Solemn Duty (1997) (28 page)

"Follow my instructions. Now." Jean Paul pulled the pistol and leveled it at Gradd's wide midsection.

The general stepped back while lifting his hands and began to turn around, but suddenly spun, swinging his left arm toward Devoe's face.

Jean Paul stepped back to avoid the wild swing, lowered the barrel slightly and squeezed the trigger.

Wide-eyed, Gradd jerked back, grabbing his side, and fell to his knees groaning in agony.

The back door flew open two seconds later and his wife hurried out. "Douglas! My God, what hap--" From the corner of her eye she saw the sudden movement just before the pistol butt struck her temple. She fell to the brick patio floor in a heap.

Gradd screamed as Jean Paul walked toward him.

Fort Belvoir, Virginia Ramona Valez sat by Colonel Anderson's bed looking into his blue eyes. "Can you think of anyone else who might have been involved with Camp 1477"

Anderson shook his head. "As I told you before, I've done nothing else but think about it since that damn voice told me they were close to me. The only possible people he could be talking about are Major General Stroud and Lieutenant General Gradd. Stroud was the operation commander and Gradd was the regional commander. I saw Stroud at the Pentagon several times before I retired. I made it my business to avoid the sonofabitch. I knew I'd get physically sick if I had to deal with him. Worse, I'd wring his goddamn neck . . . sorry.

Gradd was the vice chief of staff of the Army and retired two years before I did. I read in the Army Times that he retired in the area and was working as a consultant for one of the Beltway bandits. Stroud retired last year and did the same thing."

Ramona nodded. "Agent Sutton is checking on their whereabouts. I'm sorry we're asking you the same questions over and over again, but having a full understanding of what we are dealing with is very important. Now I want to show you a photograph. It was taken of you and your team, and there is also a team of Cambodians in the photograph.

Would you please identify as many of the Cambodians as you can."

Anderson took the photograph from her hands but looked at it only a moment before his eyes began to well up. He took several breaths and wiped the tears from his cheeks with the back of his hand before setting the picture on his lap.

"I . . . I'm sorry, seeing my guys is . . . I remember only a few of the Cambodians' names . . . but you're wasting your time; the North Vietnamese overran the camp. I saw pictures a recon bird took two days after the attack. Bodies were strewn everywhere. They're all dead."

Ramona pressed. "Colonel, you don't know that for a fact, do you? I mean it is possible some of these men could have escaped, isn't it?"

Anderson looked up at the ceiling for a long moment before nodding. "It is possible, but very unlikely. . . . I understand, Doctor, that you're trying to find who murdered my men, and I want to help you, but concluding that it could have been the Cambodian team is too much. Have you looked into the families of my team . . . perhaps a son or brother of one of my men?"

"Sir, we have checked that angle and nothing panned out,"

Eli said, stepping closer to the bed. "Believe us when we tell you we think the murders are somehow linked to a Chinese organization known as Triad. Charlie has had the pictures of the five Cambodians who work for the organization faxed to us. Please take a look at these and tell us if you recognize any of them."

Eli handed Anderson the folder. The colonel opened it and looked at the first picture for a moment before setting it down.

He did the same to the second and third, but when he saw the fourth picture he closed his eyes and bent forward as if stabbed in the stomach. "It's Tram, Lieutenant Quan Tram, the team commander."

Ashley stepped into the room and walked quickly to Eli.

"We're too late. Stroud and Gradd are missing. Mrs. Gradd is being rushed to the hospital, but it looks like she's not going to make it."

Charlie stood at the door and spoke as he grabbed the knob.

"I'll get a picture and APB out on Quan Tram now. We'll get him."

Robert Anderson raised his head and looked into Eli's eyes.

"He's paying us back for what we did. . . . I'm next"

Eli held the colonel's gaze. "He'll be the one who's hunted now, sir. There's no way he can get to you."

Anderson shifted his eyes to the window and looked out with a distant stare. "He was my friend. I . . . I don't blame him. . . . We left him to die."

Ramona patted the colonel's arm. "Robert, your wife is in the next room waiting to see you. We're finished here for a while and will tell the doctor to let her in, if it's all right with you."

Anderson looked back at Eli, fixing him with a stare. "I don't blame him . . . I would have done the same thing."

Eli took the colonel's hand in his own. "Sir, he murdered your men and has killed three women and two agents. It's not about honor anymore; he's forgotten what the word means. If your wife or your daughter were in the way, to get to you he would kill them without a second thought. Lieutenant Tram is not the man you knew . . . he's become a beast of prey. The war has been over a long time for most people, sir, but you and I know it will never be for us-we left too many friends behind to forget. Remember them, sir, not the guilt There was nothing you could do. You tried . . . you tried, the way all of us veterans did. . . . We tried. Let it go, sir."

Tears trickled down the colonel's face as he lowered his head. "You'll find him, won't you?"

Eli squeezed Anderson's hand. "Yes, sir, we will."

Anderson nodded and wiped away his tears. "Let my wife in now, please."

.

George Washington Parkway, Washington, D. C.

Less than two hundred yards from the busy parkway, hidden by dense vegetation, Richard Stroud sat nude on the ground with his arms and legs around a tree. His wrists and ankles were bound and duct tape covered his mouth. Eight feet away Douglas Gradd sat tied to another tree. Sweat trickled from every pore of their bodies, and their eyes bulged as the man standing between spoke with a rasp. "I am Lieutenant Quan Tram, team leader of Team Seven, Cambodian Special Forces. My mission was to assist United States Fifth Special Forces, Team Thirty-six, in their assigned mission to arm, equip, and train the people of village Pham du Nhai, known to you both as Camp 147."

Tram's eyes teared as he stepped closer to Stroud, who tried to scream but could only make muffled, animal-like noises behind the tape.

"My men did their duty . . . and the people of Pham du Nhai did their duty . . . and they all died. You and this one behind you gave us the mission . . . but you forsook us all. Did you think I was dead? No; you didn't know who I was . . . you did not know any of us. We were just 'indigenous support,' and the people were what you called an indigenous population .. . indigenous, a word as cold as your hearts. We had names, we had families, we had hopes and dreams, and we had faith, faith in your country."

Holding two syringes, Jean Paul stepped up next to Tram.

He walked to General Gradd and jabbed one of the needles in the neck muscle above the clavicle. Gradd twisted and shook his head wildly side to side, all the while screaming in muffled squeals.

Turning, Jean Paul held the second syringe and walked toward Stroud, who began to jerk and twist, trying to break the plastic ties binding his wrists and ankles.

Tram pulled a silenced pistol from his belt and chambered a round. "The drugs we are giving you will deaden your bodies from the neck down. You will feel no pain."

Stroud thrashed, jerked, and threw his head back as the needle entered his neck muscle.

Bringing the pistol up, Tram aimed and squeezed the trigger. Gradd's right kneecap exploded, splattering the tree with blood and bone fragments.

The gray-haired general beat his head against the tree trunk as Tram spoke in a monotone. "Yes, I lied. Of course you can feel the pain, but it is very dull and distant. It is the way I felt when I learned Captain Anderson and his team were being ordered out of Camp 147."

Tram turned and pointed his pistol at Stroud's kneecap. "My pain increased when the enemy was spotted and I called Pleiku for help. But help did not come. You two saw to that."

Tram fired, the knee shattered. Stroud's neck elongated as he arched his back in agony.

"The pain you feel now is nothing compared to my pain when I-" Tram suddenly coughed, buckled at the waist, and coughed again, spitting up blood. He tried to straighten up but lurched forward again, heaving up more blood.

Jean Paul hurried to his side, but Tram shook his head and pushed him away. Shaking and too weak to stand, he sank to his knees and lifted his head, gasping for air. Thirty seconds passed before he finally took a normal breath. He raised his pistol again and fired. Gradd's elbow slammed against the tree, shattered at the joint. Gradd threw his head back but managed only a catlike, high-pitched whine. Turning, Tram aimed and fired again. Stroud's upper arm blew inward, leaving blood and muscle tissue on the bark.

His hand shaking, Tram lowered the pistol and shook his head. "We broke their first attack but used all our claymore mines. . . . They attacked again after pounding us with their mortars. We held again but still they came. So many of them . . . Bunker Six went first, then Four . . . I knew then...

Bunker Two, then One. They were inside the wire using satchel charges. There was nothing we could do . . . nothing."

The old soldier broke his distant stare and motioned to the ground in front of him. "Look, the ants are already coming for you. Soon they will be feasting on your bodies. And like me in those last minutes, there is nothing you can do but wait and pray for a quick death." Tram shook his head slowly. "But it will not come . . . no, there is only more suffering. I left my bunker prepared to fight and die as a soldier. A soldier you were responsible for training . . . a soldier you promised you would support . . . But you did not come. You left me, my men, the people, to die." Trying to lift his pistol again, Tram began coughing and fell over to his hands and knees.

Jean Paul leaned over him. "It is over, old friend. I must take you to the doctor."

Tram coughed and heaved up blood for several minutes before finally being able to sit up on his knees again. He rolled his eyes to Jean Paul and lifted his hand. "Help me to my feet, little one. Let me rest over there, in the shade."

Jean Paul placed his hands under the emaciated former lieutenant's arms and pulled him to his feet. "We must go now."

"I must remain, little one," Tram said, lifting the pistol. "I will fight my last battle here. Take me to the shade and let me rest. I want to watch them suffer as we suffered for so long."

Jean Paul shook his head. "You have many years left, the doctor said if you-"

"No, little one. This is where it ends for me. Do as task... it is over for me, and you know this is true. Leave this old, sick one to die with honor. . . . I must die with honor."

Tears trickled down Jean Paul's cheeks as he walked Tram to a nearby tree and slowly lowered him to the ground. Tram leaned against the trunk and tried to unbutton his shirt.

Seeing the motion, Jean Paul kneeled, unbuttoned his mentor's shirt, and lifted the gold chain holding the ivory Buddha. He placed the figurine between Tram's lips then stood. "I wish you a good journey, old friend."

Chapter 15.

3:36 P. M. I. W. Marriott Hotel, Washington, D. C.

Holding a black Magic Marker, Ramona backed up from her work and looked at the other pieces of illustration board taped to the wall of her room. She reread the points she'd written, thought a moment, and stepped up to add another sentence to her summary chart. Finished, she took a step back and nodded. "I think that's it. You guys agree?"

Ashley put her finger to her lips and whispered, "Not so loud, you'll wake him."

Ramona made a face and lowered her voice as she glanced at Eli, who was draped, asleep, across the bed. "Sorry. I forgot."

Seated in a chair, Charlie Lee rose and stretched his arms above his head. Lowering them, he spoke quietly. "Dr. Valez, we've all had it. We've been up for over twenty-four hours. I need to take a walk to clear my head. But to answer your question, yes, you've pretty well summed up what we know so far.

Having said that, you'll have to pardon me, but isn't the work you're doing now purely an academic exercise? Those retired officers are as good as dead if Tram has them, and everything indicates he does. By now Tram's picture has been seen by every law enforcement officer in the state. He will be collared within days if not hours. What's the point of this? Once Tram is collared, the case is closed."

Ramona pointed to the third chart. `degThe organization, Charlie, that's who's behind all this. Sure we'll get Tram, but I want those bastards, too."

Charlie shook his head tiredly as he walked toward the door, then stopped and turned. "Doctor, I can tell you from experience, we can forget trying to connect Tram to the organization.

There won't be a shred of evidence to support it. Yeah, he came to this country and worked for one of their companies; so what? The organization's lawyer will say the guy was moonlighting on the side and they had no idea what he was doing.

And the chance of him talking and naming names is nil.

Doctor, face it-this case is over. Congratulations. Now I'm going to take that walk. See you two in an hour or so."