Saigon

by Nick Carter

  "You may show yourself out," said Claire, turning away to hide the agony in her eyes. "Lua is busy. And so am I."

  He chuckled his way to the door. Claire heard his quick little steps fade and his harsh voice grate an order. The car door slammed.

  She wondered how many hours of grace she had.

  * * *

  The jeep lurched mightily and flung itself onto a smooth, wide strip of roadway. Lin Tong rubbed his shoulder and cursed. Then he realized where they were. There were miles of swift, straight road ahead before they came to the next roadblock or checkpoint. He knew that, before the next hurdle loomed up ahead, his drivers would take to the narrow tracks again. But in the meantime the ride would be almost pleasant. He sighed comfortably and drifted back to sleep.

  * * *

  The stillness of the jungle was so intense that it was almost a sound. When they stopped, the silence pulled at Nick's ears, and when they moved he thought they sounded like a herd of elephants.

  And yet they made very little sound. Nick padded in the lead, searching out gaps in the undergrowth and dodging the groping, tick-hung fronds with a quiet dexterity that suggested a lifetime in the jungle rather than in the bars and boudoirs of the world's most sinful and sophisticated cities. Saito flitted after him, equally untiring and adroit, his face almost without expression. But if Claire could have seen him she would have seen an expression in those bland eyes, and she would have recognized it for what it was — a glimmer of admiration for the big man ahead who moved so quickly yet so surely.

  Even the mosquitoes seemed to be taking a siesta.

  Nick slowed. There was a brightness up ahead, piercing through the tangle of stalks and trailing leaves, that suggested a break in the clustering trees.

  Saito made an almost soundless sound behind him.

  "Clearing," he whispered. "Small hollow. That is the place."

  "Okay. Slowly, now," Nick cautioned.

  They edged their way through another twenty yards of clawing brush until the sun grew very bright and they stood looking out on something like a clearing. Except that it wasn't exactly clear.

  Tangled piles of barbed wire lay scattered about like obstacles in a very tough Marine camp training course — or like hazards especially placed for entrapping paratroopers.

  There weren't going to be any paratroopers. But there were going to be two men trying to hitch a ride. And those things looked immovable.

  Well, that was something that would have to be faced when the chopper came. But there was something else that was going to have to be considered right now. That smell of smoke, for instance, and the faint scattered sounds that drifted back to them with the smoke as they stood there in their own silence.

  Nick sniffed the air and listened. Saito, now beside him, stood alert and poised like some outsized, two-legged pointer.

  The sounds separated into muted voices and the clank of utensils. There was an encampment of some sort uncomfortably close by. And according to his information, there was no village or South Vietnamese bivouac anywhere in the vicinity. That is, there wasn't supposed to be. There were such things as nomadic tribes, of course, but they didn't usually travel around with bundles of barbed wire. Least of all would they spread them about, useless but for one purpose, in a jungle clearing that would have served them better as a camp site. On the other hand, perhaps the makers of the sounds and smoke had nothing to do with the wire obstructions… but that was most unlikely. Nick looked at his weather-beaten pocket watch. They had made good time; there was still half an hour before the chopper was due. During that time they could scout the camp, find out whether it contained friend, foe or neutral, and wave the chopper off if necessary.

  Nick shook his head at his own thoughts. There was going to be no waving off — they had to hitch that ride whatever happened. And in the meantime perhaps whoever it was that was taking a lunch break up yonder would strike camp and silently steal away.

  But they did no such thing. The sounds began to grow louder and resolved themselves into the sounds of men moving through brush, occasionally hacking at it, stopping once in a while to make little rustling noises, and then moving on — toward the clearing.

  Nick was beginning to hope that they would have crossed the clearing — or better still, be in the midst of it — by the time the helicopter came.

  But they were still stirring about in the undergrowth when he heard the distant chopping sound. Saito sucked in his breath. The rustling stopped for a moment, replaced by low, sibilant voices. The helicopter engine noise grew louder.

  So did the voices and the rustling.

  Almost Everything Is Jake

  "We'll have to make a run for it, Saito," Nick whispered. "Keep your gun handy. If the pilot knows his stuff he'll be able to send the ladder down between the wire bundles. After I've signaled I want you to climb up first. Have your gun ready even while you're climbing. Can you manage?"

  Saito nodded silently, his slitted eyes staring out into the clearing.

  "They're coming now," he muttered.

  The helicopter droned downward and passed low overhead to circle the fringes of the clearing like some undecided, lumbering moth. Nick motioned to Saito and added out into the tangled clearing, his head down and his body running at a crouch. He zigzagged through the maze of spiky obstacles to a point where there actually was enough clear space for two men to stand close together, and he looked up to see the whirlybird hovering yards away and still quite high above, waiting for the signal. Nick waved. His arms made a V, then an X, a V and an X, a V and an X…

  The craft hummed closer and started lowering steadily. The sounds in the jungle had almost stopped, except for a series of soft scrunches and little clicks.

  A young face peered through the Perspex and grinned down at them. The ladder dropped quickly and swayed above their heads. Nick waved again — this time in a signal that meant Danger. The young face above them stiffened warily. Nick swung his arm to point at the covering woods that now were absolutely silent, and his hand went to his belt.

  "Saito!"

  Saito leapt like some huge and graceful panther, his one hand ready with his gun even while he climbed.

  Nick saw them then — two men half-hidden behind a low bush, crouched over a machine gun. Shadowy shapes waited silently behind them.

  He clawed at the dangling ladder and entwined an arm around a section of the swinging sidepiece, feeling himself being snatched into the air and dangled there like a puppet on a string. Now, if he did what he was expected to, he would turn his back on the tangled forest and devote himself to holding on. But he was not about to do what was expected of him…

  One deafening shot slammed past his ear, a signal and an opening move, and in that instant he pulled out the pin, heard two answering shots from Saito, and threw.

  The chattering burst of machine-gun fire sent splinters of death spitting through the air inches below his feet… and then came apart in a hideous crash of tearing sound. He saw the cloud of dust and smoke, the ugly hole in the foliage and the mess of tangled forms; heard the cries of men in agony and the stray, wild bullets whining through the air; and felt himself being lifted high and swung over the treetops. A ragged man in clothes much like Nick's burst out of cover at a zigzagging trot, flinging a rifle to his shoulder and throwing himself behind a barbed wire barricade.

  That won't do you a bit of good, my friend, Nick thought grimly. This time Wilhelmina spat out her message of death and the man slumped down onto the little bayonet spikes of the wire.

  Then they were high over the trees and heading north. The ladder slowly disappeared into the cramped interior of the craft, taking Nick and Saito with it.

  "Sorry I let you dangle out there so long." The pilot grinned at them cheerfully and jerked a thumb at the narrow seat in the rear. "Sit down and make yourselves at home. Yeah, that's the only place. No luxuries on this bird, fellas. Glad you could fire back; I couldn't. You okay?"

  "Fine," said Nick, making
room for Saito and himself. "Neat pick-up; thanks. My name's Carter, by the way.

  This is Saito."

  "Yeah, welcome aboard. Call me Jake." He shot a look of curiosity over his shoulder. "Can I ask why you want to go to that hell-forsaken part of the world?"

  "Sorry, no," said Nick, struggling to find room for his long legs. "It's too embarrassing to explain that we're butterfly collectors in search of a rare and wonderful species found only in that region of outer purgatory. Besides, I don't think you'd believe me."

  "I get it," Jake chuckled. "Top secret stuff, huh?"

  "Yeah, top secret," Nick said drily. "So top that you don't know there is a secret. In fact, you don't even know that we exist."

  "Izzat so," Jake said thoughtfully. "Say, do you have any idea of what you'll be getting into after I drop you…?"

  The craft picked up speed and chugged along over the green hell of the jungle. Jake talked on, giving vivid and sometimes illuminating details about what might lie ahead. Nick fed him questions, hoping to glean anything that might be of help. Saito listened without comment, nodding occasionally, once or twice shaking his head and pursing his lips, once smiling at a particularly lurid burst of youthful exaggeration. Nick caught his eye and grinned back. He liked this fellow Saito more and more. And he could sense that Saito felt pretty much the same way about him.

  The green stuff below rose and fell as it climbed up mountains and dipped down into valleys As far as Nick could see it was almost unbroken. Even the few small clearings and narrow trails he could once in a while pick out looked like tiny deathtraps between the clutching trees, rather than places where people could camp, walk… or land on from the sky.

  But there was a landing place waiting for them somewhere up ahead. The brass in Saigon, young Jake, and Saito, all agreed on that. Unless it had become unusable within the last few days…

  * * *

  Lin Tong was awake and feeling almost rested.

  He sat in the back of the smooth-riding jeep having a meal that he felt he richly deserved. His drivers had changed places once and the first was reclining in the spare front seat, his head thrown back against the edge of the back rest and his nose emitting the most incredible snores. They were making remarkably good time, almost as good — well, about half as good — as if he had been able to travel by air, and without all that trouble of takeoff and landing. Also, he was quite sure that he was well ahead of that American, who would have had to do something about Toni and…

  Tires screamed beneath him and the jeep came to a jolting stop. Gears slammed noisily and the road started going in the wrong direction.

  "In the name of hell! What are you doing?"

  "Going back," the driver said laconically.

  "I can see that, you fool! But why?"

  "New roadblock up ahead. We will have to find another side road. Unless of course you wish to explain to the Americans…"

  "All right, that's enough," Lin Tong snarled back. "Just keep on driving — but smoothly!"

  The driver grunted and went on backing up. Several minutes later he made a swerving turn that made Lin Tong yelp with agony. Once again they were on a narrow forest track that shook up every bone in his lanky body.

  Lon Tong swore bitterly. "We do not have the time for this! Next time you see such an obstacle I will shoot my way through before I go through another patch like this."

  The driver eyed him in the mirror.

  "Then you should have told me that before. But do not concern yourself about the time — on this section we can make up several miles. It is harder than the main road, but it is more direct. We will gain time here."

  "Then you should have taken it in the first place," Lin Tong grumbled. But he sank back on his blankets feeling satisfied. These men knew what they were doing. They should; they had been trained by the Communist Chinese and had worked their way down from the north so patiently and skillfully that only their Chinese masters — and Lin Tong was one of them — knew that they had infiltrated the southland. And only he, Lin Tong, had thought to call upon their services.

  Now he held two high cards in his play for the leadership of Bitter Almonds. First, he had the only lead to the missing spy Moreau; and second, that very lead was the final proof he needed against Raoul Dupré. When this action was over he would show up Brother Arnold for the incompetent old fool he was…

  Lin Tong's handsome face twisted into a pleased smirk. There might be other compensations, too. How old and ugly, for instance, was this Madame La Farge? And was there a husband in the background? If there was, he could easily be taken care of. Pity that he had not been able to find out much more than the location before he had left. But he would soon know if the woman was alone. Young or old, he could make her crave his maleness. He was very good at doing that.

  He began to calculate the time he might expect to arrive at the plantation and wonder what Madame would be doing. It would be quite late that night and she would probably be in bed. He would enjoy meeting her that way.

  * * *

  They had already turned the house upside down and slashed brutally at locked doors that could easily have been opened with the keys she offered. But they had preferred to destroy the lovely woodwork and rip down exquisite drapes without her help. Now they were in the garden, tearing at the plants as if each one hid a spy's dead body.

  Madame followed them slowly, her heart aching for the home that was her last link with Paul, loathing the senseless destruction, worrying terribly about what would become of all the people who had worked for her throughout the years. Already there were brutal men tramping through the fields, shouting questions and thrusting shovels into the earth that fed them.

  But they had not yet laid hands on her or any of the men and women she employed. Something had made her stop thinking of her employees as "her people." She looked across the garden and the fields, realizing for the first time in years that she was not just the aloof and gracious lady of the manor nor all these people her undeniably well-treated serfs. She was, in fact, hardly better than a benevolent dictator who had no right at all to regard anyone as "hers." It was therefore not at all surprising that one or more of them was not a loyal servant. He might well have thought that his first duty spas toward the People's Republic of North Vietnam.

  So she felt no resentment against her hidden enemy, whoever he might be. But she did feel deep concern about the future of all the people whose lives and livelihood depended on her and the plantation… both of which seemed about to come to an untidy end.

  Claire La Farge sank down in the shade of a rain-damp tree. Her only hope was Saito. God please make him hurry back with help!

  * * *

  Jake had run out of chatter and was singing his way over the treetops. Nick kept his eyes on the scene below, spotting the occasional jungle hamlet and seeing the panorama change from dense forest to cleared valley to cultivated land and back again to almost impenetrable forest. For the first time he allowed his mind to dwell on what might lie at the end of this tangled trail. He knew without a doubt that Moreau's message, if there really was such a message, was bound to be of vital importance. He was sure that someone would be trying to beat him to the plantation. He was aware that there was a concentration of North Vietnamese forces within a few miles of its fences. He felt certain that he could trust Saito implicitly. But Madame Claire La Farge was a complete enigma to him.

  "Tell me, Saito," Nick asked quietly. "Why has Madame been allowed to remain on the plantation?"

  Saito wrenched himself up from thought and stared at him. "Rice," he said succinctly.

  "What?"

  "Rice. Also some tea, a little rubber, other things. Much food, like the south. But the north, that part of the north, is very short. Guerrillas grow their own crops. But not the People's Army." His nostrils twitched with contempt. "Wherever they go, they steal and forage. And of course they kill. So Madame was obliged to bargain with the enemy."

  "Oh, she was," said Nick. So Madame had
made a deal to save her rich plantation and her once elegant neck! He hid his contempt and asked mildly, "What kind of bargain?"

  Saito looked steadily into his eyes. "To provide food for the armies in exchange for keeping the plantation. In this way she would save the land and many fives. Also she would continue to provide a means of living for all the people who knew no other way of life." He paused for a moment and then added: "I am her foreman. She consulted with me first, and I with all the others. It was not for her sake that she did it. It was for us."

  Nick nodded slowly, knowing that he had been reproached. "I see," he said. "She must be a very fine woman indeed."

  "She is," Saito said shortly, and turned his gaze away.

  Nick felt abashed. Saito had seen through his suspicions and rubbed his nose in them. He hoped that he had not antagonized this gentle giant. But at least he had set a lingering doubt to rest — Madame had not sold out to the Reds. And if they were using her as a decoy, then why Lin Tong's curious involvement in this affair…? As an agent himself — which he obviously was — he would have known about such a plot. Or would he?

  "More questions, Saito," he said in French. "You saw Moreau yourself. Is there any doubt in your mind that he might have been anything other than he seemed?"

  "He was dead," said Saito, looking into the distance. "He had been beaten, starved and tortured. And his feet were bleeding sores from running. How can I guess at anything I did not see?"

  They were both silent after that.