The Cover of War (2 page)

2

I
nside the Trung Hoa, Amai shivered. She always did.

She slipped behind
the bar, pushed past the barman, who made no effort to give her room, and then
opened a faded orange door that led to a storeroom. She heard a familiar click
as the barman padlocked the door behind her. This was the system.

Because Triet's
Tet Offensive was close, he now met her in the inner city, and he demanded that
she use this cut-out. The Trung Hoa was a VC front and Triet had arranged the
heavies that guarded the place to stop anyone that followed her. So far it had
worked.

The thought of
Tet made her uncomfortable - guilty. When she gave information to Danny, it
went straight to General Westmoreland, resulting in the deaths of thousands of
North Vietnamese boys. She thought Triet too comfortable in sacrificing human
lives - large numbers of them. Triet was taking the war to a level that she
couldn't stomach. The death toll was already monstrous; Tet's massive surprise
attack on
Saigon
would make it
grotesque.

She lifted a
trap-door in the corner, and then dropped into a muggy, oily smelling basement.
Ahead of her lay a hand-dug tunnel that went under the street and into the
basement of a neighboring building. It was an effective means of throwing off a
tail, and now that Military Intelligence was watching her - tracking her - she
needed to be cautious. Vigilant caution was the only thing that would keep her
alive. If General Loan found one scrap of evidence against her, he would kill
her, and dump her body in the
Saigon
River
like the
others that had been caught.

She shivered.
She knew also that
Saigon
held
worse fates than death.

Amai took off
her blue dress. Hanging on a hook was an outfit of common clothes; black pants,
a white blouse, and a cone shaped hat. She put them on and then hung the blue
dress on the hook. Now she looked like everyone else. She crawled into the
tunnel.

The second
basement was larger than the first. Concrete steps led to the muggy lane above.
A man was sitting on the first step. It was Triet.

'I thought we
were meeting at the café?'

Triet patted the
step. 'Sit.'

She sat,
studying his gaunt face. His sinewy body looked malnourished and he had not
combing his hair for months. There had been an odd tension between them for
weeks. She tried to convince herself that the stress of the upcoming
Tet-Offensive was the cause, but really, she knew it was her - because she
didn't want him.

His eyes grabbed
at hers; they always did. 'How is it with the American?' His voice was cold.
'You seem  . . .  comfortable.'

His tone angered
her. 'I've done my duty-'

'Lower your
voice.'

'As you have
forced me to.' She felt her body loose strength. 'General Loan came this
morning.'

'We know.'

'He knows.'

'He suspects.'

'Then why did he
not arrest me?'

'He works for
Phoenix
; they want you to lead them to
me
.'

Of course,
she thought. A jolt of fear hit her. 'They would've followed me-'

'They didn't see
you leave your flat - they are still watching from inside the Embassy.' Triet
plucked a cigarette from a brown carton with a picture of a camel on its front.
'You will abandon the flat now; but our job is almost done. We are almost out.'
He held the unlit stick between his fingers. 'Tet will end the war, Amai.
Everything
depends on it.'

She wondered
what Danny would think of her suddenly moving. 'What are my orders?'

'Tell the pig
reporter that an NVA division is massing on the Cambodian boarder, between
firebases Anvil and Chevy.' He held out a slip of paper, scrawled with numbers.

She took the
paper. 'Danny will pass it on to Westmoreland tonight.'

Amai nodded. She
felt isolated. All of the dis-information that she had fed to Danny had been
like this; leading to the slaughter of North Vietnamese boys, and American
Victory. It made no sense. 'How does this help?'

His swollen eyes
narrowed to slits. 'By drawing American forces out of the cities.'

'Why?'

'You don't need
to know.'

Amai jumped up.
'I take the risks. I should know why.'

Triet's lips
peeled back from his teeth. 'It's a deception. General Giap wants
Saigon
weakened - by drawing the Americans
out. Then, during the Tet cease fire, tens-of-thousands of Viet Cong will storm
the city - all cities.' Triet clenched his fists. 'It will be a massacre here-'

Amai's blood
stopped in her veins.

'Remember
Amai
,
Vietnam
's
freedom depends on it. Tet
must
succeed.' He looked through her.

The look in Triet's
eyes was pure hate. But his hate would be directed at civilians; women and
children. His words conjured images that churned her stomach. She could smell
the blood of children as it pooled on
Saigon
's streets.

A malicious
smile spread from Triet's mouth.

This is evil,
She thought. 'Triet, this is wrong-'

'It is the will
of Ho Chi Minh. It will be done.'

A fuzziness
separated her mind from her body.

He leaned in.
'There is a bigger picture-'

'Nothing can
justify this.'

Triet stood. 'Do
you want us to win this war?' He sounded calm, but his eyes burned her.

'Yes.'

'Do you want
freedom for your people - your family in the North?'

Her voice barely
escaped: 'Yes.' She could say nothing else. She knew her father would not want
this bloodbath.

'Tet is the path
to freedom, Amai. You must do this.
Vietnam
needs you.
I
need you.'

The fuzziness
cleared and her mind reeled. Tet was unjustifiable slaughter. Tet was
monstrous. She was involved. The first shot hadn't even been fired and she felt
like a mass murderer of children.

The children,
she thought.
The mothers

Triet was
looking at her differently. He leaned back. 'Our deception
is
working.
The Americans build more and more firebases near the boarder to counter our
false threats. You're a star, Amai. A true hero.'

Amai only felt
revulsion. A million starving orphans flooded her thoughts; distraught parents,
hopelessly searching for missing children; children with horrific wounds;
children lying dead-

No,
Amai thought.
This is not what I came here for. Father would not
agree with this. This is wrong.

She could not be
part of it for a second longer.

I could stop
it,
she thought.
I could stop Triet.
She
felt a surge of hope. She knew she had the power to stop Tet - she could easily
tip-off the American Commander.

I would be
killed as a traitor,
she thought.
I would be a
traitor.

She tried to
ignore the thought; deny it had even entered her mind.

But she could
not turn away from the fact - if she didn't stop Tet, the blood of
Saigon
's children would be on her hands -
forever.

Triet handed her
an envelope. There was always an envelope. She reached for it, unable to stop
the tremble in her hand. Triet's hand touched hers and he tried to hold her
gaze.

To her, he was
repulsive. She wanted to get away from him. She needed to think. She needed to
breathe.

'Open it.'

She tore open
the seal. As always, it contained two hundred American dollars in twenties,
tens, and fives; but this time there was a small plastic bag of white crystals
- a drug. She used the money to fund her socialite's lifestyle. But she was a
fake socialite; a terrorist; a fake terrorist - a traitor.
A child killer.

Amai stuffed the
cash and the drugs between the buttons of her blouse and into the purse
concealed below her left breast.

'What have you
got for
me
?' Triet said, his focus business-like again.

She handed Triet
a notebook. He looked pleased.

The American she
got the notebook from scared her more than anything else in
Vietnam
; the drugs were his payment.
Thinking of Golota made her shiver; his eyes were cruel and blue, and instead
of a right ear, he had a knot of scar tissue. Amai knew he could strangle her
with his bare hands and not even blink.

'Okay,' Triet
said. 'You are free to go.'

Amai knew she
was not free. She got up.

'Avoid the far
side of the square,' Triet said, gesturing with his hand.

'The basilica?'

'A bomb will go
off there soon.'

She went to the
tunnel and crawled inside.
How will I stop Tet?
She thought.
Who will
I go to?

* * *

Danny sat on the basilica's steps, where in
the failing light, he could see the Trung Hoa's entrance. It had been ten
minutes since Amai had gone inside.

Danny and got up
and walked back through the square. Her behavior had stunned him.

She's in some
kind of trouble.
It worried him.
I hope she's
safe.

Jabbering
Vietnamese voices and the beeping of motorcycle horns swarmed insect like
around him.

He checked his
wristwatch and realized that he had only forty minutes to reach the Grand. As
usual, General Westmoreland would only attend for a short time; MACV's commander
was a busy man. He had to leave her.

He reached the
far edge of the square and stepped onto the roadway. Before
her
, he had
never felt truly at ease with a woman. Girls in collage had called him cute,
but his experiences with those girls had proved them to be nothing but
conceited and scornful. At some point he had become a loner; journalism his
escape - the more exotic and dangerous the locations the better. He had flown
into
Saigon
from
Palestine
, his expedition there a failure.
Articles he had risked his live for had not made print. It was bullshit. He
knew in himself that his work in the
Middle East
deserved acknowledgment - even a Pulitzer. The lure of a Pulitzer
had driven him to
Vietnam
. He
wanted recognition. He was
owed
recognition.

Meeting Amai had
been a spectacular stroke of luck. She possessed an extensive knowledge of the
Viet Cong: movements; infrastructure; tactics; and targets. Not only beautiful
and lovely and fantastic in bed, she was a fantastic source. With her by his
side, a Pulitzer would be his, but she was always too busy. He had tried
persuading her to work with him, but she wouldn't.

The heavy air
shattered around him like plate-glass. A violent gust hurled him to the ground.
Heat scorched his back.

He stared
horizontally across the road's surface; a blur of legs were running in panic; a
high-pitched ringing hit his eardrums.

He got up. The
smoke tasted familiar.
Cordite,
he thought.
Christ. A bomb!

He ran his hands
over his head and face, thankful to find no blood.   

Several bodies
lay twisted on the roadway.

Fuck.

He needed to get
his bearings. Instinctively, he felt for his camera; his security.

Then he realized
that he could hear something through the buzzing in his head. He went cold.

   
Never in his life had he heard a living thing make such a distressing sound.

* * *

From inside the Trung Hoa, Amai heard the
bomb go off.

She took a soft
drink from the barman, and waited. Her next task was due, and to keep up
appearances, she
would
have to go through with it.

* * *

Danny listened to the child cry.

As his focus
returned, he inched closer, dreading what he might find.

Then he saw her.

Trapped under a
mangled Honda was a frightened little girl. They had ridden past as the bomb
exploded. The girl's mother was dead; her pale corpse opened-up by the blast's
full impact. She had been pregnant; the tiny fetus lying beside her in a
greenish bed of intestines.

Danny looked
away; back to the girl. He focused on the girl.

Her eyes clamped
onto his; wide; arched in fear. Fear in its purest form. Her mouth hung open;
panting; her face white.