The Line bo-2

by Bob Mayer

  “This happened when?” she asked.

  “Late Wednesday night,” Mrs. Johnson said.

  “The body was shipped to New York. A distant cousin, I believe.”

  She pulled out a notepad. “May I have your name please?”

  Wednesday night. The men had broken into her house on Thursday morning, Hawaii time. That equaled early Wednesday evening East Coast time. Mrs. Howard’s name and address had been in the notes that had been stolen from her desk.

  Trace remembered what Boomer had said about coincidences.

  She turned and walked away from Mrs. Johnson, straight out the door, and got into the car and drove. If The Line was willing to kill an old lady in her sleep, this was not a place to be giving her name.

  She didn’t notice Mrs. Johnson standing at the doors, writing down the license number of her car as she pulled out of the parking lot. The woman then walked back to her office and retrieved a file folder from a locked cabinet. She checked a card clipped to the front of the folder and dialed the number.

  When the phone was picked up on the other end, she spoke quickly, excited to be taking part in something she had seen only on television.

  “Agent Fields?” Getting an affirmative response, she rushed on.

  “Someone stopped in to see Mrs. Howard and I’m calling you like you asked me to. She wouldn’t leave her name, but I did get her license number.”

  Mrs. Johnson relayed the number and then answered questions posed to her by the man on the other end, describing Trace and the car as best she could. She was a bit disappointed when the man hung up on her with only a curt thanks. She’d expected more from the nice young man from the National Security Agency who had taken Mrs. Howard’s body and briefed her that this involved the country’s security and to call him if anyone showed up inquiring about Mrs. Howard.

  Twenty miles away. Trace stopped at the first motel she could find, numbly signing the guest registration and taking the key. She carried her bags into the room and locked the door, making sure the deadbolt and chain were on. She stripped off her clothes, leaving them in a pile on the floor, then her sweatshirt on top. She turned the shower on, the water steaming hot, and stepped in.

  As the drops pounded on her skin she remembered the old lady, lying in her bed with a comforter tucked up around her frail chin, telling her story of war fifty years ago and the death of a young husband whose picture was in a frame next to the bed. And now she was dead. The tears came and Trace pounded the wall in her mixture of grief and anger.

  Trace pulled Rison’s letter out of the pocket of the shirt she had worn under the sweatshirt. She was tucked up in the bed, the blankets pulled tight around her, the only light coming from the lamp on the nightstand. She could hear the rumble of traffic from’ the interstate.

  She’d tried calling Boomer twenty minutes earlier, but there’d been no answer at Maggie’s house.

  Trace slit open the top of the envelope and removed several pieces of paper. The cover letter was handwritten, the letters firmly formed. first became aware of the existence of a secret organization inside the Army in 1969 when I was in command of U.S. Special Operations forces in the Republic of Vietnam. I was approached by a classmate of mine — Brigadier General Matthew Broderine. The first two meetings I had with him at my headquarters in Nha Trang left me confused. I was uncertain why the assistant division command of the Americal Division wanted to talk to me and he did not make the purpose of his visits clear to me until our third meeting on April 12, 1969. In retrospect, I assume the first two meetings were to feel me out, although I would also have to say he did a very poor job of doing that based on the results of our third meeting.

  I am attaching on the next page a verbatim transcript of that meeting.

  I normally taped all personal and telephonic conversations in my office after having had several unpleasant experiences with the CJA. The original tape of the conversation and all copies were stolen — but that comes later.

  Trace turned the page to a slightly yellowed document.

  RISON: Good afternoon, Bill. What can I do for you today?

  BRODERINE: Afternoon, Bob. Glad you could make time to see me.

  RISON: You said something last time about my camps in your division’s area of operations. Is there-

  BRODERINE: Oh, everything’s fine. Just fine. Actually, I was talking with the general in Saigon the other day and we were discussing you.

  RISON: Discussing me?

  BRODERINE: Actually, we were discussing the Montagnard issue.

  RISON: What issue?

  BRODERINE: Oh, come on now, Bob. Don’t play cute with me. We both know the ARVN would just as soon go into the hills and kill Montagnards as they would NVA. In fact they’d probably prefer killing your-what do you call them? “Little people”? We also have information that the Montagnards are stockpiling weapons and ammunition for what they think is the war after the war — their war for independence after the threat from the north is defeated. Some of the people in Saigon are very nervous about that and they’ve expressed their concern to the general.

  RISON: And you’re expressing it to me.

  BRODERINE: The general did want me to feel you out on it.

  RISON: On what exactly?

  BRODERINE: He wants to know if you think there’s a chance of the Montagnards going their own way.

  RISON: They’re fighting under the South Vietnamese flag.

  BRODERINE: There’s no need to get defensive, Bob. It’s just that some people think you’ve got a wild card here, and we want to make sure we know how it’s going to play.

  RISON: This isn’t a game we’re involved in here. It’s war. For now the Montagnards and the South Vietnamese have the same enemy. I think that’s good enough. The “Yards” can outfight any ARVN outfit any day of the week, and those people in Saigon need to remember that. They also need to remember that if the Montagnards stop fighting, the VC will have control of the highlands in less than a month and this country will be history.

  BRODERINE: We’re aware of the strategic scenario. But there are larger issues involved here. Issues that are not of concern to either the government in Saigon or the Montagnards.

  RISON: What issues?

  BRODERINE: This war — don’t you see what it is? We kicked their ass in Tet. They shot their wad. Hell, it’s going to take those sons of bitches two or three years to get back up to strength in the north. They tipped their hand too soon and we handed them their ass in a sling.

  RISON: I agree. If Washington would let us go, we could make a clean sweep of it.

  BRODERINE: Washington! Hell, those pansy asses in D.C. couldn’t fight their way out of a paper sack. And this is just the sideshow any way. The real war is over in Europe.

  RISON: We’re not at war in Europe.

  BRODERINE: We’ve been at war for twenty-four years over there.

  RISON: What are you talking about?

  BRODERINE: That’s not important right now. What is important is that the general wants to know what his options are. He thinks we can downgrade our U.S. strength here and maintain the status quo. He wants to know if he can count on the Montagnards to remain a stable force.

  RISON: Downgrade? We need to finish this thing. If we put every swinging dick we have in-country into the bush, we could have this thing done with by the end of the year. You yourself just said we’ve hurt them bad. We need to finish them while they’re down.

  BRODERINE: That’s not the plan. Can the general count on your people?

  RISON: Whose plan are we talking about? Since when does the general make foreign policy? He’s not the National Command Authority.

  BRODERINE: Listen, Bob, wake up. We’ve got two or three years of breathing space now. We can keep rotating people in and give them combat experience. Keep things going on the procurement side. After that, who knows? We can always keep the North under our thumb with the bombing. But the general feels it is essential that we maintain things as is. Those are his inst
ructions.

  RISON: From who? That isn’t what Washington is putting out.

  BRODERINE: Damn it, Bob. Forget Washington. They’re out of the loop on this. This is us. You’re one of us. You understand.

  RISON: Don’t wave that fucking ring in my face, Bill. That ring says we serve and follow orders. We don’t dictate policy.

  BRODERINE: We do when there’s shooting involved. And we do when it involves being ready to defend our country. We can’t allow that to remain in the hands of the civilians. They’ve screwed it up repeatedly and it’s our blood that is spilled every time. This is the first war we’ve gotten into in this century where we’ve had the time to prepare. And the bigger war is just waiting over there in Europe and we need this one to remain prepared for it.

  RISON: Who the hell is this “we” you’re talking about?

  BRODERINE: The Long Gray Line, Bob. It’s been around a hell of a lot longer than you have and it will be here long after you’re gone.

  RISON: Is that a threat?

  BRODERINE: Take it any way you want, colonel. The bottom line is, your people do what we tell you to do, or we’ll gut you and your organization.

  RISON: Are you done, general?

  BRODERINE: I’m done.

  END OF TRANSCRIPT

  Trace rubbed her forehead. She turned the page and Rison’s writing continued.

  They didn’t fool around. They did gut me and my organization, but all that’s history and you can find that story elsewhere. If you’re reading this, I’m most likely dead and you are Just finding out about the existence of The Line. And the thing you need is proof. I don’t have the tapes of that conversation, and even if I did, it would be claimed a forgery. But I do have proof. To find it, you’re going to have to go to West Point. Go to Custer’s grave. Exactly one foot to the left on line with the front edge of the base of his gravestone — between his and his wife’s grave — and one foot down, you’ll find proof. Godspeed.

  Trace folded the pages and slid them back in the envelope.

  At least she knew where she needed to go next. She picked the phone up and dialed Maggie’s number again.

  CHAPTER 16

  PACIFIC PALISADES, HAWAII

  2 DECEMBER

  4:48 P.M.LOCAL 148 ZULU

  Boomer and Skibicki trooped into Maggie’s house covered in mud. They’d spent the last several hours scouring the north coast, searching vainly for. any sign of where the previous night’s jumpers might have gone to earth. They’d finally called it quits after getting Skibicki’s jeep stuck on one of the countless back trails. They were both exhausted.

  Maggie met them with a laundry bag to take their dirty clothes.

  “Your friend Trace called an hour ago,” she informed them.

  “Is she all right?” Boomer asked, pausing in the middle of unlacing his boots.

  “She says she’s fine, but she thinks Colonel Rison is dead.”

  “Dead?” Skibicki repeated, focusing all his attention on Maggie.

  Maggie gestured for them to forget about the mud and follow her into the kitchen.

  “She didn’t talk to me long.

  She said that she talked to Rison at the game and he was shot while they were talking. She escaped. Before he got shot, Rison gave her an envelope with some information in it that says the Line exists. She’s on her way to West Point to get Rison’s proof.”

  “West Point?” Boomer said.

  “That’s going into the lion’s den. What kind of proof is she going for?”

  “She didn’t say,” Maggie replied.

  “Did she leave a number where I could call her?” Boomer asked.

  “She said she didn’t think it was a good idea to give her location over the phone,” Maggie replied. She threw a newspaper down on the table.

  “I just picked a copy of the evening paper. You might want to look at it.”

  Boomer picked it up and scanned the front page. His eyes immediately focused on a story on the bottom left.

  TWO BODIES FOUND AT KAENA POINT

  A local fisherman discovered the bodies of two men at Kaena Point early this morning. Both men had been shot but police were unwilling to release any more information. The identity of the men has not been released.

  Boomer checked the rest of the article, but it yielded little information.

  “The police have found the bodies from last night,” Boomer said, laying the paper down.

  “Any ID?” Skibicki asked, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

  “Not according to the paper, but we don’t know what the police have.

  What about the weapons we used?”

  “I deep-sixed those,” Skibicki said.

  “That’s one of the things I took care of while I was gone.”

  Boomer was relieved that those pieces of evidence were gone.

  Maggie wasn’t done.

  “Trace also said for you to get the story about what happened to Colonel Rison in Vietnam from Ski.”

  Boomer turned to the sergeant major.

  “What does that mean?”

  Skibicki wearily sank down into a chair.

  “Rison was the best damn commander I ever served under. What it means is that Rison probably didn’t have the time to tell her about what happened to him when he ran afoul of The Line.”

  “And you know?” Boomer demanded.

  “Yes, I know.”

  Boomer was agitated.

  “Why didn’t you tell me everything you knew?”

  “Because I didn’t have proof and I didn’t really know what was going on,” Skibicki snapped.

  “Rison had the proof and the real knowledge. And now Trace is going after it. I also didn’t make all the connections with what happened back then with what’s going on now. It’s been a long time.”

  Boomer sat across from him.

  “Tell me what you do know.”

  Maggie bustled over with mugs of coffee and sat on the other corner of the table as Skibicki gathered his thoughts.

  “When you first came to me about The Line, I tried to blow you off. I didn’t know why you were asking me, and quite honestly, I thought you might be from them. They want that proof back too. They want it bad — bad enough to kill for. It was only when I realized who your dad was that I knew you probably weren’t from The Line, but even then I had to play it safe.”

  Skibicki looked off, out at the ocean.

  “I ran into The Line when Rison did — way back in Vietnam. Of course I didn’t know it was called The Line or anything about it.

  That all came later. It was after the mission where your dad died. We were running operations constantly so there wasn’t any time to stand around and contemplate things. I got a new team. This time I was the team leader, we were so short of personnel.

  “I also got a new assignment. Command and Control North, MACVSOG. We were also under B-57, Project Gamma, but we weren’t going west. We were going north, right into the little shitheads’ backyard and snooping around. We were also crossing into Laos to get earlier readings on stuff moving south through there and into Cambodia on what everyone called the Ho Chi Minh Trail, but it wasn’t just one trail — it was a whole complex of trails and roads and supply depots and staging areas.

  “You got to understand something else that was going at the same time, something that was affecting Special Forces throughout the theater. A lot of our A Teams in 5th Group proper were working with the Montagnards — had been for years. And that was a big burr under the skin of the South Vietnamese government. In 1964, the Montagnards in the Ban Me Thout region had actually rebelled against the government, and it was only with the greatest of diplomacy that the Special Forces advisors in the area were able to keep the peace.

  The teams working with the Yards were always caught between a rock and a hard place. The Yards were damn good fighters, but they hated the South Vietnamese as much as they hated the North and if you remember rightly, our government’s policy was to support the South, not the
Montagnards.”

  Skibicki shook his head.

  “I’m not sure about the exact political maneuvering. AH I know is what Colonel Rison told me afterwards and what I saw myself. Rison said that he was approached by someone sent by the MACV Commanding General in Saigon and told to back off on supporting the Montagnards. They wanted us to disarm over fifty percent of our indigenous forces. Rison refused to do that, so the regular Army assholes started doing whatever they could to screw with our operations. Since they also had the help of the CIA, you could tell that someone really high up was rocking the boat.

  “In the middle of this bullshit we were trying to fight a war. And it was starting to go badly in B-57. We still had to deal with our counterparts in the LLDB — the South Vietnamese army — and sometimes it was hard to tell who was more of a threat, the LLDB or the VC. Our counter intel guy was picking up information that our fucking LLDB counterparts were selling ammunition and weapons to the North Vietnamese. So much for democracy and the free enterprise system.

  “We tried tightening down the screws on security at CCN headquarters but we were still losing people on missions and it was obvious there was a leak. But it wasn’t like we could just call time-out and put all our energy into finding out where the leak was. Our counter intel guys went to work on it and we kept getting on board the choppers and going out not knowing if our mission was compromised from the word go. You want to talk about having a shit feeling in your gut, you try that someday, flying into the badlands not knowing whether your whole OPLAN has been compromised and the bad guys were waiting for you to get off the bird.

  “Then my team, RT Texas, went on a mission in, well, let’s simply call it a classified area, although I can tell you now that it was north of the DMZ. We came across what had been an enemy base camp. It was empty. We searched the place, sometimes you’d be amazed what you can find left behind, and hit paydirt: we found some film negatives that had been discarded in a pile of trash that had been half burnt. We brought those back with us.”