Two Songs This Archangel Sings m-5

by George C. Chesbro

  "Why did Madison hate Veil so much?"

  "Because he couldn't control him, and because he feared him. I was in Special Forces with C.I.A. responsibilities myself, and word about career C.I.A. personnel got around. Madison was a soul crusher, a sadist who liked to burn out his operatives; he'd find a man's breaking point, then push him past it. He must have been very good at what he did as far as the agency was concerned, but, to a man, his operatives hated and feared him. Except for Veil. To Veil, Madison was just an obnoxious son-of-a-bitch he ignored whenever possible. Veil always knew what had to be done, and he did it-with or without Madison's blessing. He considered Madison irrelevant to his mission, and this drove Madison up the wall. Because of his combat record, Veil had power too, so the personal battle between

  Veil and Madison was kind of a standoff. Veil often told Madison to fuck off, and he got away with it. But Madison finally beat him on the Operation Archangel thing because so much preliminary planning had been done and high-level decisions already made, behind Veil's back. By the time Veil found out about it, Operation Archangel had virtually already been put in place. Veil would have had to buck a good part of the military and political establishment, and he didn't have the juice to do that."

  Garth said, "Putting Colonel Po in charge of Veil's village was an added twist of the knife."

  "Right-a delayed twist, because Veil wasn't aware of Po's reputation at the time. If he had known… well, I'm not sure what would have happened. Anyway, he was shipped off to Tokyo for six weeks of R and R, and special training for his new assignment."

  "What kind of training?" I asked.

  "Public relations bullshit-what he was supposed to say, and when he was supposed to say it; what he was not supposed to say. That sort of thing. Meanwhile, the White House PR staff was gearing up for the media blitz that would kick off with the president, the joint chiefs of staff, and a whole load of important congressmen meeting Veil at Dulles Airport when he flew back to the States. There would be a Washington parade in his honor, and another one the next day in New York, complete with ticker tape. The president would issue a proclamation of sorts honoring Veil as a national hero, and the fact that he was the most highly decorated soldier of the war would be made public. Literally overnight, Veil was scheduled to become the most publicized hero since Charles Lindbergh.

  "The presidential proclamation and parades were just for openers. Among other things, Veil was scheduled for a year-long cross-country tour with hundreds of personal appearances. Biographies and other books about Veil would begin to appear in bookstores. Hollywood would make films about him-starring Veil himself, of course, if it was discovered that he had any acting ability at all. His face was going to appear on armed forces recruiting posters, and there'd even be a comic book featuring him. The message would be very simple: Veil, a kind of god of war, had given everything he had to fight against our enemies, and it would be virtually sacrilegious for the American public to betray his efforts and sacrifices; it was time for those misguided Americans who had opposed the war to rally behind this savior of American will and values. Veil's mission was to rally public support for an all-out, last-ditch effort to win the war by any means necessary, including the possible use of tactical nuclear weapons. Veil was to be the personification of everything most Americans want to see in themselves, and the idea was for him to lead us away from the brink of defeat to final victory. That was the scenario.

  "I think Veil realized early on, in Tokyo, that he wasn't going to make it. Deprived of combat, faced with an assignment he couldn't stand even to think about, an old problem reappeared. Do you know about…?"

  "Yes," I said. "We were told about his brain damage and the vivid dreaming by the same person who told us about you."

  Gary Worde nodded. "He finished his training. It was thought best for Veil to disembark to the United States from Viet Nam, so he was sent back to Saigon. You already know some of what happened there. When he met that pimp and the Hmong children on the street, there were only two hours left before he was supposed to be at the airport and on the plane for the VIP flight that would take him home to the presidential greeting party. It was when he saw the pimp and the children that Veil felt the final twist of the knife and realized the lengths Madison had gone to in order to try to break his spirit.

  "Veil went crazy. You know how he rescued the rest of the children and took them to the relief agency. Then, instead of going to the airport, Veil went to the safe house where Madison lived and had offices, and he beat the shit out of him. It was while Veil was busting up Madison that he found out about the joint commando force that was on its way to wipe out the Hmong village. Veil forced Madison to order him up an armed helicopter. You know what happened when he flew into Laos, and you know that he survived the crash of his helicopter. He managed to hike out of the jungle, back into Viet Nam. He turned himself in to the first American unit he ran into, and they turned him over to General Bean. Veil assumed he'd be executed, and he accepted that. He was put in the stockade, and plans were made for a summary court-martial. It never came off.

  "Somebody in the army pointed out that they had a problem with Veil, and neither of the options they were considering-Veil's execution or imprisonment-was going to solve it. Veil had left some of the most important and powerful people in the country-including no less than the president of the United States-standing around on the tarmac at Dulles Airport with their thumbs up their asses while he flew off to commit a treasonous act by firing rockets and bullets at his own countrymen and our allies. It would have been an absolute public relations and enemy propaganda disaster if that fact was made public. The media would be talking about nothing else for months, and a super-soldier's desertion in the face of C.I.A. treachery would become the issue, not the necessity of winning the war. The story of Operation Archangel would have had exactly the opposite impact on the nation of what was intended.

  "The fact that Veil had turned himself in was already an official matter of U.S. Army record; he was in General Bean's personal custody, and-after the episode with Po and the Hmong-Bean was no friend of Orville Madison's. So it was too late for the C.I.A. simply to take Veil out behind some tree and shoot him. If the army tried and shot him, the event would attract all sorts of reporters with dangerous questions. Imprisoning Veil might attract less attention, but then Veil would be free to communicate. Obviously, nobody wanted Veil sitting around writing his memoirs."

  "Gary," I said, "Operation Archangel, according to you, was not only in place, it was already moving. It takes hundreds of people to plan and orchestrate that kind of media campaign, so those hundreds of people-including a lot of reporters-must already have known what was supposed to happen."

  "They knew what was supposed to happen, but not whom it was supposed to happen to; they didn't know who was supposed to be at the center of it. It was thought that keeping Archangel's identity a secret until the last moment would heighten dramatic impact, so Veil's name had never been announced; only a handful of people knew that Veil was Archangel. So it was possible to cancel Operation Archangel, for whatever reason they might think up, and then classify the information and restrict it to the few people who already knew the whole thing, and who wouldn't talk in any case. It just wasn't possible to contain the damage that would result if Veil's name and activities ever became connected to it. His cooperation was needed."

  "So they let him go," Garth said. "He must have had one hell of a lawyer."

  "He didn't need a lawyer," Worde replied as he refilled his pipe with more homegrown marijuana and lit it. "He had Orville Madison."

  "Come again?" I said, concerned that the marijuana smoke might be making me hear-or Gary Worde say-absurd things.

  The hidden veteran puffed on his pipe, blew a thick, night-blue smoke ring. "Although Veil didn't know it at the time, it was Orville Madison who argued for Veil's release in exchange for his promise to remain silent about everything that had happened."

  "That doesn't make any se
nse," Garth said.

  Gary Worde threw back his head and laughed loudly. "It does when you know Madison."

  "Why the hell would Madison do anything to help Kendry?" Garth persisted.

  The laughter abruptly stopped, and Worde leaned forward on his stool. "Madison had been beaten up, both physically and professionally; finally, Veil had defeated him. More than anything else, Madison wanted to exact revenge-and he thought he'd figured out a way to do it. He understood Veil as well as anyone, and it was this understanding that he hoped to use. At this time Veil probably preferred death to imprisonment, because he knew that he would lose his mind behind bars. But Madison couldn't exact the kind of personal revenge he wanted if Veil were dead or in prison. Madison wanted Veil out, where he could get at him. And he managed it. Veil's records were to be completely altered, with all mention of his combat record and medals erased; in effect, Veil was to be erased, made a nonperson. In exchange for his freedom, Veil was to promise never to discuss anything concerning his war record or Operation Archangel."

  Garth shook his head. "This was Madison's idea of revenge?"

  "It was the foundation of it. Madison didn't think Veil could survive for very long outside the army, where his need for violent behavior was not only sanctioned but rewarded. In fact, he had himself wheeled into Veil's stockade cell to tell him just that. Madison told Veil that, in his opinion, Veil would self-destruct within six months, either from drugs, booze, or getting himself stabbed in some back alley."

  "It almost happened," I said quietly, remembering Garth's description of Veil's first years in New York City.

  "I know that better than you," Worde said. "But there's more. Madison thought he was being clever, and he was, but he wanted to make absolutely certain that he had all the bases covered. He informed Veil of the fact that, in the event Veil didn't self-destruct, he would kill him anyway."

  "Madison told Veil this?"

  Worde nodded. "It had already been agreed upon that the C.I.A. would keep Veil under constant surveillance to make certain he kept to his part of the bargain, and Veil would do nothing to hinder this surveillance. Madison guessed-correctly-that Veil had probably never known a day of real peace or happiness in his life. Madison said that if and when a moment, a day, came when Veil did find peace and happiness, that would be the time when Madison would have a bullet shot through his brain. In effect, Veil was put under a kind of life sentence of death, and he would never know at what moment that sentence might be carried out." Gary Worde paused, drew himself up straight, and passed a hand over his eyes. "That's all Veil told me," he continued in a voice like a sigh. "It's all I know."

  "Gary," I said, "I didn't mention this before, because Garth and I wanted to hear what you had to say first, but Orville Madison is alive and doing very well, thank you. This isn't the first time we've come across his name in connection with this business."

  "In that case, you know who had somebody wing a shot at Veil," Gary Worde said without hesitation. "You also know who's hunting Veil, and you."

  "Agreed. But there are complications. Gary, do you have any idea of what's going on in the country or the world?"

  "Not a thing."

  "We have a new president, a man by the name of Kevin Shannon. Shannon seems like a pretty straight arrow, except for the fact that his choice for secretary of state is Orville Madison."

  Gary Worde stared at me for some time, then slowly shook his head. "That's a good one," he said in a soft voice. "And they call me crazy."

  Garth rose from his stool, stretched, and glanced over at me inquiringly. I was fairly certain I knew what he was thinking, and I had a lot of the same questions.

  "Gary," I said, "you're the only person Veil has ever spoken to about Orville Madison, so we'd like to know your thoughts on a few things. Madison's career not only survived the fiasco of Operation Archangel, it bloomed. Who knows? That could have been the price he exacted for his silence. We know that he's been the C.I.A.'s Director of Operations for the past few years. Now he gets to leap right out on center stage in the diplomatic community as top dog in the State Department and probably in the cabinet. Now comes the question. For all these years, Veil has kept to his part of the bargain; even if he had decided to say something, nobody would have believed him. All of his damaging records-real and phony-would have been mysteriously leaked, and he would have been dismissed as a psychotic crank. The one thing Veil cares about, his painting career, could have been seriously damaged. Finally, it's highly arguable whether anyone would really have cared about Operation Archangel-an incident that happened a long time ago in a war everyone wants to forget anyway. I can't understand how Madison could perceive that he had anything to worry about. Why, then, should this very successful man risk losing everything by sending an assassin after Veil?"

  "You want my opinion?"

  "Yes."

  "I think you're missing the point by trying to figure out what Madison might have been worried about. I don't think he was worried about anything. I don't think he planned to kill Veil because he thought he had to; I think he did it because he wanted to. Finally, he would take his revenge, and it would be a very satisfying way of capping off his other triumphs. He saw it as finally evening a score. After all, he certainly didn't plan on having his man miss Veil."

  Garth grunted. "It could be, Mongo," he said to me in the tone of voice of a newly converted true believer. "Once his man missed and Kendry disappeared, Madison suddenly really did have a problem, and he knew it. The truce had been broken, and now all bets were off. Now he had to kill Kendry, because-from his past experience-he would necessarily assume that Kendry would stalk and kill him, regardless of the consequences. Then you came on the scene, and Madison realized that what Kendry planned was far worse; Kendry planned to expose him in a way that couldn't be ignored, and then- maybe-kill him. Madison panicked, and by torturing and trying to kill you proceeded to dig himself an even deeper hole. I'll damn well see the bastard buried in this one."

  "If we can get some kind of proof, which we still don't have, and if he doesn't bury us first." I turned to the hidden veteran. "Gary, will you come out with us and tell what you know to a Senate committee? If you do, I think Veil might be ready to come out of hiding. He's accomplished one of his goals, to let Garth and me discover the story bit by bit, so that we'd believe and fully understand the enormity of the power he's up against. If you'll come out, I think he'll surface. You're the only person, besides Veil, who has anything more than secondhand knowledge about any of this. I realize that we're asking you to willingly make yourself a target, and I know-"

  I stopped speaking when Gary Worde abruptly threw his pipe to the floor and sprang to his feet. Startled, uncertain of what Worde intended to do, both Garth and I started to draw our guns. We stopped when we saw Worde reach over his head, grab the rim of the bottom of the rain barrel and tip it. Water splashed over the flames in the hearth, sending up clouds of hissing steam. The cabin went dark, and when the steam cleared all we could see was the silhouette of Worde's head and shoulders against the window.

  "Gary?" I said in a low voice. "What's the matter?"

  "Come here."

  Garth and I walked across the cabin until we were standing next to the bearded man.

  "Do you hear it?" Worde continued.

  I listened, heard nothing but the almost palpable silence of the mountains. I even held my breath, but still heard nothing. "No," I said, and looked at my brother. Garth merely shrugged his shoulders.

  "You've been living in noisy places for too long," Worde said. "Keep listening."

  Slowly, like an aural mirage arising from a desert of quiet, there came a sound. But this was no mirage. A plane was approaching from the west.

  "There are no airports around here set up for night takeoffs and landings," Worde said quietly, "and no one would use them if there were. Also, I recognize the sound; it's a big, two-engine job, and one of the engines is pitched slightly lower than the other. It's the same plane th
at's been flying around here for four days-since about the time when you say you showed up in Colletville."

  "Goddamn," I breathed, fighting back the panic I could feel rising in my chest like a hot tide. All the time Garth and I had been traveling up the Thruway and looking back over our shoulders, we hadn't once thought of looking in the right direction-up; and we probably wouldn't have thought anything of it if we had seen a plane. Orville Madison's men had known where we were all the time.

  Garth and I picked up our backpacks, slipped the rifles from their sleeves, then followed Gary Worde outside and stood in the moon shadows beside the cabin. The plane finally came into view, flying low on the horizon, and the sound of its twin prop engines grew louder. It was a good-sized cargo plane, and as it passed over the top of a mountain in the distance it began to bank and turn, heading straight for us. Putting out the fire hadn't helped; the pilot obviously knew exactly where to find us, and his instruments would have allowed him to pinpoint our location even if there wasn't a full moon.

  The plane gained altitude, then started to bank in a circle around us. The first figure dropped from its cargo bay as it flew across the moon. A few seconds later the man's black chute billowed open and he started to drift toward the ground. Clearly silhouetted against the moonlit sky, the figure looked decidedly lumpy; our guest dropping into the night forest was a serious commando with some serious equipment.

  Orville Madison had decided to end the waiting game; whether or not Madison knew about Gary Worde and what the hidden veteran had to tell, he had decided that Garth's and my taking the time to find a man living in total isolation could bode him no good. Henry Kitten would undoubtedly be very angry and disappointed, and we would be very dead.