The Tunnel Rats

by Stephen Leather

  'What do you mean?' asked Wright.

  'No matter what we did to him, he didn't say a word. He didn't scream, he didn't cry out, he didn't even beg us to stop. Now I know why.’

  Wright looked across at the alcove, then at the pile of parachute silk that had previously lined the walls. 'Someone else was down here?’

  Doc nodded. 'Someone was down here and they saw what we did to Vin. And afterwards, after we'd buried the body and gone, whoever it was crawled out and took Max's dogtags.’

  'Dogtags?' repeated Wright.

  Doc stubbed the butt of his cigarette on the ground. 'When we eventually got out, Max discovered that his dogtags were missing. He remembered that Vin had grabbed them.' He gestured at the open grave. 'They're not there now.’

  'So whoever was hiding there knew who Eckhardt was. Are you saying they spent twenty-five years tracking you all down?’

  'That's the way it's starting to look,' said Doc.

  'That's a hell of a long time to wait for revenge,' said Wright.

  'You don't know the Vietnamese,' said Doc. 'They dug most of these tunnels by hand, knowing that it would take years before they were finished. Time doesn't mean the same to them, it's the passing of seasons, that's all. Part of the cycle.’

  'What exactly did you do to Vin?' asked Bamber.

  Doc looked across at the open grave. He shook his head.

  'You butchered him,' said Wright. 'You cut him up. You cut him up and you cut off his dick.’

  Doc winced under Wright's verbal attack. 'We lost it,' said Doc. 'We'd been through hell, we'd seen Jumbo die in front of us, and we knew that the bastard was in the process of planting more bombs in Saigon, bombs that would kill our boys. We had to get him to talk.’

  Hammack laughed harshly, a guttural roar that made Wright jump. 'Bullshit,' said Hammack. 'It wasn't about getting him to talk. It was murder. Cold-blooded murder.’

  'Cold it wasn't,' said Doc, his voice barely a whisper. 'We were angry, we wanted revenge, we wanted to hurt him the way he'd hurt our friends.’

  'And you were all involved?' asked Wright. 'You all had a hand in it?’

  Doc nodded and lit another cigarette.

  'Rabbit and Max started it,' said Hammack. 'Max telling Rabbit to kick the shit out of him. Then Ramirez pulled out his knife and slashed him across the face. Something happened when we saw the blood. It was like we were with Jumbo again, watching him die.' He put his forehead down on his folded arms again.

  'After a while we stopped asking questions,' said Doc. 'We just kept cutting him. Cutting and cutting. The little bastard didn't cry out once. That just made us madder. If he'd just said something, if he'd begged us to stop, maybe we'd have realised what we were doing. Maybe we'd have stopped.’

  He closed his eyes and banged the back of his head against the wall again. The cigarette smouldered between his fingers.

  'It took him hours to die. Fucking hours.’

  'Who cut his dick off?’

  'Rabbit. He'd lost it by then. He wanted to do more to the body, but Bernie and Eric pulled him off.’

  'And the card?’

  'That was Rabbit, too. Psyops used to leave them as calling cards.’

  He opened his eyes and looked at Wright. 'I'm not trying to pass the buck, we were all to blame. Every one of us.’

  'You tried to stop them, Doc,' said Hammack. 'You told them they were going too far.’

  'We were a team, Bernie.’

  'All for one and one for all?' said Wright. 'Like musketeers?’

  Doc gave him a withering look. 'You wouldn't understand,' he said.

  'Maybe not. But I understand murder.’

  'It was a war,' said Doc.

  Wright pushed himself up against the wall, then went over to the grave and looked down at the skeleton.

  Doc got to his feet. 'We have to get out of here,' he said.

  'How?' asked Hammack. He nodded at the hatch in the floor. 'Scorpions down there.' He gestured at the antechamber with his thumb. 'The killer's up there.’

  'Maybe not,' said Wright. 'We got down all right.’

  'Once we'd moved Ramirez's body,' said Bamber.

  'So what are you saying?' asked Doc, dropping his cigarette on the floor and grinding it into the clay with his heel. 'We go back the same way? Maybe it's a trap, maybe the killer let you down so that he could kill us on the way back up.’

  Wright stared at the grinning skull. He'd seen bodies before, but never a skeleton. It made him realise what lay ahead. No matter how he lived his life, no matter what he did, he would end up the same way, bones in the ground. He shuddered and turned away. He nodded at Bamber. 'What about the map, Jim? Does it show any other way out?’

  'Map?' said Doc, wiping his hands on his trousers. 'What map?’

  'We've got a Defense Department map of the tunnel complex,' said Wright. 'Jim got it from the Pentagon.’

  Doc frowned. He looked at Hammack, then back to Wright. 'Impossible,' he said. 'We never gave the map to headquarters. Why would we want anyone else coming down here and seeing what we'd done?' He stared at the map case in Bamber's hand.

  Wright reached for the case, but Bamber moved it out of his reach.

  'What's going on, Jim?' Wright asked.

  Bamber said nothing. He tossed the map case to Doc. Doc opened it and flicked through the maps. He looked across at Wright, his eyes narrowing. 'These belong to Dennis,' he said coldly.

  Wright turned to look at Bamber, confusion written all over his face. 'Tell him, Jim.’

  The FBI agent ignored him. He was staring at Doc, the knife in his hand twitching from side to side.

  G erry Hunter had tried Wright's number more than a dozen times as he drove back to London. It was ringing, but Wright wasn't answering and each time a recorded voice cut in asking if he wanted to leave a message. He had begun to hate the prim, prissy female voice and would cheerfully have strangled the woman if she'd been in the car with him. After trying for more than an hour, he called up the company that had supplied Wright's mobile and asked to speak to somebody on the technical side. A man with a slight stutter explained that the recorded message meant that the phone was responding to the signal sent out over the satellite network. It wasn't a case of the phone being switched off. If the signal had reached the phone and it had been switched * off, Hunter would hear a different message.

  ^ 'I think it's in Bangkok, would that make a difference?' asked Hunter.

  'Shouldn't,' said the man. 'We cover most of South-East Asia. Parts of Thailand might be out of our range, but certainly Bangkok is well covered. The person you're calling just isn't answering the phone.’

  Hunter thanked the man, though he'd been no more help than the prerecorded message. He punched in Wright's number again and hit the 'send' button.

  'Tim, what the hell's going on?' Wright's voice echoed around I the chamber.

  'I'll tell you what's going on,' said Doc. He pulled his knife from his belt and held it out in front of him. He threw the map at Wright's feet. 'That map belongs to Dennis. I want to hear how he got it.' He took a step towards Bamber.

  Bamber stood his ground, his own knife held low, the point aimed at Doc's stomach. He was smiling.

  Hammack got to his feet, a puzzled frown on his face. He slid his own knife from its sheath and stood holding it as if unsure what to do next.

  'Sergio and Bernie went to get it the day after he was killed,' said Doc. 'If he's got the map, he must have seen Dennis. What I want to know is if Dennis was alive when he went around to the house. And if he was, I want to know how he managed to persuade him to part with it.’

  Bamber continued to smile at Doc. He took a step forward, keeping the knife low.

  'Come on, Jim, stop this,' said Wright. Bamber ignored him. 'Just tell him how you got the map.’

  'Yeah, Jim,' said Hammack. 'Tell us how you got the map.’

  'I don't have to tell you anything,' said Bamber. He waved his knife and it glinted in the beam of his
flashlight. 'It's been a long time since you used a knife, hasn't it? You're not really sure how to hold it, are you?’

  Doc threw Hammack a quick glance and Hammack moved to the side, widening the gap between them.

  Bamber moved into the middle of the chamber, closer to the pile of parachute silk. 'You're an old man now, Doc. Your reflexes aren't what they were. Eyesight's going. Muscle tone's deteriorating.' He moved his knife in a slow circle.

  Doc looked at Wright and made a small gesture with his chin, telling him to move behind Bamber so that the three men were equally spaced around him. Wright wasn't sure what was going on, but this time there was no mistaking the murderous intent in Bamber's eyes.

  'I guess you're feeling pretty happy about the odds right now,' said Bamber. 'Three against one. I guess you're thinking that three of you can take me. But you're wrong, Doc. Dead wrong. Nick here's a pussycat. You're an old man, and the nigger, well, I've never met a nigger yet that I couldn't fight one handed.’

  'Fuck you,' said Hammack. He stepped forward, his knife raised.

  'Bernie, no!' hissed Wright. 'He's just trying to rile you’

  'Man's succeeded,' said Hammack, but he lowered his knife.

  'Always like to see a nigger kept in his place,' said Bamber.

  Hammack roared and lashed out at Bamber. Bamber moved quickly, stepping to the side and drawing his knife across Hammack's chest in a fluid motion. Hammack yelled, but Wright couldn't tell if it was from anger or pain. The black man stabbed at Bamber but Bamber was too quick for him and he spun around like a matador goading a bull before slashing out again, this time to Hammack's upper arm. Blood spurted in a crimson stream and Hammack's knife dropped from his nerveless fingers. Blood was flowing down Hammack's T-shirt in a jagged red curtain and he sank to his knees, a look of despair on his face. Bamber raised his knife once more.

  Wright could see that Bamber was going to slash Hammack's throat. He yelled 'No!' and threw his flashlight as hard as he could. It smashed into Bamber's arm and the light winked out. Hammack pitched forward and fell on to the pile of parachute silk, one hand clutching the wound on his chest. Doc dashed forward but Bamber struck out with his knife, hacking at Doc's stomach. Doc moved back.

  Bamber bent down and picked up Hammack's flashlight, switched it off and tucked it into his belt. He backed up, his bloodstained knife moving in a lazy figure of eight, alternating between Doc and Wright.

  'We can take him, Doc,' said Wright.

  'Sure you can, Nick,' said Bamber. 'You can't even handle your own wife, how do you think you're going to be able to stop me?’

  Wright didn't reply. He held his arms out to the side, fingers splayed, looking for an opportunity to grab the knife.

  'I mean, how much of a man can you be, letting another guy screw your wife in your own bed? You've taken being pussy-whipped to a whole new level.’

  Wright felt a surge of anger, but he fought to stay calm. He looked at Doc. Doc made a small gesture with his chin and the two men moved further apart so that Bamber had to turn his head to keep them both in vision.

  'Screwed him with your boy in the next room, hey? Do you think he heard them? Rutting like pigs? What if she screamed out his name? How do you think little Sean would feel? His mother screwing another man? And you letting her?’

  Hammack groaned. Blood trickled from between his fingers, staining the parachute silk.

  Wright's pulse pounded in his ears and he took a step forward.

  'Nick . . .' said Doc.

  Wright smiled tightly. 'I know, Doc, don't worry.' He glared at Bamber. 'It's not going to work,' he said. 'Sticks and stones.’

  A look of uncertainty flashed across Bamber's face, but he quickly regained his composure. 'Remember what it was like when you found your father, Nick? Remember what it was like when you were locked in with his body, in the dark? How alone you felt? How vulnerable?' He grinned evilly. 'Time for a flashback,' he whispered. He switched off the flashlight and the chamber was instantly plunged into darkness.

  Wright stepped back, then dropped into a crouch. He heard Bamber move, but couldn't tell in which direction. He had visions of Bamber slashing his knife from side to side like a scythe and his stomach tensed. He took another step back and his foot caught on the pile of parachute silks, sending him tumbling backwards. He gasped as he hit the ground, and immediately rolled over, knowing that Bamber would be able to pinpoint the sound. He kept on rolling, then realised that if he wasn't careful he'd end up in the shallow grave with the skeleton. He stopped moving and listened intently.

  'Nick?' hissed Doc. 'You okay?’

  'Don't talk,' snapped Wright. He got up but kept low, and -j took several steps back, skirting the parachute silk. Wright heard a footfall to his right, and he froze. Hammack moaned and the * silk rustled as he shifted his position.

  ; i Wright's brain, starved of visual stimulation, began to manu j facture its own images. He saw whirling circles and multicoloured grids, strange shapes that disappeared when he tried to focus on them but reappeared as soon as he looked away. It was as if he j was floating in a universe of computer-generated shapes, and he ; swayed on his feet as his sense of balance began to desert him.

  ^ He blinked several times and shook his head, but then felt as if he was falling, so he dropped down into a crouch and put his hands on the floor.

  Wright heard more footsteps, fainter this time, then a scraping sound. He waited several seconds, but heard nothing else. 'Doc?' ? he said hesitantly.

  'Yeah, I think he's gone.’

  'Where's your flashlight?' Wright asked. v 'In the tunnel. I dropped it when the. scorpions fell on j me.' Hammack groaned in pain again. 'Bernie, are you okay?’

  I asked Doc.

  ?< Hammack muttered something unintelligible.

  I 'Bernie?’

  J 'I'm bleeding bad, Doc’

  fa 'Hang on, we'll get to you.’

  "i 'Your Zippo, Doc,' said Wright. 'Where is it?’

  'On the floor, where I was sitting.' 'Let's see if we can find it.’

  Wright tried to picture the chamber, but he couldn't even recall j which direction he was facing. He got down on his hands and . knees and groped around. His hand touched the pile of parachute silk torn from the walls. He moved to his left, feeling with his fingertips.

  His hands brushed against a mat, then the damp floor. He crept forward. There was a scraping noise from the opposite side of the chamber. Wright knew it was Doc, but he couldn't stop himself thinking of snakes and scorpions and spiders. He crawled slowly, patting the ground with his right hand.

  Hammack moaned again. 'Doc . . .' he gasped.

  'We're coming, Bernie,' said Doc.

  The ground in front of Wright disappeared and he pitched forward, his head slamming into the wooden sides of the trapdoor. He cursed.

  'What's wrong?' asked Doc.’

  'Damn near fell in the hatch,' said Wright, pushing himself up. He touched his head. His hand came away wet with blood.

  'You okay?’

  'Yeah.’

  Doc had been sitting about six feet from the hatch, so at least Wright now had his bearings. He crawled away from the trapdoor, brushing the ground with his fingertips. He touched something soft and picked it up. It was the Marlboro pack. He put it down and patted the area around his knees. His left hand fell on something metallic. The lighter. He picked it up, pulled open the top and flicked the wheel. There was a shower of sparks and a flickering yellow light.

  Wright held up the Zippo. Doc was on his hands and knees, close to the chamber wall. He got to his feet, picked up his rucksack, and ran over to Hammack.

  Hammack was lying on his back, his hands clutched to his chest, his eyes closed tight. Doc took his medical kit out and slapped a j dressing on Hammack's chest. 'Nick, hold this for me. Keep the pressure on,' he said.

  Wright held the burning Zippo in his left hand and clamped the dressing to Hammack's wound with his right. Doc pulled a second dressing out and wrapped
it around Hammack's bleeding arm.

  'How bad is it?' Hammack asked through gritted teeth.

  'Not too bad,' said Doc. He shook four white tablets out of a plastic bottle and held them up to Hammack's mouth. 'Swallow these,' he said. 'They'll help with the pain.' * Hammack opened his mouth and swallowed the tablets one by j one. 1 The Zippo got hotter and hotter until Wright couldn't hold it any longer. He cursed as it fell from his fingers, plunging the chamber into darkness once more. 'Sorry,' he said. He grabbed for the Zippo but it was still too hot to touch. He tossed it from i I hand to hand and blew on it, then flicked it into life again. Doc handed him another dressing.

  'Wrap this around it,' said Doc. 'It'll act as insulation.’

  Wright held the Zippo up in the air and watched as Doc applied sticking plaster to the wound on Hammack's arm.

  Doc nodded at Wright, who took his hand away. Doc tossed aside the soiled dressing, inspected the wound, then smeared antiseptic ointment across the bloody flesh. He placed a fresh dressing over it and applied strips of sticking plaster to keep it in place.

  'Is he going to be okay?' Wright asked.

  'Yeah, Doc, will I be able to play the piano again?’

  Doc grinned at Wright. 'I think that answers your question, Nick,' he said. 'If he can make jokes, he can walk out of here.' He helped Hammack to sit up.

  'Where'd the crazy guy go?' asked Hammack.

  Doc gestured at the antechamber. 'Back up to the third level. Who is he, Nick?’

  'He's an FBI agent, investigating the two murders.’

  'Like hell,' said Doc. 'He's the killer, I'm sure of it.’

  'Couldn't be,' said Wright. 'He didn't kill Ramirez. And I know for a fact that he was in the UK when Horvitz was murdered.’

  Doc put an arm around Hammack to support him. Hammack was weak, but he could stand.

  'He killed Dennis, though. And he would've killed the three of us, given a chance.’