Targets: A Vietnam War Novel

by Don McQuinn

  Winter turned away and opened the door. The others followed.

  Taylor went eagerly, still thinking sanctuary. The first thing to strike his eye was the refrigerator and the GI can. His imagination brought back Miller’s lithe angularity, taut with anticipation as one of his never-ending succession of soft-drink cans arced almost to the ceiling before sloping down to clash among the rest in the trash.

  Goddam them for what they did to you, your poor broken legs and arms and the ribs and how many of those white, white teeth did they break off, kick out? The docs said they’d make you good as new again, Willy, and I pray they do and we catch the people who did it to you and I can give you their fucking heads to shoot baskets with.

  He was staring into the hall space when Winter, from half-way to the second floor said, “Come up to the office. It echoes like a cave down there now.”

  “I hate it,” Harker said, following him. “I was going to ask if we could move into Denby’s office when he’s gone.”

  An infinitesimal move of Winter’s head caught Taylor’s eye, either an involuntary movement brought on by Harker’s suggestion or a mis-step on the stairs. He opted for the former. There was a feeling of fluctuation around Winter, like a cornerback who’s lost a step. One day he plays his normal game and the next he’s terrified he’s going to get burned and the only thing he can think of is playing for the interception. The attitude was a mistake for Winter, but a natural one. He’d had high plans.

  In the office they watched as he puttered with a coffeepot, the ritual clearly serving to relax him. He was smiling when he finished and sat at his desk.

  “Well, there’s no sense in wasting the little time we have left. As soon as you’re gone, Tay, I’m recommending Harker be transferred to Special Operations Group. He’s worked with them enough to fit right in. In the meantime, I’m detailing you to police up our records. Select what you think we should pass on to other agencies and destroy everything else, unless it has possible historical value. But remember, data concerning the cover function only.”

  “Wait a minute.” Taylor made no effort to gloss his irritation. “What about the investigation for Duc’s killer?”

  “Harker’s covering that.” Winter looked away.

  “And Willy? We just duck our heads and let whoever did it keep on taking care of business? What’s going on? A year ago we’d have been out kicking asses and taking names and we’d have forced something. What’s going on?”

  Winter continued to look around the room, eyes swift and uncatchable as mosquitoes. “A year ago you weren’t short. And there’s Ly to think about.”

  “Think what? Don’t try to put this on her. Listen, I’m not leaving here looking over my shoulder and wondering if I did my best. Duc and Miller were part of our outfit! I’ll be goddam if I’ll just walk away from them!”

  For an instant Winter’s eyes stopped and riveted themselves to Taylor’s. They gave no clue of the mind behind them.

  “I’m aware of the men in my command, Major, and I’m aware of our losses. You were persuaded to join us after you had once decided to something less than your best here.” His eyes flitted off again. “Why am I mad at you? You haven’t enough time to find Duc’s killer or prove anything against anyone who was involved in Miller’s beating. We can’t even guess who killed the two animals with him, for Christ’s sake! What’re you going to do in the time you’ve got left? Harker’s working on Duc’s contacts. There’s only enough work for one man. You’ve turned up nothing. And those files have to be sanitized. It’s my decision.”

  “So I finish my tour doing exactly what I expected to do here, shoving fucking papers around?”

  “That’s the way it’s going to be.”

  An answer died in Taylor’s throat at the muffled knock on the door. He recognized the style and turned to watch Denby’s entrance. He couldn’t understand why he felt pleased to see him until he realized the knock had stopped him from saying something stupid to a friend.

  “Well, it’s our shortest-timer,” Winter said, his own gratitude for the interruption apparent. “I was just telling Taylor I want him to go through our files. When can you brief him and sign off on classified?”

  Denby had remained posed with just the grinning face showing and now the body followed it in. “Shouldn’t take more than a few hours.” He nodded and the reflected light from his glasses leaped up and down the wall behind Winter.

  “Fine, fine.” Winter smiled for Harker and Taylor. “You two excuse us for a while, will you? I have to talk to Carl about some business.”

  Harker was up and gone quickly, clearly glad to leave the stress of the earlier confrontation behind. Taylor left more slowly, reluctant to concede. Harker waited for him in the hall and pushed the door shut as soon as he was clear.

  “Hey, man, I’m sorry the Old Man dumped on you. I’ll keep you in on the deal, you know? If I get lucky and things start to happen, I’ll need all the help I can get. And I don’t give a shit how short you are. I’m not taking a chance on getting my ass shot off because you’re RTD’s up.”

  Taylor dropped a hand on the muscular shoulder as they went down the stairs. “You’re all heart. But, you know, it’s the truth. I’ll go nuts if I just sit out these last few weeks.” He pulled his hand away and his voice softened. “There was a man in my platoon in Korea, due to go home the next day. We had a patrol going out that night, a nasty one. I scratched his name off the roster and he came to me practically in tears. Said he’d never forgive himself if something happened to one of his buddies, he’d always believe he could’ve done something if he’d been there.”

  “What’d you do?”

  “Sent the silly bastard on patrol, what else?”

  “He make it?”

  “Everybody made it. Lot of the troops thought he brought them good luck.”

  “He ought to be here.” At Taylor’s look, Harker added. “We need some luck. Nothing’s happening. I’m beginning to think the Old Man may have said it, maybe Duc ran into a plain murder. I can’t find a clue.”

  Taylor shook his head, turning off at his office. “I don’t think so, and neither does he, but I don’t care. I want whoever did it, and never mind their reasons.”

  He flopped into his chair without asking Harker in and the younger man took the hint, moving off toward his own work space. He hurried. The echo of each footfall rushed away, sought out an office and fled through the door. Once inside, it was absorbed by dead space. Harker listened to what was going on and it made him uneasy.

  * * *

  Winter listened to Denby’s nervous small talk as long as he could, interrupting in the middle of a description of the inefficiency of the household goods packers.

  “Carl, are you sure there isn’t something you want to tell me?”

  Moisture beaded Denby’s forehead as if sprayed there. He screwed his face into a complex frown and shook his head. “I can’t think—I can’t imagine—”

  “Oh, Carl.” Winter chided easily. “We know each other too well. You can always think. You can always imagine. I’m very curious to know what you’ve learned about Miller’s free-lance effort. You were going to phone Ordway.”

  A happy smile swept away the corrugations. “I did. Yes, I did, and I meant to tell you, but I’ve been so busy— Have you seen that telephone thing in the basement? Those lights flashing and clocks and God-knows-what? It’s like science fiction! They put my call through to that nothing town—”

  “I’ve seen it work,” Winter broke in. “What did you learn?”

  “Right. Sorry. They had a plan. I had to keep the conversation in general terms, you know, and Ordway understood that, and he was cooperative. They were working together, Ordway making the arrangements in the States and Miller doing the work here. I gathered the idea was to set up a fake buy. Very amateurishly.”

  “I wonder why Miller never mentioned it to you before what happened to him and why he wouldn’t talk about it after. Not that he’s been able to
say much, yet.”

  “He didn’t say anything to me because he knew I’d put a stop to it.” Winter shifted and Denby hurriedly added, “I told him I was working on the idea that the Army should avoid this kind of investigation, should get someone else to actually conduct it and we simply cooperate. As I told you, if the investigation works, we look good for being helpful and if it fails the other organization wears the egg on its face. I gave Miller enough to do, told him to maintain a surveillance of the place and a log of all Americans who appeared to be suspicious. I haven’t seen any sign of it.”

  “I remember all that, Carl. You were very eloquent when you brought in your plan and I believe it’ll work out as you’ve said. I still feel we’ve overlooked something, you and I. You’re sure you can’t think of something you ought to be telling me? It could be a little thing, as minor as a conversation you’ve neglected to mention.”

  “I can’t think of any.” The chair squeaked derisively as he moved.

  “I was wondering. I hope you’ll think about it between now and the time you leave. To tell you the truth, when you came up with your plan only the day after Miller was beaten, I hoped you had a real blood-and-thunder epic so we could arrange for some people to die. I really wanted that.”

  When he said it, he smiled at Denby as if springing a pleasant surprise. He continued, “As soon as I saw what you’d been leading up to, I changed my mind. Your way’s far better. Our Major’s fat and happy, certain he’s gotten away clean. I’ve got some good friends in the IRS—retired types. They’ll give that bastard special attention. It’ll take time, but that’s all the better. Think how it’ll feel to have them hit him after so long. Christ, it’ll gut-shoot him! I have to hand it to you. If he wasn’t such scum, I’d say you were being cruel to think of it, Carl, I really would.”

  One of Denby’s pudgy hands crept past his smile and lifted his glasses off. He blinked rapidly while he polished them.

  “I’m glad you liked the plan, Colonel,” he said, “and I wish I’d been able to convince Miller to play it my way. I couldn’t give him all the details, so he must have decided I wasn’t doing enough.”

  “Maybe you’ll have a chance to talk to him and explain again. When he gets back to the States, that is. And speaking of that, I’ll bet anything that when the Major starts talking he can give us some names and leads that’ll take us to the people who worked Miller over. They’ll be sure they’ve gotten away with it by then, too. Oh, yes. The waiting and finally deciding they’ve made it, and then we nail them!”

  As he spoke the last words, Winter raised a hand until it was level with his shoulder and drove a clenched fist onto the top of the desk. Even knowing it was coming, Denby jumped and when he went to put his glasses back on he had trouble getting them straight. There were sweaty fingerprints on both lenses by the time he was done. He got to his feet.

  “Well, sir, I’m glad you were satisfied. I don’t mind telling you, I was afraid you’d be all over me for not planning something more aggressive.” The heartiness in his voice improved as he continued until it was like a camouflage job that’s been overdone and tends to draw the eye.

  “We’ll be aggressive, when the time comes.” Winter turned on the happy smile again. “Now, you go on getting ready to go home.”

  Denby spun and hurried from the room. Winter watched the door inch shut, amused that the man would hold to such an insignificant mannerism when he was clearly strung tight as a drumhead.

  A few moments later he lowered his head to his extended fingertips, rocking slightly, massaging.

  Why couldn’t he shake the suspicion that a connection existed between Miller’s assault and the practically immediate appearance of Denby’s all-bases-covered op plan?

  Coincidence?

  He made a sound in his throat and closed his eyes in exasperation, thinking how close he was to talking to himself.

  There were no coincidences in this business. There was a reason, always. He’d grown old playing with the same marked deck and there were no accidents in it.

  He stared at the door as if it could open and release the answers.

  Well, he hadn’t lied to Denby, and the toady wart was nervous as hell about something. Probably still counting his blessings because his op plan was approved after he’d stalled so long he’d never have a chance to recover if it was turned down. It did have cunning and when it worked, it’d go off like a grenade in a straddle-pit.

  He decided that was probably the happiest thought he’d manage for this day and determined to put off until tomorrow his opening gambit with the General toward establishing a new organization.

  Chapter 45

  Tuyet inspected her fingernails for what she suspected was the hundredth time and looked away without completing the job, knowing they were as perfect as they had been the ninety-ninth time. She let her gaze sweep the Friendly Bar inhabitants—four girls at the bar, two more working on a couple of soldiers in a booth, and herself, alone.

  Alone. The word triggered a sigh. The concept triggered a shudder. She tried to dismiss it with a shake of her head, but the tug of her hair tumbling down her back brought a contrary response and the fear of being alone swept over her more strongly than ever.

  She asked herself if she was in love and couldn’t answer.

  He was a good man, gentle. He knew what she was and said he didn’t care. But did he really know? Would he never care? And how would she stand it when he finally decided he didn’t want a whore for a wife?

  And how could anyone live in America?

  Her eyes burned and the tears tried to come again, the ones that always came when she thought about marrying. She could be a good wife, as good as any man could want, but who would let her? There had never been a chance, and now what man would believe her mind rested in a corner and watched while they pushed themselves into her and her body moved and her mouth said things they wanted to hear and she was nowhere near them?

  Until now. Until this ordinary man spoke to her and caught her mind as easily as a boy picking a mango.

  She walked to the bathroom, careful to look as controlled as ever, grateful for the dark hall where she could let her face relax and the tears flow. She stepped inside and closed the door and dabbed at her eyes, so preoccupied with her puffy image in the mirror she almost missed the sound of the steps approaching. They were a man’s steps and they stopped just outside.

  “Who is in there?” Trung demanded.

  She was still a mess! She backed away from the mirror, careful to make no sound. The door flew open and Trung’s angry eyes searched the room. She cowered behind the door, saw him bend down to see that no feet were tucked back out of sight in the stall. He pulled the door shut behind him.

  “It’s empty,” he said. “We’ll talk here. No one can come from either direction without being seen.”

  “Why did you call me here? I could be seen. We have nothing to talk about.”

  She recognized the voice of Han, the one who drove for the American writer.

  “I must disagree.” Trung’s answer was insistent, but it coaxed, like a persistent beggar’s plea. Tuyet wished she had enough nerve to walk out of the room.

  Trung went on, “I only want to help us both.”

  “You think only of yourself!” the other man snapped, having difficulty holding his voice down.

  “That is not true.” Trung was unoffended. “I am being practical. The same people who had me now have the woman and her child. How long will she be able to resist? How can we know she hasn’t already told them what only she knows? And what will the party say of those who have helped keep a suspected traitor hidden all these months?”

  Han’s scorn was unconvincing. “What woman do you speak of? What traitor? You speak riddles! If you have nothing to say, I must go!”

  A sharp click startled Tuyet and she realized she was leaning against the wall to hear better and that someone had just snapped a cigarette lighter on the other side. She put her head to the wall
again, very carefully.

  “I thought there would be no need for discussion, but I will speak of definite things, if I must. I thought little of the girl from Phu Thuan until it occurred to me that a lover rarely hires someone to do his killing. Once that story seemed odd, I remembered other things, such as you saying you helped build Phu Thuan and you attended classes there. I was still puzzled about how you could do both when there came the matter of three of our comrades surprised at the elimination of your cousin. You didn’t appear surprised when that happened. In fact, you seemed relieved.”

  Tuyet drew back at the boil of incoherent anger on the other side of the wall, but Trung’s voice droned untroubled.

  “Calm yourself. We are discussing things practically. To get back to your school days, I have investigated. Did you know the first school built in Phu Thuan was built only twelve years ago? The teacher you named was never employed there. But many of the villagers remembered you. One of them said you would always be welcome. That was when I took the chance, my friend. I told them you had asked me to get a message to a mutual acquaintance. I said you were certain the villagers of Phu Thuan would know who I meant and would take care of it.” There was a long pause, so long Tuyet began to tremble, afraid she had made some sound. Finally the other man spoke.

  “Very well. He hides near there. What do you intend to do with your knowledge? You know I can have you killed.”

  “But you will not, because your own life is no more than a word from ending. No, my friend, we both wish to live. We must work together.”

  “What is your proposition? I promise nothing, understand.”

  “Of course. To prove my faith, I will confess to you. I am tired of this war, tired of being afraid. And I am tired of being looked down on. And you are as good as dead if the party learns you have contributed to hiding our mutual friend. I think I would like to live in ease in some other place. Hong Kong. Singapore.”