns a couple gift shops in New Orleans and Miami. He’s ready to branch out into import-export and Ordway’s gonna handle that part of the business, OK? So the deal is, we pick up the stuff and get it into the States.”

  “That’s what I heard. My man said all you wanted was to be in the middle.”

  A chill tiptoed on Miller’s neck. Carefully, he said, “That’s what I told him.”

  The bulky torso pulled away from the wall. “Say what?”

  “I told him we could move it. How you pay for us movin’ it is something we got to talk about.”

  “I knew there’d be fuckin’ jive in this.”

  Miller found a smile. “There’s room for everybody.”

  “Room to do what?”

  “Deal a little. See, me and Ordway, we got friends in a coupl
e of towns. We want paid in merchandise.”

  “I pay you with my stuff so you can deal against me? What the fuck’s wrong with you? Think I set myself up like this bein’ stupid?” He swept a thick arm in an arc taking in the room.

  “We don’t want to work your territory.” Ordway stepped forward a pace. “We can agree on what’s yours and what’s ours. You can’t sell to the whole country.”

  The man finally got to his feet. He was taller than either of them and young. Miller guessed him to be no more than twenty-five, but the stomach was beginning to round and the muscles across his chest were acquiring a smoothness that could only be fat. Enough tone remained in the body to give him a certain grace as he stepped off the mattress.

  “I’m gonna give it one helluva try,” he said, holding up a clenched fist. “I am that tight with the zipper-heads in Thailand and Laos and them Chinese dudes up in Burma. They have all done business with me, face to face, and they knows I pays cash and I pays now and they ain’t no shit in my action. They trusts me.”

  “You trust them?” Miller asked.

  “Gooks? Fuck no, man.”

  “That’s what I figured. And that’s why I figured you’d want to keep out of the shipping end of the operation. It’s the trickiest part. We’ll handle it and be happy with a little territory of our own.”

  Pacing, scratching, the man muttered to himself, shooting baleful glares at Miller and Ordway until he appeared to have come to a decision.

  “How much you figure to charge to get the stuff in?”

  “Twenty-five percent of the weight.”

  The man’s eyes bulged. “What?” He took a step toward them. “Fool, you think I been lookin’ down guns for a fuckin’ year so I could get ripped by a couple jive assholes? Get outta here ‘fore I have somebody break you an arm. Go on, git!”

  Miller turned to Ordway. “I don’t think he’ll go for twenty-five.” Ordway refused to look away from the man, who suddenly flung himself back on the bed, laughing.

  “Cool,” he said. “Good. OK, let’s quit shuckin’. You make me believe you can do it and you can skim two percent off each shipment. And you can sell at my price in Miami or New Orleans.”