Authors: Travis Stone
27
W
hen Nash returned to the Intel compound, his emotional state was a
dangerous fusion of humiliation and rage.
The jeep stopped
and Nash got out. He thought it best to avoid Colonel Hitchcock until his men
found Amai. Hitchcock knew about the raid and would expect Nash to return with
her.
Amai's escape
reeled through his mind. He was sure that she'd known about the dodgy ladder,
and had cleverly lured him to injury.
That bitch
tried to kill me.
Luckily, the
fall had only winded him, but the broken section of ladder had busted his nose,
and his right eye had swollen shut.
He recalled
Amai's scaling of the block wall and shook his head; it was like a nightmare
that he couldn't wake up from. It was the second time that he had watched her
escape. It was the second time she had beaten him. She was proving to be
incredibly elusive. She was intelligent and resourceful, and possessed the
athletic ability of a gymnast. For a moment, he wondered what she would be like
in bed. He imagined her strong thighs wrapped around his waist and her big,
soft breasts pressed against his hard chest. Then he imagined doing her
doggy-style in the pit, with chained prisoners watching.
Snap out of
it,
he thought
.
He wondered if
he really could bring himself to rape; he had never thought like this before.
During Amai's
pursuit, a young Corporal had drowned. Amai was now responsible for killing
three of his men.
How many
more?
He thought.
He slammed his
hand on the jeep's hood.
She's humiliating me
.
When I get her
,
I'll
make her wish she was dead.
Nash walked to
his Quonset, went in, and slammed the door behind him. He froze.
Hitchcock was
sitting behind Nash's desk, his face thunder.
Oh shit
, Nash thought.
Hitchcock rose
from the chair. 'What the fuck kind of ship are you running here son?' He
screamed. 'You'd better tell me what the fuck is going on - right fucking now.'
Nash had never
seen him like this - the man was livid. Nash had expected scorn, not insane
rage - it was completely out of character.
Hitchcock banged
a fist on Nash's desk. 'You'd better tell me why there's a Goddamn dead
prisoner tied to a fucking plank in
my
fucking pit?'
'What?'
'Answer me,
boy.'
'I don't know
what you're talking-'
'Your two idiot
Corporals drowned the Goddamn girl. Don't tell me you don't fucking know.
Nash rocked on
his feet, stunned. This was why Hitchcock was so incensed.
'Christ.' Nash said,
his mind racing. 'Did they get anything out of her?'
'Anything out of
her.' Hitchcock screamed. 'We'll be lucky to avoid courts-martial.' Hitchcock's
hands went to the top of his head. 'We'll have to cover it up. Weyand'll
crucify us.' He began pacing behind Nash's desk.
Nash couldn't
speak.
Hitchcock
stopped. 'You'd better not let those two idiots interrogate the new prisoner -
Amai Nguyen I take it. In-fact, we'd better transfer them out A-SAP.'
Nash felt like
he was shrinking.
Hitchcock glared
at him.
Nash said: 'She
got away.'
Hitchcock's
expression twisted into disbelief. 'You mean to tell me.' His face reddened. 'You
mean to tell me.' A V-shaped vein rose in the centre of his forehead. 'You mean
to tell me that eight United States Military Intelligence staff failed to
apprehend one piddley little girl. All that crap you fed me about bringing down
the Viet Cong infrastructure and you can't catch
one
girl.'
Nash physically
felt each word hit home.
'You're a
disgrace to the unit, Nash. Get out of my goddamn sight.'
Nash's head
jerked back as if Hitchcock had punched him. Nash opened his mouth: 'You said I
had two days-'
'Get out of my
fucking sight.'
Nash could think
of nothing else to say, so he spun around and stormed away, feeling totally
humiliated.
The stupid
old prick's got no idea how slippery she is,
Nash
thought.
There's no point telling him, he wouldn't listen.
Goddamn it.
Nash's injured
leg throbbed as he lumbered across the compound.
The old man had
thrown him out of his
own
office.
He called me
a disgrace.
Nash felt his
body fill with a violent rage.
Where the hell are Mancini and Albertez?
He found the two
Corporals in the pit. At the sight of Mancini, Nash's anger boiled over. He
clenched his fist and drove it into Mancini's jaw. The stocky Corporal
staggered backwards and fell onto his ass.
The torture rack
drew Nash's eye. Thi's grayish corpse was still strapped to the board. A sullen
looking Albertez was about to hose her down and the overpowering smell of Thi's
feces filled the chamber. Nash felt nauseous.
Mancini rose up
aggressively from the concrete.
'Don't you dare
take that stance with me soldier,' Nash boomed. 'I'll have you locked down in
Long Binh Jail as quick as you can say dead gook.' Nash tempered his voice to a
growl. 'You idiot. How're we meant to get anything out of her now?' He shook
his head. 'The Colonel's rope-able.'
'Sorry,' Mancini
said. 'It just happened.'
'What
did
we
get out of her? Anything useful?
Mancini rubbed
his jaw. 'She
was
on the job with Amai Nguyen. They report to a man
named Triet. But that may be an alias. Their mission was to screw a Pentagon
Major - Randy Johnson-' Mancini stared at the ground.
'Go on.'
'Johnson works
out of the Embassy. Thi didn't know what kind of Intel they were after - they
got nothing. Johnson did though. Fucker got a three-way.'
Despite the grim
circumstances, Nash felt buoyed.
Major Johnson,
he thought.
The
Embassy.
It was a strong lead, but he would've liked more.
Nash stood tall.
'Alby. Clean up this goddamn mess. Mancini. Get the jeep - we're on the clock.'
'What're you talkin'
about? Mancini said.
'The goddamn
Embassy. We need to get Johnson before she does.'
28
A
t café La Camargue, the quaint coffee house that he used for meeting
his girl-spies, Triet sat in his usual chair, waiting for Amai.
She's late
, he thought.
She's never late.
A glossy female
rat played in Triet's lap, nosing into the crevices of his trousers. He had
found her nearby, scavenging for food. The rat had approached him with reckless
courage, but the look in her eye was kindness. He stroked her soft body and fed
her a few breadcrumbs. 'There there, beautiful,' he said, before letting her to
burrow into his shirt pocket.
Triet peered
down the busy street like a hawk searching for prey. He recognized Amai's face
in the crowd at a surprising distance; it was a face that had occupied his mind
since their first meeting, six years ago.
He wondered if
she ever thought of him romantically.
No,
he thought.
She hates me.
He watched her
gracefully maneuver toward him. He loved the way she moved with powerful
strides, swaying hips, and shuddering breasts. But he couldn't see her hips or
breasts. He looked harder, and thought:
What is she wearing?
Triet knew his
desire for Amai was changing with his deteriorating mental state. He had once
genuinely loved Amai, but her rejection had loosened his grip on sanity. Now
his desire for her felt more like greed. He craved to own her so that no one
else could. And now, because he knew he would never have her, he had taken
control of her by other means. By threatening to harm her niece, he now owned
her in a sick kind of way.
She was so afraid
that she would do anything he wanted.
She will meet
Major Johnson,
he thought.
Even if it kills her.
That is the way of this war.
Vietnam
comes before everything.
* * *
Amai hoped that news of Thi's capture would
make Triet abandon Major Johnson.
It made perfect
sense to her: if Thi gave up the Major's identity under torture, he would be
too dangerous to pursue.
He must see
that,
she thought.
Amai liked café
La Camargue. It was the only meeting place that she did like. It was
nondescript, void of Viet Cong thugs, and the waiter always brought syrupy
black coffee and French bread. It was almost normal . . . almost.
Triet's eyes
assessed her. 'What
are
you wearing?'
She shrugged.
'It saved my life.'
'What happened?'
'They've got
Thi.' She felt her voice crack. 'She's been arrested.'
Triet's eyes
opened wide. 'What?'
'Nash got her.'
Amai sat down on the wrought-iron chair and let it find its level on the
pavement. 'They knew we were at the flat. I escaped.'
'I told you to
arrange a meeting with Major Johnson.'
'What about
Thi?'
'We must focus
on the task-'
'We can't
continue with Johnson-'
'We can and
will-'
'You can't be
serious? Thi knows everything. It'll be a trap.'
'If you are
caught, you know what to do-'
'Why don't you
just kidnap Johnson and-'
'Such a thing
would alert the Americans. They must not know that we have even got to
Johnson.'
'Is there
someone else you can use?'
'Did you arrange
the meeting?'
Amai sagged.
'The Hotel Continental', she said. 'Tonight. I'm to contact him at the Embassy
to accept.'
'You will go.'
'It will be a
trap.'
'Thi knows what
she's doing. Her cover story is part of another plan.'
Amai's lips
quivered in disbelief. 'You're just using us.'
'I thought you
were a patriot, Amai.'
The waiter put
two cups of black coffee in front of them.
Amai couldn't
drink. 'What about the truth drug?'
'I will have it
at
five o'clock
.
'Will it even
work?' Cynicism edged her words.
'It is taken
care of. General Giap has classified this Major Johnson as 'war-critical'. At
this moment, he is the most important American in
Vietnam
. The information he holds is vital. No one else has the ability to
get it. You
will
go through with it-'
'Or you will
mutilate Nhu An - an innocent child.'
Triet sat tall
in his seat. 'I will do whatever is necessary to ensure American defeat, and
victory for the Peoples' Army of North Vietnam. If it means some innocents have
to pay a price, then so be it. It is the greater good for which I fight - our
nation's freedom.'
'How can you
care for our nation if you would harm her children?' She regretted the outburst
immediately.
Malice glazed
Triet's eyes but he did not speak.
Amai understood
that he would make her do this; if she refused, Nhu An
would
pay the
price.
Triet gave her a
pencil and paper and watched her write Major Johnson's acceptance note. Triet
read it, and then signaled to a boy astride a motorcycle, parked forty yards
away. Amai hadn't noticed his presence until now, but now recognized him as one
of Triet's couriers. The boy kicked the motorbike to life, and then rode up to
their table. Triet handed the motorcyclist the note and told him to deliver it
to the US Embassy as fast as possible. The bike revved loudly and went out into
the traffic, leaving behind the sweet smell of two-stroke exhaust.
So it's done,
Amai thought.
Her fate was
sealed in an envelope, speeding off into the growing uncertainty of
Saigon
.
She looked at
Triet. 'I have no money, no clothes, and nowhere to change.'
'What happened
to your money?'
'I lost it.'
Triet scowled,
and then handed her a wad of greenbacks. 'Buy a dress,' he said. 'Wash at the
Trung Hoa. Make sure you look divine -
Vietnam
is counting on you.'
A green Renault
pulled up beside them. Pham Xuan An was driving. The car idled roughly, and
Amai could feel the heat radiating from its engine. Triet got into the
passenger's seat and the Renault drove away, misfiring several times before
turning into Dong Khoi.
Amai stayed in
her chair. She had never felt more alone.
She thought
about her desperate goal of reporting the Tet-offensive to the American
Commanders. She had deceived everyone she loved and cared about to
ensure
the success of Triet's masterstroke; his life's work - his massacre. But now
that she understood it, she wanted to destroy it.
She imagined the
tens-of-thousands of savage and brainwashed Viet Cong boys charging into the
city, killing all before them in the bloodbath for which they yearned. She
imagined the slaughter of the children and the women. She imagined the
distraught mothers searching hopelessly for lost loved ones, and the orphans
struggling to survive.
She looked
around the street, her eyes finding every face. These were the innocent people
of a doomed city.
I'll be
responsible
, she thought. She put her face in her
hands.
For what?
Perhaps she
could find a way to tell Major Johnson about the coming attack. He was
obviously important; MACV would listen to him; and he had no affiliation with
General Loan, Captain Nash, or Military Intelligence.
Her palms slid
to her cheeks and she looked at the ground.
Major Johnson could be good
fortune in disguise,
she thought.
* * *
Sergeant Major Allen Lester sat in the
covered rear compartment of his specially modified deuce-and-a-half.
He was
hung-over, and the stink of an open sewer fueled his nausea.
On Captain
Nash's orders, The Sergeant Major had inserted two radio direction finding
teams into
Saigon
's Cholon
district. His men were familiar with the wireless operator they were hunting,
but he hadn't broadcast for over a week. They were simply waiting for him to
transmit, so his signal could be triangulated and his position narrowed down.
Nash had made it clear; this man
had
to be found at all costs.
A skinny
redheaded Corporal wearing a bulky headset looked up from his radio unit. 'He's
on, Sar-Major.'
The Sergeant
Major detected the boy's excitement. 'You sure it's him?'
'Yes, Sar-Major.
It's him all right.' The boy's voice went up an octave. 'Christ, he's talking
to General Giap.'
'Take a goddamn
bearing.'
'Yes Sar-Major.'
Under the skinny
Corporal's guidance, a Private adjusted the aerial on the truck's roof.
Then the
Corporal said: 'Phu Tho. He's in Phu Tho.'
'You sure?'
'Yes Sar-Major.'
The Sergeant
Major nodded. 'Let's relocate.'
'One more
broadcast,' the Corporal said. 'And we'll have him.'