by Pat Bertram
“This is still monsoon season. By noon, dark thunderclouds will appear on the horizon, and the air will become thick with humidity. Later, torrents of rain will fall. Lots of rain. Sometimes the streets of Bangkok get flooded, creating massive traffic jams, but the rain also washes away the smog, and each day dawns bright and cool. Of course, by noon thunderclouds appear again.”
“So I guess we need raincoats. What else?”
“Mesh socks if we can find them, otherwise cotton will do, and canvas shoes or sandals. Also whatever cotton touristy clothes we can find.”
“The stores will be stocked with late fall and winter things.”
“We need the bare minimum, whatever fits into carry-on bags. We can buy everything else in Thailand. Since you like to shop so much, you should have fun. In addition to small shops and street markets, there are some very modern department stores and shopping centers.”
Kerry bounced in her seat. “I can’t believe I’m actually going to Bangkok. Did I ever tell you I saw The King and I at least four times?”
Bob put a finger to his lips. “Don’t mention that movie while we’re in Thailand. It’s so full of misconceptions it offends the Thais, and it’s disrespectful to the king.”
“You never said what you’re going to do once we get there.”
“Talk to a pilot named Donald McCray. I need to find out more about the hospital in the Philippines. And I’ll probably stop in to see Hamburger Dan.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier to call?”
“I have to convince McCray to tell me what he told Harrison, and for that we have to be face-to-face. And obviously Hamburger Dan’s phone is tapped, so I can’t call him, either.”
“Are you talking about the Hamburger Dan? The hero of Harrison’s book A Separate War?”
“Yes.”
“Wow!”
After a mile of silence, she said in a more subdued tone, “I’ve been so excited about the trip, I forgot to ask you about talking to your other self.”
Bob recounted his conversation with Robert and, after a brief hesitation, told her about the ISI operatives who’d stormed the library.
She drew in a sharp breath that sounded like a sob. “They do want you, don’t they?”
“Whatever their original objective, it’s become personal for Sam and Ted. I’m afraid they’re never going to give up.”
She gave him a lopsided smile. “You were right about needing me to protect you.” She accelerated, shot through a yellow light, then eased up on the gas. “Why do you think they’re after you?”
“I still don’t know.”
“You’ve talked to a lot of people and done a lot of thinking. Haven’t you begun to connect the dots?”
“Of course, but I could be connecting dots that don’t exist.”
“So what’s your theory?”
He felt a sudden need to be moving, but only had room to shift in his seat. “I think Robert got snagged for the Cerberus experiments, and they gave him a new identity. Mine.”
“Why would they do such a thing?”
“Maybe for no other reason than to see if they could.”
She chewed on her bottom lip. “But why are they after you?”
“I think they wanted to keep me away from their ringer, but things got out of hand.”
A slow nod. “It must have been a shock when they discovered you were coming home after all these years.”
Seeing a look of sadness in her eyes and something akin to pity, he turned his head and stared out the window at the distant mountains.
Snow already dusted the peaks.
Chapter 20
“I thought this would be fun,” Kerry said, turning away from the airplane window. “But there’s nothing to see. Just night.”
Bob opened his eyes. “Go to sleep. It helps pass the time.”
“I can’t. My brain won’t shut off.” She gave him a crafty look. “Maybe if you tell me a story . . .”
He laughed. “I’ve never known anyone with such an insatiable appetite for stories. Harrison’s going to love you.”
He felt a jolt as it dawned on him, once again, that Harrison was dead. Maybe murdered.
Kerry reached out and touched Bob’s hand. Her voice was as soft as her caress. “What was he like? In Dark Side of Heroes he described the journalist John Tyler as a big man with big appetites.”
“Sounds like him. He drank big, ate big, laughed big. He was extravagantly generous but so offhand nobody resented him for it. When Kalia and Dave Marconi were ready for college, he made sure they got into Columbia University, invited them to live in his New York brownstone, and helped them get acclimated to the United States.”
Kerry leaned her head against his shoulder. “Did he ever fall in love? Marry?”
“Not that I know of. I heard a rumor that his housekeeper in Bangkok, a woman from Chiang Mai, did more than take care of his residence, but he never confirmed it.”
“What about his early life? The biography at the end of his books doesn’t say anything except that he divided his time between New York City and Bangkok.”
“That’s about all I know. He talked constantly while we were together, but he never mentioned his past. It seemed as if he sprang forth fully grown from the soil of Vietnam where we met.”
“Another conspiracy of silence,” Kerry said. “You men!”
Bob tilted his head to look at her. “What are you talking about?”
“I read somewhere there are two ways of saying nothing, to be silent or to hide your silence behind words. You and Hsiang-li shared one kind of silence, you and Harrison shared the second.”
“You could be right.”
“I know I am. Who are Kalia and Dave Marconi?”
Bob waited a beat until his less nimble mind caught up with hers. “They’re Hamburger Dan’s children. Since Hamburger Dan can never return to the United States, Harrison acted as surrogate father to Kalia and Dave.”
“How come he couldn’t return?”
“Did you read Harrison’s novel A Separate War?”
“Yes.”
“Then you know the answer as well as I do. I read the book, and it’s all there.”
“But I want to hear the real story about Hamburger Dan and O’Riley’s Bar. I think it’s romantic—a typical New York neighborhood bar set in the middle of Bangkok.”
“Harrison loved the place. When he arrived back in Bangkok after a stay in New York, he stopped at O’Riley’s first thing. He told me it helped him bridge the gap between east and west.
“Hamburger Dan’s real name was David Marconi. He’s Italian, but he grew up in an Irish neighborhood in Brooklyn where a bar sat on every corner, or so he said. In the summer, when he opened his bedroom window to catch the breeze, David could hear snatches of song coming from O’Riley’s, the nearest bar, and he could smell its strange and wonderful odor.
“Before he grew old enough to legally patronize the bar, he enlisted in the army. He took and passed every advanced training course possible, and eventually became one of the elite—a Green Beret. They sent him to Vietnam to organize a remote tribe of Montagnards into a combat unit. The Yards, as the Green Berets called them, were anxious to fight the North Vietnamese, but they always had more important things to do than attend training sessions.
“In desperation, David went to one of the tribal elders and explained his predicament. The old man told him the people didn’t trust him because he wasn’t one of them, but he promised to help.”
Kerry lifted her head. “I like this part. The old man brought a shy young girl to Dan—David, I mean—and said, ‘You marry.’ David didn’t want to get married, but the old man insisted it was the way to get everyone to trust him. So David got married and later fell in love with her. Was she as beautiful as Harrison wrote?”
Bob nodded. “Very beautiful. Creamy skin with a bloom of roses on her high cheekbones, sparkling dark eyes set at an exotic slant, long lustrous black hair, surprisingly full breast
s for such a delicate body.”
Kerry poked him in the side. “A simple yes would have been sufficient.”
Bob grinned at her. “I can’t help it. I like black-haired women with sparkling dark eyes.”
“Oh.” She laid her head back on his shoulder. “After the wedding ceremony, David had no more trouble organizing and training his combat troops.”
“Do you want to tell the story?” Bob asked.
“No. You go ahead. You’re doing fine.”
Smiling, he said, “The respect the troops had for David was often tinged with ribald humor, but David accepted the teasing good-naturedly.
“The longer he lived among those indigenous mountain peoples of Vietnam, the more he identified with their plight. At one time the vast section of South Vietnam known as the Central Highlands belonged to the Montagnards, but they had been pushed further and further back into the hills by the Vietnamese, who considered them to be little more than animals. In fact, after a bombing raid in North Vietnam, the South Vietnamese often expended any unused ordnance on the mountain villages.”
“The South Vietnamese did that to the villagers even though they were both on the same side? And the government allowed it?” Kerry asked.
“Ancient hatreds are stronger than modern political alliances.” He paused, but she had no more questions. “When David’s tour of duty ended, he refused to leave. His commanding officer flew in to order David’s return.
“David Marconi was a towering, muscular man with curly black hair, a classic Roman nose, and flashing brown eyes. He stood his ground and glared defiantly at the officer. In the end, it was not David’s intimidating stance that induced the officer to leave, but the menacing arc of Montagnard soldiers with their M-16’s at the ready.
“David gave little thought to the consequences of his actions. He and his troops were too busy fighting their war. Even after the American military pulled out of Vietnam, even after Saigon fell, the mountain tribes continued to fight. The South Vietnamese may have surrendered, but they had not.
“One day word reached the little village that the NVA was capturing any Montagnards who had not turned in their weapons and were taking them away to be shot by firing squads. Hundreds were being slaught-ered.
“No coward, David would have remained, but he worried about the safety of his wife and their two young children. He prepared for departure. Although he begged his beloved Yards to go with them, they refused. The village was their whole life, and they would live and die with it.
“David and his small family slipped away in the night. On foot, they crossed the border into Cambodia and then into Thailand, following trails known only to the mountain tribes, who used them to move freely from one country to another, disregarding national boundaries.
“Once David had safely settled his family in Bangkok, he fell into a state of deep despair. He felt he had betrayed his Yards who had been betrayed too many times before. And he had no job. Unless he wanted to become a mercenary, his military days were gone forever. Even worse, he could never return to the United States. Refusing to obey a direct order from a superior officer in time of war is a serious offense, and if the military caught him, the best he could hope for would be to spend the rest of his life doing hard time at Leavenworth.
“I was tending bar in The Lotus Room one evening when David came in and tried to find the answers to his problems in a bottle of whiskey.
“Harrison sat on the barstool next to him. Between gulps of whiskey and an occasional belch, David poured out the entire tale. Several times he got sidetracked and lamented he’d never be able to have a drink at O’Riley’s in Brooklyn. During the rest of the evening and late into the night, Harrison kept dropping casual remarks about Bangkok needing a good Irish pub.
“David opened O’Riley’s Bar and Grill a month later.
“When Harrison wrote his book A Separate War, he used the real name of the bar, but he called the owner Hamburger Dan, a reference to an old song no one but Harrison ever remembered hearing.
“The book became an international bestseller, and O’Riley’s became the most famous bar in the world.
“Hamburger Dan, as everybody now called David Marconi, took it all in stride. He made no secret that his family was the most important thing in his life. He boasts that his children, born in the jungled hills of Vietnam to a Montagnard woman, are now attending college in the United States and have the whole world at their feet.”
Bob chuckled. “I still remember that night in The Lotus Room. Harrison thought he was subtle, but Hamburger Dan saw the truth. He told me once he would never forget how much he owed Harrison, not just for the success of the bar and for financing it, but for steering him into it in the first place.”
Bob listened for Kerry’s answering chuckle, but all he heard was the soft whuffling of her breath as she slept.
***
Bob dreamt.
The heavy warmth of the jungle wrapped around him like a familiar blanket. He felt at peace, knowing he’d become part of this green world. He paused in his journey and looked up at the small patches of pale blue showing through the canopy of leaves. From a nearby branch came the clear song of a finch accompanied by a chorus of tree frogs.
He took a deep breath, filling his nostrils with the rich smell of earth and vegetation. As he exhaled, a chill stole over him. Noticing movement to the left, he turned and peered into the shadows. A darker shadow, a ghost mist, slipped between the tree trunks.
Suddenly the jungle closed in on him. The smell suffocated him, the taste of the air choked him. His chest ached with the effort to breathe.
He felt a touch on his hand . . .
***
Gasping, Bob sat bold upright. He stared wildly about him.
Where am I? Who am I?
He became aware of the young woman gazing anxiously at him and of her hand resting on his. Then he became aware of the room and the intricately designed bamboo furniture.
All at once he knew. He was in a hotel room in Bangkok, in bed with Kerry. They had registered as Timothy and Louanne Prather, the names on their new drivers’ licenses and passports.
“Are you okay?” Kerry asked. “You panted like you were in pain.”
He rubbed his chest. “I couldn’t breathe. The jungle . . .”
She put her arms around him.
His body registered her touch with a strange sense of numbness. She pulled away from him, a puzzled look in her eyes. He hugged her close and buried his face in her hair. The numbness disappeared. He could feel the strength of her arms.
Chapter 21
Bob opened his eyes, then squeezed them shut against the light. From the heaviness of the air and the brightness of the day, he presumed it was mid-morning. He opened his eyes again and this time managed to keep them open.
He turned his head toward Kerry. She lay on her back, hands behind her head, eyes focused on the ceiling. Following her gaze, he realized she was staring at one of the ubiquitous green lizards. Her body vibrated with excitement.
He smiled to himself. Leave it to Kerry to be thrilled with this small reminder they were no longer in Colorado.
“Isn’t this great?” she said in a hushed voice. “We have our own private watch lizard.”
Bob brushed away a fly buzzing around his head. “We could use a few more.”
A knock sounded.
He tensed.
Kerry patted him on the arm. “It’s room service. I ordered breakfast. Green tea, coffee, rolls, and fruit.” She jumped out of bed, snatched her red paisley wrap, and slipped into it as she headed for the door.
The spring within him wound tighter.
She paused to tie the belt around her waist, then put her hand on the knob.
He was sitting up, cursing the sluggishness of his wits, when she pulled the door open.
A young Thai waiter entered and set a tray on the table. He accepted a tip from Kerry, gave her a small wai and a large smile, then left, closing the door behind
him.
Bob let out the breath he’d been holding, and some of the tenseness seeped from his body.
Inspecting the contents of the tray, Kerry pointed to a round object of such a deep reddish brown it almost looked black. “Is that food?”
“It’s a mangosteen. You need a knife to cut through the tough skin, but the white pulp is delicious.”
She laughed. “I wondered why they sent a sharp knife for soft rolls and bananas.” She cut through the rind and took a big bite of the pulp. “You’re right. This is delicious.”
She cut off a piece and held it out to him.
He shook his head. “I need to take a shower first.”
She stuffed another piece of the fruit in her mouth. “Good. More for me.”
***
When Bob came out of the bathroom, he found Kerry dressed in her new cotton pants, a vividly colored shirt, and sandals.
“I can’t wait another minute.” Her smile was incandescent. “I’m going for a walk. My very first walk in a foreign country.” She opened the door. “Do you want me to wait for you?”
“No. Go ahead. Be careful, okay?”
“I will.” She ran back, gave him a hug, then dashed out the door.
The hotel was built around a courtyard accessible from all the rooms. Bob took his breakfast out to the courtyard, but couldn’t enjoy the fountain, the bushes, the flowers. He kept stealing glances at the windows, wondering if anyone was watching him.
When dark clouds rolled across the sky, pushing a stifling humidity before them, he took refuge in his room. It did not have air-conditioning, but the slowly revolving ceiling fan offered a modicum of relief.
He paced the floor, feeling as if he were a stranger in this land. It didn’t matter that he had lived here for sixteen years, he realized; any place would seem alien when he wasn’t with Kerry. She was his home.
He tried not to worry about her all alone on the streets, but as time passed, the worry grew too strong to ignore.