Hank had survived Iraq and brought his men home, but he’d failed to protect the one he loved most. He hugged her. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.”
6
Tears flowed from Hank’s eyes, and he lowered his gaze to his interrogator.
Oxford punched him in the eye. He’d taken such punches before and remained standing, but he took a dive with this one. As he lay on the floor, he hoped his fall was convincing.
“Maybe we did not have a good beginning. Maybe we should begin again.”
“No,” Hank said, crying. “There’s no need to begin again.”
Oxford helped Hank to his feet and back into his chair. “Then tell me.”
“I’m an agent for the DEA, the Drug Enforcement Administration,” Hank said.
“What were you doing at the party?” he asked.
“I was investigating the source of illegal drug sales from Vietnam to the United States.”
“I understand that you were having headaches and nausea and that you need medical care.” The tone in his voice had become compassionate again.
The previous time his voice became compassionate was followed by a shot to the stomach. He secretly braced himself for what would follow this intonation of compassion.
“I think what you need is a dentist,” Oxford said. “I know a dentist with the proper equipment to ensure that we have a smooth conversation. Soon he will come. You may fear me now, and you will come to hate me, but in time I will become a father to you.”
Hank became sick to his stomach. He would rather die than let Oxford become his father.
7
Max and Tom tried not to fly like bats out of hell or draw unwanted attention as they drove an hour and a half south of the CIA safe house in Hanoi to a tourist complex of Buddhist temples in the mountains. But that was a tall order when they were on their way to get information about their kidnapped father. Upon arriving, Max pulled into a large parking lot that was empty save a few cars—Vietnamese tourism was now in its slow season. The brothers stepped out of their vehicle.
“Family is everything,” Max said quietly. “And now our family is threatened. It’s open season on these animals—no bag limit.”
Tom was the voice of reason. “I’m anxious to find Dad, too, but we have to chill like tourists or we could blow this meet with the contact.”
The morning sun brightened the sky, but the temperature was in the reasonable mid-seventies, and the shadows cast by the forest made the air even cooler. In contrast to the comfortable temperature, Max was still uncomfortable. The need to find their father burned so hot that it threatened to consume him, and his blood was only a couple degrees away from its flashpoint. His sterile Chinese pistol waited in the holster attached between the waistband of his trousers and his abdomen, concealed under his untucked gray Ginkgo polo shirt.
Tom was armed and dressed in a similar fashion. The brothers hiked along a stone path that cut through limestone mountains covered in evergreens. The scenery here differed from the jungles and palm trees of southern Vietnam. As they hiked, they observed their surroundings like sightseers would, but they were actually scanning for signs of surveillance, snipers, or other unwanted visitors.
They halted at the site for their rendezvous, just outside Huong Tich cave. Tattooed with Chinese characters, the entrance to the cave opened like the jaws of a giant dragon, exhaling a wisp of incense. Beyond the pearly teeth of the stalagmites and stalactites, in the belly of the beast, stood a giant Lord Buddha carved in greenish stone. It was surrounded by a cluster of smaller statues. According to CIA officer June Lee, during the New Year, the Vietnamese would celebrate and pray for prosperity and happiness at this site, but that was still months away, and today there were few visitors to the area. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary—yet.
Soon their Chinese-Vietnamese contact, Thu Duong, arrived. The middle-aged man was average height by US norms, but he appeared like a dwarf beneath the giant evergreens. On his head was a white fedora adorned with a black band. He wore a pair of baby-blue slacks, which matched the suit jacket that he wore over a blue and white–striped button-down shirt, open at the collar. His dark, leathery skin seemed a mismatch with his dandy outfit.
The melodies of chirping birds and insects permeated the air, but their singing wasn’t enough to soothe Max’s anxiousness to find Dad.
Tom seemed to read his mind. “You’re too worked up about this. Let me do the talking,” he said.
Max took a deep breath and said nothing.
Smiling, the man shook their hands. “I’m Thu.”
“I’m Tom, and this is Max.”
“You’re early,” Thu said evenly.
Max and Tom had arrived in advance so they could spot anyone trying to set up an ambush on the meeting. “So are you,” Max said with some irritation in his voice.
“But you’re earlier,” Thu said suspiciously.
The tension between Max and Thu was palpable, and Tom tried to defuse it with a more cheerful tone. “We’re just eager to meet you.”
“With all the cashew nuts you gentlemen are ordering, it feels like we are old friends,” Thu said. “Speaking of friends, how is June doing?”
“She enjoys Hanoi,” Tom said. “Mentioned you.”
“I hope she said good things.”
“She spoke well of you,” Tom lied.
Thu chuckled. “June is a very naïve girl.” His smile dissipated. “She should have told you how I eliminate the competition.”
“She did say that you’re a serious businessman.”
Thu’s expression became stern. “Some business is more serious than others.”
“We understand serious business,” Tom said.
Max scanned their surroundings. A man and woman held hands as they entered the cave—they were the only visitors in the immediate area.
Thu focused his glance on Max and said, “You don’t talk much, do you.”
“Just want to get down to business,” Max said with a brief smile that he didn’t try very hard to manufacture.
Thu put on a smile as he showed them a picture of their father. “This is my current stock of cashew nuts. Finest quality.”
Max and Tom examined the photo carefully. It was taken outdoors in a jungle during the daytime, and Dad’s hands were behind his back. His clothes were dirty, and his eyes appeared tired. He had a cut on his forehead and some bruises on his face—Max hoped the marks were caused by the car crash and not interrogation. He guessed that the Chinese or their agents were holding him.
“How’d you get this photo?” The words sprang out of Max’s mouth before he could say them peacefully.
Thu’s grin broadened, as if he enjoyed his position of power. “China also has an interest in cashew nuts.”
Max wanted to thrash Thu, but he closed his mouth and let his brother do the talking.
“You have access to the product?” Tom asked.
“The cashew nuts are in a warehouse, not too far from here, but the situation is difficult.”
“How difficult?” Tom asked.
“That’s hard to say. Vietnam is in a transition stage. We import mostly from China, but we export mostly to the US. China is trying to uphold law and tradition in the Pacific, but they feel like the US is trying to interfere.”
Max wrestled to keep his feelings inside—China was the one interfering. Law and tradition my ass.
Tom studied the picture before returning his gaze to Thu. “This picture is helpful,” Tom said, “but when can we see the actual product?”
“That will have to wait.”
Max didn’t want to hear that word—“wait.” He only wanted to hear one thing—Dad’s voice.
Tom pointed to the photo. “There’s a lot of demand for this. And we’re prepared to close the deal quickly.”
“I can’t make that deal,” Thu said.
“Why not?” Tom asked.
“You’re not my only customer.”
Tom shook his head
and the pleasantness in his voice took on a slight edge. “You want to start a bidding war.”
Thu seemed to revel in Max and Tom’s situation. “War. Your words have such violent connotations. I like that.”
Tom discreetly handed him a manila envelope stuffed with cash. “We’re serious about this deal.”
Thu covertly looked in the envelope and fingered the bills inside. “As a down payment. The Chinese thought these cashew nuts would be of most interest to the Russians. But my conversation with June indicated that the Americans have more of an interest. Now, this payment confirms it.” He put the envelope in his coat pocket.
“We need shipment details,” Tom said.
Thu shook his head. “There’s too much stock in my warehouse for me to transport. You’ll have to arrange for pickup and shipment yourselves.”
“Just tell us where.”
Thu smiled. “Certainly. He took out a pen and paper and began writing.”
While Max’s attention remained focused on Thu, a wire whipped around his neck from behind and pulled tight, choking him. In his peripheral vision, Max caught a glimpse of Tom struggling with someone, too.
“You see, I already have a source of money,” Thu said with detachment. “As I mentioned, the Chinese do not like your interference.” He patted his jacket pocket containing the stuffed manila envelope. “This is just—how do you say in English?—ice on the cake.” He smiled at them before walking away.
Max wanted to save his brother, but he had to save himself first. He grasped at the garrote and pulled to free his neck, but he couldn’t budge the wire. It dug deep into his flesh, locking his head forward. The wire constricted the supply of blood and oxygen to his brain, causing him to see amoebas float around, and his hearing shifted from the world around him to a pounding inside his head. His flow of thoughts slowed, and it wouldn’t be long before he passed out. He flipped his shirt up, then pushed the web of his shooting hand down into the sweet spot of his pistol grip. He drew the weapon. With one hand, he pointed the muzzle to his side until it bumped into something hard that was probably his attacker’s hip. Max fired down at a 45-degree angle. Pop!
A man’s voice behind him screamed, and the wire around Max’s neck became slack, allowing him the freedom to breathe. And move. Max pivoted to the right. His attacker was dressed like a woman, the “female” half of the tourist couple who’d entered the cave earlier. The attacker bent forward in pain. Max tilted his muzzle upward and shot him in the upper body, and before Max could reposition himself and his muzzle for another shot, his attacker continued to fall and his face struck the weapon at an angle, causing Max to jerk his trigger finger, giving the enemy a third nostril. The impact of the third nostril knocked the attacker’s wig off, and his hair hit the ground before he did.
Max’s support hand came back together on the pistol grip as his feet attempted a more stable stance, but he was wobbly. He aimed where the other half of the tourist couple now stood near Tom, but his brother had already turned the tables on the man, who now bled from his neck to his belt line. Using his three-and-a-half-inch-long Elmore blade, Tom finished striking the vital points on his attacker’s template with the speed and accuracy of a master chef, slicing and stabbing. Tom’s opponent fell. Around Tom’s neck was an ugly red mark, but he wasn’t bleeding. Max was too jacked up on adrenaline to notice if his own neck was in any worse shape or if he was even breathing properly, and he was too worried about their father to care.
Thu was no longer walking away; now he was running. Max’s impulse was to shoot him dead, but that wouldn’t help them find Dad. And shooting the leg of a fleeing perp was nearly impossible, the stuff of fantastical movies. Max glanced at Tom—no words were necessary—they tore off after Thu. They sprinted onto a dirt-covered path made of stones and concrete. Thu turned as he ran and aimed a pistol at them. Max and Tom veered off the path and into a patch of milky-white flowers surrounded by tall evergreens. Thu fired, causing four small gray birds to take flight. The sound of the shot echoed off the mountains. Max listened for the projectile, but its path was too far away to detect the sonic snap, and he couldn’t hear where it landed. Without the threat of accurate fire or near misses, Max and Tom maintained their speedy pace.
Thu raced into the forest, and Max and Tom tore after him, avoiding trees in their path and cutting the most efficient route to Thu. A poodle-sized lizard scurried out of their way. Max and Tom chased Thu up an incline, causing Max’s thighs to burn, but rather than slow him down, the incline increased his resolve to catch Thu. Small tree branches hit him in the face, but he didn’t care. Tom kept right at his side. Their breathing was forceful and rhythmic. Thu glanced back, and when his eyes met the brothers’, he accelerated.
After a hundred meters, the incline leveled off, and Thu leapt over something. Max didn’t know what it was, but he thought he’d better jump, too. Tom was still with him. When they neared the spot where Thu had leapt, there was a crack in the earth that seemed to stretch as wide as Max was tall, and it appeared to drop several stories before the shadows consumed it. There was no telling how deep it was, and it took Max’s breath. He leaped with all his might. As he was airborne, he wondered if he’d survive. When his feet landed safely on the other side, he let out a sigh of relief. Tom made the jump, too.
They ran downhill closing on Thu, who stumbled and fell. His pistol tumbled out of his hand and out of reach, disappearing in green undergrowth. Now we’ve got him. Thu bounced back up, leaving his weapon behind as he evaded his pursuers. The three of them twisted through the forest until they reached a small cave and Thu entered.
Max and Tom came to a halt inside the mouth of the cave. It seemed to be some kind of hideout with makeshift furniture inside. A bony, unkempt man wearing a ponytail and smoking something with a sickly sweet odor from what looked like an opium pipe stopped smoking and looked up at them with surprise on his face. On a table near him lay an AK rifle.
Between gasping breaths, Thu yelled at the guy in Vietnamese, but the smoker dismissed him with a wave of his hand and resumed nursing his pipe. Thu reached for the AK on the table, but Tom fired a shot over the weapon and shouted, “Hands in the air!”
Thu stopped and flipped his hands high, and Max aimed at the smoker, who stopped smoking but held onto his pipe.
“Where is Hank Wayne?” Max shouted at the smoker between breaths, catching his wind.
The smoker stared at Max, as if coming out of a daze. He didn’t have a full mouth of teeth, and many of the ones he had were black around the edges.
“Where is he?” Max repeated.
The smoker’s eyes seemed to clear, and he became indignant. “I no tell you where he is.”
“I’m only going to ask you one more time. Where is Hank Wayne?”
Smoker lowered his pipe and spat on Max.
Max turned to Tom and said, “The more the clock ticks, the more likely we won’t find him, and this punk is slowing us down. I want to screw a bullet through his skull and move on.”
“We don’t have to kill this man,” Tom reasoned.
The darkness in Max became anxious. “If I kill this sonofabitch, Thu will be more motivated to tell us where Dad is.”
“You don’t have to kill him,” Tom said.
“What other way is there?”
Smoker seemed to realize that spitting on a man with a gun wasn’t such a bright idea, and the pompous smile that Thu showed earlier was gone now.
Frustrated, Max closed in on Smoker, grabbed him by his ponytail, and dragged him out of the cave. The guy whimpered. Some of the hairs ripped out, but enough remained intact for Max to take him out of eyesight of Tom and Thu. Smoker tried to stand, but Max moved too quickly for him to gain his footing, and the man cried out in pain. Then Max released the ponytail and dumped him on the ground.
Smoker blabbered away in Vietnamese as if he feared for his life, but Max didn’t understand a word of it. He motioned for the man to shut up, but he kept jabbering. Max f
ired his pistol harmlessly into the ground, and Smoker suddenly became mute. Then Max pistol-whipped him once, but the man was still conscious. He balled up in a fetal position. Max hit him again, but this time he let his anger fly, and it was lights out for Smoker. Max fired into the ground again, hoping to fully motivate Thu.
Max returned inside the cave and aimed his pistol at Thu. “Where is he?”
Tom leaned toward Thu and spoke in a quiet voice. “If I were you, I wouldn’t spit.”
Thu spoke so fast that his breaths couldn’t keep up with his words. The words came out with such force that saliva came out with them. Some of Thu’s spit landed on Max’s cheek.
Max slowly wiped it off.
Thu froze.
“Take us to Hank Wayne,” Max said. “Now.”
8
Inside their safe house in Hanoi, Max and Tom shoved a bound, gagged, and hooded Thu Duong into an interrogation room and locked him inside. “What happened?” Willy asked.
“Sonofabitch nearly garroted us,” Max growled.
Willy looked at the ugly ring around Tom’s neck, then he looked at Max’s neck. “Do you boys need a doctor?”
Tom was calmer than his brother. “We’re okay. We snuffed his two buddies and left them at the Huong Tich cave.”
“What’d you do with the bodies?” Willy asked.
“Not a damn thing,” Max snapped. “We were too busy chasing Two Dongs to another cave in the mountains.”
“Did he give you more intel about Hank?” Willy asked.
“Thu is going to take us to where he’s being held,” Tom said. “We think Dad is still alive.”
“We need to hurry,” Max said.
The brothers rushed to their room, and Willy followed. Max and Tom quickly changed into green civilian pants with cargo pockets where each kept a blowout kit and smoke flare, which they could use to signal or lay down a smoke screen. Over their dark Tshirts each slung a submachine gun that they concealed with long, unbuttoned black silk shirts similar to the áo bà ba that was more popular down south than in North Vietnam. The silk would dry quickly when wet, and the extra length provided some concealment for the kit on their belts: extra magazines of ammo, a pistol, and a fragmentation grenade.
Autumn Assassins: [#3] A Special Operations Group Thriller Page 6