Saigon

by Nick Carter

  At Checkpoint Chester the convoy started rolling. Nick looked at Saito appraisingly and thought of Dupré's parting words. "I still wish I could go with you. But you are right — there is much for me to do here. And Saito will be a loyal, fine companion."

  Saito's face was expressionless. But his big hands clasped and unclasped over his knees in an extremely uncharacteristic gesture. He's afraid, thought Nick. Not for himself; for her. He's afraid we won't get there in time… For the sixth, eighth, tenth time, Nick tried to plot Lin Tong's probable moves since disappearing in the darkness and the rain. A head start to the city, but not a very long one. After that, almost immediate contact with agents in the north. Would he, or they, know exactly where to go? Well, it surely wouldn't take them long to find out. The La Farge plantation had been in the same place for a good seventy-five to eighty years. And in Communist territory since 1954. Lin Tong's people would find the place, ail right.

  The only thing to Lin Tong's disadvantage was the normal agent's difficulty of making swift, safe contact with colleagues in the field… which was a straw of hope, if ever there was one. And in the remote likelihood that Lin Tong was so low on resources that he was obliged to go himself, he would probably not have been able to commandeer fast transport until the last lap of his journey — the Communist-held jungles to the north and the leap across the border to the foothills and the plantation. As it was, he had a head start of anything up to six hours, depending on what he'd done before he'd left. If he had left.

  The convoy rolled out into the rainsodden countryside between the dripping trees and picked up speed. Nick and Saito sat in silence.

  Some miles to the north, Lin Tong was both cursing and exulting. His shoulder wound was giving him dreadful pain and his parting arrangements had taken longer than he had intended. But still, he had succeeded in making a number of quite ingenious plans. Already, his relay system of instruction was under way, and as the hours passed the guerrillas in the south were contacting the guerrillas of the center who would pass the word to the northern jungle groups who would send the message across the border. It had been complicated, to explain that there may be one tall spy, or two or three, but he felt confident that he had made himself abundantly clear. The enemy provocateurs and saboteurs were to be stopped at any cost. And all this, he congratulated himself smugly, without giving away the true purpose of his orders. He had even managed to set up a two-man, full-time watch over Raoul Dupré's town house without letting a word leak out to Brother Arnold. Marvelous! He would head Bitter Almonds yet.

  His foot slammed down on the brake and his dark green sports car screamed down the side road toward the waiting jeep and its two occupants. In time he would send both of them on their way, but he would use their driving skill as long as was convenient and thus conserve his strength for the last leg of the journey.

  Minutes later, his car was hidden in the thick jungle foliage and he was being driven north in a captured American jeep over paths and tracks known only to the Viet Cong guerrillas.

  And many miles further to the north, Madame Claire La Farge stood in the southwest fields of her plantation listening sympathetically to Donh Cam's story about his ailing wife. The other field hands went on working stolidly. They knew that she would speak to each one of them in turn to find out if all was well with them.

  "Bring her to the house, Donh Cam," she said. "Otherwise she will not rest, and that is what she needs. Don't wait — go now, and take Lua along with you to help her. I will be along shortly to make sure that your wife follows doctor's orders." Cam bowed deeply, his face alight, and hurried off. Claire turned to one of the youngest of the workers, smiling to herself at his obvious adoration.

  "So, Tran. Are you still trying to study at night…?"

  She stopped short. Young Tran cocked his head and listened for a distant sound. It grew near and loud and unmistakable. Claire froze.

  Her Royal Roadster was coming back.

  Ready — Gel Set — Go!

  There were few other travelers on the muddy road. It was a good enough highway, rain-pocked as it was, to support very much more traffic. But only an occasional car or cart passed the convoy from either direction. Wayfarers on foot were few and far between and they eyed the American vehicles without any visible sign of cordiality.

  Nick eyed them back, thinking to himself that there was no knowing which of them had been swayed by the Viet Cong propagandists with their poisonous fantasies about American «neo-colonialism» and «tyrannical» attempts to smash Vietnam's "patriotic revolution."

  "Peaceful in the country," he commented thoughtfully.

  "Huh." The G.I. sitting next to him made a sour face. "Wish I had X-ray eyes. Bet I could pick out enough Viet Cong back in that thick stuff there to outnumber us ten to Nick raised his eyebrows. "So far down?"

  "Yeah. You're new, huh? Hell, we've had guerrilla action within five miles of Saigon. Cocky bastards, getting closer every time. Christ, they practically own the jungle south of here. All they left us is a little open space in the middle so we can go around in circles in it. Jeeze, some crazy war, this is."

  He snorted with disgust and thrust a limp cigarette between his lips. "That's why you see so few villagers around," he added. "The action's been so close lately, they don't wanna get screwed up in it. Saigon they won't go into for love or money. I think those riots and strikes and bomb-throwings and burnings scare 'em worse than the Commies. But hell, what's the difference. They all start from the same place, don't they? I mean all them riots and things. Yeah, sure they do. In the jungle with the Congs." He scowled and puffed as though he were spitting a guerrilla in the eye.

  Nick looked at his second-hand pocket watch. It shouldn't be long now.

  The convoy left the highway and turned into a narrow, bumpy road pitted with rain-filled pockets. A hazy sun burned in through the back of the truck. Nick sweltered in the building heat. The sweat trickling down the faces of his G.I. companions didn't help to make him feel any cooler. Only Saito seemed unconscious of discomfort.

  At long last the convoy ground to a stop. A barked order traveled down the line of vehicles and men began tumbling out onto the soggy road. Nick nodded at Saito and the two of them leapt lightly from the truck.

  One by one the men peeled off into the fern and bamboo jungle, scattering down the rough paths into the interior.

  What their maneuver was or how long they would be at it was no concern of Nick's. It was good cover for him and Saito, and that was all that mattered.

  The young lieutenant met him at the roadside. "Last stop for you," he said. "Got your bearings?"

  Nick nodded. "Due northeast from here. We'll make it. Thanks for the buggy ride."

  "Y'welcome. Good luck to you, whatever you're up to. Watch out where you put your feet — booby traps all over. The first coupla miles should be fairly easy, but after that it may get rough. Chances are no one has seen us stop, but if they have they'll recognize this kind of bush-beating maneuver. We do it often. So — after a while I give the signal, the rest of the boys come back, you don't. That's all I can do."

  "And that's a lot," Nick said sincerely.

  There was a wet heat under the trees and the light was dim and deceptive. Nick walked on in silence for a while, getting accustomed to the shadowy dimness and surveying his surroundings. Saito padded along quietly three paces behind him.

  The going was easy for about ten minutes. Then the underbrush began to grow thicker, the trees taller, the mosquitoes louder and more ravenous. Nick slowed and came to a stop beneath a thick-stemmed, heavily foliated tree. Thick bush crowded halfway up its trunk and formed a shield that could only be chopped through with a machete. Saito scowled and pointed. There was a clear space only yards away that they could easily get through. Nick shook his head and held up a silencing hand. He listened.

  Only the mosquitoes spoke. From somewhere in the distance, probably quite near the road, came the faint sound of some kind of movement through the trees. The s
ound was going away from them.

  Then there was nothing but the mosquitoes. They seemed louder now… No, it was the sound of water, a stream gliding and humming through the jungle.

  Nick's eyes swept the thick growth around them, wishing — like the G.I. — that he had X-ray eyes. Nothing moved but the ants and ticks and little flying things.

  He turned to Saito and grinned companionably. "Okay, Saito. I just wanted to be sure we wouldn't be caught with our pants down. It's time to change. Then we'll move on with all possible speed." His voice was a low but audible murmur.

  Nick was swinging the light pack down from his back. He motioned Saito to do the same with his. He slid off his Army boots and khakis and pulled on the faded half-uniform, half-rag characteristic of the guerrilla. Saito hesitated for a minute and then stripped off his borrowed fatigues.

  "Good suit," he commented. "Is possible to keep it?"

  Nick shook his head. "I'm sorry. Not this time. If we are caught and searched I don't want you to be found with American Army gear. You won't be popular. We'll have to leave them here."

  Saito pursed his lips and nodded. "It is a pity; but you speak truth." He finished his changing in silence and watched Nick with growing interest.

  Nick took their discarded clothes and boots and pushed them deep into the undergrowth. His feet, like Saito's, were now encased in sandals, but instead of being the rope-soled variety the sandals were made of rubber tires. These, too, were characteristic of the guerrilla's makeshift but thoroughly practical costume. The belt he buckled around his waist was a miniature arsenal. In addition to his cartridge pouch and a tiny first-aid kit containing some unusual supplies, it held three hand grenades, the Luger, a machete, a suitably battered flashlight, and a long wire frame which made Saito stare in puzzlement. It was the latest minor triumph of Hawk's ingenious Armory Department, a very light but sturdy magnesium alloy shaped into the outline of a rifle stock. The butt end fitted snugly against a man's shoulder; the front was slotted so that Wilhelmina would slide in swiftly and stay firmly in place.

  Nick saw Saito staring and decided to give him a swift demonstration. He clipped Wilhelmina into the slot and swung the rifle to his shoulder. It had taken less than three seconds to pull Wilhelmina from his belt and complete the move.

  "Au!" breathed Saito. "A rifle!"

  Nick grinned. "When I need one." He reached into his pack and tossed Saito the second belt. "You told me you had your own gun and machete, so I didn't get you those. But you may have some use for the rest. Have you used grenades?"

  Saito's eyes widened as he took the belt. "Not for many years," he said, busy buckling. "These are a little different. But I know how to use them."

  "From working with La Petite Fleur?"

  Saito nodded. His shoulders straightened proudly, "The finest leader that a man could know."

  "I believe that," Nick said quietly, slipping the tiny compass from the pack into his pocket and then dipping back into the pack. "Now I hope we're not going to have much use for these things on this trip, but in case we do — here you are." He handed Saito a little bundle containing a nylon hammock, a light blanket, and a folded rectangle of waterproof cloth. His own bedding was neatly stashed away inside his pack, which was growing smaller and lighter by the minute. Besides his sleeping gear, it now contained only a small supply of food and a canteen of coffee. So did Saito's. "We'll take short rests, if any, but we may as well be prepared. Have a look at this map while I finish getting ready. Won't be long now."

  He gave the map to Saito and reached into his miniature first-aid kit for two tiny triangular patches and a tube. He stuck one patch at the outside corner of each eye and then carefully rubbed the contents of the tube over his face, neck, hands and arms. Saito looked up from the map and stared at him.

  "No, I don't expect this'll fool anyone for long," said Nick, "but it should help to make me a bit less obvious." He wiped his hands and tied a thick, rolled piece of cloth around his forehead to protect his eyes against the clutching thorns and branches of the forest. "Okay, let's go over the map. This circle…" He pointed to it."…is where we'll be picked up. This is where we are now, a little over four miles south of the pick-up point. The second circle, here, is where we'll be dropped. From there we'll have to make our own way. It's thick, hilly territory for the most part, and then it flattens out into fairly open country for the rest of the distance until we reach the foothills and the farm. You're familiar with this part of the territory?" His finger stabbed at the northern jungle area marked on the map.

  Saito nodded with satisfaction. "I have been through there. It is not easy traveling, but it is better than being out in the open. That is not bad terrain at all for those who wish to move without being seen. Of course there will be watching for us, will there not?" His eyes were shrewd with understanding. "It will not be so simple as it was for me on the way down, when no one knew where I was traveling, or why. It is good that we are well prepared for trouble." His hand went involuntarily to his belted waist.

  Good man, Saito, Nick thought to himself. He had wondered if Saito realized just how drastically the interference of Lin Tong could affect their race to the plantation. He was pleased that he did not have to spell it out.

  "Yes, I think we can expect some hazards," he said, in the understatement of the week. "But the worst of them should come very close to the end. Until then we just run the usual risk of booby traps and snipers — nothing specially arranged for us. But the closer we get the more cautious we're going to have to be. They can't guard the entire jungle, but they can guard the routes to the plantation. All right, let's be off." He folded the thin map paper into a small square and slid it behind his forehead sweatband where it would no doubt get a little damp but would stay legible — and hidden.

  * * *

  Lin Tong lay on a pile of army blankets in the back of the bounding jeep. Every jolt — and there seemed to be one with every yard of this hellish track — sent a sharp twinge through his shoulder and down his uncomfortably sprawled body. But they were making excellent time. Sore and tired though he was, he could well afford to be pleased. He changed position on his pile of blankets and willed himself to rest. Later he would not be able to.

  * * *

  "So your Saito has not yet returned, Madame La Farge?"

  General Ho Van Minh smiled at her sympathetically. "I can well understand how you must miss his services," he went on smoothly. "He has been away for at least two or three days now, has he not? So inconvenient, when I know you rely so much upon him. And it does seem strange that none of your people should know why he went off to the village of — ah — Hon Du. I have asked many of them why he might be delayed, thinking perhaps that he may have a woman that you know nothing of, and yet none of them seem to have any idea of the nature of his mission."

  "There is no reason why they should," Claire said icily. "Their curiosity is not unbounded, as yours appears to be. Perhaps you are the one to tell me why he has been delayed. Your soldiers have been known to shoot first and then steal afterwards. There is no road, no village, in this country that is safe from them. God help you if anything has happened to him."

  Minn's constant smile was very gentle and unpleasant.

  "I do not need God, Madame. I think you do. The time has come for us to stop this fencing. You will have noticed that this time I brought a small detachment of my soldiers with me. At this moment they are on guard at various points throughout the plantation. But if you do not give me the information that I want, several things will start happening quite soon. First, I am afraid that you yourself will suffer. Only a little bit, in the beginning, so that you can fully appreciate what is being done to the loyal people of your plantation. Then perhaps you will be prepared to suffer more, or you will condescend to talk to me. On the other hand, perhaps you will enjoy seeing what my men are capable of doing to your beloved workers."

  It seemed to Claire that the world had suddenly stopped turning. Minh's eyes were litt
le red pools of anticipation… and what he was anticipating was too horrible to contemplate. He would torture her brutally, she had no doubt of that. This she could bear, she thought. But she could not bear it if he were to hurt young Tran, or Donh Cam's sick wife, or Donh himself, or fragile little Lua, or any of her people.

  "Why are you threatening me?" she asked. "I don't even know what it is that you're trying to find out." Her right hand, like Saito's hand so many miles away, reached involuntarily for the belt she wore. But her hand, unlike Saito's, halted in its course and brushed the air instead. "I have no secrets from you, General Minn."

  "You are closer to the truth than you think, dear lady. In fact, it is no longer any secret to me that several nights ago — a night we have spoken of before — there was a singular activity in the fallow fields. An activity suggesting a burial." He grinned wolfishly. A soundless voice inside Claire said — "Oh, no; oh God, oh no!" "Now I wonder what might have been buried? I wonder with such interest that I intend finding out. So what I shall do is leave you again to think things over — but leave you in the company of certain of my men who will thoroughly search your house, your grounds, your fields, and question all your people. Then, I think, we will both be ready to talk."

  "It seems that you already know far more than I do. By all means search. I hope you find some stray dog's bone for all your efforts. I'm quite sure you will find nothing else." Fear and anger seethed within her. Somehow this mincing, brutish creature had come upon some shadow of the truth. And he would surely not be satisfied until he had the substance.

  Minh shook his head. "You are wrong, Madame. I'm afraid that you are flattering yourself that all your loyal people are all your loyal people. I assure you that my information is correct. Unfortunately it is incomplete. I shall complete it." He bowed, a mock courtesy that made her want to kick him in his little rounded belly. "When you have thought about what I can do to you and your happy family of slaves, I think you will be only too pleased to tell me about that stray dog Moreau and what he came here for. And what message he brought that sent Saito off to — where was it again? — Ah, yes. The village of Hon Du."