Russell was alone. He sat down and started eating his steak, without touching the wine. He went and got a bottle of water from the minibar hidden in a cabinet opposite the couch. He remembered a moment of sun, sea, wind and closeness.
With another woman.
But seeing as how you’re with me, we can both considerourselves on duty, so no alcohol…
Recalling Vivien’s advice, he forced himself to finish the food. He didn’t know when he’d next get the chance to eat.
He stood up and went back to the window. He spent a long time looking out, trying to overcome his impatience and to get Vivien’s face out of his mind. He didn’t succeed in either.
His father’s entrance took him by surprise. Russell checked his watch and realized that almost an hour and a half had passed since his father had gone out.
‘The general’s called back. I asked for the call to be put through to here.’ He walked quickly to the desk, sat down and activated the speakerphone. ‘Jenson here. Found anything?’
‘Yes.’
‘So what are we dealing with?’
‘Just your common or garden cover-up.’
‘Meaning what?’
There was the sound of paper being crinkled.
‘Here it is. Wendell Johnson, born in Hornell, 7 June 1948. He was living there when he was drafted. He was part of the 11th Mechanized Cavalry Regiment stationed at Xuan-Loc. Status 1Y.’
Russell made an impatient gesture, opening and closing his fist.
‘Get to the point. What happened to him?’
‘All I was shown were his personal details. For the rest I’m telling you what I remember, because I couldn’t get direct access to the papers. I had to go about it in a roundabout way, which is why I can only report what was said to me.’
‘All right, but for Christ’s sake do it.’
The general’s voice picked up Jenson’s urgency. ‘In 1971, Johnson’s platoon took part in an operation in the north of Cu Chi District, an operation that intelligence had advised against but that went ahead anyway. They were all wiped out, apart from Johnson and one other soldier, who were taken prisoner and later used by the Vietcong as human shields against a bombing raid.’
Russell would have liked to ask questions directly to the general. He took a notebook and pen from the desk and wrote
Then?
and put the sheet in front of his father, who nodded to say he’d understood.
‘And then?’
‘The person who ordered the aerial incursion, Major Mistnick, knew from the reconnaissance that they were there but pretended he didn’t. The planes went in and spread napalm over the whole area. The major had already given signs of being unbalanced on a number of occasions, which was why he was removed and the whole thing covered up to avoid embarrassment. It was a time when public opinion was turning against the war, so I’m not surprised by what they did.’
Russell wrote another phrase: The two soldiers?
This time, too, Jenson Wade gave voice to Russell’s thought. ‘What happened to the two soldiers?’
‘Johnson suffered severe burns and was taken care of by the troops who arrived there soon afterwards. They saved him by a miracle, and he spent some time in a military hospital for rehabilitation, I don’t remember where.’
Another note.
The other man?
‘And what about the other man?’
‘He burned to death.’
His hand trembling, Russell wrote the thing that most interested him.
Name?
‘Do you know what his name was?’
‘Wait, they told me that, too. Here…’
A sound of papers being leafed through. Then, at last, a name.
‘Matt Corey, born Corbett Place, 27 April 1948, lived in Chillicothe, Ohio.’
Russell quickly wrote down this information, threw his arms up in the air in a gesture of elation, then gave his father a thumbs-up sign.
‘That’s good, Geoffrey. Thanks for now. Don’t forget that game of golf.’
‘Any time you like.’
Jenson Wade pressed a key and eliminated the presence of General Hetch from the office, leaving his last words hanging in the air. An incredulous Russell was clutching in his hands the name he had pursued for so long.
‘I have to go to Chillicothe.’
His father looked at him for a moment, evaluating this new person he found himself confronted with. Then he pointed up at the ceiling. ‘This is an office building. We don’t have a swimming pool on the roof, but we do have a landing strip. If you go up now, I can have you picked up by our helicopter in ten minutes.’
Russell was even more incredulous. This unhoped-for offer of help filled him with an energy and a clear-headedness he didn’t think himself capable of. He looked at his watch. ‘It must be about five hundred miles to Ohio as the crow flies. Can I make it before dark?’
A shrug that was worth a few billion dollars. ‘No problem. The helicopter will take you to La Guardia, where we keep the company jets. One of them can land you at whichever’s the closest airport to Chillicothe. While you’re in the air, I’ll ask my secretary to make sure there’s a car waiting for you when you arrive.’
Russell was speechless, standing there in front of the desk looking at the man he had most feared in his life. He said the only thing that came into his head. ‘I don’t know how to thank you.’
‘You have a way.’ From the inside pocket of his jacket, Jenson Wade took the paper on which Russell had made his commitment. He leaned forward, placed it in the centre of the desk, then sat back in his leather armchair with a smug expression on his face. ‘You’re going to be working for me for the next three years, remember?’
CHAPTER 32
‘Do you have a cigarette?’
Russell woke up, wondering who the fuck…
A haggard face, cheeks covered with a sparse beard, hung a few inches from his face. Two bleary little eyes were looking at him. A tattoo poked out of a dirty shirt collar near the left ear. The man’s breath smelled of alcohol and rotting teeth.
‘What?’
‘Do you have a cigarette?’
Russell suddenly realized where he was. He sat up, feeling his joints creaking. Spending a night on a bunk in a cell wasn’t the most comfortable position for the body. When he had been arrested the previous night, this skinny, down-at-heel guy hadn’t been there. They must have brought him to the jail while he was sleeping. He was so tired he hadn’t heard a thing.