by Travis Stone
Hitchcock banged a fist on Nash's desk. 'You'd better tell me why there's a Goddamn dead prisoner tied to a fucking plank in my fucking pit?'
'What?'
'Answer me, boy.'
'I don't know what you're talking-'
'Your two idiot Corporals drowned the Goddamn girl. Don't tell me you don't fucking know.
Nash rocked on his feet, stunned. This was why Hitchcock was so incensed.
'Christ.' Nash said, his mind racing. 'Did they get anything out of her?'
'Anything out of her.' Hitchcock screamed. 'We'll be lucky to avoid courts-martial.' Hitchcock's hands went to the top of his head. 'We'll have to cover it up. Weyand'll crucify us.' He began pacing behind Nash's desk.
Nash couldn't speak.
Hitchcock stopped. 'You'd better not let those two idiots interrogate the new prisoner - Amai Nguyen I take it. In-fact, we'd better transfer them out A-SAP.'
Nash felt like he was shrinking.
Hitchcock glared at him.
Nash said: 'She got away.'
Hitchcock's expression twisted into disbelief. 'You mean to tell me.' His face reddened. 'You mean to tell me.' A V-shaped vein rose in the centre of his forehead. 'You mean to tell me that eight United States Military Intelligence staff failed to apprehend one piddley little girl. All that crap you fed me about bringing down the Viet Cong infrastructure and you can't catch one girl.'
Nash physically felt each word hit home.
'You're a disgrace to the unit, Nash. Get out of my goddamn sight.'
Nash's head jerked back as if Hitchcock had punched him. Nash opened his mouth: 'You said I had two days-'
'Get out of my fucking sight.'
Nash could think of nothing else to say, so he spun around and stormed away, feeling totally humiliated.
The stupid old prick's got no idea how slippery she is, Nash thought. There's no point telling him, he wouldn't listen.
Goddamn it.
Nash's injured leg throbbed as he lumbered across the compound.
The old man had thrown him out of his own office.
He called me a disgrace.
Nash felt his body fill with a violent rage. Where the hell are Mancini and Albertez?
He found the two Corporals in the pit. At the sight of Mancini, Nash's anger boiled over. He clenched his fist and drove it into Mancini's jaw. The stocky Corporal staggered backwards and fell onto his ass.
The torture rack drew Nash's eye. Thi's grayish corpse was still strapped to the board. A sullen looking Albertez was about to hose her down and the overpowering smell of Thi's feces filled the chamber. Nash felt nauseous.
Mancini rose up aggressively from the concrete.
'Don't you dare take that stance with me soldier,' Nash boomed. 'I'll have you locked down in Long Binh Jail as quick as you can say dead gook.' Nash tempered his voice to a growl. 'You idiot. How're we meant to get anything out of her now?' He shook his head. 'The Colonel's rope-able.'
'Sorry,' Mancini said. 'It just happened.'
'What did we get out of her? Anything useful?
Mancini rubbed his jaw. 'She was on the job with Amai Nguyen. They report to a man named Triet. But that may be an alias. Their mission was to screw a Pentagon Major - Randy Johnson-' Mancini stared at the ground.
'Go on.'
'Johnson works out of the Embassy. Thi didn't know what kind of Intel they were after - they got nothing. Johnson did though. Fucker got a three-way.'
Despite the grim circumstances, Nash felt buoyed. Major Johnson, he thought. The Embassy. It was a strong lead, but he would've liked more.
Nash stood tall. 'Alby. Clean up this goddamn mess. Mancini. Get the jeep - we're on the clock.'
'What're you talkin' about? Mancini said.
'The goddamn Embassy. We need to get Johnson before she does.'
28
At café La Camargue, the quaint coffee house that he used for meeting his girl-spies, Triet sat in his usual chair, waiting for Amai.
She's late, he thought. She's never late.
A glossy female rat played in Triet's lap, nosing into the crevices of his trousers. He had found her nearby, scavenging for food. The rat had approached him with reckless courage, but the look in her eye was kindness. He stroked her soft body and fed her a few breadcrumbs. 'There there, beautiful,' he said, before letting her to burrow into his shirt pocket.
Triet peered down the busy street like a hawk searching for prey. He recognized Amai's face in the crowd at a surprising distance; it was a face that had occupied his mind since their first meeting, six years ago.
He wondered if she ever thought of him romantically.
No, he thought. She hates me.
He watched her gracefully maneuver toward him. He loved the way she moved with powerful strides, swaying hips, and shuddering breasts. But he couldn't see her hips or breasts. He looked harder, and thought: What is she wearing?
Triet knew his desire for Amai was changing with his deteriorating mental state. He had once genuinely loved Amai, but her rejection had loosened his grip on sanity. Now his desire for her felt more like greed. He craved to own her so that no one else could. And now, because he knew he would never have her, he had taken control of her by other means. By threatening to harm her niece, he now owned her in a sick kind of way.
She was so afraid that she would do anything he wanted.
She will meet Major Johnson, he thought. Even if it kills her. That is the way of this war. Vietnam comes before everything.
* * *
Amai hoped that news of Thi's capture would make Triet abandon Major Johnson.
It made perfect sense to her: if Thi gave up the Major's identity under torture, he would be too dangerous to pursue.
He must see that, she thought.
Amai liked café La Camargue. It was the only meeting place that she did like. It was nondescript, void of Viet Cong thugs, and the waiter always brought syrupy black coffee and French bread. It was almost normal . . . almost.
Triet's eyes assessed her. 'What are you wearing?'
She shrugged. 'It saved my life.'
'What happened?'
'They've got Thi.' She felt her voice crack. 'She's been arrested.'
Triet's eyes opened wide. 'What?'
'Nash got her.' Amai sat down on the wrought-iron chair and let it find its level on the pavement. 'They knew we were at the flat. I escaped.'
'I told you to arrange a meeting with Major Johnson.'
'What about Thi?'
'We must focus on the task-'
'We can't continue with Johnson-'
'We can and will-'
'You can't be serious? Thi knows everything. It'll be a trap.'
'If you are caught, you know what to do-'
'Why don't you just kidnap Johnson and-'
'Such a thing would alert the Americans. They must not know that we have even got to Johnson.'
'Is there someone else you can use?'
'Did you arrange the meeting?'
Amai sagged. 'The Hotel Continental', she said. 'Tonight. I'm to contact him at the Embassy to accept.'
'You will go.'
'It will be a trap.'
'Thi knows what she's doing. Her cover story is part of another plan.'
Amai's lips quivered in disbelief. 'You're just using us.'
'I thought you were a patriot, Amai.'
The waiter put two cups of black coffee in front of them.
Amai couldn't drink. 'What about the truth drug?'
'I will have it at five o'clock.
'Will it even work?' Cynicism edged her words.
'It is taken care of. General Giap has classified this Major Johnson as 'war-critical'. At this moment, he is the most important American in Vietnam. The information he holds is vital. No one else has the ability to get it. You will go through with it-'
'Or you will mutilate Nhu An - an innocent child.'
Triet sat tall in his seat. 'I will do whatever is necessary to
ensure American defeat, and victory for the Peoples' Army of North Vietnam. If it means some innocents have to pay a price, then so be it. It is the greater good for which I fight - our nation's freedom.'
'How can you care for our nation if you would harm her children?' She regretted the outburst immediately.
Malice glazed Triet's eyes but he did not speak.
Amai understood that he would make her do this; if she refused, Nhu An would pay the price.
Triet gave her a pencil and paper and watched her write Major Johnson's acceptance note. Triet read it, and then signaled to a boy astride a motorcycle, parked forty yards away. Amai hadn't noticed his presence until now, but now recognized him as one of Triet's couriers. The boy kicked the motorbike to life, and then rode up to their table. Triet handed the motorcyclist the note and told him to deliver it to the US Embassy as fast as possible. The bike revved loudly and went out into the traffic, leaving behind the sweet smell of two-stroke exhaust.
So it's done, Amai thought.
Her fate was sealed in an envelope, speeding off into the growing uncertainty of Saigon.
She looked at Triet. 'I have no money, no clothes, and nowhere to change.'
'What happened to your money?'
'I lost it.'
Triet scowled, and then handed her a wad of greenbacks. 'Buy a dress,' he said. 'Wash at the Trung Hoa. Make sure you look divine - Vietnam is counting on you.'
A green Renault pulled up beside them. Pham Xuan An was driving. The car idled roughly, and Amai could feel the heat radiating from its engine. Triet got into the passenger's seat and the Renault drove away, misfiring several times before turning into Dong Khoi.
Amai stayed in her chair. She had never felt more alone.
She thought about her desperate goal of reporting the Tet-offensive to the American Commanders. She had deceived everyone she loved and cared about to ensure the success of Triet's masterstroke; his life's work - his massacre. But now that she understood it, she wanted to destroy it.
She imagined the tens-of-thousands of savage and brainwashed Viet Cong boys charging into the city, killing all before them in the bloodbath for which they yearned. She imagined the slaughter of the children and the women. She imagined the distraught mothers searching hopelessly for lost loved ones, and the orphans struggling to survive.
She looked around the street, her eyes finding every face. These were the innocent people of a doomed city.
I'll be responsible, she thought. She put her face in her hands. For what?
Perhaps she could find a way to tell Major Johnson about the coming attack. He was obviously important; MACV would listen to him; and he had no affiliation with General Loan, Captain Nash, or Military Intelligence.
Her palms slid to her cheeks and she looked at the ground. Major Johnson could be good fortune in disguise, she thought.
* * *
Sergeant Major Allen Lester sat in the covered rear compartment of his specially modified deuce-and-a-half.
He was hung-over, and the stink of an open sewer fueled his nausea.
On Captain Nash's orders, The Sergeant Major had inserted two radio direction finding teams into Saigon's Cholon district. His men were familiar with the wireless operator they were hunting, but he hadn't broadcast for over a week. They were simply waiting for him to transmit, so his signal could be triangulated and his position narrowed down. Nash had made it clear; this man had to be found at all costs.
A skinny redheaded Corporal wearing a bulky headset looked up from his radio unit. 'He's on, Sar-Major.'
The Sergeant Major detected the boy's excitement. 'You sure it's him?'
'Yes, Sar-Major. It's him all right.' The boy's voice went up an octave. 'Christ, he's talking to General Giap.'
'Take a goddamn bearing.'
'Yes Sar-Major.'
Under the skinny Corporal's guidance, a Private adjusted the aerial on the truck's roof.
Then the Corporal said: 'Phu Tho. He's in Phu Tho.'
'You sure?'
'Yes Sar-Major.'
The Sergeant Major nodded. 'Let's relocate.'
'One more broadcast,' the Corporal said. 'And we'll have him.'
29
The US Embassy
Saigon
10°46'59"N 106°42'02"E
Major Johnson was hot and restless; he thought that he would've heard from Amai by now.
Maybe she won't call? He thought.
He was disappointed. She didn't strike him as a one-nighter. He forced himself to focus; several work related problems had presented themselves during the night; serious problems that needed immediate intervention.
He gulped the dregs of his coffee and lifted the heavy bakelite receiver of the Embassy's secure phone. The power to hold lives in his hands thrilled Johnson far more than he thought it would have.
He dialed the Pentagon and asked to be put through to the Defense Secretary. A pleasant female voice asked for his authentication. He gave the codeword, the line filter rang in his ears, and then she told him to hold.
Several minutes later the Defense Secretary's voice hit Johnson's ear: 'Johnson. What's the situation over there?'
'Sir. We've got a problem.'
'With our ships?'
'Yes.'
'Christ. What?'
'There's a vessel snooping them.'
'What the fuck?'
'A disguised fishing-junk. Probably using a Soviet type towed array sonar-'
'God-fucking-damn-it!' the Defense Secretary yelled. 'What do they know?'
'Impossible to tell-'
'Christ.'
'It's under control Sir-'
'It doesn't sound like it-'
'Sir-'
'It's your fucking job to make sure those vessels remain secret. If the Chinese-'
'Sir,' Johnson cut him off with authority. 'A SEAL team is gearing up to neutralize the junk as we speak.'
'When will it go?'
'Zero-five-hundred.'
'Good.'
Johnson's palms were greasy on the plastic receiver. 'Can I take that as your approval, Sir?'
'Yes Major. I'll cover things from this end.'
The line went dead.
The door banged open and in strode an athletic Marine Corps Master Sergeant, complete with sharply creased fatigues and a square head.
Johnson spun his chair around. 'You're not permitted - Can't you fucking read?'
'Yes Sir,' the Master Sergeant said. 'That urgent message. The one you ordered me to deliver-on-arrival.' He held up a small, brown envelope. 'We screened it Sir. It's clean.'
Johnson took the envelope, tore it open, and then smiled. 'That'll be all thanks Sergeant.'
The Master Sergeant spun one-hundred-and-eighty degrees, and went out.
It was what Johnson had been hoping for. Amai had accepted his dinner invitation. Johnson slapped his thigh and whistled. He remembered their erotic encounter with a surge of lust. The note was signed by Amai, the most sensual of the two. Anticipation overpowered him and he got so hard that it hurt.
'Sir.'
Johnson startled. He hadn't noticed the Master Sergeant's re-entry. The Master Sergeant looked down at Johnson's crotch, and his eyes bulged. 'I'll come back Sir.' He spun around again and went out.
Johnson felt sudden disappointment. The SEAL mission, he thought. I'll have to cancel Amai.
But the lure of Amai's body was strong; he was already overwhelmingly addicted to her.
He picked up the secure phone and dialed the SEAL Commander's personal line. It was answered in one ring with a clipped, yes.
'It's Johnson. You have the green-light. Zero-five-thirty.'
'Green for zero-five-thirty. Understood.'
Johnson hung up grinning. The SEAL Team could now look after itself, but he still had one more job to do before he could prepare for his date. He left the room, exited the chancery by the rear door, and strode across the baking hot car-park toward the consulate.
The only thing on
his mind was Amai.
* * *
Nash's jeep mounted the curb and skidded to a stop in front of the Embassy's flower pots.
Nash told Mancini to come with him, and then leapt out of the jeep. At the security gate, a Marine Corps' Corporal blocked his path. The Marine saluted and Nash went to push past him.
The Marine dropped his beefy arm. 'Easy there, Sir. Security upgrade. We need ID.'
Nash spoke through clenched teeth: 'Get outta my goddamn way.'
'Sir,' the Marine said, using his torso as a barrier. 'Rules-is-rules.'
Nash sized him up. He was a big dumb lad and this was his job. Nash thought it best to play-ball. He fumbled for his ID. 'I need you to take me to a Major Johnson, immediately. You know him?'
The Marine scrutinized the ID card, as if it might be a fake, and Nash a terrorist.
Nash's rage flared. Goddamn asshole, he thought.
The Marine looked up. 'Yeah I know him. What's this about, Sir?'
'The matter concerns Military Intelligence, soldier. I need to see the Major right now. Let's go.'
'No-can-do, Sir-'
'And why the hell not?'
The Marine smirked. 'He left a few minutes ago-'
'Where the hell did he go?' Nash got the feeling that the Marine was purposely winding him up.
'Dunno, but he was in one helluva good mood.'
'This isn't a game, Corporal.'
The Marine stiffened. 'He got a note delivered, no more'n five minutes ago. I saw him out back with a big old hard-on. Don't even know how he could walk with that monster in his pants.'
Nash turned to Mancini, standing at his heel like a gun-dog. 'The note gave him a hard-on?' Nash said as the penny dropped. 'It's gotta be Amai.'
'She's still working him,' Mancini said. 'She's got guts.'
'Not for long.'
Nash eyeballed the Marine. 'Which way, Corporal? This is now a matter of National Security.'
The Marine's jaw dropped like a bulldozer blade. 'He's domiciled in Colonel Jacobson's-'
'Where?'
'Behind the chancery.'
'Take us.' Nash boomed.
The Marine led them through the Embassy and out into the rear car-park. They jogged across the asphalt and down an overgrown path to the Villa's front porch. The door was ajar, so Nash went in and searched the house.