by Don McQuinn
He let the springs of the chair bring him upright and met Taylor’s eyes.
“You know we went on borrowed time when we didn’t eliminate Trung. The stateside move to cancel our replacements finished us. I’m going to let Harker work with Tho, backtracking to see what they can learn about the woman Duc was to meet. Personally, I’m convinced she was eliminated as a threat to her former lover and Duc blundered in on it. That means Tho’s in charge of the investigation and you’re not to take things in your own hands. I’ll have your word on it, or you’re out.”
Taylor managed a half-smile. “You’ve got my word. But when we get our hands on whoever did it, I won’t promise a thing if the deal gets blown again.”
“What, blown? What’re you telling me?”
“You said it yourself. We let Trung buffalo us and Duc was stirring around in his act and now Duc’s dead. I believe the woman was a VC hit, too, and Trung may be in that somewhere. Regardless of who it is, if you can’t get him taken down, I’m not promising you I won’t do it myself.”
“I know how you feel.” Winter closed his eyes, and Taylor wondered if it was to avoid looking at a world where men sat and spoke of hunting other men.
“Know this,” he went on. “If you do anything without my approval, you do it with no support. You follow me?”
Taylor’s quiet laugh sent heat through Winter’s whole body, and he looked away to avoid saying something premature.
The younger man said, “I’m disappointed in the Colonel. I know the difference between murdering and killing.”
Winter said, “I know who you are and what you are, Tay, God help us both. I’ll be on your side if you’ll let me.”
After a pause, Taylor said, “Sorry. Again. I’ve worked with some other people and they looked at things differently.”
Winter felt the heat receding and made a mental note to thank Loc for his training, come morning.
He said, “A lot of people see our business in a different light. You may have noticed.”
Taylor’s laughter was softer this time and what little amusement there was in it conjured pictures of things that had been good and were not to be recaptured.
“I don’t know,” he said, “sometimes I think there’s something really wrong with me. Hell, I know I’m different. But, like the other night, I overheard some aviators talking about lighting off villages and cruising around looking for elephants to strafe. They’ll go home with a sack full of Air Medals and if I come unglued and drop the hammer on Trung they’ll put me in the brig for good. I’m the heavy in the piece and I’m the one whose blood freezes when I think about naping a bunch of huts and not even knowing who’s in them.”
Winter said, “Well, we better both get some sleep. Things are going to be rough for a while. In the meantime, you’ll let me know whenever you find the answer to whatever your question is, won’t you?”
Chapter 43
Lieutenant Colonel Carl Denby strode the yellow corridors of MACV Headquarters and marveled to himself how fear makes a man of action of anyone.
If Winter wanted a bust, he’d get his bust.
He introduced himself to Major Rowan, a pleasant looking man of average height, sandy hair and fair coloring, frank blue eyes and a faint crescent scar under his right cheekbone. He looked less like a renegade than anyone Denby had seen all morning.
The Major was quizzically amused by Denby’s insistence on privacy, as if he suspected a joke. Denby warmed inside, thinking of the damage his accusations would do to that ingenuous smile. The Major and his score of co-workers labored in a calm office of pastel green plasterboard festooned with charts, graphs, pictures, and carefully tended short-timer calendars. Shooing away a Sergeant, Major Rowan offered his guest the vacated desk chair and prepared himself in his own.
“Now, then, Colonel, what can I do for you? Is this a security clearance interview?”
Denby looked at him from the corner of his eye. “What makes you think there’s a security matter involved, Major?”
He disliked Rowan, despite his friendliness. He had the wiry look of a man who’d do physical things with ease and grace. And he wasn’t intimidated at all.
He said, “If we’re not discussing someone’s security clearance, why are we worried about our own security, Colonel? I’m sure I don’t handle much classified information on this job.” He flipped a hand to indicate the office space.
“I’m not here to talk about military security. Not that kind, at any rate. I’m here to talk about currency violations, black market, drugs—that sort of thing. Do you know anything about those things, Major?”
“Me?” Rowan was at a loss. “Me? I don’t understand, Colonel. Are you sure you’ve got the right man?” He raised his hand to the name sewn on his jacket. “I’m Rowan.” He spelled it out.
Denby was certain he was being mocked and he smiled to cover rising anger.
“I’m sure I’m speaking to the right man. In fact, the only reason we haven’t talked this over with you before is because we wanted to watch you and learn who your friends are. You’re due to go home in less than a week, aren’t you? Got a drop, I understand.”
“Yes, sir. Leave in three days, to be exact.”
Denby’s smile broadened. “What if I told you we may have to hold you over for investigation?”
Rowan winced. “I don’t think that’d be a good idea, Colonel. After all, if I was doing something illegal and you know all about it, why would you be doing more investigating? And I’m anxious to go home, Colonel. I don’t think I’d be willing to stay here beyond my RTD unless I was under arrest. Are you here to arrest me, sir?”
“Not yet!” Denby snapped and immediately wished he hadn’t. He tried to compensate by looking superior. “Arresting you would mean bad publicity. It’s the Viets we really want. We can make a big issue of breaking up an operation that’s been damaging our effort here, hurting our people. I’m here to offer you a chance to get out. Cooperate, and we’ll keep you out of it.”
Rowan smiled, apologetic. “I’m not in anything, Colonel. I don’t know anything about any of this. I haven’t sent home a single money order. I don’t own anything in Vietnam. If I’ve done anything wrong, it’s messing with the girls out on Plantation Road. I can’t believe you investigate everyone who crawls into the wrong sack. And that’s another thing, Colonel. You never showed me any identification. Here I’ve confessed my extra-marital activities and I don’t even know where you’re from. CID? CI? MPs? What outfit, Colonel? Just for the record.”
Denby rose, too furious to try to control the tremor in his voice. “We misjudged you, Major, but that makes us even, because you’ve misjudged us. We’re going to blow this mess away, and you with it. You’ll be hearing from us soon. I’ll be in touch, you better believe.”
Barging past, he nearly struck out at the imperturbable face. He was close enough to smell the man’s cologne, a pine scent. His thoughts were already spinning wildly and the aroma switched his mind to the memory of a summer at a Maine resort. The perfume profaned what had been a treasured vacation. It raised a lump in his throat.
It had gone terribly, he conceded as he retreated back the way he had come. The halls stretched interminably, a set from a bad psychodrama. People looked at him as he passed and although they continued on about their business as if he wasn’t there, he couldn’t dislodge the impression they were all speculating on his future. The closed office doors seemed to speak a particular message to him.
Stepping into the parking lot exposed him to a heat point-blank from the sun. Perspiration sluiced his back and waistline. There was an energetic volleyball game to his right and it offended him with its careless enjoyment. He practically staggered back into the comfort of the building, resting against the wall to be soothed by the smell of hot sweet grease from the cafeteria down the hall. He wrenched his thoughts from it and walked. Without intent and no idea of time passed, he looked up to discover he was only a few doors from Earl’s department.<
br />
Earl’s first look at Denby brought him to his feet with concern. He took his guest by the elbow and ushered him into his private office. The handsome features grew more troubled as Denby allowed himself to be guided uncaring to a seat.
“Carl, you look like you’ve caught something. Why are you wandering around here? You should be seeing a doctor!”
Denby clutched the last word, feeling his listlessness fall from him. “It’s not me that needs a doctor, it’s that madman Winter! He’s going to ruin all of us!”
“Ruin? How?”
Denby shook his head and stared out the window. “He’s got the idea he can smash the drug traffic here and he’s apparently got something to go on. You know what that means. He’s like a runaway truck. God knows who’ll get trampled before he’s done.”
“Exactly what’s he planning?”
“You know better than that.” Denby found a sad smile, lending it reality by thinking how close he was to disaster. “He never tells anyone his plans and if I knew them, it’d be disloyal for me to discuss them. But I can tell you he sent me over here on a wild-goose chase today to talk to some Major he suspects has been hanging out in a place where drugs are sold. God, I was embarrassed! The guy didn’t have any idea what I was talking about, and he’s only got three days to do! What a going-away present from a grateful command, hey?”
“That’s rotten. If he’s outside his legal limits again, there could be real trouble. The command’s more upset about drugs than anything else. There could be a real hassle if he’s interfering with someone else’s area of responsibility.”
“You think I haven’t thought of that? I can see my career hanging by a thread.” He looked back out the window and sighed. “I don’t know. I’m glad I’m able to retire soon, ‘cause he’ll see that I’m never promoted.”
Earl moved and Denby wanted desperately to see what he was doing but felt obliged to maintain his pose. Then he heard the tattoo of a pencil on the desk. It was such a mundane action, and he’d attached so much significance to what it might be. He asked himself what he expected and had no answers and wondered if his mind was actually being affected by the stress. A muscle twitched in his lower back. The pencil continued to patter, the sound becoming maddening.
He wished he hadn’t thought of that word.
Earl said, “I’ve got some important friends, Carl. Let’s not spar now. The thing is, I can help you. People like Winter and the private-army, clandestine-ops mentality are our greatest menace. We’re living in a world that needs peace in order for the Third World to develop. His kind’ll always fight that, foment trouble, resist any change, any progress. His time’s past. The answer today is political. Military confrontation’s a last gasp and the nuke’s our only possible answer to our only genuine threat. We can’t get involved in in-house squabbles like Vietnam. People like us, the officer corps with the political overview, have an obligation to protect the country from the glory hounds. I’m asking you plainly to help me neutralize Winter on this deal. Not to hurt him in any way, but to insure he doesn’t get us into another ugly argument with the Vietnamese government over some stupid drug crusade.”
It was a wonder to Denby that a heart that knew only desolation a few short minutes ago could withstand such joy. He was saved!
Saved? Christ Almighty, he was anointed! If Earl had friends who could trip an old gray eminence like Winter, he had the world by the balls!
He studied his knuckles, hands meshed, hoping Earl would see the white knuckles and glowing red fingertips and recognize the signs of strain. He hoped Earl would assume the strain was the result of conscience and not understand he was seeing a man strangle exhilaration.
When he was sure of his control, Denby said, “I know what you’re saying’s right, but it’s hard to think of him turned out to pasture.”
“Not our problem.” Earl shook his head in a determined negative and Denby thrilled at the inclusive pronoun. “We’re not putting him to pasture or anything else. We’re insulating him, making sure he doesn’t interfere with things outside his scope. If he makes trouble and it falls back on him, it won’t be our doing.”
They shook hands, Denby initiating the move. He said, “It takes guts to think out a problem and face the answer. I have to say, I’m unhappy about some of your conclusions, but in the main, you summarized my own idea. I hope we can both work together now and in the future.”
Earl settled for a smile and a nod. At the sight of the departing broad body, the vagrant thought came to him that, between personalities like Winter and Denby, he was most attracted to the one he could not attract as an adherent. He brushed dust from his desk and reminded himself that personality—nor appearance—was any criteria. Logic was what mattered, the application of cold logic.
* * *
Major Rowan stepped off the bus in the BOQ compound and moved indoors with the herd where he idled by the reception desk, watching occupants disperse to rooms. No one paid any particular attention to him, as he expected. Satisfied, he hurried to his own room and changed to civilian clothes and returned to the street. He flagged a Bluebird and after a short ride to check for a surveillance he was certain was nonexistent, he went directly to his bar. Only a couple of the girls were present. They waved and immediately re-established their watch on the door. Four Navy SEALs, already drunk, were the only customers. They leaned toward each other across their table, a human pyramid of mumbling conversation in the rank-smelling darkness. Rowan was glad he’d never felt obliged to drink in the place.
His Vietnamese partner’s eyebrows drifted upward when he saw him.
“Not think you come back no more,” he greeted him.
“Trouble,” Rowan said bluntly. “Beaucoup trouble maybe. American Lieutenant Colonel come my office today, say I must tell him about business—money, drugs, all. He know nothing, full of shit, OK? But I think maybe he know Mantell, Mantell boss.”
“I not think he know Lenemann. Not many people know.”
Rowan shrugged. “I not give one rat-fuck for them. If caught, they talk about sell here, be plenty police. You see they get word somebody talk too much, OK? Then they owe you, me.”
The partner winked slyly. “I fix.”
Stepping around him, Rowan maneuvered past the battered tables and through the noisome hallway to the back door. He inhaled heavily the evening air that was fresh by comparison and wondered how long it would be before his partner would get up nerve enough to freeze him out. He sighed philosophically. It’d been a good deal while it lasted. He walked away briskly, dismissing that which he couldn’t control and turned to debating a filet for dinner or the rib-eye.
* * *
A sudden apprehension flooded Sergeant Chi when the phone rang and he stared at it until the second ring snapped him out of his immobility. He answered gruffly, expecting trouble.
Without introduction a voice said, “I am calling about your loan request. The company you wished to invest in is dissatisfied with their newest executive. I remember you were concerned as well. If they let him go, it could affect our position.”
Chi’s brow ridged. “Loan? Company? What are you talking about?”
The voice was at once suspicious and hesitant. It said, “You have not spoken to us about a loan?”
Chi merely snorted and the voice chilled. “I apologize for bothering you.” The connection clicked off.
Lowering the instrument slowly, Chi closed his eyes and tried to sort things out.
So his cousin had been asked to do a further check on Miller. Had Lenemann found out about Miller and was now trying to learn how he’d been tricked? If so, not only was Miller in grave danger, but so was the cousin and, inevitably, himself. He balled his fists and hunched his shoulders, wishing the problem had a physical form he could grab.
He asked Tho if he might be excused for a few minutes and when Tho approved, hurried down the stairs and along the hall to Miller’s office. He stopped short of the door, his face a caricature of partial
ly hidden confusion.
He had to know more and without revealing his own knowledge. He pounded a leg in frustration, envying Tho’s clever, treacherous words that said nothing and made others say anything. He braced himself and entered.
Miller looked up and Chi immediately read the black man’s tension. Still, there was a pleased look about him. The earlier apprehension flew from Chi like a released arrow and he reminded himself that a happy subject was a talkative subject.
“Sit down, sit down,” Miller said, hands and head combining in animated gestures. “They came to me last night, the one named Mantell? And they want the deal! It’s gonna work, Chi! We got ‘em, baby!”
Chi smiled back, carefully absorbing the details as they poured from Miller. He was pleasantly surprised to learn Ordway had arranged for real people to fill the roles of the players in the scheme, which would convince Lenemann or his informants in America the plan was genuine until it was too late.
It was doomed though, he told himself with genuine regret. As a plan, it was excellent, but it suffered a flaw they couldn’t foresee or correct if it were pointed out.
Trust. The Americans, almost without exception, had an amazing capacity for trusting other people. It was a pity, because a person could grow fond of them and they were always sure to be hurt. It was as bad as having a child whose wits were poor. No matter how much a man loved such a child, he’d never provide support in a father’s old age. It was natural to protect him, but when a sacrifice was necessary, a man was obligated to strength. To live in this world you protected yourself and the people who could help you.
* * *
Mantell welcomed Miller with a power greeting and they went into the bar together.
Chi, in slacks and sport shirt, gestured to the left and the similarly dressed man on the motorcycle next to his banked across the oncoming traffic and up a side street. Chi followed, pulling up next to him and cutting his engine. The other man stopped, as well.
Chi said, “You will watch from the next corner. If they come out this door, come for me immediately. I will be in the back. Do not look for me. Ride down the street and I will see you and follow. You will identify their vehicle, if they leave that way, and then you will leave. As soon as you are certain I am following the right people, go home. You understand?”