The Cover of War

by Travis Stone

  The air in the tunnel was hot, thick, and hard to inhale. If they can breathe, he thought. I can breathe.

  The tunnel descended steadily, and after a few minutes, they rounded a hairpin-bend, which took them deeper into the earth.

  Why me? Danny thought. Why the hell am I here?

  After three more hairpins they stopped and small wooden door appeared in the lantern-light. Triet pulled a hanging cord and a single electric bulb came on. Danny was surprised that they had electricity down here.

  Triet handed the lantern to one of his men, and then he slid back the locking-bolt, and pulled open the door. Danny only had seconds to view the tiny hole before he was shoved inside. The door sealed behind him with a rush of heavy air.

  Danny panicked: the space was too small. He felt like he was buried alive. He could feel every ton of earth that lay between him and the surface.

  I can't breathe, he thought. I'll suffocate.

  Danny slammed his feet into the door. His face hit the ceiling. His arms hit the walls. He writhed in panic. He kicked and thrashed and slammed his head into the roof innumerable times in an uncontrollable fit of terror.

  * * *

  From her cell, Amai heard the activity in the main tunnel.

  She twisted around and pressed her ear to the door, but the heavy timber only distorted the voices into low mumblings.

  Then she heard bodies outside her door, and the lock-bolt grated back. She backed away. The door opened and she saw Triet's face in the lantern-light; he looked demonic.

  He smirked. 'You have a new neighbor.'

  Her stomach clenched. 'Danny?'

  Triet laughed. 'How long do you think he will last?'

  Then his boot hit her in the mouth and she tasted dirt and blood.

  Her door slammed shut. The bolt locked. The bodies moved away.

  Oh no, she thought. Danny.

  44

  Tanthuan Shipyards

  Saigon

  10°45'50.21"N 106°42'36.72"E

  Wearing a faded Brooklyn Dodgers baseball cap, jeans, and a tee shirt, Chaske walked cautiously along the waterfront.

  He felt nervous because he was meeting someone he did not trust - a CIA shadow-man named Jim Hurley.

  Chaske found the ship and checked the number. The two-hundred foot freighter rocked sluggishly beside the quay. One of her engines chugged at idle, scenting the air with burnt fuel-oil, and heavy mooring lines, ringed with rat-disks, rose to an apparently dormant main deck.

  Chaske stopped and took a breath. He had made his decision: alive or not, he was going after Danny and Amai.

  The pier groaned under the weight of the incoming tide. Chaske scanned the freighter's deck, his eyes stopping on the superstructure. On a gangway between two funnels, a face watched him.

  A sentry.

  Chaske needed to stay alert; dealing with Jim Hurley was dangerous, as one never knew what sinister cargo or people he was moving, but questions about the rescue hijacked Chaske's concentration.

  A man doesn't simply stroll into Laos, he thought.

  Cam's ballpark location was four-hundred miles away. That was why he was meeting Jim Hurley. Chaske needed a chopper; and he needed it kept hush-hush.

  He looked back to the gangway. A gun-barrel had replaced the face. Chaske swallowed his concern; this level of security was normal for Jim Hurley.

  Chaske's mind turned to his team. He didn't want Golota involved, but Blue the Australian would be perfect. The unit had just begun a one-week leave rotation. Even if Blue did agree to follow him into Laos on an illegal mission, a few days would be all they had.

  Chaske felt twinge of fear. What if Blue won't come?

  The Australian was his best operator. The red-headed welterweight was as tough-as-nails, and undoubtedly possessed the highest power-to-weight ratio of any living human. Blue was a pit-bull with a heart of gold; but aside from strength and courage, Blue was Chaske's friend. In the ring, Chaske had watched Blue beat bigger fighters with technique, more skilled fighters with determination, and expert fighters with luck. But in the 'J' Blue was the best - no one came close.

  As instructed, Chaske stopped short of the freighter's gangplank and turned his cap backwards.

  Despite having nothing to work with other than Cam's 'visions', Chaske had mentally constructed a basic plan for the rescue: he would limit the team to himself, Cam, Blue, and the pilot.

  But Chaske could already see problems.

  Am I crazy? He thought.

  Chaske could not use a Military pilot; that left only one option - Civil Air Transport. Anything, Anywhere, Anytime, was Jim Hurley's motto; and he meant it.

  Jim was an old CAT contact that Chaske had used before in this part of the world; albeit on sanctioned operations.

  The CIA silently owned CAT. The cover company had been operating in South East Asia for years. With their large fleet of aircraft, CAT performed insertion and extraction for The CIA, Special-Forces, spies, and sabotage teams in any and all conditions. They would fly people, food, weapons, and drugs, no-questions-asked, into virtually any environment. But their service came at a price. Chaske was under no illusion; the rescue would cost him every cent he had. During his time in covert operations, Chaske had never dipped into his bank account. He was so often in remote locations that he seldom got the chance. As a result he was incubating a sizeable nest-egg. The chopper's cost wouldn't bother him, but if he abandoned Danny and Amai to the Viet Cong, to suffer cruelty and torture for God-knows how many years, he would not be able to live with himself.

  A fat-gutted seaman with heavily tattooed forearms appeared at the head of the gangplank. The seaman scanned the wharf, and then signaled for Chaske to follow him. They entered the superstructure through a steel hatch, climbed several flights of steep metal steps, and emerged on the bridge.

  Jim Hurley was sitting at the wheel chewing gum. 'Hello Chaske,' he said. 'Still enjoying Vietnam?'

  'Don't mean to be rude Jim, but I'm pressed for time.'

  'How can I be of service, my friend?'

  'I need an OH-6, with pilot, armed with rockets and an M-60.'

  'Cayuse, eh.' Jim chewed and nodded and then eyeballed him. 'We talkin' operational or private use here?'

  He's as cunning as a rat, Chaske thought. He decided not to lie. 'Private.'

  Jim looked suspicious. 'Okay Chaske. I know you. You're a good guy.' He spat his gum into a steel waste bin. 'I got two flight ready OH-6 Alfas. Twenty-five-grand to charter machine and pilot.'

  'Great-'

  'But I ain't got a pilot available for three weeks.'

  Chaske's gut dropped.

  Jim showed his palms. 'My two best were greased over Laos two days ago. Two others just packed up and went home. Christ I pay em four-times what they get anywhere else.' Jim shook his head. 'All the rest are logged on missions. Nature of the business, my friend.'

  Chaske felt ill. 'I need it tomorrow, Jim.'

  Jim thumbed the stubble under his chin. 'I could rent you the machine - Only if you got a suitable pilot.'

  Chaske nodded. 'I'll get one.'

  Jim rubbed his hands together. 'Who?'

  'I'll get one.'

  'Mmm . . . Price goes up.'

  'How much?'

  'Fifty.'

  Chaske's head snapped back. 'Thou-sand?'

  Jim locked his hands behind his head. 'Take it or leave it, pal.'

  Chaske felt like he had been kicked in the balls. He didn't know what it cost to ship a new OH-6 to Saigon, but it had to be less than twenty-five-thousand dollars.

  Chaske knew he was being played.

  'Well?' Jim said. 'I ain't got all day.'

  'Okay, Jim. Deal.'

  Jim smirked and they shook hands.

  'Zero-five-thirty,' Jim said. 'LZ40 at Tan Son Nhut. Bring the cash in a Military issue cram-sack.'

  Chaske left the ship, racking his brain for a pilot who would fly an illegal mission into Laos at such short notice. He could think of only one: Jo
hn Golota.

  Hell, he thought. It's already going wrong.

  45

  Danny was pulled from unconsciousness by the screams of a distressed baby.

  He came to, to find his mouth hard against the bottom edge of his cell door, sucking up the weak draft from the tunnel beyond

  I have to get out of here, he thought. I can't take any more.

  It became obvious that the baby's scream was a recording.

  They're torturing me, he thought, feeling a slither of hope; torture would lead to questioning. Then, Danny hoped, Triet would realize he had someone of little value, and let him go.

  Danny shook the door. He knew it was locked solid and that he could not break it down.

  How long before they open it? He thought. How long before I can get out?

  After what felt like an eternity, the crying stopped. The silence billowed around him, and he lay still, trying to imagine himself in a wide open space.

  He heard a click, and a dazzling light filled the hole.

  The torture settled into an endless cycle: baby screaming; bright-light; dark; baby screaming . . .

  After time, Danny's mind began to reproduce the baby's screaming, even when the recording was turned off. He could get no rest. He could not escape the crushing exhaustion. He was at his limit.

  The light flicked off and the door opened.

  Danny scrambled for the opening, desperate to reach the spacious main tunnel. A boot-heel came down on his head. Danny kept going. Toe-caps thudded into his face. He shrank back into the hole, looked up, and saw Triet's angular face, and the stoat like face of his lieutenant.

  Danny felt his breath coming in gasps. 'I'll do anything,' he said. 'Just let me out.'

  Triet bared his teeth. 'Were you taking Amai to America?'

  'What?'

  Triet's knuckles struck Danny in the temple, bursting a hail of stars behind his eyes.

  Triet repeated the question.

  Danny closed his eyes and pictured Amai's face. 'I fell in love with her,' he said. 'That was her plan. She played me. She's Viet Cong. What is this?'

  Triet slowed his speech: 'Were - you - taking - her - to - America?'

  Danny was exhausted. His mind lost focus. He didn't understand what Triet wanted. He thought: She tricked me. She said those things to keep me on the hook.

  Triet kicked him in the jaw and a reel of images un-spooled through his mind: They were all of Amai.

  When Danny came to his senses, Triet was gone. He was alone again, locked in the hole with his lips pressed to the bottom of the door. He would do anything to get free, but Triet had not offered any kind of bargain.

  The baby resumed its screaming.

  The airflow beneath the door slowed, and then stopped.

  Danny felt panic take him. He knew he could not stop it.

  * * *

  Amai wriggled in the tight space.

  Her worry for Danny made her sick.

  She knew Triet would put Danny through the same sleep depriving torture as she. She hoped he could take it.

  He'll kill us, she thought.

  Escape would be their only means of survival.

  She wondered if she could overpower Triet next time he opened her door. No, she thought. He's too strong. I'll have to break out.

  She lay on her back, coiled her body, and slammed her feet into the door. The door didn't even flex. She kicked again, harder this time. But the timber was too strong.

  Hope drained from her body. She began to accept defeat.

  Will Danny get free? She thought. Will he rescue me?

  No.

  This is where I will die.

  46

  Darkness mauled Saigon. Anxiety mauled Chaske Thorn.

  He was worried about approaching Blue with his crazy plan.

  He'll think I'm nuts.

  Chaske knew where to find the Australian. He caught a taxi from Cam's, to the house of Lady Lotus, hidden in the heart of Cholon's red-light district. He found Blue in a back room hot-tub, immersed in steam and bare-breasted women.

  Blue spoke with a nipple in his mouth: 'Gidday, mate. We're going on a minge-binge.' He slurred his words. 'Jump in, mate. Plenty-a-room.'

  Blue was with Cliff, an Australian Warrant Officer from SOG, who Chaske had met before. The two Australians lived by the motto: work-hard-play-hard.

  Chaske said: 'I've got bad news, Blue.

  Cliff looked sheepish.

  Blue looked drunk. 'Ya better get in, mate.'

  Chaske stripped to his boxers and the girls giggled. He lowered himself into the hot water and an attractive girl handed him a beer.

  Blue grinned. 'This is the life, cobber. If this stupid war ever stops I'm gunna move here. There's no place like it.'

  'I thought you were moving to Bangkok?'

  A girl draped an arm around Blue's neck and he made a face at Chaske. 'Mate,' he said. 'Definitely here.'

  Chaske thought of Cam.

  Before Cam had come to him, he had been thinking about leaving Special-Activities, and going back to the Montagnard village.

  Focus on the mission.

  Chaske asked the girls for some privacy. They got out of the tub and went out through a silk curtain.

  'You're a real party-pooper,' Blue said. 'Right'o, spill ya guts?'

  Chaske eyed Cliff.

  Blue said: 'He's right.'

  Chaske was actually pleased that Cliff was there; the SOG man would be an asset to the mission.

  Chaske filled them in on what had happened to Danny and Amai, and his plan for their rescue.

  He was met with silence.

  Chaske said: 'I'll pay each of you two thousand dollars before we go.'

  Blue looked into his beer.

  Cliff looked uneasy.

  Let it sink in, Chaske thought. Give them time.

  * * *

  Blue fought the effects of the alcohol.

  He had never seen Chaske so unsettled, but fully understood his desperation to find Danny and Amai. Blue however, could not go with Chaske, and he felt heavy with guilt.

  Crickey, Blue thought. He's forked-out for a chopper - and I'm gunna let him down.

  Blue looked Chaske in the eye. 'Mate. I can't come on this one. I'm meetin' me folks in Hawaii tomorrow. I haven't seen em for twelve years. They didn't even know I was alive till three days ago . . . You understand . . . Right?'

  In his youth, Blue had unwittingly gotten on the wrong side of a Melbourne crime family, unaware of his fiancée's latent connection with the mobsters. She and her entire family had been murdered because a gangster decided that he owned her. Blue had been lucky to escape Australia with his life. He fled to America and enlisted in the Army. He had met Chaske in Special-Forces, where they had become like brothers. The CIA recruited both of them into their Special Activities Division, together.

  Blue felt ashamed. He had never let Chaske down before.

  I've got no option, Blue thought. I'll never let him down again.

  Blue's mind turned to his parents. Up until a few days ago, he had cut all contact with them, for fear of endangering their lives. The reunion would be emotional. He could not miss it.

  Chaske was nodding, but Blue could see the big Native American's disappointment bleeding through like an oil stain.

  Chaske said: 'I understand, Blue.'

  Blue felt low.

  Cliff said: 'Sorry Chaske. This ones way outta my depth.'

  Chaske hid his emotions well. Blue sipped his beer. It was flat. He said: 'You'll have Golota. Piece-a-piss.

  The look in Chaske's eye suggested that he didn't agree. Chaske climbed out of the tub and toweled off.

  Blue said: 'Hey, mate.'

  'Yeah?'

  'Good luck.'

  * * *

  Chaske walked onto the wharf, wondering if he could pull-off the op without Blue.

  I'd go alone if I had to.

  Over his left shoulder, Chaske could see Cam's form, watching him from her living-room wind
ow; over his right shoulder, a tug was pulling Jim Hurley's freighter out into the brownish channel.

  Golota came up to him. 'What's this about, Thorn?'

  'I'll be as straight as I can.'

  'Sounds like you're bull-shitting me already.'

  'I need you to pilot an OH-6 for me.'

  Golota arched his eyebrows. 'Where?'

  'Laos-'

  'Use the system?' Golota turned.

  'There's three-grand in it for you.'

  Golota stopped. 'What's the mission?'

  'Two civilians are being held at a camp near Saravane. I'll snatch them - you drive the get-away-car.'

  'Where's the Intel from? Is it sound?'

  Chaske tensed. 'I'm using a psychic-'

  Golota started to laugh. 'I'm out. What the fuck's wrong with you, Thorn?'

  'Make it five-grand. Humor me for the money.'

  'You got it on you?'

  Chaske handed Golota one-thousand dollars cash. 'I'll pay the rest on completion - successful or not.'

  'Don't trust me, aye?' Golota smiled. 'I wouldn't either.'

  'LZ-40. Zero-five-hundred.'

  'You're crazy, Thorn. But I'll take your money.' Golota turned and walked back down the wharf.

  Using Golota concerned Chaske deeply. He's a psychopath and a drug user, Chaske thought. Can I rely on him? Chaske didn't think so; but some of Golota's criticism stuck, strengthening his doubt in Cam's ability, and his own sense of judgment.

  Are they really alive? He thought. Is this all a mistake?

  Chaske walked back to Cam's, climbed her stairs, and opened her door. Cam wore black satin pants and blouse. She put a bunch of maroon colored sticks into a vase on the coffee table, and lit their tops. The smoke curled unhurriedly upward.

  Cam said: 'I keep seeing numbers.'

  Chaske heard Golota's voice: You're crazy, Thorn. But I'll take your money.

  'The same numbers,' Cam went on. 'Everywhere.' She pointed out through the window to the Civil Air Transport freighter. 'The serial number. 106.' She took a pencil and scribbled numbers onto a piece of paper. 'These numbers are guiding me.' She looked into his eyes. 'They're guiding us.'