by David Wind
“They found you before you lost too much blood. They did a straight transfusion from Chuck to you. The dog tags gave them the information. We’re in the infirmary.”
“Where’s Chuck?”
“Back under.”
Steven stared at him, confused. “Back under? Under what?”
Savak looked away. He swallowed several times. Steven watched Savak’s Adam’s apple bob. “We’ve been getting drugged. Truth serums. Pentothal. I don’t know what else. Jesus, Steven, Chuck and I talked. That’s why the brass gave us those pills. They weren’t afraid of us breaking under torture; they knew we couldn’t hold out against the drugs...” Savak paused for a moment. His eyes turned distant. His tongue wiped across his lips. “How did they find out about us, Steven? How?”
Steven held Savak’s pleading gaze and, hurting with the knowledge that he could not speak the truth aloud. “There has to be a spy in MI headquarters.”
“But if they already knew what the mission was, what the hell purpose does interrogating us serve?”
He had to find the plausibility. He closed his eyes, exhaled. “I don’t think they know the specifics of the mission, just that we were sent out with orders not to be taken alive.”
Savak nodded. “Maybe that’s why they sent Xzi Tao. Steven, he’s...he broke me, and he broke Latham. But Steven, for some reason, he doesn’t act as if he believes the information he’s gotten from us. I think that’s good.”
Steven started to speak, stopped himself, and looked around warily. It was doubtful they bugged the infirmary, but he wouldn’t take the chance. “He got the information from his own drugs.”
“Maybe he doesn’t trust them. I’ve been through it twice. Chuck’s with him now. You’ll go next.”
Savak’s statement rattled him, sending his thoughts back to his suicide attempt. “I can’t let them get anything from me, Arnie. I can’t.”
“You won’t. Not willingly.”
Not willingly. The two words laid on the surface of his mind. He played with them, using them to work out some sort of a solution. As the minutes passed, and no ideas came, Steven turned back to his friend.
“Tell me what you told them.”
Speaking in a reluctantly dull voice, and keeping his face averted from Steven, Savak went over the details of his interrogation. He had no idea of what he’d said when he was under the control of the drugs, but Xzi had recorded everything, and had played it back to him at the end of each session. “The bastard doesn’t miss a trick.”
Savak continued talking for a half hour, going over all his replies. When he finally fell silent, he was pale and trembling.
“You didn’t give them the information voluntarily, Arnie. Don’t keep blaming yourself.”
Savak turned to Steven. A tear squeezed out of the corner of his eye. When he spoke again, his voice cracked with hopelessness and abhorrence. “It doesn’t matter whether or not I volunteered anything. If Botlin goes ahead with the invasion, I’ll be responsible for killing thousands of men. God almighty, Steven, I don’t know if I can live with that.”
“They won’t go ahead with their plans. They can’t. Not without our information.”
Savak smiled sardonically. “No? Do you really think we’re the only team they sent out?”
Steven blinked. He knew the answer; but, he doubted if Savak would believe him. “Why would they send out more than one?”
His haunted eyes fastened on Steven, staring at him as if Savak was seeing through him. “I don’t think we were the only team that was sent out. Oh, sweet Jesus, Steven, I pray we are. Because if we’re not...”
Two guards came the next day and took Steven to a small room on the second floor of the central building. They pushed him into a metal chair in the middle of the room, tied his ankles to the chair legs, and then secured his wrists together behind the chair back. The chair faced away from the door.
Then the guards left him alone.
He looked around. Like the infirmary, a naked bulb hung from wires in the ceiling. But unlike the infirmary, the walls were padded. No outside light penetrated the room. There was a table across from him with several hypodermic needles, a small medical bag, and a large reel to reel tape recorder. Against another wall was the only other piece of furniture—a metal cot with a thin worn mat on top of a web work of springs.
He shivered.
The door opened behind him. He made himself sit still as the footfalls came closer. A moment later, the Chinese colonel stood before him. The man was tall for an Oriental, about five-eleven. His face oval, with a wide nose and a small mouth. Steven saw intelligence in the man’s face, rather than the raw savagery of his Vietnamese captors.
“It was foolish for you to try to kill yourself, Lieutenant. Heroic, perhaps, but a waste of effort in light of the circumstances,” Xzi said in a precise British accent.
Caught off guard, Steven said nothing. He held himself rigid, fighting as much against his own fears and tension as he was the interrogator’s surprisingly melodic voice.
Xzi Tao studied him for another minute. “I am going to give you an injection. You will feel some dizziness at first, and then you will feel normal. Only you won’t be normal, Lieutenant Morrisy. I can assure you of that.
“I will ask you questions,” Xzi continued smoothly, “and you will answer them. It will be over soon, and you will not be ashamed, for there is nothing you can do to prevent yourself from giving me the information. Your superior officers know you have no way to stop yourself from talking or they would not have given you those suicide tablets, would they?”
When Steven maintained his silence, Xzi Tao went to the table and picked up a syringe. He reached into the black medical bag and withdrew a vial of clear liquid. He turned back to Steven, and made an elaborate show of filling the needle.
Xzi walked slowly toward him. The Chinese colonel’s mouth was tightly set. When he reached Steven, he lifted the loose sleeve of the prison pajama. Every muscle in Steven’s body tensed. His eyes were riveted to the clear liquid in the syringe.
The needle moved to Steven’s skin. Steven looked up at the instant Xzi plunged the needle into his arm, and found the colonel’s black eyes were studying him.
Steven didn’t blink or give any outward sign with the sting of the needle’s entrance, or the force of the drug as the syringe emptied into his muscles. Nor did he so much as blink at the second sting, when Xzi pulled the needle free.
The dizziness Xzi promised came less than a minute later. Soon, his mind was floating pleasantly. He felt above himself, out of himself. It was as if he was an observer, and not the participant.
“Who are you?” Xzi asked.
“Lieutenant Steven Morrisy. United States Army. Serial Number RA555669476,” he heard his disembodied self answer.
“Where were you born?” Xzi asked, his smile becoming friendly as he moved closer to Steven. “Greyton, Pennsylvania.”
“What unit are you attached to?”
“Military Intelligence, Saigon.”
“And your mission?”
“Reconnaissance.”
“Reconnaissance for what purpose?”
Steven closed his eyes and willed the world to steady. When he opened his eyes again, and as he stared at Xzi, he brought up Jeremy Raden’s image at the instant of the sergeant’s death. Then Steven took a deep breath. “Purpose?”
“Yes,” Xzi said, leaning forward expectantly.
“Purpose,” Steven replied sluggishly. “P-u-r-p-o-s-e. Noun. Two syllables. Accent on break following p-u-r. Result or goal desired. Object or reason for which something is made or exists. A determination in striving toward a specific goal. Act or re...”
<><><>
Steven’s head pulsated. It hurt just to open his eyes. His mouth was dry and cottony, his tongue swollen. He tried to build up saliva, and failed. He sat up, fighting the enormous pain.
The room spun. His stomach spasmed. He spotted the shit pot in the corner and threw himself t
oward it. He stayed bent over the pot until the heaving stopped. Then he dragged himself back to the cot.
He found a bowl of water on the floor next to the cot, and drank it greedily. His stomach cramped. He clenched his teeth and waited for the spasm to ease.
Then he began to breathe easier. Looking around, he realized he was still in the interrogation room. He saw the tape recorder on the table, but the reels of tape were gone. The medical bag and the syringes were nowhere in sight.
Was it finished? Had he been left in the room to regain consciousness? He wondered if it was still day, or if night had come.
His head pounded, he leaned forward, cradling his forehead on his palms. What did I tell him?
Steven didn’t know how much time had passed before a hand shook him. He opened his eyes, and found Xzi bending over him.
“How are you feeling, Lieutenant?” The Chinese colonel’s face showed an affected concern.
He fought down his anger and hatred, knowing any show of emotion would be a mistake. “You tell me,” he said in his calmest voice.
Xzi smiled. “Dry.”
“Very good.”
Xzi’s smile widened. “You are proving to be an interesting subject, Lieutenant. Please, come to the chair.”
When Xzi started to turn, Steven quickly judged the distance between himself and Xzi. He bent his knees in preparation to rise. But, just before he lunged at Xzi, he saw a shape materialize from out of the shadows. The shape turned into a Vietnamese guard with a pistol.
Steven exhaled slowly, forgetting his hasty plan to jump Xzi and run.
“Excellent, Lieutenant. You are a fast learner,” Xzi said as he completely turned his back to Steven.
Steven stood silently. A wave of vertigo tried to sweep him back to the cot. He clenched his fists and spread his feet to brace himself while he waited for the dizzying weakness to pass.
“You see,” Xzi said, looking Steven directly in the eyes, “you do not have the strength nor the mobility to complete the attack. Now, Lieutenant,” Xzi went on, his voice taking on a sharp edge, “sit in the chair!”
Steven went to the chair. The guard moved behind him, pulled his wrists back, and tied them with more force than necessary. Steven grimaced against the pain, and bit his lower lip to stop from crying out.
He watched Xzi put a reel of magnetic tape into the recorder, thread it, and prepare the next injection.
I must not tell him anything, Steven said to himself. He kept on repeating the phrase, repeatedly as he waited.
When Xzi was satisfied with the dosage, he lowered his arm and, holding the syringe before him, walked back to Steven.
“Yesterday I used Pentothal on you. Today I will try something else. And Lieutenant, no more spelling lessons,” Xzi added as he plunged the needle into Steven’s thigh.
Steven looked down just as Xzi injected the drug into his thigh.
The dizziness came quicker this time.
<><><>
Steven finished the bowl of rice, set it on the floor, and leaned back. He hadn’t been hungry, but forced himself to eat, knowing the weaker he became, the easier the drugs worked.
There had been no day or night since they’d brought him to the interrogation room; he’d lost track of the number of times Xzi drugged him. There had been at least five sessions, perhaps more.
That in itself was important. It told him he had not yet broken. Steven wondered how Savak and Latham were doing. Better than he, he prayed.
Steven stood, groaning with the effort. After his last interrogation, he’d woken to discover shackles on his ankles. His skin was raw, small amounts of caked blood rimmed the metal cuffs. Ignoring the pain, he stretched, went to the corner, and relieved himself.
He was on his way back to the cot when the door opened. Steven saw daylight behind Xzi and the guard.
“Sit on the chair, Lieutenant,” Xzi said.
Steven did, knowing the ritual was to begin again. While Xzi put his black bag on the table, the guard went behind Steven and secured his wrists.
Once again, Steven watched Xzi put a reel of tape into the recorder, and fill a syringe with whatever drug he had decided on for this session.
Xzi turned on the machine before turning back to Steven. Then he smiled. “Today, Lieutenant, you will tell me what I want to hear.”
Steven stared stonily at him.
“Listen to the tape, Lieutenant,” he said just as Arnie Savak’s voice rose from the speaker. Steven stiffened and fought back the anguish upon hearing the lifeless tone of his friend’s voice.
He kept his face emotionless as first Savak, and then Chuck Latham gave all the details of their failed mission. Twenty-five minutes later, Xzi shut off the machine.
“As you see, Lieutenant, I haven’t been lying to you. Your comrades have told all they know. Why don’t you do the same? I assure you that it will make life more bearable.”
Steven held Xzi’s gaze, and remained silent. Xzi scrutinized Steven carefully. The colonel’s mouth was a bloodless gash. A muscle above Xzi’s left eye twitched. “Lieutenant, the extended use of these drugs will damage your mind and body. They will change you. They may even kill you. I appeal to your intellect. Tell me what I must hear. When you do, all of this will end.”
Steven favored his inquisitor with a smile.
Xzi’s weary sigh was long and sibilant. “You sadden me greatly, Lieutenant,” the Chinese officer said before putting a new reel into the recorder and turning it on.
“Lieutenant,” came Xzi’s recorded voice. “What was the mission code named WEREWOLF?”
Steven fought to keep calm when he heard his own voice say, “Werewolf.” But when he heard himself speak next, he could barely hold back the elation following his learning that he had not given up anything to Xzi.
“W-E-R-E-W-O-L-F,” the voice—his voice—coming from the recorder said. “Noun. Two syllables. From European folk lore. A human being who has the power to turn himself into a wolf. Old English from WER-Man and WULF-Wolf.”
Xzi shut the recorder off and then approached Steven. He held the needle out. A growing teardrop of clear serum leaked from its tip.
Steven stared at the liquid with fascination. Its clarity and pureness made him wonder why it should be so dangerous.
“I want you to understand something right now, Lieutenant. If you recite any more dictionary definitions, you will no longer be able to distinguish between man and beast!”
With that, Xzi drove the needle into Steven’s upper arm.
<><><>
The guard gestured impatiently with his rifle.
Steven stood, his muscles protesting the movement. He was sore and in pain. He’d had a bad reaction during his last interrogation session. He didn’t know what went wrong, but the results had been violent.
When he’d come to, he’d been in the infirmary, unable to open his left eye. Radiating lances of pain shot from his ribs with his every breath. He tried to sit up, but hands pushed him gently back. With his good eye, he saw an American bending over him. The man was gaunt, with sunken cheeks and sallow unhealthy skin.
“Wha—”, he tried to say, but could only manage half the word.
“Easy Lieutenant,” the man had said, keeping his hand on Steven’s shoulder. “I’m Baker, a medic. I’ve been here for a year. You had a seizure during the last interrogation. They brought me in to care for you.”
Steven had stared at the man. “My friends, are they—”
Baker shook his head. “We haven’t seen them. They’re being kept away from us.”
Steven had tried to focus on the man, but his vision was blurred. “How...How many of you are here?”
“Almost forty Americans.”
“Forty. Jesus...”
“Easy, Lieutenant, just stay down and rest,” Baker advised as he gave him a sip of water. A moment later, Steven was unconscious.
<><><>
Steven walked ahead of a guard. He could only take small steps. Although th
e shackles were gone, they’d served their purpose well. His ankles burned with agony at every step he took.
Outside, Steven drew in a deep breath in the warmth of the sun, and looked up at the clear blue sky. It felt good.
He glanced over his shoulder at the segregated huts and wondered how his friends were; the guard gave him a sharp jab with his rifle.
“I’m going, asshole.” He smiled at the guard.
The guard brought him to the central building. It took him a full minute to negotiate the ten steps up to the door. Once inside, he found Xzi sitting behind a desk.
“Leave us,” Xzi ordered the guard in Vietnamese. “Sit,” he said to Steven in the same language.
Steven stood still.
Xzi smiled. “Please, Lieutenant, one of the few things I did learn from you was that you understand this country’s language,” he said again in Vietnamese.
When Steven refused to acknowledge Xzi, the colonel sighed, and smiled. “You would have made a wonderful Asian,” he said in English. “Very well, Lieutenant, please sit down.”
Steven did not allow himself anything at the small victory, if it was a victory.
After Steven sat, Xzi lifted a porcelain teapot and poured two cups of tea. He pushed one toward Steven. “It’s not Vietnamese.”
Steven shook his head.
“Lieutenant, this is to be only a friendly chat. Have some tea,” he said, pushing the cup closer to him.
“What’s in it?” Steven said at last.
Xzi Tao laughed, his head bobbing in amusement. “Nothing Lieutenant. But if it will ease your mind…” He switched his cup for Steven’s.
“I’ll take the first one.”
Again Xzi Tao laughed. “What do you Americans call it? A double cross? I assure you, Lieutenant, there are no drugs in either tea cup.”
Steven picked up the porcelain cup, sipped some of the thin tea, and let the warmth ease the soreness in his throat. “Why am I here?”
“To talk.”
“About what?”
Xzi put his cup down and stood. He walked to the window and looked out for a moment before turning back to Steven. “You and myself. Vietnam and America. To me you are an enigma.”
“How so?” Steven asked, not sure of what Xzi was up to.