by Bob Mayer
“I’ve got to work today,” Kane said. He forced a smile at Riley as he came by with a load of dirty plates.
“Of course. Work. What exactly is that, anyway?” Several seconds of silence ticked by. “Last time you were here,” Maria finally said, “you wanted me to tell Taryn you were sorry. About what?”
Kane gripped the receiver. “Have you seen her? Talked to her?”
“No. I’m just wondering what’s going on, Will. You seemed pretty agitated. Then we didn’t hear nothing from you. Not that that’s unusual. In ’69, after the accident, you went into a black hole for five years and we didn’t know if you were alive or dead or what the weather was like wherever it was you was.”
Kane was tempted to hang up. “Last time I was at the house, I was agitated because everyone had lied to me about Taryn being there before the accident. I still don’t know what happened that day. Did dad have one of his rages? In front of his grandkid? Run them off? Is that why Taryn wasn’t paying attention when she was driving?”
“You know younger brother, perhaps you should look in the mirror.”
“Meaning?”
“Perhaps you’re not that much different than dad. A chip off the old block.” The phone went dead. Kane leaned his head against the wall, that familiar crushing of his heart as he thought of Lil’ Joe.
At the Washington Street door, a trio of weary prostitutes tried the door, found it locked. Lynn pointed at the closed sign. As Kane hung up, Thao hustled past with several containers of take-out. He unlocked the door and handed the grub to the women, waving off payment. He also let Lynn out and locked the door behind her since the diner was empty except for the sound of Riley cleaning dishes in the kitchen. On the way back he removed his apron.
“I am ready whenever you are, Dai Yu. How is your sister?”
“The same,” Kane said. “They’re all the same there.”
“And you?” Thao asked as he went into the kitchen, propping open the swinging door.
Kane leaned against the doorframe. “Apparently I’m the same.”
“Change is difficult,” Thao said as he retrieved an OD green kit bag from a cabinet. He placed his machete in it, then the crossbow the Montagnards were renowned for. It was a simple device, made of wood, stained dark brown. The bow string was composed of bamboo fibers woven together. He put a quiver containing extra bolts in the bag.
“What’s going on?” Dave Riley asked, elbows deep in suds, but watching the weapons.
Kane pulled a key out of his pocket and put it on the counter. “You’re locking up.”
Riley eyed the crossbow, then Kane, but nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Say hey to your dad for me.”
“Will do.”
Kane led Thao out of the kitchen and grabbed his ruck. “I’ve got a Swedish K in here,” Kane said, an offer and upgrade of firepower. “Also, a spare forty-five.”
Thao nodded. “The K is a good weapon, but I like the bow. I will carry the pistol, though. Are you anticipating battle?”
“No idea,” Kane said. “Best to be prepared.”
Thao looked past Kane and smiled. “I have not told you about the good news from yesterday afternoon. But now you can see for yourself.”
Kane turned. Standing outside the glass door was Morticia, tall and slender, wearing jeans and a blue t-shirt, and without her wig, revealing short red hair. Next to her was Wile-E. The latter had a leash in hand. There was also an old man with silver hair and beard.
“Three legs?” Kane asked Thao when he saw the dog. It was a German Shepherd and the right front leg was gone.
“She is a good animal,” Thao said as he opened the door.
Wile-E unleashed the dog, then said something to it in a low voice. Surprisingly, instead of charging forward and inspecting its new surroundings and Kane and Thao, the dog sat.
Wile-E smiled, looking much better than last time Kane had seen him, wearing clean clothes and his hair was pulled back by a tied-dye headband. “This is Lucky. Lucky, meet Mister Kane and Mister Thao.”
The dog walked forward with a smooth but strange gait on the three legs. First to Kane, who started to reach out, then looked at Wile-E questionably.
“Go ahead,” Wile-E said. “Lucky is safe. Unless I tell her not to be.”
“Let’s not do that,” Kane said, as he ran his hand through the thick black hair on the top of her head. Now that the dog was closer, he could see grey in her snout. When Kane removed his hand, Lucky went to Thao, who knelt and met the dog’s gaze.
“Hello, Lucky,” Thao said. Lucky canted her head as Thao scratched her ear. The dog happily whined.
Riley came out of the kitchen and also met Lucky.
Kane looked at the old man who seemed vaguely familiar. Wile-E sensed his confusion. “Kane, this is MacQuinn.”
“Mac?” Kane asked, stunned at the difference a shower and clean clothes had wrought.
“Didn’t recognize me without my coffee?” Mac asked. He had on a short-sleeve khaki shirt and pants along with a pair of sneakers.
Done with the introductions, Wile-E called to the dog and she promptly returned to his side. His hand was shaking as he clipped the leash. “I gotta thank you, man,” he said to Kane. “No shit. I couldn’t believe it when Morticia and Thao showed up yesterday afternoon with Lucky. And she’s a working dog. Military trained. Just like, well, you know. How’d you pull that off?”
“Thank Master Sergeant Merrick when you meet him,” Kane said. “I made a phone call to him and he used his old boy network. He called Fort Dix where they train the dogs. I guess they could part with Lucky.”
Thao nodded. “The Staff Sergeant who brought her to us said she was retired. She was wounded in 1975 in ‘Nam, just before the final pull out of the Americans. There is an interesting story behind her wound and her return to the States. It seems—" He abruptly stopped himself. “The story must wait.”
“She’s a great dog,” Wile-E said. “You can always tell the good ones.”
A black car with gold accents and a ram air intake on the hood rumbled up to the diner on Gansevoort. The engine cut and the Kid stepped out.
“Cool dog!” he exclaimed when he saw Lucky. He didn’t ask permission but ran over and knelt next to her, giving her a big hug.
“That’s an attack dog,” Kane admonished him. “Could’ve bit you.”
“Nah,” Wile-E said. “She can attack on command but she’s a scout dog.” He tapped the side of his nose. “I’m going to have to practice with her. I think we’re both out of shape, training-wise.”
“Is that your car?” Riley asked the Kid.
“Nah,” the Kid replied. “Got it for the man for the day.”
Riley approved. “It’s far out.” The two went over to it, Riley asking the questions that never occurred to Kane about the car and the Kid answering.
Kane grabbed his rucksack. “We gotta get going.”
“You’re closing?” Morticia asked, making a show of looking at her wrist, which was unadorned with a watch.
“There’s something Thao and I have to do,” Kane told her.
“You’re going to pay Lynn and Dave for their full shift?” Morticia asked as Wile-E, and Mac went outside, chatting excitedly about Lucky while Riley came back in and returned to the kitchen.
Kane couldn’t determine the right answer to that question based on her tone. “Should we?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Full day.”
Morticia smiled. “That was awfully nice of you.”
Kane was confused for a moment. “Like I said, I just made a phone call. No big deal.”
“But you thought of it. You’re a piece of work, Kane, a good one.” She leaned forward and gave him a light kiss on the cheek, then joined the others.
Thao had the kit bag in hand. “Wile-E is very happy. He says he will be back tomorrow. But he wanted to know what to do with the dog while he is working. I said Lucky can join me in the kitchen.”
“What about the health—” Kane began, but Thao cut him off.
“We pay them off, Dai Yu. I have been slipping an envelope every time our inspector comes around.”
“I didn’t know that,” Kane said as he opened the door and they went outside.
“It is the way it works. I will add a little to the envelope for Lucky.”
Wile-E, Morticia, Mac and Lucky were strolling down Washington. The Kid was waiting by the car with the keys, anxious to follow them.
“You’re really lucky,” the Kid said as they joined him. “This here’s a fiftieth anniversary package Trans-Am. They only made like fifty of ‘em. Eight-cylinder, 455 cubic inch, four speed.”
“A bit conspicuous,” Kane said.
“It is very pretty,” Thao said.
The Kid sighed. “It’s wasted on you guys. Riley gets it.”
“Listen,” Kane said, “can you lay low for a while?”
The Kid handed over the keys, which were attached to a pair of fuzzy dice. “What do you mean lay low?”
“Be careful,” Kane said. “That chop shop you took the caddy to?”
“What about it?”
“Don’t go there again. And try not to—” Kane realized he didn’t know exactly what he was trying to say. “Forget it.”
“Something I should know?” the Kid asked.
“Nah,” Kane said. “Just be careful.”
“I always am,” the Kid said.
“You got a roof over your head?” Kane asked.
The Kid nodded. “In Tribeca. With the money you gave me from—”
Kane cut him off. “Yeah, good. And the job is still open.”
“I know.”
Kane indicated the car. “Bring it back to the concierge at the Washington Square Hotel?”
“Yep. Or if it’s late the doorman.”
“Thanks,” Kane said.
The Kid smiled. “May the Force be with you.”
Thao replied. “And you also.”
The Kid hurried after the others.
Kane tossed the ruck in the back and got in. Thao put the kit bag on the narrow rear seat and assumed the passenger’s seat.
“I don’t understand why he won’t take the job,” Kane complained to Thao as he looked over the instrument panel and controls, a bit more modern than his Jeep.
“There could be many reasons,” Thao said. “Perhaps he enjoys his freedom and does not relish the idea of a schedule? Perhaps he does not want to work for someone else? Perhaps—”
“I get it,” Kane said. “He has a reason. At least Wile-E will be back.”
He cranked the engine and music blasted out of the speakers. Kane dialed it off.
“We can listen to the music,” Thao said, “or we can talk.”
Kane turned the music back on, just above audible, put the car in gear and pulled away to head north next to the Hudson.
UNITED STATES MILITARY ACADEMY, WEST POINT, NEW YORK
Plaikos greeted Thao in a dialect of his people’s language. They bowed slightly to each other. Then he addressed Kane: “Welcome back, Mister Kane.”
“Sir,” Kane acknowledged. He shook hands with the older man and two Montagnard bracelets jangled on Plaikos’ wrist.
It was mid-morning and they were on the casement of Fort Putnam, five hundred feet above the Hudson River which was a half mile away to the north and east. The fort had a commanding view of the Military Academy. Michie Stadium, where Army played home football games, was to the south. It was named for a graduate of the class of 1892 who organized the first football team at West Point, but was subsequently killed in action in Cuba in 1898 during the Spanish-American War, one of those wars lost in the murky mists of history. Next to the stadium, the almost noon sun was reflected by the smooth surface of Lusk Reservoir. The terrain to the west dropped off abruptly, leading to more hills.
“The fort’s in a lot better shape than I remember,” Kane said.
“They cleaned it up for the bicentennial last year,” Plaikos explained. “Entire Academy went through a pine cone patrol.” The latter was an inside reference to the time most of the troops stationed at Fort Bragg were ordered to police up pine cones prior to President Kennedy’s visit; the infamous one where the green beret was introduced to the President and he endorsed it as official headgear for Special Forces.
“It is nice to be among mountains and green,” Thao said, looking about.
West Point was fortified during the Revolution because it commanded a sharp bend and narrowing in the Hudson River. Sailing ships heading north or south had to slow to negotiate the narrow turn. The Americans stretched a Great Chain across the river as an impediment. Given that the British had made their North American headquarters in New York City, keeping them from being able to freely travel north on the Hudson was essential to the war effort. It is the oldest, continuously occupied military post in the United States. It had been Kane’s abode for four years from summer 1962 through graduation in 1966 and he couldn’t say he missed it. His stomach still churned, as it began to do every time he drove north along the Hudson.
“Do you miss your home?” Plaikos asked the Montagnard.
Thao pondered the question. “It is not my home any more. The news we receive from the highlands is sparse but always very bad. The communists are worse than the South Vietnamese. Many of my people have been killed. Most of the rest have been rounded up and sent to re-education camps. Only a few are still living free.”
“I’m saddened to tell you it will not get better in the foreseeable future,” Plaikos said. “There will be open war soon between Kampuchea and the Vietnamese.” He was referring to what had formerly been called Cambodia, but had been retitled since communists took over in 1975, another domino to fall after South Vietnam. “Seems even the communists disagree among themselves.”
Thao shook his head. “There has always been war in my homeland. I don’t remember a time when there wasn’t. My father fought the Japanese and then with FULRO for many years until he was killed.”
“War is mankind’s burden and I don’t foresee it being relieved any time soon,” Plaikos said. “FULRO is still in the mountains fighting the communists. The CIA promised them arms, but, of course, did not follow through.” To get off that dark topic, Plaikos pointed at the reservoir. “How many gallons, Mister Kane?”
The automatic reply was imprinted in Kane’s brain. “Seventy-eight million U.S. gallons when the water is flowing over the spillway, sir.”
“Have you found that information useful over the years?” Plaikos asked as he led them to the rampart facing east. Plaikos made a distinct thump each time his mahogany peg leg struck the stones. The archaic artificial limb was attached just below the functioning knee joint. He was a graduate of the Academy; his class having earned the moniker Black ’41 for its escapades as cadets. He was dressed in khakis with no insignia, but carried himself in a way that left no doubt about his martial background. His GS level was the equivalent to a one star general but few cadets knew that. He was short, silver-haired and trim, weighing the same he had as a cadet thirty-six years earlier when he graduated into the prelude of World War II.
“Absolutely, sir. Right up there with the grazing fire for the M-60 machinegun. Actually, I found that more useful.”
“But your head was full of all sorts of interesting facts when you arrived, wasn’t it, William?” Plaikos put his hands on the old stone rampart. “Brother Benedict and his historical odes to your city? And once you arrived, did you ever wonder if being forced to memorize the arcane helped you with the essentials later?”
“Is that the purpose of Plebe poop, sir?” Kane asked, standing to his left as Thao went to the right. “Improve our memory?”
“Performance under stress,” Plaikos said. “That is one of the main goals of Beast Barracks and Plebe year. And improving memory isn’t a bad thing.”
“Pretty much every Army school I went to, sir,” Kane said, “focused on performance under stress.”
“It’s the best one can do short of war,” Plaikos said. “But, as we three know, nothing can truly prepare you.”
“Charlie Beckwith would certainly agree with you,” Kane said.
“Still nursing that grudge?” Plaikos asked, with a slight smile.
Kane shook his head. “It’s not a grudge. What he taught us in Ranger School probably saved my life once or twice.”
“Ah yes,” Plaikos said, recalling. “What happened to your classmate there. Beckwith is doing interesting things at Bragg.”
“I heard,” Kane said. “Delta Force. I doubt it will be better than what Fifth Group put together.”
“Doesn’t matter if it is,” Plaikos said. “The decision will be made by the Pentagon. ‘Better’ will have little to do with it. It’s all politics.” He stared out over the Academy. “The Chapel is higher than all the academic buildings and the barracks. But here, we are higher, which I believe is appropriate. This was the linchpin to defending Fort Clinton, which defended the Great Chain, which denied the Hudson to the British during the Revolution. All the pieces were necessary for the whole to work.
“Speaking of the British,” Plaikos continued, getting on topic in his usual roundabout way, “I understand they are perturbed over the loss of a deep cover asset in New York City. They’ve always looked down on us Americans as newcomers to the world of covert operations and intelligence. The OSS was the SOE’s little bastard brother during the war. World War II, that is. I find it odd to have to clarify that since Korea and Vietnam were not, technically, wars. But the British tend to forget that when we went head to head in the Revolution, they lost.”
Kane was glad Plaikos and Toni had never met since she thought his own historical meanderings were too much.
“Of course,” Plaikos continued, “the British almost pulled off quite the coup right here during the Revolution by turning Benedict Arnold. This redoubt was among the plans he intended to sell to the British. I think some of their resentment comes from the fact that we managed to defeat them in that war and have outpaced them ever since, our own empire growing while the sun descended on theirs. However, in the Far East, I had nothing but excellent relationships with my English counterparts.”