Ben tried to focus on the question, but he kept thinking: Belinda was right. When would he learn to rely on the sound advice of people with common sense? “I’m here for Donald Vick, actually.”
“Stupid choice.” Another kick to his ribs. This time the impact was so violent it knocked the air out of his lungs. Ben wasn’t sure he would be able to breathe anymore. “Stupid spy. You chose the only member of the camp who isn’t here anymore.”
Ben felt a sudden wave of nausea so great it was almost impossible for him to speak. No great loss. Everything he said only made matters worse.
“We’ll put him in detention,” Holloway said. It was an order, not a suggestion. “Till the Grand Dragon has a chance to interrogate him.”
“Sir. Where should we put him, sir?”
“I think the Box would be a good place for this spy,” Holloway said. “Especially on a hot summer day like today. After a few hours in there, he’ll be begging to talk to us. Ripley, Short! Take the prisoner to the Box.” He paused. “See that he comes to some harm along the way.”
“Yes, sir!” they answered in unison.
“What the hell is going on here?”
It was a familiar shout. Corporal Holloway suddenly stood at attention. “Sir. We found the spy surveying the grounds, sir!”
“Your alleged spy is Ben Kincaid, Holloway!” It was Sonny Banner, the leader of Ben’s ASP bodyguards. Ben hadn’t seen him since he got out of jail. “He’s the man who’s representing Private Vick.”
“He’s the mouthpiece?” Holloway’s demeanor slipped, if only for a second. “We didn’t know. Sir. I mean—”
“Did you ask him to identify himself?” Banner demanded.
“Of course. He—”
“Did he tell you he represented Private Vick?”
“Sir. I—” Holloway paused. “Well, he mentioned Vick’s name—”
“Consider yourself on report!” Banner barked. “I’ll fill out the paperwork when I have time. You can count on it.” He extended his hand to Ben.
Who, me? Ben thought. And just when the dirt was starting to feel comfy. They clasped hands. Ben’s ribs had no desire to be elevated, but he let himself be pulled upright nonetheless.
“This man is more valuable to us than you will ever be, Holloway,” Banner said sharply. Poor Holloway—Ben was almost starting to feel sorry for him.
Banner straightened Ben up and brushed off his shirt. “Are you all right?”
“I think I can walk. …”
“Good man.” He slapped Ben on the back. The slap was almost as painful as Holloway’s kicks. “What can I do for you?”
Ben thought quickly. “I’d like to speak to the Grand Dragon. It’s about the case.”
“Of course. I’ll arrange it immediately.” Banner turned back for a parting shot. “I’ll be speaking to the Grand Dragon about you, also, Corporal Holloway. I wonder if you shouldn’t spend some time in the Box yourself.”
Holloway didn’t respond, but the terrified expression on his face spoke volumes.
“Come on, Ben.” Banner clamped his thick arm around Ben’s shoulders. “I hope you can forget what happened here. This was inexcusable. You’re a VIP—a Very Important Person—to the members of ASP. From now on I guarantee you’ll be given the respect you deserve.”
Ben wasn’t sure which sickened him more—the way Holloway treated him, or the way Banner did.
24.
BEN WAS ESCORTED INTO the smallest of the ASP buildings. It appeared to be their strategic command post. The outer room was filled with charts and maps, many with colored pins stuck in the various places. Ben might be geographically challenged, but he could still tell the maps were of the surrounding countryside, including Coi Than Tien.
Banner let Ben wait in the outer room with the two privates while he stepped inside. Ben scanned the papers on the desks and table and glanced nonchalantly into the file cabinets. The immensity of the paperwork astounded him. He doubted if the volume of reporting and memo writing could be much greater at the Pentagon. That in itself was sobering—what were these people planning in such minute detail? He would love a chance to sort through these files at his leisure, but since the privates were standing nearby, desperate for a chance to redeem themselves, he decided to keep his curiosity in check.
In a side room, Ben found a printing press that was furiously spitting out paper. He picked up two fliers bundled on the floor. One announced that SCIENTISTS SAY GOOKS STILL IN APE STAGE. The front of the other displayed a comic-book drawing of an Asian male with a leering, malevolent expression on his face. The headline read: THE ONLY GOOD GOOK IS A DEAD GOOK.
Ben opened the flier. “A yellow thieving baboon,” the interior text read. “He will steal your job, your wife, your daughter. He will live on welfare while taking everything you have. He is the enemy.”
“The Grand Dragon will see you now,” Banner announced.
Ben dropped the flier on the floor with the others. As they crossed the hall Banner whispered, “You don’t know how lucky you are. The Grand Dragon is a very busy man.”
“He certainly generates a tremendous amount of paperwork.”
“Big plans in the works,” Banner said ominously. “Big plans. The Grand Dragon hasn’t taken a visitor in weeks. Totally blew off that DA schmuck the other day. But when I told him you were here, he put down what he was doing and told me to bring you in immediately.”
“I’m honored.”
They entered an inner office in the back of the barracks, with the two privates close behind. “Ben, this is Grand Dragon Dunagan.”
Dunagan rose from his chair, removed his glasses, and approached Ben, arm outstretched. He was a short man, balding, with the last remnants of his red hair clinging to either side of his bald head. He had a generally healthy, ruddy appearance, although his beltline showed some middle-aged spread. No more so than usual for a man Ben judged to be in his early fifties.
Ben had expected the physical incarnation of evil, and instead he found himself greeted by a man who could only be described as perfectly ordinary.
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Kincaid.” Dunagan had the vigorous handshake of a Baptist preacher. “This is a great task you’ve taken on. A noble deed.”
“Call me Ben. I didn’t have much choice, to be honest.”
“Don’t soft soap me, Ben. You’re a brave man to accept this challenge when the forces of Satan gather all around us. Banner and the other boys told me about the beating you took at the jailhouse from that gook-loving deputy. Around here you’re a hero.”
“It was nothing. Really. All I did was lie on the floor and try not to bleed too much.”
Dunagan shook his head. “It’s a shame, you know, how those gooks have got everyone in this town on edge.”
“You blame the civil unrest on the Vietnamese?”
“Damn right. They were the ones who invaded this peaceful country. They slashed their prices and agreed to work for the big chicken-processing outfits for next to nothing. Made it damn near impossible for the white man to compete.”
“Sounds like they’re guilty of being shrewd businessmen.”
“It isn’t just that. They’ve been stirring up trouble since we arrived. Did you see that scorching on the barracks where we store our weapons?”
Ben nodded.
“Firebomb. In the middle of the night. We put it out before it caused much damage, but what if we hadn’t? That whole building would’ve gone up in an explosion you’d hear from here to Branson.” Dunagan folded his arms across his chest. “You tell me who did that, if not the Vietnamese.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know,” Ben said. “This is the first I’ve heard of it.”