"With one MiG to your credit," Parnell reached for his cigar, "you went after North Vietnam's second-leading ace."
Out of the corner of his eye, Parnell caught the quick frown that creased Brad's forehead.
The CO maintained his poker face. "Major Nguyen Thanh Dao shot down your flight leader, you chased Dao to Phuc Yen, made up your own rules, then blew his ass out of the air and blasted another MiG on the taxiway."
Parnell hesitated a moment. "Is that about on target?"
"Bull's-eye," Brad answered, and rose from the chair. "Skipper, I've got to get underway."
Bud Parnell smiled, then stood and shook hands with Austin. "Brad, if they're trying to pigeonhole you, or give you any grief, let me know. I've got a couple of friends who are wearing stars." Brad pumped Parnell's hand. "Thank you, sir."
"That's a great story." The CO laughed, and slapped Brad on the back. "Someday, you'll have to tell me how you got away with it.. without shitting in your mess kit."
Chapter FOUR
Brad had checked into the New Thai Hotel, showered, changed into a fresh uniform, then called the Military Liaison Office. He had been surprised when the duty officer had asked for his telephone number and explained that a Hollis Spencer would contact him.
Twenty minutes later, Spencer had called and instructed Brad to meet him at 5 P. M. on the deck of the restaurant facing his hotel. Brad was tempted to ask for the secret password, but decided that would be too frivolous. If the Marine Corps had found it necessary to send him all the way to Bangkok under unexplained circumstances, the matter must be serious.
Brad sat at the ornate table, wanting a beer but ordering a glass of iced tea instead. He looked out over the sprawling city that was the capital of Thailand. He had been astonished at his first sight of Bangkok's elaborate temples. They looked to him as if they had been formed from gold and marzipan. The major hindrance both to travel and sightseeing, he had learned in his fifty-five-minute taxi ride from the airport, was the impenetrable congestion in the streets.
Brad checked his watch: one minute to five. He looked up to see a man in a crisp tan suit approaching him. Mister Hollis Spencer, he presumed. Slightly taller than Brad, the man was trim and wore a patch over his right eye. He walked directly toward Austin's table.
Rising, Brad came to attention before he realized that he didn't have to salute. "Good afternoon, sir."
"Afternoon," Spencer pleasantly responded. "You are Captain Austin?"
"Yes, sir," Brad answered with a trace of caution in his response. The project officer extended his hand. "Hollis Spencer."
Brad shook hands with the agent and avoided glancing at the dark eye patch.
Spencer noted the guarded manner as he placed his briefcase on the table. "It's cocktail hour." He smiled as he reached for the chair across from Brad. "How about a beer."
"That sounds good," Brad replied, motioning for a waiter. He suddenly felt surprisingly relaxed with this stranger, but curious as to why a civilian was meeting him.
After ordering for both of them, Spencer glanced at the vessels on the river before turning his head to Brad. "Well, Captain, I know you have many questions, and I won't keep you in suspense."
Brad nodded, but remained quiet.
"I am a liaison between the military and certain civilian agencies in charge of special operations." Anticipating a reaction from the marine, Spencer was pleased to see that Austin was quietly digesting the information. "You have been sent to meet me through all the proper channels.
"The fact that I have your service records here," Spencer tapped his briefcase, "and your future orders, if we come to an agreement, should reassure you as to the legitimacy of my offer."
Although his curiosity was thoroughly aroused, Brad showed no emotion.
"However," Spencer continued in a low voice, "if you need more proof, more credentials—"
Brad waved his hand to indicate that it was all right. He trusted Spencer, so far. The man had a military bearing, though dressed as a civilian. Could he be an aviator? With an eye patch? In any case, Spencer was right; Brad had been sent through all the proper channels.
"I've got an interesting assignment for you." Spencer paused while the beers were delivered. "But you are at liberty to refuse it.. without any questions asked."
Oh, shit, Brad thought to himself, here it comes. Chief file clerk in the bowels of some civilian agency. Is the Marine Corps behind this? Are they putting me. On ice and out of sight because of the incident at Phuc Yen?
After the waiter left, Spencer turned casually, but slowly and carefully scanned the occupants of the other outdoor tables. He looked Brad in the eye. "How would you like to become a test pilot?"
Caught off guard, Brad forgot about his beer. "A test pilot? That's it?"
Spencer sipped his beer slowly. "That's right. To start with." He could see the relief on Austin's face as a grin appeared at one corner of the captain's mouth. "The project is top secret, strictly voluntary."
Brad's eyes questioned the agent. Is this on the level?
"I cannot say much about the project at this point," Spencer smiled. reassuringly, "but we believe that you're the Marine Corps representative we need. You'll learn more at the right time. For now you'll just have to trust me."
Trying to start at the beginning, Brad carefully formed his reply. "Mister Spencer, I haven't been through Pax River." He was referring to the Test Pilot School at the Patuxent Naval Air Test Center in Maryland.
"That doesn't matter, son." Spencer smiled. "You know how to fly an airplane… mighty well, according to your records. Besides, we will have a Pax River grad who will be flying the aircraft before you take your shot."
"Well," Brad said slowly, still feeling that something strange was going on and wishing he could ask for the real story, "I really appreciate the compliment, but you're not giving me very much information on which to make a reasonable decision."
Spencer raised his glass. "I know, and I wish I could say more, but you will just have to trust me." He really liked this young man; his intelligence, his caution. "Brad, it is sometimes a little hard to categorize things in special projects, but let's say for now that the job will be as a test pilot. At least in the beginning."
And in the end? Brad thought to himself But he knew better than to ask. The end of any operation in war is unpredictable. Like in life
"If you come aboard, you'll be reporting to me in San Diego, California." Spencer paused a long moment. "You'll have a thorough briefing as soon as you check in."
Brad still wondered why Spencer had traveled all the way to Bangkok to recruit him to be a test pilot. The Marine Corps certainly had hundreds of highly qualified pilots, some with extensive backgrounds as test pilots. He decided to try one more approach.
"Sir, can you tell me what I'll be flying?"
"I'm afraid not." Spencer chuckled. "If you volunteer, I can tell you when you arrive in California."
"What's the alternative," Brad tentatively asked, "if I don't volunteer?"
Placing his forearms on the table, Spencer cast a look around. "You'll be reassigned to a different squadron at Da Nang… and we will never have had this conversation."
Austin smiled and shook his head. It sounded intriguing. And if it meant going stateside for a while and not getting shot at every day, he would be stupid not to volunteer.
Brad slowly reached for his beer and gave Spencer a long look. "Count me in."
"Good. " Spencer smiled. "I don't think you'll find it boring, to say the least."
The afternoon heat had slowly dissipated after the sun had dropped below the horizon.
Brad watched the delicate Thai dancers perform their traditional rituals on the lawn adjacent to his hotel. The blazing torches around the perimeter of the courtyard cast a cheerful glow on the evening river traffic.