The Cover of War

by Travis Stone

  It made no sense. He held no Military secrets. He thought about his stories. It had to be the stories.

  But why kidnap me?

  Strangely, he pictured Amai's face and knew that he still loved her. He smiled ruefully under the sack - he knew that he always would.

  But she never loved me, he thought. It was all fake.

  A drop in traffic noise and a change of smell told Danny that they had left the city.

  A chill ran through his blood.

  Oh God, where are they taking me?

  JANUARY 1968

  40

  January 1

  Thong Nhut Boulevard

  10°46'57.90"N 106°42'04.75"E

  The fire had gutted the apartment.

  The brick facade had collapsed to the pavement, exposing a tangle of charred timber, and from the street, Colonel Hitchcock could see into all three floors.

  The sight reminded him of a sister's Doll's house that he had torched as a child.

  Beside the rubble, citizens were tending to blackened occupants, who lay in varying states of consciousness.

  Hitchcock saw Corporal Mancini and made his way toward him. Mancini stood atop the rubble, looking dumbfounded. Hitchcock climbed up beside him.

  'We found Captain Nash's body, Sir,' Mancini said. 'Only bones'n dog-tags left of him.'

  With the backs of his fingers, Hitchcock brushed soot from his starched uniform. 'And the reporter?'

  Mancini looked nervous. 'Sir. I think he's been taken.'

  'Taken? What do you mean taken, Corporal?'

  'Well Sir, I covered the Embassy while Captain Nash came here. I saw the smoke from the chancery. By time I got here, the place was blazin'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''-'

  'Get to the point.'

  'I saw some gooks, Sir. Looked like they put someone in the back of a car. They took off fast-'

  'And you waited to report that?'

  'I-'

  'What kind of car?'

  'A - green one.'

  'What make?'

  'Ah-'

  'Quickly.'

  'A Renault, I think. Nash talked about a green Renault before, Sir.'

  'That's Captain Nash to you, Corporal.

  'Yes, Sir.'

  'Then what happened?'

  'Then I tried to get to Captain Nash, Sir, but it was too damn hot. And then the bricks came down.'

  Something about Danny Thorn bothered Hitchcock. He's Amai's boyfriend, he thought. Which means he probably knows the dead girl, Thi. Hitchcock knew if Danny made inquiries into Thi's disappearance, the consequences would be disastrous. Hitchcock would retire soon, and wanted to do so with his Military pension and benefits intact.

  Hitchcock smiled. Seems I've killed two birds with one stone. He eyeballed Mancini. 'Say nothing of what you saw here today, Corporal. Is that clear?'

  Mancini's face screwed up. 'Sir?'

  Thick little shit. 'That reporter could bring us down, son. If the VC have him - he's on his own.'

  'Sir?'

  'Trust me Corporal, I shit-you-not. If any of your actions concerning the death of that Thi girl get out, you will face war-crimes charges. Do you understand?'

  Mancini's lips peeled away from his teeth.

  Hitchcock leaned toward him. 'Forget about the reporter. Forget about the green Renault. Am I making myself goddamn clear yet?'

  'Crystal, Sir.' Mancini shuffled uneasily. 'The VC Sir.'

  'Yes, Corporal?'

  'What will they do to him?'

  Hitchcock shuddered involuntarily. He had been a POW for a brief period in Korea. 'I shouldn't think about it, Corporal.'

  Mancini nodded.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Hitchcock saw a figure rounding the rubble. He stiffened; it was General Weyand.

  Hitchcock flicked the General a salute.

  Weyand strode up staunchly. 'As you were, gentlemen. What a goddamn mess. What the hell happened here, Colonel?'

  Hitchcock selected his words. 'Investigation pending, Sir. Captain Nash was killed in the blaze.'

  Weyand frowned. 'Any other casualties?'

  'What'd you mean?'

  'Danny Thorn?' Weyand said, his face unreadable. 'Was he in there?'

  Hitchcock was caught off guard. 'Excuse me, Sir?'

  'I was aware that your man, Nash, was looking to apprehend Danny here . . . Well?'

  'Well what?'

  'This is the flat of his Vietnamese girlfriend, is it not?'

  Hitchcock lasered his eyes into Mancini's. 'Corporal?'

  Mancini looked at Weyand's knees. 'Danny burned up in the fire, Sir. It was un-survivable.'

  'You sure he was in there?'

  Mancini shook his head. 'He was with Nash, Sir. He's dead.'

  'And the girl? Weyand said. 'What's her name?'

  'Amai Nguyen, Sir.'

  Weyand raised his chin. 'That's right, Corporal.'

  To Hitchcock, Mancini's lying was obvious. He only hoped Weyand hadn't picked up on it.

  Mancini said: 'Amai wasn't here, Sir. We-' Mancini shrugged.

  'Thank you Corporal,' Weyand said. 'Now I suggest you call in some ambulances - get these wounded civilians seen to.'

  'But they're only-'

  'What part of your orders don't you understand, soldier? Now get to it.'

  'Yes Sir.' Mancini went toward the jeep.

  Hitchcock saw Corporal Albertez, and said: 'Hey you. Start moving these civilians outta here. Cordon off the area. No one in or out without my say so.'

  Weyand cast him odd look before stalking away.

  Unnervingly for Hitchcock, the General stopped several times to stare back into the charred building - and at him.

  * * *

  General Weyand, Commander II Field Force, Vietnam, stopped and eyed the burnt structure. Something about the scene wasn't right. Whether it was the strange way that Hitchcock and Mancini were acting, Weyand didn't know, but something was amiss.

  Danny's dead, he thought. What a goddamn shame.

  Finding another man as trustworthy as Danny Thorn would be difficult - if not impossible.

  41

  January 4

  Laos, North East of Saravane

  16°08'17"N 107°09'53"E

  Still hooded, Danny woke to the smells of tobacco smoke and body odor. The smoke was the Viet Cong thug's, the body odor his own. Bound hand-and-foot, he sat up.

  From Saigon, they had driven him to the Cambodian boarder, where they had lashed him to the back of an old military truck. The truck had carried him for what felt like days over rutted jungle roads.

  The thug pulled the rice-sack off Danny's head and the light burned his eyes. The thug grinned; the few teeth he did have were stained brown.

  'Why am I here?' Danny said. 'What do you want?'

  The thug scraped plaque from his teeth with a dirty fingernail.

  Danny looked past him to the matted jungle; it was hot and quiet and felt vastly remote. On his right, a wide, dark river flowed urgently past, and over the treetops, he could just see the rocky spine of a large mountain range.

  Danny had no idea where he was. His body felt weak, but his mind blazed with thoughts of Amai, and the fear of what lay ahead. The knot in his gut was tightening. He knew the North Vietnamese lived in tunnels, like moles. He hoped to hell that they wouldn't force him underground.

  He shivered despite the heat. He couldn't think of anything worse; he knew he couldn't handle it.

  The thug jabbed his rifle barrel into Danny's ribs. 'You-get-up. You-get-up.'

  Danny stood. He knew not to upset him.

  A new man had arrived, and as he approached, the thugs backed away like hyena pups.

  The new man was gaunt with a sharp face, but he carried both an air of superiority and the threat of violence. Danny understood that these people hated Americans; and he couldn't blame them for it.

  Danny avoided eye contact. This is the man, he thought. He'll tell me why I'm here.

  The
two thugs left and the gaunt man came toward him. The blow to the stomach was surprisingly hard. The man's face came close and Danny smelled rich cigarette smoke on his breath.

  'My name is Triet,' the man said. 'Do anything stupid and I'll cut your fucking balls out.'

  * * *

  Amai dreamed of the very moment when her father gave her the one-eyed doll - her most loved childhood possession. Her happiness was vividly real.

  When she woke, her fear was instantaneous. Blackness surrounded her. It was a blackness that could only be experienced deep underground.

  Incased in clay, the walls touched her shoulders, head, and feet. She could barely move enough to release a cramp or stretch out a muscle. The air was heavy and hard to breath. She lay still, trying to control her emotions. Surviving underground was something that she knew well. But this was different. This was torture.

  To stave off panic, she thought of Danny, Nhu An, her childhood, and the one eyed doll her father had given her.

  After Triet's thugs had grabbed her outside the Phu Tho safe-house, she had been bound, blindfolded, and stuffed into the cab of a lorry. Later they dressed her in the black pajamas of the Viet Cong guerillas. She guessed that she had spent at least three days in the lorry. But now, underground and in the dark, all sense of time and orientation was lost.

  She had no idea when Triet would come and release her from this hell-hole.

  But he will come, she said to herself. He will come.

  42

  To gain closure, and some kind of understanding, Chaske needed to stand where Danny had died.

  Grief packed his chest like sludge. He stared into the building's charred shell, unable to believe that his brother was gone.

  Chaske was tired of Special Operations; he was tired of war. He wanted to quit. He wanted to explore the Native American roots that he had been so ignorant of. He wanted to discover his spiritual side. He wanted to stop killing.

  He looked around. Locals had put bunches of chrysanthemums and smoldering sticks of incense around the building, for several Vietnamese children had also died in the blaze. Chaske let the spirals of incense smoke mesmerize him; if he hadn't gotten Danny out of that Bangkok jail, his brother would still be alive. He held back the rush of guilt and wondered if Danny could see him from the sprit world. Chaske often wondered what happened to the souls' of the dead. He wondered what the sprit world really was. If such a place even existed; or if the notion was merely an irrational belief, handed down from generation to generation.

  He cleared his mind and tried to search within for signs of Danny.

  Something felt wrong.

  When his father had died, Chaske had been able to sense the loss; to feel that his father's sprit had left the earthly plane. With Danny, he felt nothing.

  Chaske felt eyes on his back. He turned and instantly recognized the woman.

  Laos, he thought. I saved your life.

  Chaske's hand went inside his shirt, gripping the hilt of his sidearm. 'You're Viet Cong. What-'

  'I knew you would come here.' Her voice was strong and sensual. 'Danny isn't dead. We need to talk.'

  * * *

  Chaske didn't know what to think.

  What does she mean he isn't dead?

  He was sitting in Cam's third-floor living room, looking over the dockyards to the Saigon River, sipping a hot, seaweed tasting brew, shocked to learn that Danny had been seeing Cam's younger sister, Amai; the other girl.

  Laos.

  He wondered how many thousands of times Cam and Amai had entered his mind. He realized that he had hunched forward, and he pulled his shoulders back. She held his gaze. Her eyes showed strength, but behind them lay a deep sadness.

  As he had six years ago in the Laotian jungle, he felt a strong attraction to her.

  She's Viet Cong, he thought. What's her motivation?

  He sipped his tea. A ship's foghorn blew. She smiled and he thought she was beautiful.

  Chaske said: 'How did you see me?'

  She lifted a delicate eyebrow.

  'Laos. You knew I was there - How?'

  Her eyes sparkled for a second. 'I saw your aura.'

  'My what?'

  'Your aura, Chaske. Visible light from your sprit energy. It surrounds your body.' She contoured his outline with her hands. 'Your aura's color betrays your emotions.'

  He didn't know what to think.

  She smiled again.

  Besides attraction, he felt a power in her presence. The only other person he had felt this from was his father. 'Tell me,' he said: 'Why do you think Danny's alive?'

  'I feel him in my mind. I see him in my visions. He is powerfully connected to Amai . . . They have her too.'

  'You mean you haven't actually seen him?'

  'I see with my mind, Chaske.'

  Frustration struck him. She's a crack-pot. He got up. Do I arrest her?

  But as he rose, a feeling hit him; a feeling he had not felt since the day of his father's death; a feeling that he was missing something of vital importance.

  Is my father's sprit trying to guide me? He thought. Is Danny really alive? He shook his head. No!

  Cam put a hand on his shoulder. 'Don't go,' she said. 'You don't understand.'

  He sat back down. 'You're Viet Cong. I can't trust you.'

  'I'm not Viet Cong-

  'Laos. You were with a North Vietnamese commando unit-'

  'I was a psychic-operative during the French War. I learned enemy intentions through psychic meditation.'

  Impossible, he thought.

  She leaned back. 'Westerners are centuries behind. Here it is common to acknowledge psychic ability.'

  Chaske doubted her, but something in what she said resonated with him. His father had often said similar things. 'But that doesn't answer my-'

  'I have no loyalty to the Viet Cong. They have my sister.'

  Chaske knew she wasn't lying. 'You say you've had visions - of Amai and Danny?'

  'Yes.'

  'Tell me about them.'

  'A man called Triet has them. He will torture them to death.'

  'Where?'

  She shook her head. 'It's hard to see. They're in the dark. I feel distance. Hundreds of miles maybe.'

  Chaske shifted his weight.

  She said: 'You must help me get them back.'

  'I can't see how-'

  'He's your brother.'

  Chaske straightened. 'You don't know where they are. You haven't even seen them.'

  Her eyes melted into soft brown globes.

  Chaske knew Cam believed in what she was saying. He wanted to believe that Danny was alive too. He wanted it more than anything. But it was a false hope, conjured by a crazy woman.

  She looked him in the eye. 'Tuule is dead.'

  The name hit Chaske physically. How could she know?

  After the GSID mission in Laos, Chaske had been sent into Vietnam - deep into the jungle. His reward for blowing cover had been to train Montagnard tribesmen in the arts of ambush and surveillance. The tribe's leader was named Tuule.

  'He died of a terrible sickness.' Cam frowned. 'His son Buule is their leader now.'

  Chaske felt lightheaded. She can't possibly know these people.

  Tuule's was an isolated jungle tribe that never made contact with the outside world - ever. While Chaske was training them, Tuule had fallen ill. Chaske was no doctor, but Tuule's symptoms suggested advanced bowel cancer. Three years ago, when Chaske had left the tribe and returned to the CIA's Special Activities Division, Tuule had been alive. But what really shocked Chaske was the fact that Tuule's eldest son was named Buule, as Cam suggested, and would've been the obvious successor to leadership.

  Chaske felt his eyes widen. 'How do you know this?'

  'I told you, Chaske. I see things.'

  The nape of his neck prickled.

  After testing Cam extensively, Chaske felt a surge of hope.

  Maybe she is psychic? He thought. No, it's impossible . . . But she's proven she c
an do it - hasn't she?

  'Amai and Danny,' he said, shaking his head. Give me their exact location?'

  'I see flashes of them in my mind: tied to a lorry; blind folded; I feel their fear.' She looked up. 'Laos.'

  Despite Cam proving her ability, Chaske just couldn't bring himself to believe in her.

  'Laos,' he said. 'How can you be sure?'

  'I've been there before. After the incident with you, we went to a secret base. I think that's where they are.'

  Chaske rubbed his eyes. 'If I told my superiors that a Vietnamese psychic thinks Danny is alive, and imprisoned somewhere in Laos-' His hand swept his hair in frustration.

  'But you know I'm right.'

  'Laos is massive-' He shook his head again.

  She smiled with her eyes. 'We will find them.'

  Chaske put both hands on his head. 'How am I meant to work with that?'

  'Trust your instinct, Chaske. You'll know what to do.'

  Chaske felt trapped between conflicting beliefs, but he couldn't bear the thought that Danny and Amai might be out there somewhere, prisoners' of the Viet Cong, facing torture and death. In his heart-of-hearts, Chaske knew that he was going after them, and that Cam was the key.

  43

  Blows thudded into Danny's torso.

  With his arms and feet tied, he could not defend himself.

  Danny couldn't understand why any of this was happening. Why? He thought. Why me?

  Triet spoke and the two men stopped punching. They dragged him through the wet leaf-litter to a small, square hole in the ground, and Danny realized that his worst nightmare would come true.

  His body went stiff and he screamed: 'I can't go in there.'

  Triet's men forced him feet first into the hole. His shoulders jammed and the men pushed him through. He fell for a second, and then landed on his backside. A wedge of sunlight angled in through the trapdoor, revealing the first few feet of the subterranean rat-hole, barely four feet high, and less than three feet wide. His eyes took in the alien space and his heart raced.

  Stay calm, he thought. Just stay calm.

  Triet dropped through the opening followed by his two men. The bodies jammed between Danny and the exit triggered a surge of panic, and he shut his eyes to control the fear.

  Triet's men untied his feet, and then kicked him forward, forcing him down the tunnel. Danny's back scraped along the roof. He opened his eyes. Ahead of him, Triet held a lantern, which painted a few feet of the tunnel's flat floor and arched roof with a dull glow. The other two were behind Danny, shoving him forward.