“She’ll show you the way, General,” I waved him into motion using Wilhelmina as a magic wand. I stopped to pick up Martin’s discarded knife. When half-bent over I heard shouts and shrieks coming from the cellar. Willow called out Phan Wan’s name and broke into a run. Martin crowded her heels. I rammed past both of them, pushed a confused, indecisive Bu Chen aside, and plunged pell-mell down the cellar stairs.
Seventeen
I came upon a grisly, bizarre scene.
Phan Wan was kneeling in a pool of blood. She was jabbing a double-edged Malayan kris repeatedly into the groin of Nho Phu Thone whose bloody, mutilated head hung down, his glassy, staring eyes contemplating his dagger-punctured chest and stomach. The slim Vietnamese girl was alternately shouting and sobbing incoherently, slashing mechanically at the gory crotch between the huge man’s fat thighs. She was crimson-spattered from head to foot and totally withdrawn from conscious awareness of what she was doing.
The three tied-up bodyguards were babbling excitedly; it had been their shouts we had first heard. Martin let out a low moan and went to Phan Wan. I held out my hand to block Willow’s move toward Phan Wan. “Let him handle it,” I said.
There was no point in demanding an explanation how this could have happened. Willow was no more to blame than myself. The worst part was that it introduced another complication I didn’t need.
Willow was visibly shaken. Her hands were trembling. I couldn’t afford to have her fall apart on me now. The best therapy was to have her do something to take her mind off the gruesome sight. “Come upstairs,” I barked, pulling on her arm. “We’ve got lots to do.”
I put her to work making coffee to help calm her down. “Washington has to be advised of our situation,” I said. “Hawk’s last message indicated that French diplomatic communications channels from their embassy here have been cleared for our use. I’d prefer to make the report myself, but under the circumstances, you’ve got to do it. I’m going to have to stick to Martin like a barnacle. It’s anyone’s guess what he’ll do now, that Phan Wan’s got herself and us in big trouble. He might try something very foolish and irrational. We can’t let that happen.”
Willow’s levelheadedness returned. “I realize what we’re up against, and I agree with you. Anything special you want transmitted?”
“Yes, let Hawk know that he should lose no time in activating the recovery mechanism. Try to get rendezvous specifics before you come back. In any event, telephone here if you’re going to be delayed any length of time. And impress Hawk that we’re hotter than a runaway nuclear reactor. He’s got to move fast.” When I let her out the door, I leaned forward and kissed her. “Thanks, Nick, that helps a lot,” she said seriously.
Bu Chen was in the upstairs hallway standing outside Phan Wan’s bedroom. Martin was inside. “Big as he is,” said Bu Chen when I reached his side, “I somehow thought Martin would be larger. Guess that’s the way it is with heroes. But look at him. You wouldn’t think he had a soft side.”
Phan Wan, pale and exhausted, lay quietly in the double bed. Martin sat on its edge, holding one of her hands in both of his. He was talking to her in low, private tones, his words unheard from where I stood. He glanced over his broad shoulder when he heard Bu Chen speak to me. The white holes in his shoe-black mask contained sad, red-rimmed eyes.
I walked into the room. “If she sleeps, she’ll be all right,” I said. “I hope so. The only sedative we’ve got are some morphine syrettes, but I wouldn’t recommend any. She seems fairly calm now, thanks to you. Stay with her.”
“What comes next?” Martin asked.
“Nothing. Not for a while. As soon as I get word, I’ll let you know.”
He placed Phan Wan’s hand under the blanket that covered her and stood up. He measured me, then shook his head. “You don’t really think you’re going to get out of here, do you? Even I realize I’ve been more lucky than smart so far. It can’t last.”
“We’re all going to get out,” I said with more confidence than I felt. “I’ll know how in a short while. I hope you don’t plan on doing anything foolish in the meantime,” I said with a warning tone.
“I could use something to eat,” he admitted. He jerked his head sideways, struck by a sudden thought. “My bicycle! It’s still out there in the ditch between the wall and the street. Someone could stumble over it. I forgot all about it.”
“Bring it in,” I said to Bu Chen. “Be careful, though.”
“Who’s he?” Martin asked after Bu Chen had gone.
I related more detail of the last few days’ events in which Bu Chen had played a part. The account continued on the way to the country-style kitchen. I took a bottle of beer out of the well-supplied refrigerator. Martin helped himself to everything edible on the storage shelves and wolfed it down. He admitted he had been on lean rations for the past two days. Other than that, he kept silent about his amazing activities during the period. I saw no point in pressing him.
Confident that Martin was emotionally and physically drained to the point where he would make no overt moves, I left him. While on the veranda retrieving the automatic weapon I had kicked out of his hand, I peered across the broad lawn toward the front gate.
Clearing skies admitted more moonlight. One of the driveway gates was ajar. To me that meant Bu Chen had gone into the street to locate and bring in Martin’s bicycle. It shouldn’t have taken him this long.
I bent my head, turning to identify the faint street sounds that a slight breeze brought in my direction. The undertones I heard became sharp, gruff voices. I didn’t like what I was hearing. My legs pistoned me across the grass to the shelter of the thick wall. From the other side I heard an angry-sounding debate. Bu Chen’s identifiable voice was pleading and high-pitched.
I moved along the wall to where I could climb up on a garden tool storage bin. By standing on tiptoe, I could see over the wall into the street below. I looked down on a canvas tarpaulin spread over the bows of a military truck. At its back end, two argumentative soldiers, their rifles unslung, were holding Bu Chen at bay while a third loaded a bicycle into the rear of the truck. Bu Chen was forced to follow.
Tough as the little Vietnamese might be, Bu Chen was no match for what he was about to face. He knew what was in store for him: agonizing torture was inherent in North Vietnamese interrogations of suspicious South Vietnamese. Bu Chen might hold out for two, four hours... half the night, but no longer. For a brief moment I had the Lekoyev’s sights trained on the departing army vehicle. It was an easy target and I was sure I would leave no one in the truck alive to tell tales even though it meant sacrificing Bu Chen. As my forefinger tightened within the trigger guard, reason took over. My hasty action would create a mess in the road and buy no more time than I could expect from Bu Chen’s temporary resistance.
I loped back to the villa. Martin stopped chewing, his mouth full, while I blurted out the bad news. The only reaction I saw in his set face was a hardening of his eyes. He was a cool one, all right, and that’s exactly the kind of person who could help me most. He might have been thinking of Phan Wan when he asked: “How long can we stay here?”
Before I could answer, the telephone rang. It couldn’t be Willow, not so soon. It rang again. The peal of the bell in the front entryway carried through the butler’s pantry into the kitchen. On the other hand, I thought, it could be Willow calling from a phone booth enroute to the French Embassy. It rang a third time. I ran to the phone. With my hand only inches from picking up the receiver, I pulled back. I couldn’t pass myself off as a house servant who spoke French. I doubted if any were fluent in any language but their native tongue.