Authors: Travis Stone
24
D
anny took two steps toward the C-130's Air National Guard pilot.
'You must remember me? I flew in yesterday in the back of an F-4 Phantom.'
'Oh, yeah. It
was you.'
'I was flown in
confidentially for a reason. Now I need to get back confidentially.'
The Colonel
stood. 'I haven't been told about it. It's not authorized. It's not going to
happen.' The pilot came round the table. 'Can I make a call?'
'No calls,' Blue
cut in. 'This is covert business.'
The colonel
looked at the ground. 'Okay.' He looked back up. 'We fly to Bien Hoa this
afternoon.'
25
T
he KGB agent codenamed Orchid was deeply suspicious.
A hastily called
meeting with someone like Triet always meant a problem, and Orchid did not like
problems.
The Russian's
assignment was to covertly assist Triet's syndicate, funneling equipment,
weapons, explosives, and anything else that the KGB could conceivably provide
Saigon's communist terror network.
He hated this
assignment.
Saigon
’s heat didn’t suit his heavy build and the food made him sick. His
hand went from his stubbled jaw to his stubbled head; the only satisfaction he
got was seeing Americans killed or maimed by the weapons he secretly imported.
He entered The
Flashing Tiger and immediately identified a group of Triet's men in the front,
right corner, trying to look inconspicuous; they were Triet's hardest.
Is this a hit
crew?
Orchid thought.
He had expected
trouble, but not
this
kind. He forced himself to believe that the Viet
Cong were not stupid enough to bite-the-hand-that-fed-them; but one could never
be sure. In-actual-fact, Triet's National Liberation Front was more dangerous
to Orchid than the Americans. Neither the CIA or Military Intelligence had
detected Orchid's presence, and probably wouldn't. He was able to ship in
contraband at will, either by sea or through
Cambodia
's Sihanouk Trail. Triet's men however, were jumpy, unsophisticated
if not unprofessional, and quick to attack on sketchy Intel.
Girls wearing
too much make up and not enough clothes weaved and squatted on a low stage at
the centre of the club.
Classless,
Orchid thought.
Give me a nice pale Russian girl any day.
He sat down at a
small, round table and pretended to watch the strippers, with one hand on the
hilt of the Lugar .45, hidden under his shirt, and one eye on Triet's men.
Where is he?
The KGB man thought.
He felt the urge
to leave, and reschedule the meeting on his own terms.
I haven't
survived fifteen years in this business by being careless.
He flicked off
the Lugar's safety. Beads of sweat formed on his prickly head and dribbled into
the creases of his brow. He scratched the folds at the base of his skull.
I don't like
this.
He got up and
Triet came in. Orchid sat. Triet came straight to his table.
The Russian
spoke in English: 'Greetings friend.' He removed the pistol and let it rest on
his thigh.
Triet looked him
in the eye. 'I'll get to the point.'
'I appreciate
this.'
'Your truth
serum failed.'
Orchid nodded.
‘The vial I give to Xuan An?’
'Yes. It put my
two best agents in danger. I want to know why?'
'Tell me exactly
what happen?'
* * *
Orchid's voice annoyed Triet.
Triet had
learned to speak perfect English in less than twelve months, but Orchid had
still
not mastered it after many years.
Triet didn’t
trust him either.
Is he
trawling for information?
Triet thought.
Yes.
Does he want to learn what my girls are up to so he can tell the Americans?
Triet wondered
if he was getting paranoid; he knew that he hadn't been himself lately. He was
shocked by the way he had treated Amai. He adored her and yet he had driven her
even further away by threatening to maim her young niece. He knew it was cruel,
but when hate, jealousy, and helplessness consumed him, he lost all
self-control. It was like another person had stepped into his body. After Tet -
at the end of the war - he would explain this to Amai. He would show her a free
Vietnam
; he would make her
understand what her sacrifices had all been for - she would see then.
But I've lost
her,
he thought.
To an American.
The more he
thought about Amai and Danny, the more the darkness mauled him. He knew the
depression was taking over his soul, but there was nothing he could do to stop
it. Amai was gone.
He realized that
Orchid was staring at him blankly.
* * *
The Russian thought:
I haven't got time
for this.
And said: 'You need to tell me what happen so I can fix - truth
serum is not simple always.'
Triet's beady
eyes stared right through his.
Orchid continued:
'There are many reason why it may fail - but rest assured comrade - I fix
problem for you. It is my job.'
Triet's lip
curled. 'One of my agents gave the drug to an American officer. It had no
effect.'
'Forgive me
comrade, but this is dangerous game that we play. It is not for the faint of
heart.'
Triet offered
him a cigarette.
Orchid declined.
Triet began to
smoke.
Orchid
continued: 'To find why drug failed, I need several information-'
'Several
pieces
of information,' Triet corrected.
Triet's English
was better that his. 'Thank you,’ Orchid said. ‘How was it given?
'In whiskey.'
'Is she certain
the mark drink it?'
Triet raised his
eyebrows. 'Yes.'
'Is it possible
he suspect her?'
'No.'
Orchid detected
the pitch change in Triet's voice and wondered what it meant. He knew Triet
wasn’t lying - something else was bothering the Viet Cong leader.
'What does the
American weigh?' Orchid said.
'What does it
matter?'
'If he's too
heavy, drug won't work.'
Triet sighed.
'How big?'
'Very big.'
Triet pointed to the entry door's seven foot stud. 'Almost as tall as that
doorway.'
Orchid rubbed
his jaw. 'He probably weigh over two-hundred pound. There is our problem
comrade. Drug was too weak.'
Triet leaned in.
'I need more.'
'I see what I
can do.'
'I need it
tonight.'
'Impossible,
comrade.'
'This is
something of high importance to the
Soviet Union
as well as
Vietnam
.
Orchid doubted
that. 'Give me three days.'
'Tonight,' Triet
snarled. 'Or I'll personally contact your Colonel Gurvich and report your
failure.'
Orchid considered
Triet's threat. Gurvich had trained Triet in
Moscow
, and was now heading the KGB’s South East Asian Sector. He thought
Triet was probably bluffing, but conceivably, he could contact the Colonel.
Orchid did not want trouble with Gurvich. 'Okay,' he said. 'I bring it to the
Trung Hoa.'
'No,' Triet
said. 'Café La Camargue. By
five o'clock
.'
Orchid
re-holstered his Lugar, nodded, and then left.
* * *
Triet went into the street.
Frustration and
anxiety attacked him. He desperately needed the Soviet truth drug on time, and
he needed it to work. Triet didn't know what this Major Johnson was supposed to
be; but Giap had given it the highest war-priority - which made this operation
equal with the Tet-offensive itself.
Tet would crush
the Americans and drive them out - what could be more important than that? But
Giap was firm, and Major Johnson's real purpose in
Vietnam
would
be discovered; and Amai
would
do it.
A motorized
tuk-tuk rattled past him and he waved his hand to flag it down. The driver
ignored him, stopping further down the lane.
Triet had an
urgent meeting with Pham Xuan An, and the business with Orchid had delayed him.
Xuan An had devised a plan to takeover the national radio station during Tet,
and broadcast messages inciting Saigon's population to rise-up. The plan
sounded good, but Triet couldn't shake off the cloak of anger. He knew it was
Amai.
He marched
toward the idling tuk-tuk. A pedestrian shouldered heavily into him and Triet
rounded on him, telling him to watch where he was going. The man stared blankly
back. Triet turned back to the tuk-tuk to see a man lifting a child onto the
seat.
Triet ran to the
machine. 'I need this vehicle.'
The man didn't
even look at him. 'My wife's giving birth.'
Triet went round
the front of the buggy and shoved the man in the chest. 'You will get the
next.'
The man went to
get in.
Triet flew into
a rage and punched the man in the face. The man's hands went to his nose and
the child shrieked. Then Triet side-kicked the man in the stomach, bending him
like a staple and knocking him to the ground.
The child flew
to his father’s side.
Triet kicked the
prone man in the temple, and he writhed on the pavement.
The tuk-tuk
revved up and drove off, leaving Triet, the man, and the crying child in a
cloud of rich smoke.
Triet walked
away, wondering what the hell had just happened.
26
N
ash has got Thi,
Amai thought with a
sinking feeling.
Danny's missing - probably dead. What am I going to do?
Lost, she
wandered the shantytown, worrying about him. She couldn't bear the thought that
Danny had come to harm. Then she imagined him with a bullet hole in the center
of his forehead.
She shook
herself; if she wanted to survive, she would have to stop thinking of Danny,
and focus on escape. Nash's men would hunt her.
The slum was a
vast ramshackle of thousands of hovels. Constructed of anything their builders
could scavenge, the mishmash resembled a rubbish tip more than it did a
collection of homes.
Nash's men were
not behind her, but more would arrive to comb the shantytown. For some reason
they were desperate to get her.
Then Amai
realized something was wrong: the dirty-faced residents were staring at her;
some with resentment; some with hostility.
Her hands slid
over her expensive pant-suit. The wet silk clung to her body, leaving nothing
to the imagination, but amongst the destitute slum-dwellers, the glossy
material stood out like a beacon. She felt uncomfortable. If Nash's men saw
her, they would have little trouble picking her out in this crowd.
I need to
change clothes.
Amai saw an old
woman with a grossly hunched back, ducking into a hovel covered with orange and
green canvas. Amai felt an overwhelming urge to approach her - so she did.
Then she saw
them and her heart convulsed - three MPs were walking toward her. Amai ran to
the hovel, pulled back the flap, and went in. Her heart was pounding in her
throat. She held the curtain shut and watched the MPs through a slit. They came
within a few feet, and then melted into the rambling cluster of shacks.
She let out her
breath and turned from the flap. The old woman stood in the middle of the room.
Behind her Amai counted seven children aged between two and four feet tall, and
behind them stood a woman of about her own age.
'What do you
want?' The old woman said; her voice sharp.
Amai gave her
most disarming smile, introduced herself, and apologized for the intrusion. She
had expected the old woman to be friendlier.
Amai sized up
the younger woman.
Close enough,
she thought.
Amai fumbled in her
money bag. The envelope that had been slipped under Thi's door, and a fat roll
of cash fell to the floor.
The family
gasped collectively.
Amai picked up
the money, peeled off a twenty, and asked the younger woman if she could buy
some clothes.
The old woman
scowled. 'we've got nothing in your style.'
'Please,' Amai
said. She peeled off another bill. 'I just want some old clothes.'
The old woman
spoke harshly to the younger one and they began to argue. The younger one threw
up her hands and went out through a flap at the back of the tent.
The old woman
put a kettle on a burner.
Amai said: 'Will
she get some clothes?'
The old woman
didn't answer.
Amai picked up
the envelope and wondered what was in it. She ripped it open and took out a
single sheet of handwritten paper. The US Embassy's logo was at its top centre.
The message made
her ill.
To the
beautiful Thi and Amai.
I would be
deeply honored to have the pleasure of your companies tonight.
I have a
table at The Hotel Continental, for
8pm
.
Please accept
my humble invitation.
Contact me at
the Embassy to confirm
Amai stopped
reading; the note was signed by Major Johnson.
She dreaded meeting him
again.
Then she went
stiff.
Is this a trap?
She thought.
If Nash had
forced Thi to talk, the Major's invitation could be a set-up, drawing her into
a Military Intelligence ambush.
Amai saw the event play-out in her mind.
She pictured herself walking into the restaurant; Major Johnson laughing; Nash
and his men appearing from nowhere; her bound body, dragged into the street . .
.
Amai felt like
she had no control over her own fate.
She had once
thought of herself as an NFL soldier.
But a soldier doesn't fight all of the
time,
she thought.
He retreats underground - to safety. I'm never safe.
The enemy is always one-step behind me; waiting around the next corner;
pursuing me, even into my home - my bed.
Her body jerked.
I've got to
get moving,
she thought.
I need those clothes.
The children
were staring at her with interest, obviously plucking up the courage to say
something.
Amai re-gathered
her wits. The younger woman had not returned.
It suddenly
occurred to Amai that the woman might be alerting the authorities, but before
she could think, the smallest of the children, a girl with large eyes, came up
to her.
'Will you buy me
a doll?' The girl said.
The girl's words
awakened an old emotion, hidden deep in Amai's subconscious. Amai's family had
been poor when she was small, but not like these war victims. Amai's family
owned land. They grew rice. They could afford food, equipment, and a home on
poles, but still, during Amai's childhood there had been no money for toys; as
there was none now.
Amai clearly
remembered the day her father gave her the doll.
It was a small
plastic baby with a western face and one missing eye. Her father redid the eyes
with brown paint, and her mother made a small, doll-sized dress that Amai could
take off and put on. Amai was three years old and she loved that doll with all
her heart. It was the only toy that she ever had, and she would never forget
the joy it had given her. She had given the doll to Nhu An, and remembered the
look of joy on her face.
Nhu An.
Movement
startled Amai.
The younger
woman came through the rear flap, carrying a bundle of clothes. Amai felt
relief. She thanked her and put the old garments on over her expensive suit.
Then Amai dug into her purse and took out all of the forged notes. She stuffed
the money into her old woman's claw-like hand, and said: 'I will give you this
on one condition.'
The old woman
was shaking. 'What is it?
'That you buy
that little girl a doll.'
The old woman
began to cry, and her trembling hand gripped the cash. Amai had made them
instantly rich.
Amai stared hard
at the old woman. 'I mean it. You must promise to buy the girl a doll.'
The old woman
wiped her eyes and nodded.
The little girl
squealed, ran to Amai, and hugged her leg. 'Thank you,' she said. 'I love you.
Thank you.'
Amai bent down
and kissed her head.
Now clad in
shapeless grey shirt and pants, Amai felt safer. She stood, tied the matching
scarf over her face, and left the hovel. The small girl and the old woman stood
at the curtain and watched her go. Tears blurred Amai's vision.
Focus,
she thought.
Amai guessed
that once she got her bearings, it would be an hour's walk back to café La
Camargue, where Triet would meet her with the truth-drug. She had to meet
Triet; if she let him down he would maim Nhu An, and no doubt kill both her and
Danny. She looked at her bare wrist; her watch was gone; probably in the canal.
She decided to go straight to the café; better-safe-than-sorry.
She looked up to
see two
US
soldiers coming
toward her. They wore green helmets and carried black M-16s. Amai had no choice
but to keep walking. The scarf hid her face, but she worried that her long
hair, which fell to her shoulders in lustrous layers, would give her away.
They crossed.
The soldiers
paid her no attention. They were looking for a beautiful girl wearing expensive
silk.
Amai reached the
edge of the slum and the thought struck her:
I'm at war with these people.
She was helping
the Viet Cong make more innocent people homeless, and if Triet's Tet-offensive
became the success that he hoped, the children and the mothers and the
grandparents and the babies that she would've helped drive into squalor, would
number in the millions.