Madison grimaces as he uses his left hand to lift his broken wrist onto the top of the desk. Sweat pours from his face and neck, stains his shirt dark. "Come on, Kendry," he says with a grunt. "You were their adviser and trainer, not their mother."
"Shut up! I fought with those people, and at least a half dozen died for me. They hated the communists even worse than we do, and they believed the things I told them about America and Americans. In just six weeks Po was able to do something the communists hadn't been able to do in twenty years—turn that village around. It's become a Pathet Lao stronghold. Po's answer, naturally, is to mount a commando operation to kill them all off. Cheshire Cat. Pick up the phone and call it off, Madison."
"I can't, Kendry. It's an ARVN operation."
"Bullshit. We're ARVN. They'll do what you tell them."
"Not this time. They're really into Cheshire Cat, Kendry. They've been itching to cut across that border, just to prove that they can do it. The village is easy pickings, and they're hot for it."
Veil picks up Madison's .45 from the floor and sticks the muzzle into the CIA controller's ear. "Give it a bit more thought," Veil says softly. "Come up with something creative or I'm going to spray the wall with your brains. You know I'm not bluffing."
Madison continues to sweat profusely, but he does not flinch. "Killing me won't make any difference, Kendry," he says in a firm voice. "I'm telling you that I can't stop Cheshire Cat. Even if I had the juice to countermand ARVN on this thing, there isn't time. Po and his boys are on their way. Forget it. We've got more important things at stake here, and that's just gook against gook."
Veil steps back, swivels Madison around in his chair, and delivers a quick blow on the left shoulder that snaps the man's collarbone. Madison's arm flops, then goes limp in his lap. He closes his eyes and utters an animal moan of agony, but he does not cry out. "You're throwing it all away, you crazy bastard," the fat man manages to whisper.
"You threw that tribe away like yesterday's garbage."
"Listen to me, Kendry. There isn't anything I can do about Cheshire Cat, and busting me up isn't going to change that. You're going to forget that tribe, and I'm going to forget what's happened here; I just took a nasty fall. We have to think about your assignment."
Veil abruptly grabs the front of Madison's shirt, hauls the broken man out of his chair, and slams him back against the wall. Madison's snapped limbs flap, and he clenches his teeth to choke off a scream that issues from his throat as a muffled, mewing screech.
"Do exactly as I say," Veil replies evenly as he reaches for Madison's crotch and cups the man's testicles. "If you don't, I'm going to rip your balls out by the roots. I'm going to pick up this phone and dial some friends of ours. You're going to pull yourself together and issue a series of commands, and you're going to do it in your usual snide, cold, son-of-a-bitch tone. First, I want a car and driver sent to the back to take me to the airport, where there's going to be a fully armed chopper warmed up and waiting for me. I want a box of grenades, a machine pistol, and fifteen magazines loaded into the cockpit. If you won't stop Cheshire Cat, I will. And I'll kill anyone, Vietnamese or American who tries to stop me."
"Don't do this, Kendry. We're losing this war because we're losing the support of our own people. The last thing we need is a hero turned traitor. Hate me, bust me up some more if it will make you feel better, but don't do something that will cause tremendous damage to the United States of America."
"Like yesterday's garbage," Veil repeats as he picks up the receiver, dials a number, then holds the receiver to Madison's ear and mouth. "And you used me like a newspaper to wrap it in."
Veil reaches down and again cups the controller's testicles. When the orders are given, Veil rips the telephone wire from the wall. He slides the .45 into his belt, turns and heads for the door.
"Kendry!"
"Remember that anyone who tries to stop me is a dead man."
"You're the dead man, Kendry."
"I presume so," he replies evenly.
"God damn you! Stop and listen to me!"
Veil turns and faces Madison, who is still leaning against the wall. The fat man's sweat-soaked face is ashen with pain, but his voice is steady. His eyes glitter with rage and hate. "I won't try to stop you," Madison says, "because I don't feel like trying to explain to the world why we had to gun down our own hero in the streets of Saigon. Knowing you, you'll probably survive whatever it is you're about to do. But you're still dead meat. You were my man. I recommended you for this mission back in the States. You're the one turning traitor, but my ass is going to go up in smoke along with yours. I'm responsible for you. They'll try to break me for this, but I'll survive too. I want to be in a position to have you killed. One day a bullet is going to smash your brain, Kendry. It won't be right away. I may wait a few years because you're too insane to really suffer now. I think I'd like to wait and see if you ever find peace—or maybe even a little happiness. That'll be the day you die, you fucking madman. Think about that in the years to come."
Veil turns and walks out of the office, leaving the door open behind him.
Chapter 11
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It was after ten P.M. by the time Veil returned to his chalet. He removed the tinted aviator glasses and black wig that comprised his simple disguise, tossed the articles on the bed, then poured himself half a tumbler full of Scotch from the well-stocked bar. It had been a long and frustrating day—long because he had been up and across the valley to the Institute's main complex before dawn; frustrating because his random search for a familiar face had been an exercise in futility. There was a good possibility that he wouldn't recognize the man he was after even if he walked past him. He had managed to cover the entire complex; he had seen many fascinating and sensitive experiments in progress, but nothing that would justify the risk and cost of setting up the kind of spy network that would include the care and feeding of an assassin like the Golden Boy. He knew that he needed a more systematic approach.
He had more faith in his dreams. His past seemed to be the key, and when he slept, his subconscious kept returning him there, allowing him to sift and sort memories in the search for a link between then and now—if there was one.
He opened a dresser drawer and took out a map of the Institute that included the hospice and the Army compound. He drained the Scotch, then set the tumbler on the gray area of the Army compound. The Golden Boy had come out of there, Veil thought, and he was going to have to find a way to get in.
"Veil?"
He turned to find Sharon Solow, her fine hair backlit by moonglow, standing in the shadows just beyond the open doorway. The muscles in his stomach and groin fluttered with surprise, pleasure, and anticipation. "Come in, Sharon," he said quietly.
The woman entered the chalet carrying a covered tray, which she set down on the rough-hewn wood table in the center of the sunken living room. She removed the gingham cloth to reveal an array of sandwiches, a bowl of tossed salad, and a carafe of red wine. "I know you missed dinner, so I thought you might like something to eat. Nothing fancy, as you can see."