Saigon Red

by Gregory C. Randall

  “Did you retrieve the device?” another asked.

  “No, the local police found it. When they reached a dead end, we asked for it back. We claimed that the device belonged to our client.”

  “Whoever it was, he killed our people!” said another.

  “Yes, with what appears to be a new type of weapon. Evidence and forensics say a large-caliber bullet with an explosive tip. The explosive is of the tetryl family as well as another compound we are studying. Casings were not found, so we assume, like with a revolver, the casing remained with the weapon. It is an extremely dangerous weapon.”

  That evening, Alex studied the wall of photos and wondered why men and women took on a job like this. In fact, she wondered why she did.

  CHAPTER 12

  As they finished breakfast the next morning, the familiar whoomp-whoomp of a helicopter’s blades filled the chill Texas air. Alex watched the landing through the large plate glass windows of the dining room. She smiled when she saw Chris Campbell walking toward the complex with the training director at his side, Jimmy Cortez.

  She finished her breakfast and headed to the other side of the room and out onto a porch that overlooked the wash that spread out below the complex. A diminutive and wiry Latino man was leading two horses to the porch from the stables. He stopped at the railing and expertly flipped the reins over the top bar.

  “Good morning, Senor Diaz. How are you?”

  “Very good, Senorita Alex.”

  “Someone going for a ride?”

  “Sí.”

  “Beautiful horses.”

  “Gracias. The gray is called Excalibur, the bay Lucifer.”

  “That’s ominous.”

  “Oh, they are good boys. But you have to keep reminding them who’s the boss.”

  Alex turned to the sound of the dining room door sliding open. Chris Campbell stood on the porch.

  “Good morning, Alex. You’re enjoying your stay?”

  “Yes, but I hurt in places I’ve never hurt before.”

  “Good. I’ll add some new ones. Saddle up.”

  “What? On those?” She pointed.

  “Yes, on those. You take Lucifer. I’m going to give you a crash course in horse-a-nomics. Besides, we need to talk, and I need to ride. It’s been a month since I’ve been here, and I want to look around. José will give you a leg up and explain the basics. After that you’re on your own.”

  Alex looked at the bay and thought the week could not have gotten any worse. Chris took the reins of Excalibur and nonchalantly landed himself in the saddle. José led Lucifer to the edge of the porch and instructed Alex where to place her foot and what to do next.

  “Seat belt?”

  Chris smiled. “Senor Diaz, lead her around a bit, and let her get the feel of the seat.”

  Alex looked down at the porch, where four other people had gathered.

  “Just don’t let him get ahead of you,” one woman said with a laugh. “Remember you’re in control. You have the leads.”

  “Thanks,” Alex replied optimistically, and then, holding the reins, sat as still as possible as Diaz walked the horse in circles. After each lap, she felt a little more comfortable. She did the last two on her own.

  “A natural cowgirl,” another said.

  “Follow me, but hold on tight to the horn,” Chris said, and spurred his horse and trotted out of the courtyard—Lucifer in pursuit, Alex in panic.

  For the next ten minutes, Chris led the way. Alex had settled in, and the panic had subsided—some. Chris slowed his horse up to Lucifer’s right flank and trotted alongside Alex.

  “Not bad. I’ve seen grown men who’d faced the Taliban quake with fear riding a horse. Nice seat, nice job.”

  “I once rode a pony when I was a kid. This is the first time since then.”

  “Well done, city girl. After the next few hours, your ass will be as sore as a bad boy’s bottom.”

  “Nice.”

  Alex rode silently for the next half hour. Chris pointed out features and landmarks on the ranch. An arroyo here and a steep cliff there—each seemed to have a story behind it. He told her about the longhorns and why he’d bought them, and how many head of cattle were living on the spread.

  On a high ridge that overlooked the ranch, Chris climbed down and held the reins as Alex followed. Together they walked to the edge of a ragged cliff of sharp rock and gray-green juniper. A delightful fragrance filled the morning air.

  “What’s that I smell?” Alex asked.

  He seemed to think on it a moment. “Juniper, for sure. Sage. A bit of sumac too. This morning’s humidity is just enough to perfume the breeze. Can’t get enough of it.”

  “You’re proud of what you’ve done,” Alex said. “I can see that.”

  “I am, thanks. I’ve had a little luck and a lot of help from good people—who, I’ve discovered, are hard to find.”

  “Being a Cleveland cop reinforces what you said. I’ve given up trying to figure out why people are bad. I now take it as a given and work accordingly. Many deserve a cage, and I’ve sadly come to the conclusion that some of them deserve to be dead. But that’s not my call.”

  “Do you mind?” Chris asked, holding up a cigar. “Bourbon and cigars are my worst vices.”

  Alex thought of her father and smiled. “No, I don’t mind. Just as long as you keep them to once or twice a week.”

  “Yes, Mother,” Chris said with a laugh. “But truth be told, I do a good job of keeping it in check.” He lit the maduro. “A few weeks ago, I consoled the parents of the two men killed in Saigon. Heartbreaking. I hate that part of the job. The insurance never makes up for the loss. Mercifully, neither were married or had children.”

  “Jake told me about it and the device that was left.”

  “If I find the killer, he’s dead.” Chris took a long draw on the cigar and blew the smoke out into the breeze that rose up the face of the canyon. “But that’s not what I want to talk to you about. We have a new client—actually an old client, but the individual within their company is new to us. I’m putting a team together for him.”

  “The people in your company are tough,” Alex said, unsure where Campbell was headed. “I admire them.”

  “Yes, they are, and don’t forget that they’re your people now. Nonetheless, they are warriors learning to be guards and facilitators; it’s hard for many of them. They need to learn patience. There’s not enough excitement, as I say. Your mindset is different; patience is built into a cop. They deal with soldiers and an enemy; you deal with civilians and bad guys. Big difference. You would have a hard time learning to kill on command—you are both different folks learning different jobs.”

  “I saw that in the academy, especially with ex-military applicants. It’s hard to overcome.”

  “I brought Javier out here,” Chris said, the smoke from his cigar snatched away by a gust. “I was trying to get him to join me for the umpteenth time. He turned me down, again. I understood, but he would be an incredible asset.”

  “He is a Texan, after all,” she answered.

  “Yes, there’s that. Alex, I’m offering you an offshore assignment. You’ll be working with one of my most experienced men, Harry Karns with the Southeast Asia Red Team, which Jake Dumas oversees. The initial assignment and commitment is for six months and may go longer if they exercise the various options in the contract. The thirty-days-on-then-off policy doesn’t apply here. Your first break will be after ninety days. It’s also a babysitting job.”

  “Okay.”

  “The overall client is Como Motors out of Milan, Italy. They’re building a new motorbike plant in Saigon. The plant manager is Nevio Lucchese. Seems like a good guy, hardworking. Has come up through the ranks of the company.”

  “You said he’s new?”

  “New to us. We’ve worked with his boss and other managers in Taiwan and South America. This is Mr. Lucchese’s first management job in Asia. The company’s owner has always committed to his managers a high deg
ree of personal security, at least for the first year of an assignment. By then, the business will have trained local people to handle the security.”

  “This needs two people?”

  “Lucchese is bringing his wife and two children,” Chris explained. “It’s one of the company’s benefits in politically stable countries. She is Ilaria Lucchese. The kids are Paolo, fifteen, and Gianna, twelve. Her family has a significant controlling interest in Como Motors.”

  “You weren’t kidding when you said babysitting. Saigon? Venice was the first time I’d even been out of the country. Now you’re sending me halfway around the world. When will I meet Karns?”

  “When you reach Dubai.”

  “Dubai?”

  “It will be while you’re in transit with the family. He’ll come in from Vietnam and help you move the family into Ho Chi Minh City. But the family’s security is your job. Karns will be focused on Nevio Lucchese. Karns is a year older than you. Grew up in LA. A SEAL, left the navy with the rank of commander. He was bored and applied to us. Speaks fluent Vietnamese—he’s an Amerasian, in fact, half-Vietnamese and half–African American. Speaks some Pashto too, and some Arabic. He, unlike you, has traveled the world on Uncle Sam’s dollar. Over a beer, he’ll tell you his whole life’s tragic tale. My guess is that he’s only telling half of it.”

  “You said this is Dumas’s team.”

  “Yes, Jake runs Southeast Asia. He’s one of the few team leaders with two teams, Red and Charlie. Charlie includes Australia and New Zealand. Red is split into two groups, A and B. Hong Kong divides the region east and west, with Vietnam in Group A. His home base for both teams is Hong Kong. You may get to meet some of the team members during your deployment.”

  She paused for a moment. “So, this is real?”

  “Yes, Alex. Very real. Are you interested?”

  Alex looked out across the canyon to the opposite side, and her eye caught movement. A coyote loped through the scrub, stopping every dozen steps to look around. It froze when one of the horses whinnied. Alex wondered whether the scruffy animal might think the horse a possible meal. Then the coyote turned its snout up into the air, sniffed, and continued its ramble along the ridge until it disappeared.

  She took a deep breath, and then thought of the Air and Space Museum. “As someone once said: there’s a time when you have to learn to fly.”

  CHAPTER 13

  Cleveland, Ohio

  Alex stood in the chill of the early-May morning, looking through the front window of her parents’ home. The view was through the living room into the kitchen. Her father’s silhouette crossed the room, a cup in his hand. He was heading for his toast, a ritual that never varied for as long as she could remember.

  After the rough late-night drive across Texas, and an early-morning flight from Dallas to Cleveland, her stomach grumbled. She needed some home cooking, badly. She climbed the steps, took a deep breath, and rang the bell. The chimes rang with the soft sounds of church bells; she remembered when her father installed them some twenty-odd years ago. Beyond the door, she heard footsteps on the oak floor. She took another breath as the door opened.

  “Well, don’t just stand there,” her father said, reaching for her bag. “Why didn’t you use your key?”

  “It’s at the house. I came directly from the airport. Mom up?”

  “In a while. Always me, then her—never changes. Coffee? You want breakfast?”

  “Yes, famished. First coffee. I just landed an hour ago. Early flight. I’m exhausted.”

  They crossed the living room to the kitchen doorway. The smell of toast and warm peanut butter filled the kitchen. Her father stuck a white mug in her hand.

  “They make you drink your coffee with cream in Texas?”

  “No, Dad, but I did learn to stir it with a strand of barbed wire,” she said with a smile. “Some bread left?”

  “Toast it is.” He dropped two pieces in and pushed the black handle down. “Nice tan—was it warm?”

  “Warm enough, but the real heat doesn’t come for another month. We were outside a lot.”

  “Your face—the color suits you. You look good. Lose a little weight?”

  “A bit, yeah.”

  A minute or two later he dropped the toast on a plate and slid it to her along with the jar of peanut butter.

  Alex raised her cup. “To old times and another pennant for the Tribe.”

  “Not good when the day starts out so maudlin.” He took a bite of his toast and sipped his coffee. “They treat you right?”

  “Dad, I’ve only had a couple of jobs in my life, and half my life has been with CPD. I didn’t know what to expect going to Dallas. They seemed all mysterious and secretive. But I think I’m going to like it. My boss is great, and the people around him are serious, direct, professional, and actually nice. I was shocked. I expected some type of testosterone-fueled military organization with all sorts of tough-guy attitudes. I was mistaken.”

  “Your friend from the CIA didn’t steer you wrong?”

  “Javier? No, Dad, he didn’t steer me wrong.”

  “Look who’s home,” a voice said from the hallway. Pulling her housecoat tight, Alex’s mother smiled and walked into the kitchen.

  She hugged her daughter, then shot a dozen rapid-fire questions. Alex answered the last first: “I have a week and a half before I report.”

  “Report?” her father asked. “Report where?”

  “Milan, Italy. I’ve been assigned to protect a family that’s transferring from Milan to the Far East.”

  “Protect?” her mother asked. “Are you now a bodyguard or something like that?” There was an edge to the question.

  “Yes and no, and I can’t tell you much more than that. I’m to assist and make sure everything goes smoothly. The assignment is six months. Then I’ll see what happens.”

  “You said the Far East,” her mother said. “China? Japan?”

  “No, not those, and that’s all I can say.”

  Her father stared at her, and a strange look grew on his face. “Saigon? You’re going to Saigon?”

  “Yes, Dad, Saigon, but that’s it, no more. I have a little more than a week to get my things together, take care of the house, buy some clothes and a few other personal things.”

  “You know your father spent time there during the war?”

  “Yes, Mom, I know. From what they tell us, it’s changed.”

  “What’s the name of the company you’ll be working with?” her father asked.

  “I can’t tell you—in fact, I might have said a little too much already—but you need to know some of it.”

  “Are there kids?”

  “Yes, two, a boy and girl. They have a nanny, and when we reach Saigon there will be a cook and a housekeeper. My job will be to keep them safe.”

  “A babysitter,” her father said with a snort. “You, once a detective on the Cleveland police force, and now, all due to that fool you married, a babysitter.”

  “I’m okay, don’t worry.”

  “For God’s sake, it’s Vietnam,” her father said. “It’s a hot and fly-ridden place. From day one, I hated it.”

  Alex wanted to ask about the girl in Saigon, but she wasn’t sure what her mom knew. No sense in asking a question that might cause her mother pain.

  Her father refilled his cup and raised the pot to his daughter. She held her cup up, and he topped it off. He took a seat at the kitchen table. Then he surprised her.

  “Back in 1971,” he began, “I lived for nine months in an apartment in a part of Saigon they call District 1. I was with the First Logistical Command Unit. The port was a few miles away, and my bunkmates and I rode our bikes to the port for the first six months. We were handling the incoming and outgoing supplies for the army. By then, the war was winding down, and the equipment was mostly outgoing. Then a couple of GIs were shot dead by the Cong as they pedaled down the street. From then on, we were picked up by a jeep and driven to the port. Strange city, crowded with r
efugees and corruption—not sure what there was more of. A dozen times Vietnamese businessmen approached me with propositions. All I needed to do was divert some supplies to their businesses, and I would get a nice bundle of American dollars.”

  “Well, why didn’t you, Roger?” her mother asked with a laugh. “We could have used it when we started out.”

  “A twenty-one-year-old kid thinks about a lot of things, and money’s certainly one of them. But the word had gotten out that they’d caught a GI selling food and clothing to a local warlord or someone. He was court-martialed, spent five years in Leavenworth. If he’d sold weapons, I don’t know what the army would have done to him. I wanted to go home, but not that bad.”

  “How long were you in Vietnam?” Alex asked.

  “Just a little under a year. I was injured and sent home.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Alex said.

  “It was nothing. I got well, your mother found me, and here we are.”

  There’s a large gap in this simple summary, Alex thought. But their life was theirs—no reason to ask if he didn’t want to tell.

  “Saigon,” her father sighed. “I’ve wondered what happened to that city after the communists took over. Not that they could be any worse than the local police, the ARVN, and the politicians back then. Probably deserved what they got. The last thing any of us GIs wanted was to die for the sons of bitches. You be careful.”

  “First thing on my list,” Alex answered. She finished off her coffee in one big gulp. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to shower and crash here until this afternoon. Then I’ll go to the house. I’ll pick us up something for dinner on the way home.”

  “Need some things washed, honey?” her mother asked.

  “A few things. They’re in my bag.”

  “You go and take your shower. I’ll put some clean sheets on your bed.” Her mother took her hand. “It’s good to have you home.”

  “It’s good to be home.”

  CHAPTER 14