Targets of Opportunity (1993) (36 page)

"What about one of your security troops?" Murray countered. "You could have the CO appoint his best marksman to serve as a door gunner, then instruct him to dispatch the pilot if they can't get him on board.
"

Self-consciously, Spencer tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling. "What am I talking about?" he suddenly blurted, and cast his glance on Murray. "My only choice is to rely on Austin and Palmer. They're good--damn good--but if one of them goes down, I've got to count on the helo crew to get him out. Spencer turned to Murray. "If Hanoi gets one of them alive, the roof will blow sky-high in Washington, and my ass will be as good as dead."

The maintenance chief was far from convinced that Spencer should leave the fate of the operation to divine intervention. Hank Murray had another idea in mind, one that he was positive would ensure the secrecy of Operation Achilles and protect the project officer.

Spencer tilted his cup to his mouth and finished the bourbon. "This operation, as I'm sure you're aware, is being denied by the White House."

Tension filled the room. Both men knew the consequences if one of the pilots was downed and identified as an American.

Spencer reached for the half-empty bourbon bottle. "Hank, I'm really out on a limb this time."

"Don't worry about it, Cap." Murray felt obligated to use his resources to make sure that a pilot shot down would not give the project away. "Just keep doing what you've been doing, and it'll work out fine."

Chapter
THIRTY-THREE

The first hint of daylight was filtering through the open window when Brad awakened with a start. Allison moaned softly and nestled her back against his chest.

Brad listened to the overhead fan for a few minutes while he gathered his thoughts. Luxuriating in the warmth of Allison's firm body, Brad cupped a bare breast and brushed her neck with his lips.

She stirred and reached behind the small of his back, pressing him next to her.

Brad still had mixed feelings about their sexual encounter. He loathed the weakness that allowed him to break the bond he had with Leigh Ann. He had questioned her commitment; now he questioned his own. Maybe Allison really was the woman he desired most . . . or was she just convenient?

"Good morning," she said in a sleepy voice.

Brad nibbled her earlobe. "It's a great morning."

She turned in his arms and ran her hand between his thighs.

"Tell me something," he said, pulling her close to him. "Which was better . . . the hunt or the kill?"

Allison smiled and squeezed his thigh. "This one is a close call," she teased with a small chuckle. "The hunt was a real challenge, but the kill was incredible."

They laughed and then remained quiet, each absorbed in their own thoughts before Allison broke the silence.

"Brad, be honest with me," she paused a moment, "about us--your feelings for me."

Brad's answer was interrupted by the metallic clinking of the telephone.

Allison sprawled across Brad and fumbled with the phone receiver. "Hello."

Brad smoothed her hair while he listened to the short conversation. The pressure of her breasts on his chest aroused him, and he pulled the bed sheet over Allison's back.

"I take it," he said sadly when she replaced the receiver, "that our visit in paradise is coming to an end?"

"Unfortunately." Allison sighed, and pressed a leg between his thighs.

"That was Lo Van Phuong, the hotel manager. He just received word that we're scheduled to depart at seven-thirty." She rose slightly, barely touching his chest with her breasts.

Brad gazed at Allison's heavy-lidded eyes, then gently bit her lower lip and met the pressure of her mouth. "You're insatiable," he murmured.

Exhausted and suffering from a splitting headache, Hollis Spencer examined the rough draft of the message he had sent to the director for operations. The dirty feeling again washed over him as he read the carefully worded response.

ACKNOWLEDGE STRAFING AUTHORIZATION. EVERY PRECAUTION BEING TAKEN. CONFIDENT THAT INTEGRITY OF OPERATION WILL NOT BE COMPROMISED. ANTICIPATE RESUMPTION OF MISSION WITHIN 48 HOURS. ACHILLES OPS SENDS.

His emotions, after drinking until shortly before dawn, had changed to fear at what would happen to him if the operation collapsed in an international embarrassment.

Should he resign and protect his many years of exemplary service to the Agency, or roll the dice and hope to retire from a senior position at Langley?

If he left now, with his reputation intact, Spencer was sure that he could land a secure job of equivalent pay and prestige in the privat
e s
ector. His alternative was to stay the course and pray that he emerged unscathed from the highly explosive MiG operation.

After anguishing over what course he should pursue, Cap Spencer had finally decided to stick with the Agency and take his chances. If Austin and Palmer, who both believed and trusted in him, were willing to risk their lives, he certainly could put his career on the line.

He wadded the handwritten draft into a ball and threw it into the trash. "Screw the bastards. . . ."

The door was ajar when Brad reached his room. Nick Palmer wa
s c
losing his overnight bag when Austin entered the cramped quarters.

"Well," Nick grinned mischievously, "the wandering Lothario has returned to his lair.
"

Brad ignored the remark and quickly tossed his belongings into his bag. He glanced at his watch, then stepped into the tiny bathroom and splashed water on his face.

"You can go ahead," Palmer said with a beguiling smile, "and make out an allotment to me--half your paycheck will suffice."

"What are you talking about?" Brad muttered while he dried his face.

"Half your money," Nick teased, "or there's going to be hell to pay when I tell Leigh Ann about this."

Brad gave him a warning look. "Are we checked out?"

"As soon as you're ready."

Lex Blackwell knocked on the door and stepped inside. He glanced at Brad and laughed. "You look like you've been rode hard and put up wet.

Austin heaved his bag off the bed. "Let's go."

When the trio reached the front desk, the general manager approached Brad.

"Mister Austin, I must apologize," Lo Van Phuong said with a trace of embarrassment. "I saw your name on the guest register this morning, and . . ."

The courtly man handed Brad a letter. "Miss Chieu was not aware that I was keeping your mail in my office." He bowed politely. "My apologies, sir."

Brad flushed when he saw Leigh Ann's handwriting on the envelope. He darted a quick glance at Palmer, who gave him an I told you s
o l
ook.

"That's okay. No need to apologize." He stuffed the letter into his shirt pocket. "Thanks for keeping it safe."

The manager turned to greet Allison as she entered the crowded lobby.

"Good morning, Lo Van," she replied cheerfully. "It's good to see you again."

Austin quietly slipped out of the hotel and walked to the waiting Air America van.

"Brad, my boy, you're in deep shit," he said under his breath while the driver tossed his bag into the back of the rickety van.

The steady roar of the big Pratt & Whitney radial engines lulled Brad into closing his eyes. He was anxious to read Leigh Ann's letter, but did not want to open it in front of Allison. She sat across the aisle from him, talking to the technicians about the nose strut.

Brad thought about going to the cockpit to read the letter, but dismissed the idea. He would wait until he could open it in the privacy of his tent. Brad opened his eyes and glanced at Allison, then closed them again. He was not proud of himself Palmer and Blackwell had had the good sense, at least in Allison's presence, to act as if nothing had happened. Their apparent innocence made the situation easier, but a nagging guilt weighed heavily on Brad's mind.

His thoughts drifted as the Provider neared Alpha-29. You're a real son of a bitch.

After the C-123 had landed and parked, Brad smiled at Allison and quietly went to his tent.

Palmer followed Austin into their quarters and dropped his bag. "I'm going to take Lex over to see Cap, then give him a tour of the ville."

Brad appreciated Nick's consideration. "Thanks. I need a few minutes of privacy."

Palmer grinned good-naturedly and walked out.

Listening to the sounds and voices coming from the hangar, Brad stretched out on his cot and opened Leigh Ann's letter.

Dear Brad
,
I was thrilled to receive your letter today. There are so many things I want to tell you, but I don't know where to begin. The thoughts an d f eelings are there, but it is so difficult to translate them into words on a page.

Let me begin by telling you that I'm sorry I missed your calls. After our last telephone conversation, I received a call from my parents. My uncle in Atlanta passed away. We left on Saturday morning to attend his funeral. I tried to call you from Atlanta, but the operator said your phone had been disconnected.

Speaking of our last telephone conversation--I behaved like a spoiled, jealous brat. You have never done anything to make me doubt your loyalty. That was very unfair to you, and I hope you will accept my apology.

Brad placed the letter on his chest and closed his eyes. Yeah, I've been a real prince. A sense of shame consumed him as he thought about the previous night. He imagined Allison's face smiling at him. He opened his eyes and continued reading.

Brad, I miss you so much, and I've been thinking about our relationship. I could fill pages pouring out my deep feelings of love for you, but I suppose the best way to describe my thoughts is to say that I'm miserable without you.

I want to go to Vientiane. I don't know how far it is from where you are, but if your mail goes to the hotel, you must pick it up occasionally. When you do, I want to be there and feel your arms around me.

I have applied for a visa and expect it to be granted by the end of the week. As far as I'm concerned, graduate school can wait. What is most important to me, at this stage of my life, is being with you and experiencing your world.

Since I haven't made travel arrangements yet, perhaps you could give me some pointers about the best way to get there.

Brad, I am so anxious to see you. Please write soon.

With all my love
,

Leigh Ann

Brad carefully folded the letter and slipped it into his shirt pocket. He was relieved to know that Leigh Ann considered their relationship to be on solid footing, but he was concerned about her desire to join him.

He thought about the feasibility of having Leigh Ann reside at the Constellation Hotel. Vientiane was safe enough, and there were a number of American wives living in the city. He was sure that sh e w ould adapt to the environment and make friends. That is, he thought at length, if Allison did not interfere.

For a half hour, Brad weighed the positives and negatives of having Leigh Ann come to Vientiane. The more he thought about the idea, the more appealing it sounded. He was growing more frustrated by having to conduct their relationship via correspondence, and who knew how long he would be in Laos?

"I'm going to invite her to Vientiane," he said to himselfand reached under his cot for the legal pad that he and Nick used to take notes. He would ask the C-123 pilots to mail the letter for him when they returned to Vientiane. Leigh Ann could contact the hotel's general manager to make reservations.

In the heat of the afternoon, Hank Murray's technicians replaced the nosewheel strut while Hollis Spencer and the five pilots discussed the upcoming strafing missions. The project officer had informed them that the Agency thoroughly endorsed the strafing campaign, but he had kept the actual contents of the message to himself Allison manned the radios and compiled the detailed information about the air strikes planned for the following day. The final Route Pack information concerning the strike groups would be transmitted to her two hours prior to the scheduled attacks.

Spencer had told Lex Blackwell that he could return to Vientiane until his wrist healed. Characteristically, the gritty fighter pilot turned down the offer and volunteered to help in any way he could. Spencer, grateful to have additional administrative assistance, assigned Blackwell to oversee all supplies for Alpha-29.

"Brad," Cap Spencer said while he drew a circle on the map spread on the table, "from the information we have received today, the navy is going to clobber the Ham Rong bridge at Thanh Hoa late tomorrow afternoon."

The fabled bridge was eighteen nautical miles southeast of a major MiG airfield at Bai Thuong.

"When the Warning Star or Red Crown," Spencer went on, "confirms that the MiGs at Bai Thuong have gone to strip alert--when they've fired up and they're ready to taxi for takeoff--we'll pass the word to you."

The reason for waiting until the MiGs were manned was twofold.

The CIA wanted to destroy the Communist fighter planes on the ground and kill the pilots at the same time.