The Cover of War (15 page)

31

A
mai wore a silk pant-suit in salmon pink with a high buttoned
Chinese collar. The fabric adhered to her breasts, highlighting their shape
like vacuum packed melons, and revealing the points of her nipples.

She looked
across the lamp lit
Dong Khoi Street
to the Hotel Continental and trembled. She was sure that somewhere
near the hotel, an ambush lay in wait.

Worse still, it
was half-past-seven and Triet did not yet have the drug.
He's insane,
she
thought.
This is suicide.

'How will I get
the serum?'

'I will have it
delivered to you in the restaurant.'

She felt a jet
of panic. If Triet failed to deliver the serum she would end up having to have
sex with the Major again. She feared letting Danny down for a second time, and
cringed.

Is Danny even
alive?

'It will be
fine,' Triet continued. 'Just keep him at the restaurant until you get the
serum.'

'The Major will
ask about Thi.'

'Use your
imagination.'

'You'd better
deliver the serum-'

'Everything is
in hand. Be at the café at
ten o'clock
tomorrow morning with the information.'

Triet's hand went between her shoulder blades and he pushed her
toward the Hotel.

Amai was half-an-hour
early for her dinner date with Major Johnson for good reason. She crossed Dong
Khoi, and cautiously explored the hotel's surrounding streets, alleys, and
pillared alcoves for signs of a trap, knowing full well that if Thi had given
up Major Johnson's identity under torture, a trap is exactly what she would be
walking into.

The scene
appeared normal.

Normal
,
she thought.
What the hell is
normal?

At the hotel's
entrance, Amai saw her face in the glass. She felt her gut drop. She had lost
faith in the safety of the world a long time ago; but now everything scared her
- even her own reflection.

A bug grill
crackled above the door and Amai's head snapped up.

Get a grip,
she thought.
You can do this - one last time.
  

She went into
the hotel and the doors swung shut behind her, sealing out Dong Khoi's traffic
noise. The air-conditioned lobby was cool and her heels click-clacked across
the parquet flooring. She eyed the large potted palms, expecting men with guns
to come out from behind them, slam her to the floor, and handcuff her.

Any second
now,
she thought.

Her heels
click-clacked across parquet flooring.

She passed the
concierge desk. No one had jumped out, but not having the truth serum upped her
anxiety. She could give Major Johnson the details of the Tet attacks, but only
after she had successfully drugged him.

But I don't
have it.
Her skin prickled.
Will it even work?

She felt
powerless. Everything was outside of her control.

Don't look
nervous,
she thought.

She stood tall
and pulled back her shoulders.

Her heels
click-clacked across the parquet flooring.

The hotel's
luxury was a sick contradiction to the destruction raging outside the city.
Then she remembering that it wouldn't be long before the war found its way
inside
.

She passed a man
belting out a baroque verse on a large, gloss-black piano. Ahead, two
impossibly large flower arrangements of orange, yellow, white, green, and
purple, towered above her. The music got inside her, its building discordance
lifting her anxiety. A concierge pointed to the restaurant doors and she
nodded. He held open one of the doors and she held her breath, whilst scanning
the visible floor area beyond. Amai went in and felt immediately trapped.

She went
straight to the bar.
This is where they'll do it,
she thought.
This
is where they'll arrest me.

Several groups
were dining and the hum of their conversations filled the room. Amai ordered
Bin Tay and soda and the bartender gave her a nod. She took her drink, put her
back to the bar, and scanned the room for anything that looked out of place;
anything that might indicate a trap.

Several of the
diners' faces were familiar: a rubber plantation manager and his wife; the
owner of a chain of tailors' shops and his teenage mistress. The suave Maitre
d' was also familiar. He looked at her and looked away and cold dread spread
from her chest, into her arms.

Who is he?
She thought.

Then she placed
him. The Maitre d' was one of Triet's men. He looked back again and smiled
charmingly. Amai relaxed - the Maitre d' was on the game. She felt less alone.

She recognized
no one else, and no one else recognized her. The alcohol's buzz eased her
nerves, so she finished her drink, got another, and opened a leather bound menu
at the entrée page, but her mind wandered from the words, to the whereabouts of
Thi, Danny, and the serum. The second drink went to her head and she stopped
herself from getting a third. She was being hunted, and her survival would
depend on her ability to think fast. Instead she took a glass of water and
waited for something to happen.

Then Major
Johnson walked in.

He wore tan
slacks and a red, open-collared shirt, splattered with white frangipani. He saw
her and smiled. She went cold. The game was on. She returned the Major's smile
with a flirtatious grin and he came over, took her wrist, and pressed his
rubbery lips to the back of her hand.

'Lovely to see
you, Amai.' He put on a concerned face. 'Where is the beautiful, Thi?'

In a torture
chamber,
Amai thought.
But you already know
that, don't you?
 

She spoke through
her fingers. 'Thi's ill.' She turned her head and pouted. 'Don't say you like
her more than me, Major.'

'Au contraire my
dear, Amai -
you
are the apple of my eye. And please, call me Randy.
Only my staff call me by rank.'

Amai realized
that she had been inside the Hotel for quite some time now without triggering
an arrest, and dared to hope that there might not be an ambush after all. She
took the Major's hand. 'Shall we sit?'

'Sure thing.'
The Major summoned the Maitre d' by raising a long arm, clicking his fingers,
and saying: 'Hey, buddy.'

Triet's Maitre
d' rushed to the Major. Extremely well mannered and dressed in an immaculate
black suit, the Maitre d' seated them at the back of the dining room behind the
jagged leaves of a potted palm, where Amai could see the door, and the Major
could not. He handed the Major a menu and a wine list, and then went away.

The Major put a
small velvet box on the table in front of her. 'For you,' he said.

Amai felt
strange. She opened the box and a thin diamond necklace sparkled at her in the
candlelight.

She felt sick.
What
am I?
 

In her mind's
eye, Amai saw a thousand faces - they were all Nhu An's. Amai forced a smile
and faked enchantment.

Around her neck,
Amai wore a choker of forty fake pearls in five rows of eight. She took off the
fake pearls, put on the real diamonds, presented her neck, and said: 'See
anything you like?' 

He looked dopily
into her eyes and grinned.

'It's
beautiful,' she said, looking over each of his heavy shoulders, scanning the
floor.

'It is you who
is beautiful, Amai.' 

Anxiety had
killed her appetite, but she said: 'I'm starving.' And thought:
I'm
cornered.
'What do you recommend?'

'I heard through
a reliable source that the cannelloni is the best in
Saigon
.'

'I'll have to
take you word for it.'

A nervous waiter
with rat like features took their orders and went away. When he came back he
brought champagne and half-filled both flutes. Amai wanted to gulp the wine,
but forced herself to take a sip. The Major raised his glass and made a toast
which Amai didn't hear. She clinked glasses, and thought:
Focus.
Her
goal was to get the Major somewhere private, and then drug
him. She had
a plan for this, but first she needed the serum.

The Major's eyes
hovered over her breasts.

She ran her fingers
through her thick hair and smiled, trying to present a picture of relaxed
beauty; but on the inside she was churning.

The cannelloni
arrived and the Major pulled his eyes away from her body to inspect his food.
'Mmm,' he said.

Amai had no
desire for the Major, but his obvious desire for her body stroked her ego.

Out of the
corner of her eye she caught movement and tensed. Her elbow hit her champagne
flute, knocking it over and sending wine into the Major's lap.

It's only the
Maitre d',
she thought.
Get a grip.

She apologized
to the Major.

He smiled,
showing impossibly white teeth. 'No problem. You look a little nervous?'

'No,' she
giggled for effect. 'Maybe a little.'

Amai had a
problem to clear up. With Thi's flat compromised, she needed to secure a
location for the Major's drugging. She had an idea, and if Johnson was short of
money, she would pay. She took both of his hands. 'Why don't we stay here
tonight? I hear the rooms are nice.'

He looked
disappointed. 'Can't,' he said. 'I need to make a phone call later.'

She faked a hurt
look. 'There're phones here.'

'A secure call,'
he said. 'I need to use the phone at my place.'

'Am
I
invited.'

He licked his
lips. 'You bet.'

She smiled.
So
it's his place,
she thought.
So be it.

Just then the
Maitre d' rushed behind the Major, swiveling his eyes to the front door in
warning. She looked toward the door and her nerves disintegrated. Nash and two
of his men were in the restaurant.

Amai stood,
excused herself, and walked toward the toilets without turning. There was
nowhere else to go.

Amai heard the
Maitre d' scoop up her plate and cutlery, and Johnson say: 'She's not finished,
buddy.' And the Maitre d' say: 'I'll replace the meal and champagne
free-of-charge, sir.'

Amai pushed
through the toilet door and felt even more trapped. Inside there were two more
doors; one marked 'Le male', the other 'La femme'. She went into the male
toilet hoping to find an external window. It was a small room with a urinal and
water-closet; no window.

She cursed
herself for such lazy planning. Then she heard the restroom door bang open.

It felt like her
heart was trying to jump up her windpipe.
I'm caught.

She locked
herself in the water-closet and waited for Nash.

She heard
someone go into the female toilet, bang around, and then come back out.

The male toilet
door opened.

She could hear a
man's heavy breathing, and tried to stop hers.

Knuckles wrapped
on her cubicle. 'Open up.'

Amai pushed her
fingers as far down her throat as she could and felt her stomach convulse. She
retched.

The footsteps
moved away and the door banged shut.

For several
minutes, she knelt in front of the toilet bowl, trying and failing to find the
courage to return to the Major.

The door banged
opened again. A voice said: 'They're gone. Get back out there.' The voice
belonged to the Maitre d'.

Amai left the
restroom, edged open the dining-room door, and peered out. Nash had gone, but
her heart continued to thump erratically.

Move idiot,
she thought.

She slipped
through the door feeling incredibly vulnerable, and sat opposite Johnson. The
Maitre d' immediately delivered her replacement meal whilst the rat-like waiter
filled her champagne flute.

The Major
grinned. 'No harm done.'

She felt the
corners of her mouth draw back. 'How's the cannelloni?'

'Mmm,' He spoke
with his mouth full. 'Good.'

She thought:
Where's
the damn serum?

32

N
ash was fuming.

On Dong Khoi, he
leant against one of the Opera house's grooved, stone pillars, wondering how he
could possibly find Amai in this crazy city. The heat inflamed his frustration.

Under
Hitchcock's nose, Nash had mustered a team of twenty-four MI staff to scour
Saigon
, but after visiting the most popular
restaurants and bars, they had failed to find her, or the black Major.

Where the
hell are they?
He thought.

There were
problems: he knew Amai's description, he had seen her with his own eyes, but he
had never seen this Major Johnson, and oddly, the Army had no file on him -
nothing. Nash realized that dressed in civvies, and eating in a restaurant,
Johnson would look like any other Negro. He could've walked right past Johnson
and not known.

Nash's big
problem though, was Hitchcock.

Somehow
Hitchcock had learned that he had made enquiries into Major Johnson's
whereabouts, and had called him and ordered him to stop. Hitchcock's voice had
been unusually strained, and he didn't care one iota that Amai was working
Johnson.
Nash recalled Hitchcock's words with disgust:
Johnson is not
to be touched. He works for people that we do not fuck with. He has full
Pentagon clearance and answers only to the Defense Secretary.

Nash had tried
to impress the situation's importance on the aging Colonel, but as usual, he
wouldn't listen. The man was infuriating.

Nash looked up
Dong Khoi, and thought:
Works for people we do not fuck with. Answers only
to the Defense Secretary. For Christ's sake, there's a war on.

Nash however,
was not prepared to let Amai go, and if the highly protected, nonexistent Major
happened to be with her - too bad.

Major Johnson
knew something; and that something was driving Amai to desperate lengths. If
she made Johnson talk through bribery or sexual manipulation, there would be
repercussions, both for the US Military,
and
Nash's career. Hitchcock
would certainly find a way to turn it all around and blame Nash for failing to
stop her.

The only way
that Nash could win was to get Amai, and then take down the Viet Cong
Commander. There were men above Hitchcock, who
would
applaud decisive
action. They
would
see Nash's worth. They
would
promote him. He
just had to get Amai.

Nash's men had
dispersed, and were now searching the inner city's boutique eating houses; the
ones where a rich American officer would go to show off his beautiful young
trophy.

Then with a
jolt, Nash remembered something: he
had
seen a black-man - one who
fitted the Major's description
perfectly
. Yes, there had only been one
setting at his table, but the other chair had been pulled out and left askew,
as if recently departed.

Where?
Nash thought.
Think.

Nash racked his
brain. Then it came to him:
The Continental.

Then he
remembered the person vomiting in the men's room. 'Shit,' he said aloud.

Nash went down
the Opera house's stone steps two at a time, and when he hit the footpath, he
broke into a run.

The Continental
wasn't far.

* * *

The nervous waiter came to the table and
told Amai that she had a message at the desk. His eyes told her it was the
serum.

Good,
she thought. She was itching to leave. She said to the Major: 'Let's
get out of here.'

'You've hardly
eaten.'

She loaded her
voice with seductiveness: 'I prefer my
meat
to be more . . .
firm
.'

The Major stood.
'Let's go.'

Amai went to the
desk and the Maitre d' put his closed hand on the counter. She put her hand
beside his and he slipped the vial into her palm. Amai closed her hand tightly
around the small glass tube; dropping it would mean failure - failure meant
death.

Without
permission, her mind replayed the sexual encounter with Johnson and Thi. She
remembered the shuddering orgasm and felt a tingling between her legs. She
shook herself and slipped the serum into a pocket.

Amai studied the
Major as he paid the bill. His was clueless.

The Maitre d'
held open the door and bade them goodnight. The Major hung a heavy arm around
her neck, and they walked like lovers, through the lobby, and out into the
balmy night air. 

* * *

Nash got to the Hotel Continental puffing.
He rushed inside and made a fast circuit of the dining room. 

The big Negro
had gone; his table vacant.

Nash remembered
the person vomiting in the men's room, and he cringed.
You idiot.

Nash confronted
the Maitre d'. 'The black-man.' Nash pointed to the table. 'Was he alone?'

'I remember the
man,' the Maitre d' said. 'A good tipper. Yes, yes, he was alone tonight. He is
a regular here.
Loves
the cannelloni. Never seen someone eat so much
of it.'

Nash thought:
A
simple yes would've done.
The man seemed tense - too tense.

Behind the bar,
a nervous looking waiter fidgeted with a glass.

The Maitre d'
looked at his feet.

Nash's heart
started pumping harder. 'What's his name?'

The Maitre d'
ran a slender finger down the register. 'Mr. Smith. Yes. He left only a moment
ago. You could catch him if you hurry.'

'Which way?'

The Maitre d'
pointed toward the inner city.

Nash said: 'How
did Amai look?'

For a second,
the Maitre d's eyes widened. 'Who? Mr. Smith was alone.'

'Amai,' Nash
snarled. 'The woman that was with Major Johnson.'

'I'm sorry. I
you have the man confused.'

The Maitre d'
had re-gained his composure, but Nash knew he was lying.  

I'll deal
with you later.

Nash went out
onto Dong Khoi and flagged a taxi, figuring that Johnson would take Amai back
to the villa behind the Embassy. Then he recalled his recent failure at Thi's
flat and touched his swollen eye-socket. He felt a physical pain in his gut as
he remembered Amai climbing over the wall.

I need to do
it right this time,
he thought.

Nash weighed his
options: gathering all of his men would eat up valuable time - time that he
didn't have.

Then he got an
idea.

He paid the taxi
to wait, and then went back into the Hotel lobby to use the phone.

* * *

The taxi dropped Amai and the Major
directly opposite the police station on
Mac Dinh Chi
Street
.

She looked over
her shoulder. The street was clear, but she felt deeply apprehensive.

Every fiber of
her being was screaming for her to run.

She looked at
the Embassy, which dominated the corner. Major Johnson took her arm and led her
across the street to the night-gate, where a group of MPs armed with assault
rifles stood in front of a lowered vehicle barrier. Overhead spotlights turned
the puddles into mirrors, and Amai studied the MPs' reflections, trying to pick
their mood. One was leaning against the barrier. One took off his helmet and
scratched his head. One adjusted his weapon. Their faces were unreadable.

She and the
Major reached the guardhouse.

The MPs
stiffened.

Adrenaline
covered Amai's back with a thousand needle pricks.

This was the
point-of-no-return.

Do they have
my description?
She thought.
Will they arrest me
right here? 

She controlled
her imagination.

An MP saluted
the Major and enquired about his night, whilst looking her up-and-down. The
inspection contained more lust than suspicion. She was safe - for the moment.

The barrier
opened and they walked arm-in-arm toward the villa. Amai could feel the MPs'
eyes on her backside. Grinning, the Major guided her onto the villa's shrub
enclosed path and she let out her breath.

The two story
villa sat between the Embassy and the eight-foot, concrete perimeter wall. Amai
realized that if she were cornered in here, there would be nowhere to run.

Now she was
completely trapped. 

The villa's
porch light made tinking sounds as fat bugs flew into the bulb.

'Nice place,'
Amai said, massaging his backside.

He opened the
door, and they went into a wood-paneled lounge-room which contained a large
bookcase and four leather armchairs circling an antique coffee table.

Amai pouted. 'Drink?'
A drink was the only way she could administer the drug.

He rubbed
against her and she felt his big, semi-hard penis brush her leg through the
fabric of his trousers. The Major went into another room, presumably in search
of alcohol. Amai sat down in an armchair and noticed how weak her legs felt.
She took off her heels and listened; coming through the ceiling was the faint
sound of rocking bed springs.

We're not
alone,
she thought.

The sound
stopped. Gentle feet hit the floor. Floorboards creaked lightly overhead. A
toilet flushed. Water groaned in the pipe-work.

Johnson called:
'Brandy okay?'

'Perfect.'

The urge to get
out of the house and away from Johnson came on strong, but instead of running,
she took the vial of serum from her pocket, and hid it under curled fingers.
The Major came back into the room, handed Amai a glass, and raised his. 'To
diamonds and Amai. The two most beautiful things in the world.'

Amai could smell
the brandy. They clinked glasses and she was annoyed at herself for getting
moist. She sipped the brandy, put her glass on the coffee table, and then took
Johnson's out of his hand and put it beside hers.

Johnson's big
hand grabbed her waist and hauled her in. She kissed his mouth and worked her
thumb and forefinger over the vial's rubber stopper. His large tongue filled
her mouth. The stopper popped out and she emptied the vial into Johnson's
brandy.

Amai broke off the
kiss and stepped back.

Johnson unzipped
his fly and his large, erect penis snapped free.

It was going
wrong. She snatched up her brandy, and said: 'To your cock.'

Johnson picked
up his glass. She downed hers.   

The phone rang. The
shrill sound made Amai squeal.

Johnson went
into the adjoining room to answer it.

A jet of fear
went through Amai's body.
Is it Nash?
She thought.
Or just the
business call he was expecting?

She heard the
Major saying:  'Yes Sir . . . no Sir . . . okay . . . I understand. Yes
Sir . . . will-do.' And the clunk of the receiver finding its cradle.

The Major walked
back into the lounge. He looked like he had just been told his mother had died.

Amai's saliva
thickened.
Oh no.

His eyes went to
the necklace, contouring the soft skin of her throat, and he sneered.

Was it Nash?
She thought. 

'So you're a
spy,' he said. 'Well I'll be goddamned.' He knocked back his brandy. 'You were
wasting your time - I couldn't have told you anything of value.'

For Amai, it was
all happening too fast.
I'm caught,
she thought.
He drank it.

Then she
realized that her life now depended on the drug. She looked from his glass to
his face, and thought:
How long?

Amai sat back in
the armchair as causally as she could. 'Who was on the phone?'

'Military Intelligence.
A Captain Nash is on his way here now.' He gave her a grim look. 'Damn shame. I
was looking forward to tonight.'

Then he put down
his empty glass and came toward her.

She folded her
arms across her chest. 'No, Major.'

He reached for
her and she shoved him back with her feet.

'You're a
beautiful woman,' he said. 'But I have to put you under arrest.'

Incredibly, he
stopped like a dementia patient who had forgotten where or who he was. Amai
looked into his eyes - they were glazed. He stood still for a moment, gently
swaying.

She jumped to
her feet. 'Come. Sit down,' she said, and rotated him into the armchair.

He dropped into
the chair. 'I need the phone.'

'You look ill.
Sit here until you feel better.'

'I feel . . .
wei
rd.'

'Relax.'

Amai watched the
Major with relief as the Soviet drug took hold of him. His facial muscles
slackened, his shoulders slumped, and his eyes wilted. He lay back in the
chair. As the drug overpowered him fully, he looked like he didn't have a care
in the world.