The name in the identification folder which also held his impressive Federal Marshal’s badge was Towler. He was more a man of action than words. He took our bags and tossed his head in the direction he wanted us to go. We followed him through a side door, riding a narrow escalator down to ground level. A white-coveralled ground crewman drove us out onto the airfield in a maintenance vehicle. He deposited us at the bottom of a self-powered mobile stairway reaching up to the service door in the Pan-Am 747 fuselage. Going up that long flight of stairs was like climbing to the fourth floor of an ordinary building.
Towler led us to a pair of seats in the first-class compartment of the empty plane. “Okay?” he asked. I nodded sleepily and eased myself down in the window seat. Willow thanked Towler for both of us. Willow wanted to talk. I didn’t. Whatever she had to tell me could wait. Even if what she had to say was important, I’d be a poor listener. I’ve learned to grab sleep whenever the chance comes along. I can turn it on and off at will. So I did. I slept through the boarding of the other passengers, the fight attendant’s instructions, and the takeoff.
Sometime during the night, Willow’s lolling head tipped over onto my shoulder and awakened me. I looked out through the paned window. Silver moonlight from above shone on clouds below. Through breaks in the cloud layer only empty darkness was visible. It brought-to mind the vacuum in which I seemed to be working. The peacefulness of the Pacific night was a marked contrast to the violent moments recently shared with the sleeping girl beside me.
As if in response to my thoughts, Willow stirred. Still asleep, she snuggled, pressing lush warm curves against me. I slowly changed position in my seat, trying to accomodate her more comfortably without disturbing her. She sensed the movement. Her long-lashed eyes, only inches from my own, opened. She smiled coyly, then made sensuous body movements that closed up any space left between our bodies. She sighed contentedly. We fit together very well.
Willow pulled back suddenly, wide awake now. Seeing me awake too, she apologized. “Oh, I’m sorry, Nick. I didn’t mean to—”
“I liked it,” I said.
The only lights on in the plane were dimmed florescents hidden behind alcoves in the ceiling. I stood up and stretched. I glanced at my watch. We had been airborne for nearly four hours. Huddled forms of sleeping passengers under light blankets filled about half the seats around us. Willow’s hand found mine and pulled me down next to her. “How do you feel now?” she asked.
Four hours of sleep is enough for me. The fleeting close encounter I’d just experienced with Willow stirred desires in me that had nothing to do with sleep. From the way she lowered her eyes and brought her lips together to curb a smile, I guessed that she was highly intuitive. “Come on, Nick,” she chided in a vibrant, husky whisper. “You know what I mean. Are you ready to hear what I’ve been told to tell you?”
I pushed the overhead call button. A male flight attendant appeared. I asked for coffee. Willow took tea. It arrived in moments. Willow switched to French in mid-sentence and continued to speak in hushed tones. “Remember how Hawk dropped the phone because he was called away by the president?” I nodded. “That was because word had just arrived about another assassination in Hanoi. The victim was a middle-level official in the People’s Republic Agriculture Commissariat — a political appointee not too long on the job. Hawk says there’s a thick file on him, though, because he was remembered by a lot of American POWs. He was a Viet Cong army sergeant and the top NCO in charge of guards at a prison camp where many, including Martin, were prisoners. He was described as being brutal, sadistic, and responsible for the deaths of at least a dozen men.”
“An interesting thing,” I commented. “This victim, like the others liquidated, held a political post of sorts. It’s just possible that a purge is taking place. It’s not necessarily coincidence that all served in the Viet Cong armed forces. Every ablebodied man was conscripted to fight the war.” I took another sip of coffee. “Did Hawk tell you how all this undercover news is getting to Washington so damn fast without anyone else hearing of it?” My only guess was that Hawk had an agent under deep cover on the People’s Republic Central Committee in Hanoi.
Willow destroyed my theory. “There used to be a contact in the Foreign Affairs Ministry in Paris that transmitted certain quid pro quo data received from the French legation in Hanoi to Washington.” I was impressed by Willow’s in-depth knowledge.
“That’s really academic,” she continued. “However it’s done, Hawk is gravely concerned that former Vietnam veterans may be involved in the planning and financing of a secret vendetta. Some members of responsible veterans’ organizations have confirmed that the idea has been heard floating around. What little information has been scraped up suggests that the more fanatic supporters have banded together and are actively engaged in making the terrorist venture a success.”
“I met two of them yesterday,” I muttered between my teeth. “They were kids compared to whoever tried to blow us away with that trip-wire surprise in the hotel. The trouble with this venture is that too few people realize what we’re up against.”
“I’m sure Hawk does,” Willow contradicted me. “He’s disturbed by hearing that nothing will be allowed to interfere with their aims, including attempts with government intervention. While veterans’ groups back home deny and condemn any acts of violence, grassroots sentiment in this case is strong though silent. He now knows that local chapters — some in foreign countries — have knowledge of the movement. Hawk has discovered a worldwide network of endorsers of the bloodletting movement. Maybe he didn’t tell you, but Layton and Wyler are active duty sergeants in the honor company at Fort Myer, Virginia. That’s the elite troop that guards the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier and conducts burial ceremonies at Arlington National Cemetery.”
I waved away the flight attendant’s offer of more coffee. He took away the soiled cup. Willow had barely touched her tea. “So we’re up against the regular army as well as old-line veteran clubs,” I remarked. “I suppose the Daughers of the American Revolution are knitting socks for the boys in the trenches along the Red River. Do we have any idea how many armed infiltrators Martin sent into Hanoi?”
Her soft eyes measured me critically. “Would there have to be more than one like you?”
“The way these former Charlie-types are being mowed down, it sounds like a tight-scheduled, get in, get ’em, and get out kind of operation by a squad of spooks with a kamikaze death wish. The targets are being knocked over so fast that, by the time we catch up with Martin, he’ll be pinning stolen Medals of Honor on them and paying off their ammunition expenses.”
“Which is why Hawk specified that we lose no time in pursuing Martin. Hawk figures there will be a lull after three almost simultaneous assassinations. The effort will have to hang fire until Hanoi cools down. Computers are correlating data to come up with a list of potential victims according to parameters which put the already dead victims near the top.”
I stared down into the space outside my window, thinking. The cloud layer had disappeared. The horizon behind us showed the barest edge of light thrust up from the rising sun. I wondered why Hawk would want to compile a future body count.
“Hawk wants us to close in on Martin before any more names on the hit list have to be scratched off,” Willow said. “You know that means we’re going on to Hong Kong, don’t you?” There was excitement in her voice.
“I figured it would be either Okinawa or the Philippines,” Willow seemed surprised that I took it so calmly.