See You in Saigon (19 page)

Vũng Tàu,
Vietnam, 10:02 p.m.

“Uh, oh.
Something’s up,” said Sandy as they heard the familiar sound of the padlock
rattling outside the door. “What do they want at this time of the night?”

The door swung
open and Josée exclaimed, “Oh my God,” before rushing into her husband’s arms.

“Glad to see you
too,” Jonathan whispered, giving her a brief but tight hug. “Let’s go, girls.
It’s time to get you out of here.”

They hurried out
into the hallway where Dave and Lieutenant Nguyen were finishing up the task of
trussing the two on-duty guards with zip ties and duct tape gags. The door to
the next suite was also open and before it stood General Quang, his wife and
daughter engaged in a group hug.

“Lock these two
idiots up, just to play it safe,” Jonathan suggested before turning to the
women. “I love it when these morons make life easy for us. They were both
sleeping when we showed up.”

Having ensured the
remaining guest suites were unoccupied and with the two guards safely tucked away,
one in each padlocked suite, the group hurried down the hallway and through the
ventilation room to the door leading outside. The side yard remained deserted
and they quickly made it to the park without incident where a minibus Quang had
secured waited.

“The General and
Lieutenant will get you out of here,” Jonathan explained. “We’ll finish up here
and catch up with you shortly.”

“I do not feel
right about this,” Quang interjected. “You should not have to clean up a mess
which is my responsibility.”

“This is what we
came to Vietnam for in the first place,” Jonathan replied. “You asked for help
in dealing with Scorpion and his crew. That’s what we’re doing. Get these
wonderful ladies to safety and let us do what we do best. That
was
the
plan.”

The general
remained silent for a moment then nodded curtly and said, “Come, ladies. It is
time to go,” before hurrying to the parking lot.

* * * *

Vũng Tàu,
Vietnam, 10:13 p.m.

Sa’ng awoke
abruptly, wondering if he had actually peed himself in his sleep or only
dreamed about it. He felt the crotch of his swimming trunks and was relieved to
find it dry. It had been a dream but it would soon be reality if he didn’t get
to the bathroom. He sat up on the bed where he had been napping and was hit by
a dizzying wave of nausea as the room spun around him. Obviously, the couple of
hours of sleep had not been sufficient to counter the quantity of beer he had
consumed all afternoon and into the early evening.

He breathed deeply
for a moment and the urge to vomit diminished but he knew more time and sleep
would be needed before he felt any close to normal again. Grasping onto one of
the bedposts for support, he carefully rose to his feet then stumbled across
the room to the door. Luckily, there were three bathrooms on the second floor,
one right across the hallway, in fact, so he wouldn’t have too far to go nor
need to negotiate any stairs before relieving himself and, perhaps, throwing
up.

He opened the
bedroom door and found himself standing face to face with an unfamiliar Caucasian
man in the dimly lit hallway while another stood behind him. He understood
these two men were the enemy, dressed in bulky, black cargo attire, both
holding strange looking pistols in their hands. However, his slowness to react
due to his inebriated state gave the lead man, Dave, all the time he needed to
raise his weapon and fire, hitting Sa’ng in the chest with the CO2 propelled
tranquilizer dart.

Rushing in, Dave
and Jonathan grabbed hold of the young man as he started to topple and eased
him to the hardwood floor.

“He looked wasted
enough before I shot him.” Dave murmured. “Do we bother tying him up?”

“Take no chances,”
Jonathan advised, “But we won’t gag him. The kid will probably choke on his own
vomit if we do.”

They quickly bound
the man and propped him in a seated position in the closet then cautiously
moved back into the hallway which remained empty, closing the door behind them.
They had now searched and cleared the basement, ground floor as well as the
master suite, four bedrooms and three bathroom on the top floor. Two bedrooms
remained, both with closed doors.

“One each?” Dave
whispered.

Jonathan shook his
head. “Safety in numbers. Back room first.”

Dave nodded and
stood to one side while Jonathan slowly turned the knob and eased the door
open. The sound of light snoring reached their ears and Jonathan stepped in,
taking aim and firing at the man lying prone on the bed as Dave entered, closed
the door behind him and stepped off to one side.

Pulling a couple
of zip ties out, Jonathan bound the man’s wrist and ankles. As he rolled him
onto his back to duct tape his mouth, the door flung open and a young man clad
only in boxers entered, pointing a handgun.

“Who the hell are
you?” he demanded, a second before a dart from Dave’s gun hit him in the side.

“Safety in
numbers,” Dave repeated as he caught their falling assailant, preventing him
from crashing to the floor.

While Dave tied
and gagged the now unconscious man, Jon ensured the remaining room, its door
now open, hid no other surprises then returned to the back room and slightly
parted the curtains to peer out the window at the yard below. Six men remained,
four at the table on the terrace and two in the hot tub, exactly as Washington
had described earlier.

Motioning Dave
over, he pointed downward and said, “They’re making this so easy, it’s scary.”

Dave smiled and
said, “It would be even easier from the master suite. There’s a balcony.”

“I do believe
you’re right,” Jonathan agreed. “Let’s go.”

They hurried back
to the master suite which occupied the entire north side of the top floor and
went to the sliding doors leading to the balcony.

Dave smiled again
as they looked down to the terrace below and said, “What did I tell you?”

Jonathan nodded
and activated his mike. “Folks, the house is clear. We’re on the top floor at
the back of the master suite on the north side. We have a perfect view and shot
from here for our two boys in the hot tub. Jerry, are you good for the two with
their backs to you?”

“Red and green
shirts are mine,” Washington confirmed. “Say the word.”

“Leslie and Chuck,
that leaves you one a piece,” said Jonathan.

“Affirmative,”
Whittaker murmured.

“Yepper,” said
Leslie.

“Stand by while we
get in position,” said Jonathan.

He slowly slid the
door open then slipped out in a crouch with Dave following close behind him.

Taking aim, he
glanced at Dave who nodded then whispered, “All good?”

A chorus of hushed
yeses ensued and Jonathan said, “Three, two, one, now.”

The barely audible
pops were almost as one and the synchronization likely would have been perfect
if Washington hadn’t had two targets to deal with. On the terrace and in the
hot tub, each of the six remaining men jerked slightly as the darts found their
marks then slid down into their seats as the fast acting tranquilizer sent them
into a deep slumber.

“Get those two out
of the hot tub before they drown,” suggested Jonathan from above as he and Dave
watched their three colleagues converge on the terrace below. “We’ll tie this
lot up and the general’s boys can come round them up.”

“Too bad Scorpion
wasn’t here for the party,” Washington muttered from below. “I’d have loved to
have a go at that bastard.”

“I hear you,”
Jonathan replied, “But you can’t always get what you want.”

* * * *

South China Sea,
off the coast of Vietnam, 10:49 p.m.

For reasons
unknown, Dennis ‘Scorpion’ Roy had always been attracted to boating,
particularly in smaller vessels on the open sea where nature displayed its
immense power, sending wave after rolling wave as a reminder of man’s impunity.
This evening’s ride certainly qualified as the type Scorpion favoured, the rise
and fall over crests and into valleys leaving him feeling almost euphoric.

But what ride was
he actually on? Puzzled and confused, he opened his eyes and took in his
surroundings. He now remembered the fishing boat he had boarded, the
Horizon
,
which had picked him up on the beach in Vũng Tàu. He seemed to be on the
same boat but he had been seated on a wooden bench at the bow earlier whereas
he was now at the stern, facing the small cabin before him where he could see
the skipper through the open door.

Shaking his head
as his thoughts became clearer, he tried to stand and realized he couldn’t
move.

“What the hell?”
he mumbled as he looked down at himself.

He was now seated
on a cheap, plastic armchair of the patio furniture variety. Yards of duct tape
wrapped the length of his forearms, securing him firmly to the arms of the
chair. Duct tape visible on his lower legs and his inability to budge them in
the slightest suggested they were similarly bound. Still more duct tape across
his chest and abdomen held him snugly against the back of the chair.

“Hey!” he shouted
over the rumble of the engine, louder aft than it had been at the bow.

In the cabin, the
skipper looked back upon hearing the call then cut the engine before coming
out.

“Ah, good. You’re
awake,” he said as he stood before Scorpion. “You fell asleep earlier.”

Scorpion eyed him
and said, “I fell asleep earlier. How come?”

“I’m guessing it’s
that beer you had,” Steve Chen replied. “You know, because we spiked it.”

“So, Nguyen set me
up,” Scorpion muttered.

“It kind of looks
that way, doesn’t it,” Chen agreed.

“You know how much
I paid that bastard?” Scorpion fumed.

“Somewhere around
six hundred thousand in total, or so he told Quang,” Chen replied. “Nguyen
confessed about his involvement with you and will turn the money over to the
government. He’s hoping the general will go easy on him and frankly, I think he
will. Anyhow, that’s not our problem. We came here to track you down and it
looks like we succeeded.”

“Who are you,
anyway?” Scorpion enquired. “FBI? DEA?”

Chen shrugged.
“U.S. special ops team but I doubt you’ve ever heard of us so it’s not
important.”

“So, now what?”
asked Scorpion.

“One of my
colleagues wants to talk to you now,” said Chen and, on cue, another man
appeared in the cabin doorway and joined them.

“Hi, Dennis,” said
Chris as he gazed down at him. “I’d shake your hand but, well, you know, you’re
kind of tied up at the moment.”

“You’re a funny
man,” Scorpion replied. “Who the hell are you?”

“Chris Barry. We
spoke briefly yesterday when you called me on my wife’s phone.”

“You’ve got
yourself a feisty lady, Chris,” said Scorpion.

Chris nodded.
“Yeah, she gets like that when morons kidnap her.”

“Touché,” Scorpion
conceded. “So, the Skipper here said you wanted to talk to me. What about?”

“Two things, well,
three, in fact,” said Chris. “Namely, condolences, an apology and righting a
wrong.”

“You’ve piqued my
curiosity,” said Scorpion in a mocking tone. “I’m all ears.”

“Okay, here it
goes,” said Chris. “First, I’d like to offer my condolences for the loss of
your brother, Bradley.”

“What?” Scorpion
exclaimed in surprise. “My brother died like, uh, over fifteen years ago. I’m
over it.”

“Seventeen years
ago last July,” Chris corrected, “On the thirtieth, to be exact.”

“How do you know
that?” Scorpion demanded. “What’s this about?”

“How I know that
ties into the apology I mentioned,” Chris explained. “You see, I killed your
brother so I remember the date rather specifically.”

Scorpion’s eyes
went wide in shock. “
You
killed my brother? Are you serious?”

“I’m afraid I am,”
Chris admitted, “Which is why I’m apologizing, but in my defence, I only killed
him because I thought he was you.”

“You son of a
bitch,” Scorpion hissed.

“I said I was
sorry,” Chris replied with a shrug. “Anyhow, I did also mention righting a
wrong, didn’t I?”

“Yeah,” Scorpion
scoffed, “And what the hell does that mean?”

“Allow us to
demonstrate,” said Chris as he nodded to Chen who went to the cabin, fired up
the engine and turned up the throttle, setting the boat in forward motion.

He returned and,
in unison, he and Chris each picked up a sixty pound cinderblock, both of which
were attached to Scorpion’s chair with sturdy nylon ropes, and heaved them into
the water.