by Travis Stone
25
The KGB agent codenamed Orchid was deeply suspicious.
A hastily called meeting with someone like Triet always meant a problem, and Orchid did not like problems.
The Russian's assignment was to covertly assist Triet's syndicate, funneling equipment, weapons, explosives, and anything else that the KGB could conceivably provide Saigon's communist terror network.
He hated this assignment.
Saigon’s heat didn’t suit his heavy build and the food made him sick. His hand went from his stubbled jaw to his stubbled head; the only satisfaction he got was seeing Americans killed or maimed by the weapons he secretly imported.
He entered The Flashing Tiger and immediately identified a group of Triet's men in the front, right corner, trying to look inconspicuous; they were Triet's hardest.
Is this a hit crew? Orchid thought.
He had expected trouble, but not this kind. He forced himself to believe that the Viet Cong were not stupid enough to bite-the-hand-that-fed-them; but one could never be sure. In-actual-fact, Triet's National Liberation Front was more dangerous to Orchid than the Americans. Neither the CIA or Military Intelligence had detected Orchid's presence, and probably wouldn't. He was able to ship in contraband at will, either by sea or through Cambodia's Sihanouk Trail. Triet's men however, were jumpy, unsophisticated if not unprofessional, and quick to attack on sketchy Intel.
Girls wearing too much make up and not enough clothes weaved and squatted on a low stage at the centre of the club.
Classless, Orchid thought. Give me a nice pale Russian girl any day.
He sat down at a small, round table and pretended to watch the strippers, with one hand on the hilt of the Lugar .45, hidden under his shirt, and one eye on Triet's men.
Where is he? The KGB man thought.
He felt the urge to leave, and reschedule the meeting on his own terms.
I haven't survived fifteen years in this business by being careless.
He flicked off the Lugar's safety. Beads of sweat formed on his prickly head and dribbled into the creases of his brow. He scratched the folds at the base of his skull.
I don't like this.
He got up and Triet came in. Orchid sat. Triet came straight to his table.
The Russian spoke in English: 'Greetings friend.' He removed the pistol and let it rest on his thigh.
Triet looked him in the eye. 'I'll get to the point.'
'I appreciate this.'
'Your truth serum failed.'
Orchid nodded. ‘The vial I give to Xuan An?’
'Yes. It put my two best agents in danger. I want to know why?'
'Tell me exactly what happen?'
* * *
Orchid's voice annoyed Triet.
Triet had learned to speak perfect English in less than twelve months, but Orchid had still not mastered it after many years.
Triet didn’t trust him either.
Is he trawling for information? Triet thought. Yes. Does he want to learn what my girls are up to so he can tell the Americans?
Triet wondered if he was getting paranoid; he knew that he hadn't been himself lately. He was shocked by the way he had treated Amai. He adored her and yet he had driven her even further away by threatening to maim her young niece. He knew it was cruel, but when hate, jealousy, and helplessness consumed him, he lost all self-control. It was like another person had stepped into his body. After Tet - at the end of the war - he would explain this to Amai. He would show her a free Vietnam; he would make her understand what her sacrifices had all been for - she would see then.
But I've lost her, he thought. To an American.
The more he thought about Amai and Danny, the more the darkness mauled him. He knew the depression was taking over his soul, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. Amai was gone.
He realized that Orchid was staring at him blankly.
* * *
The Russian thought: I haven't got time for this. And said: 'You need to tell me what happen so I can fix - truth serum is not simple always.'
Triet's beady eyes stared right through his.
Orchid continued: 'There are many reason why it may fail - but rest assured comrade - I fix problem for you. It is my job.'
Triet's lip curled. 'One of my agents gave the drug to an American officer. It had no effect.'
'Forgive me comrade, but this is dangerous game that we play. It is not for the faint of heart.'
Triet offered him a cigarette.
Orchid declined.
Triet began to smoke.
Orchid continued: 'To find why drug failed, I need several information-'
'Several pieces of information,' Triet corrected.
Triet's English was better that his. 'Thank you,’ Orchid said. ‘How was it given?
'In whiskey.'
'Is she certain the mark drink it?'
Triet raised his eyebrows. 'Yes.'
'Is it possible he suspect her?'
'No.'
Orchid detected the pitch change in Triet's voice and wondered what it meant. He knew Triet wasn’t lying - something else was bothering the Viet Cong leader.
'What does the American weigh?' Orchid said.
'What does it matter?'
'If he's too heavy, drug won't work.'
Triet sighed.
'How big?'
'Very big.' Triet pointed to the entry door's seven foot stud. 'Almost as tall as that doorway.'
Orchid rubbed his jaw. 'He probably weigh over two-hundred pound. There is our problem comrade. Drug was too weak.'
Triet leaned in. 'I need more.'
'I see what I can do.'
'I need it tonight.'
'Impossible, comrade.'
'This is something of high importance to the Soviet Union as well as Vietnam.
Orchid doubted that. 'Give me three days.'
'Tonight,' Triet snarled. 'Or I'll personally contact your Colonel Gurvich and report your failure.'
Orchid considered Triet's threat. Gurvich had trained Triet in Moscow, and was now heading the KGB’s South East Asian Sector. He thought Triet was probably bluffing, but conceivably, he could contact the Colonel. Orchid did not want trouble with Gurvich. 'Okay,' he said. 'I bring it to the Trung Hoa.'
'No,' Triet said. 'Café La Camargue. By five o'clock.'
Orchid re-holstered his Lugar, nodded, and then left.
* * *
Triet went into the street.
Frustration and anxiety attacked him. He desperately needed the Soviet truth drug on time, and he needed it to work. Triet didn't know what this Major Johnson was supposed to be; but Giap had given it the highest war-priority - which made this operation equal with the Tet-offensive itself.
Tet would crush the Americans and drive them out - what could be more important than that? But Giap was firm, and Major Johnson's real purpose in Vietnam would be discovered; and Amai would do it.
A motorized tuk-tuk rattled past him and he waved his hand to flag it down. The driver ignored him, stopping further down the lane.
Triet had an urgent meeting with Pham Xuan An, and the business with Orchid had delayed him. Xuan An had devised a plan to takeover the national radio station during Tet, and broadcast messages inciting Saigon's population to rise-up. The plan sounded good, but Triet couldn't shake off the cloak of anger. He knew it was Amai.
He marched toward the idling tuk-tuk. A pedestrian shouldered heavily into him and Triet rounded on him, telling him to watch where he was going. The man stared blankly back. Triet turned back to the tuk-tuk to see a man lifting a child onto the seat.
Triet ran to the machine. 'I need this vehicle.'
The man didn't even look at him. 'My wife's giving birth.'
Triet went round the front of the buggy and shoved the man in the chest. 'You will get the next.'
The man went to get in.
Triet flew into a rage and punched the man in the face. The man's hands went to his nose and the child shrieked.
Then Triet side-kicked the man in the stomach, bending him like a staple and knocking him to the ground.
The child flew to his father’s side.
Triet kicked the prone man in the temple, and he writhed on the pavement.
The tuk-tuk revved up and drove off, leaving Triet, the man, and the crying child in a cloud of rich smoke.
Triet walked away, wondering what the hell had just happened.
26
Nash has got Thi, Amai thought with a sinking feeling. Danny's missing - probably dead. What am I going to do?
Lost, she wandered the shantytown, worrying about him. She couldn't bear the thought that Danny had come to harm. Then she imagined him with a bullet hole in the center of his forehead.
She shook herself; if she wanted to survive, she would have to stop thinking of Danny, and focus on escape. Nash's men would hunt her.
The slum was a vast ramshackle of thousands of hovels. Constructed of anything their builders could scavenge, the mishmash resembled a rubbish tip more than it did a collection of homes.
Nash's men were not behind her, but more would arrive to comb the shantytown. For some reason they were desperate to get her.
Then Amai realized something was wrong: the dirty-faced residents were staring at her; some with resentment; some with hostility.
Her hands slid over her expensive pant-suit. The wet silk clung to her body, leaving nothing to the imagination, but amongst the destitute slum-dwellers, the glossy material stood out like a beacon. She felt uncomfortable. If Nash's men saw her, they would have little trouble picking her out in this crowd.
I need to change clothes.
Amai saw an old woman with a grossly hunched back, ducking into a hovel covered with orange and green canvas. Amai felt an overwhelming urge to approach her - so she did.
Then she saw them and her heart convulsed - three MPs were walking toward her. Amai ran to the hovel, pulled back the flap, and went in. Her heart was pounding in her throat. She held the curtain shut and watched the MPs through a slit. They came within a few feet, and then melted into the rambling cluster of shacks.
She let out her breath and turned from the flap. The old woman stood in the middle of the room. Behind her Amai counted seven children aged between two and four feet tall, and behind them stood a woman of about her own age.
'What do you want?' The old woman said; her voice sharp.
Amai gave her most disarming smile, introduced herself, and apologized for the intrusion. She had expected the old woman to be friendlier.
Amai sized up the younger woman. Close enough, she thought. Amai fumbled in her money bag. The envelope that had been slipped under Thi's door, and a fat roll of cash fell to the floor.
The family gasped collectively.
Amai picked up the money, peeled off a twenty, and asked the younger woman if she could buy some clothes.
The old woman scowled. 'we've got nothing in your style.'
'Please,' Amai said. She peeled off another bill. 'I just want some old clothes.'
The old woman spoke harshly to the younger one and they began to argue. The younger one threw up her hands and went out through a flap at the back of the tent.
The old woman put a kettle on a burner.
Amai said: 'Will she get some clothes?'
The old woman didn't answer.
Amai picked up the envelope and wondered what was in it. She ripped it open and took out a single sheet of handwritten paper. The US Embassy's logo was at its top centre.
The message made her ill.
To the beautiful Thi and Amai.
I would be deeply honored to have the pleasure of your companies tonight.
I have a table at The Hotel Continental, for 8pm.
Please accept my humble invitation.
Contact me at the Embassy to confirm
Amai stopped reading; the note was signed by Major Johnson. She dreaded meeting him again.
Then she went stiff. Is this a trap? She thought.
If Nash had forced Thi to talk, the Major's invitation could be a set-up, drawing her into a Military Intelligence ambush. Amai saw the event play-out in her mind. She pictured herself walking into the restaurant; Major Johnson laughing; Nash and his men appearing from nowhere; her bound body, dragged into the street . . .
Amai felt like she had no control over her own fate.
She had once thought of herself as an NFL soldier. But a soldier doesn't fight all of the time, she thought. He retreats underground - to safety. I'm never safe. The enemy is always one-step behind me; waiting around the next corner; pursuing me, even into my home - my bed.
Her body jerked.
I've got to get moving, she thought. I need those clothes.
The children were staring at her with interest, obviously plucking up the courage to say something.
Amai re-gathered her wits. The younger woman had not returned.
It suddenly occurred to Amai that the woman might be alerting the authorities, but before she could think, the smallest of the children, a girl with large eyes, came up to her.
'Will you buy me a doll?' The girl said.
The girl's words awakened an old emotion, hidden deep in Amai's subconscious. Amai's family had been poor when she was small, but not like these war victims. Amai's family owned land. They grew rice. They could afford food, equipment, and a home on poles, but still, during Amai's childhood there had been no money for toys; as there was none now.
Amai clearly remembered the day her father gave her the doll.
It was a small plastic baby with a western face and one missing eye. Her father redid the eyes with brown paint, and her mother made a small, doll-sized dress that Amai could take off and put on. Amai was three years old and she loved that doll with all her heart. It was the only toy that she ever had, and she would never forget the joy it had given her. She had given the doll to Nhu An, and remembered the look of joy on her face.
Nhu An.
Movement startled Amai.
The younger woman came through the rear flap, carrying a bundle of clothes. Amai felt relief. She thanked her and put the old garments on over her expensive suit. Then Amai dug into her purse and took out all of the forged notes. She stuffed the money into her old woman's claw-like hand, and said: 'I will give you this on one condition.'
The old woman was shaking. 'What is it?
'That you buy that little girl a doll.'
The old woman began to cry, and her trembling hand gripped the cash. Amai had made them instantly rich.
Amai stared hard at the old woman. 'I mean it. You must promise to buy the girl a doll.'
The old woman wiped her eyes and nodded.
The little girl squealed, ran to Amai, and hugged her leg. 'Thank you,' she said. 'I love you. Thank you.'
Amai bent down and kissed her head.
Now clad in shapeless grey shirt and pants, Amai felt safer. She stood, tied the matching scarf over her face, and left the hovel. The small girl and the old woman stood at the curtain and watched her go. Tears blurred Amai's vision.
Focus, she thought.
Amai guessed that once she got her bearings, it would be an hour's walk back to café La Camargue, where Triet would meet her with the truth-drug. She had to meet Triet; if she let him down he would maim Nhu An, and no doubt kill both her and Danny. She looked at her bare wrist; her watch was gone; probably in the canal. She decided to go straight to the café; better-safe-than-sorry.
She looked up to see two US soldiers coming toward her. They wore green helmets and carried black M-16s. Amai had no choice but to keep walking. The scarf hid her face, but she worried that her long hair, which fell to her shoulders in lustrous layers, would give her away.
They crossed.
The soldiers paid her no attention. They were looking for a beautiful girl wearing expensive silk.
Amai reached the edge of the slum and the thought struck her: I'm at war with these people.
She was helping the Viet Cong m
ake more innocent people homeless, and if Triet's Tet-offensive became the success that he hoped, the children and the mothers and the grandparents and the babies that she would've helped drive into squalor, would number in the millions.
27
When Nash returned to the Intel compound, his emotional state was a dangerous fusion of humiliation and rage.
The jeep stopped and Nash got out. He thought it best to avoid Colonel Hitchcock until his men found Amai. Hitchcock knew about the raid and would expect Nash to return with her.
Amai's escape reeled through his mind. He was sure that she'd known about the dodgy ladder, and had cleverly lured him to injury.
That bitch tried to kill me.
Luckily, the fall had only winded him, but the broken section of ladder had busted his nose, and his right eye had swollen shut.
He recalled Amai's scaling of the block wall and shook his head; it was like a nightmare that he couldn't wake up from. It was the second time that he had watched her escape. It was the second time she had beaten him. She was proving to be incredibly elusive. She was intelligent and resourceful, and possessed the athletic ability of a gymnast. For a moment, he wondered what she would be like in bed. He imagined her strong thighs wrapped around his waist and her big, soft breasts pressed against his hard chest. Then he imagined doing her doggy-style in the pit, with chained prisoners watching.
Snap out of it, he thought.
He wondered if he really could bring himself to rape; he had never thought like this before.
During Amai's pursuit, a young Corporal had drowned. Amai was now responsible for killing three of his men.
How many more? He thought.
He slammed his hand on the jeep's hood. She's humiliating me. When I get her, I'll make her wish she was dead.
Nash walked to his Quonset, went in, and slammed the door behind him. He froze.
Hitchcock was sitting behind Nash's desk, his face thunder.
Oh shit, Nash thought.
Hitchcock rose from the chair. 'What the fuck kind of ship are you running here son?' He screamed. 'You'd better tell me what the fuck is going on - right fucking now.'
Nash had never seen him like this - the man was livid. Nash had expected scorn, not insane rage - it was completely out of character.