The bird came in fast, hit the runway with a squalling of tires, taxied as quickly as possible to the terminal. Charlie had been known to lob in a few rockets, just to welcome the R&R boys back home.
And home it was, he decided as he walked across the blazing hot tarmac.
The rest of it must have been just a dream.
Chapter XII
“I think we’re in pretty good shape,” were Roger’s first words to him. “We spread some money around, paid off several high-ranking bonzes, put out the story that the kids had been kidnapped by the VC and that it was just an unfortunate occurrence that they were in the kill zone just when you attacked. My sources tell me most people are buying the story.”
“And did we find out what really happened?”
“Probably pretty much like the story, except we doubt that the VC kidnapped the kids. More likely it was someone on our side. If I’ve guessed right, the kids were supposed to be the only ones in those huts when you attacked, but you got there a little sooner than they expected. I figure they probably planned two ambushes. First one would have been right after you shot up the huts. Then if something went wrong, as it did, they’d ambush you on the way back, somewhere close to the pickup zone, so they’d know where to hit you.”
“And do we know who on our side did it?”
“No. Whoever it was covered his tracks pretty well. But we’ll find out, sooner or later. Of course you realize that means you’re going to have to watch yourself. If he tried once, the likelihood is that he’ll try again.”
“What a cheerful thought! You guys don’t expect much, do you?”
“Nothing more than we figure you can do. You were the one who wanted to go back to Hue. Changed your mind?”
“Fuck you. I can’t wait. Go back out and get my ass shot at in the field, and come back in and wait to get it shot by our own side. Sounds like a hell of a lot of fun. Wouldn’t miss it for the world. How is Al, by the way? He healed up yet?”
“Pretty well. I guess his leg still bothers him a little. Keeps opening up at the scar. But you can’t keep him out of the field. He’s out on operation now. Another joint op. Had a hell of a time talking him into it.”
“I can imagine, after the last episode. Glad there aren’t any Koreans in Thua Thien. The American troops are bad enough.”
“Speaking of which, the 1st Brigade commander of the 101st sends his compliments. Seems that a battalion of North Vietnamese troops just got their clocks cleaned. They’d just come down the trail, crossed over into the province. Couldn’t find any trail watchers, no guides, nobody. They were lost for three days, wandered around until they ran into the 1st Brigade. Survivors say they just couldn’t understand why there was nobody to meet them. They’d been promised before they left that all the people down here would welcome them with open arms.”
“You figure that’s because of what we did?”
“I know it is. People are giving themselves up right and left. When you ask them why, they say they don’t want to die in their sleep like so many of their comrades did. Lots of low-level people weren’t that motivated anyway, just stayed in the movement because they were afraid not to. Now we’re hitting them double; they’re more scared to stay in, and the people who threatened them if they fell out aren’t around anymore.”
“Nice to know we’re appreciated.”
“More than you know. Now for the bad news. We’ve been getting rumors that the NVA know and appreciate what you’re doing, too. And they want to do something about it. So they’ve sent for a special team to come up here. One that’s had a lot of success in the past, especially down in III Corps. Guess who they’re going to be looking for? Rumor also has it that there’s a price on your and Al’s heads.”
“How much?”
“Ten thousand dollars on you, eight on Al.”
“That probably pisses him off.”
Roger smiled. “Very much so. He wanted to know what he was doing wrong.” He grew serious again. “So you’re really going to have to watch your ass now. Whoever set you up for the last one is still out there, and it looks like you’ll not only have a professional hit team but everybody else who wants to make a little money gunning for you.”
“We have any more information on this team?”
“Only that they’ve been very successful. Started out in ’63, killed a couple of SF captains and a sergeant in an ambush.” He started to go on, then saw that his words had had a visible effect on Jim. The young man’s face looked haunted, drained of blood. “What’s wrong?”
Jim found himself shaking, his insides so tightly clamped it felt like his heart was being squeezed. He said nothing for a couple of moments, not trusting his voice. Finally he said, “I think I’ve met these guys before.” He told Roger of the day long ago. He did not tell him of the dreams.
“Shit,” Roger swore. “Glad I don’t particularly believe in fate. Because if I did I’d be even more worried.”
Jim assayed a smile. He wondered if it looked as weak as it felt. “In a way there’s a little advantage in it,” he said. “Because if they are the same people I’ll sure as hell recognize them. And they can’t know that. So if you hear of me gunning someone down in the street, you’ll know why.”
“Just make sure you get the right ones. Which is the other bad news. There are some rumblings from Saigon about you. That you may be just a little too aggressive. I’ve had to field a couple of inquiries from Moira Culpepper already. On behalf of her boss, she says. I wonder about that.”
“Now that really pisses me off! Everything else you’ve told me I can deal with. What the fuck do they expect, anyway? Some clean little war, where nobody gets hurt, and everybody goes home with a bunch of medals and some wonderful stories? God save me from my friends! The enemies I can deal with myself.”
“Well, now that I’ve given you a proper welcome back, how was Australia? Come on, let’s have a beer.”
The woman in question was at that moment briefing her boss. He’d looked even worse than usual when he came in that morning. Too many scotches with his French friends, she suspected. The greenish alcoholic pallor was beginning to show through his tennis tan. But at least he wasn’t bothering her too much now. The last time he had been to her room he had failed miserably to function, and it had affected his attitude toward her, perhaps because for the first time she had not bothered to hide her contempt for him.
“Captain Carmichael returns to duty today,” she said. “Apparently fully healed and ready to go. McMurdock, despite your wishes, intends to send him back to Hue. He should be back there by tomorrow.”
Eliot Danforth swore horribly. “One of these days,” he vowed, “Roger is going to fail, and I’m going to make sure when he does the right people know about it. I’ve had it with his operating as if he’s a law unto himself. He wouldn’t have gotten away with it the way he has so far if he didn’t have friends from the old days sitting at the top.”
And if he wasn’t so good at what he does, Moira thought, but did not say. McMurdock had shown no inclination to help her career, so she had no intention of standing up for him.
“Carmichael is a loose cannon,” Danforth continued. “We’ve let him go too long. He did what we wanted him to do, but now he stands a good chance of blowing some very sensitive operations in that area. We can’t let that happen. Do we have any more word about the team that’s supposed to be going up that way?”
Moira frowned, consulted her notes, though she knew them by heart. She had learned to not have all the answers at her fingertips. It scared people, made them worry for their jobs. Best that they didn’t worry, until it was too late. “Yes, here it is,” she said. “We’re getting some very good information from III Corps these days, far better than from anywhere else in the country. The new man there is doing a very good job.”
Danforth sniffed disdainfully. “Yes, I’ve heard. Former Army CID, isn’t he?” By his manner of speaking he fully conveyed the contempt the career CIA man had f
or anyone who did not share his Ivy League upbringing. Moira had no doubt that the new man in III Corps would not have a long and profitable career in the Agency, no matter how well he did and how much intelligence he produced.
“The team appears to have departed their base in the Ho Bo Woods, crossed back into Cambodia, and are headed up the trail toward the north. The agent who reported this indicated that they had said they had an important mission, and had been told by COSVN that they had to accomplish it at all costs. The commander didn’t seem to think that it would be much of a problem, and told the agent he’d be back within three months. So that should give our people at least an approximate time frame as to when to expect them. Would you like me to send the wire?”
“No,” he said without hesitation. “Not just yet. Plenty of time, isn’t there? After all, it’s a long walk to Thua Thien. If we send it now, there’s too much chance the information will leak, thus jeopardizing our information sources.”
Moira was speechless. The audacity of the man! His reasoning was, of course, ridiculous. There were ways of passing the information that would ensure that it could never fall into the wrong hands. He was allowing the VC assassination team a clear shot at Jim Carmichael. She had no doubt that, if she were to ask again in a month if it was time to let him know of the danger, she would be put off with an equally specious reason. It was breathtaking in its callousness. By refusing to pass on information, with a reason he could later justify, he was very possibly condemning one of his own men to death. It would get rid of an irritant, protect an ongoing operation, and serve as a warning to Roger McMurdock. She hadn’t thought he still had it in him. She felt a sudden surge of desire. Perhaps she had been wrong to dismiss him so quickly. There were so many things he could still teach her. She moved around the table and stood behind him, softly massaging his neck.
“I’m putting two people with you,” said Vanh. “They are to be trusted.”
Vanh had told him, the moment he got back, that he had found the leak within the organization, and that, to his dismay, the man was already dead—killed in a very suspicious accident.
“There is no doubt of it,” he said. “We went through his things. He had money, much money. And documents. Methods of contacting his handler. We tried to establish contact, but they obviously already knew he was dead.”
“And you think he was the only one?”
Vanh smiled. In his face Jim read the bitterness of one who knew all too well that no one could really be trusted, that anyone could be your enemy in a war that had gone on far too long and made people change sides with the wind. “I trust only myself. And you. And the people I will put with you. One is my brother. The other is my uncle. You are in much danger, Jim.”
“And you?”
“I, too, I suppose. But I am always surrounded by my PRU. I go nowhere alone. But many times I have seen you go out by yourself. You cannot do that anymore.”
“There will be times when I must,” Jim said. “But I will keep them to a minimum. I accept your offer. How did you like the hospital, by the way?”
Vanh smiled again, and this time the smile was genuine. “The Germans were very kind,” he said. “I am grateful that Roger made it possible for me to be there. I have had the malaria for a long time, but I was afraid to go to one of our hospitals. One goes in there and all too often does not come out.”
“Good. Now what do we have going?”
For the next few minutes they went over the current intelligence, which was, as usual, sparse.
“Christ!” Jim exploded, exasperated by the prospect of once again having to operate blind, “What the hell do the people at the PIOCC do? We haven’t gotten anything we could use out of them since I’ve been in country.”
“Since long before that, I’m afraid. There is no organization there, no one who knows how to set up an intelligence net, no sources, no agents. I am a simple soldier, yet I know what they do not. That if you wish to know about the enemy, you must have someone within the enemy ranks. And they have none. But the enemy seems to have no problem. They always know what we are doing.”
“Well, shit. Looks like we’ll have to do it ourselves again. Any ideas?”
“We hear that the enemy is replacing the ones we took away. But they are not Viet Cong, they are North Vietnamese. The Northerners say that there are not enough experienced ones in the ranks of the VC, that too many of the cadre have been killed. The ones they send are inexperienced with the ways of the South. It is creating problems. The people of the South do not like the newcomers. They are afraid, they say that the Northerners do not care about the needs of the people, that they are only interested in the victory of the NVA, and that they will sacrifice anyone to make sure that happens. And the Northerners say that the VC are lazy, that they are not sufficiently motivated. And that they are not grateful enough for the sacrifices the North has made. The Chieu Hoi center is full of former VC who have grown tired of it. But the people at the PIOCC only interrogate them for information of immediate military value.”
“And you think they could be made use of?”
“Yes. I think that they can be turned.”
Jim looked doubtful. “I don’t know,” he said. “Just because they’re tired of the war, and pissed off at the NVA, doesn’t mean that they’d betray their friends.”
“If they were Westerners, no. But that is one thing that you do not understand about us. You have individual loyalties, even if you stop believing in a cause, you still believe in the friends you left behind. For us it is different. When a Vietnamese stops believing in a cause, he stops believing in anything that goes with it. Yes, they will cooperate. They have already made the first step, by turning themselves in. Now they must support us, because if the other side wins they will be the first ones to be executed as traitors. So they must make sure the other side does not win. We can use them.”
“So, let’s do it. Why haven’t you started already?”
“Not that easy. The officials at the Chieu Hoi center do not wish to let us have access. They say that they are afraid of what we will do. That many of these people have been responsible for many crimes, and that we will kill them. But the real reason is that they are, as you say in English, shaking them down. The longer they hold them, the more they can charge their families to get them out. Many people are making much money this way.”
“Time for some more pressure on the province chief?”
“I think it will be the only way. But it is dangerous. He also is one of those who profit. And I think that he will be very angry to be challenged again.”
“One more to add to the list,” Jim said. “We’re going to be real popular guys. The people you’re putting with me may have to earn their money.”
The province chief, after Jim’s departure from his office the next day, let rage suffuse him, dangerously raising his blood pressure, reddening his face, bulging his eyes. He stormed through the office, kicking over his trashcan, screaming, swearing terrible oaths. When his secretary rushed in to see what was the matter he was met with a stream of abuse and rushed out again. The colonel had an overwhelming urge to hit something, anything, preferably something that could feel it. Nothing was immediately at hand. He stared wildly about, eyes finally alighting on a framed picture of himself and the former vice president of the United States, taken during that personage’s visit to the country. The bland Minnesota politician’s face particularly infuriated him this day; so self-righteous, so sure that the “American Way” was best. He snatched the picture from the wall and smashed it to the floor, taking great pleasure in grinding his heel into the face, obliterating it as he would have liked to do to Captain Carmichael. He felt much better afterward.
He sat back down, fury expended, and attempted to achieve the equanimity his religion held in so much esteem. It would not come. Something would have to be done about the PRU. He did not know what. Captain Carmichael had left no doubt that if something happened to him, the information he had on the colo
nel’s illegal dealing would go to those who could do the most damage. Was the young American foolish enough to keep the information near him, perhaps in his quarters? Sadly, he realized it was unlikely. He felt helpless. And that angered him again. He was worried about what the American, and by extension, the PRU, would find out from the Chieu Hois. Frantically he racked his mind. Who was in the center now? He couldn’t think of anyone important. Lots of small fry, but it would take more of an effort and more knowledge than the American had to piece together the whole thing from them. If anyone important came in, they would be taken care of. There were secrets that must be guarded at all costs.
He finally came to the conclusion that there was nothing he could do. Now. But sooner or later the American would make a mistake. The colonel took the long view, something that he knew was foreign to the Westerners. If you waited long enough, opportunity would arise. You just had to be smart enough to recognize that opportunity, and take advantage of it. And he was very smart.
The first “recruits” from the Chieu Hoi center were understandably nervous. They knew the PRU; for many of them it was the primary reason they had regrouped to the government. The death that came in the middle of the night had visited a little too often those whom they knew and worked with, and they had known that sooner or later it would visit them too. So to be taken out of the center, which, despite the bad food and lack of amenities, was better than what they had experienced in the jungle, and by the American they knew to be the driving force behind the killers, was a terrifying experience. They fully expected to be driven away to an isolated place, probably tortured, almost certainly killed. Thus it was an even greater shock to be put into a nice villa, fed well, given conjugal visit privileges, and treated better than they had ever been in their lives. It softened them for the approach.
Into the Treeline Page 22
