The Tunnel Rats (40 page)

He dialled the number the woman had given him. Emily THE TUNNEL RATS 285 Hampshire answered the phone, her voice apprehensive as if she didn't get many calls and those that she did get rarely brought good news. Hunter identified himself.

'Mrs Hampshire, I'm actually calling about your daughter . . .'

'May? What's . . . ?'

'Mrs Hampshire, please don't worry. I just need to ask you a few questions, there's nothing for you to be alarmed about, really.' Hunter looked at his watch and came to a sudden decision. He could drive up to Sale in four hours or so, assuming the motorway was clear. 'Mrs Hampshire, will you and your husband be at home this afternoon?'

'Yes, I suppose so,' she said hesitantly.

'I'd like to pop along for a chat,' said Hunter. 'Nothing to worry about, I can assure you. Let's say three o'clock, shall we?'

The handlebars of Doc's motorcycle kicked from side to side and he fought to keep the machine moving in a straight line. Ramirez and Hammack followed in single file. The track was wide enough for a car, but it was uneven and dotted with potholes. They passed a small village, a cluster of houses with corrugated-iron roofs and television aerials on poles more than twenty feet long. A group of small children rushed out to watch the motorcycles drive by. They giggled and waved and Ramirez waved back. In the middle of the village was a large hut, open at the sides. Inside more than a dozen men sat in deckchairs watching an old black and white television set. None of them noticed the Americans ride by.

Beyond the village were acres of rice paddies. Half a dozen farmers in conical hats were burning rice stalks and the grey smoke blew over the track in billowing clouds. The three Americans drove through the smoke. The smell brought back memories for Doc, memories of helicopters hovering above a village, the rattle of AK-47s and the dull crump of mortars exploding in the paddies. Huts were on fire, the thatched roofs crackling and hissing like the burning rice stalks, and from inside the huts came screams and cries 286 STEPHEN LEATHER for help. Doc shook his head, trying to clear the thoughts from his head. It was no time for flashbacks.

They followed the track to the river, and then headed north. The rice paddies gave way to undergrowth, and then secondary jungle, areas which had been defoliated during the war but which had been reclaimed by trees, shrubs and ground-hugging plants. Doc took a look at his milometer and slowed his bike, looking around for landmarks. Twenty-five years ago the area had been as barren as a lunar landscape.

He saw what he was looking for over to his right, a jagged spar of rock amid the trees, leaning to the side like a massive javelin that had stuck point first in the ground. Next to it was a smaller rock formation, shaped like the comb of a rooster.

Doc stopped and put his feet on the ground. Ramirez and Hammack pulled up either side of him. All three were coated in red dust. Doc flipped up his visor and pointed at the rocks.

Hammack nodded. 'That's it,' he said. 'You did it, Doc. You got us here.'

Ramirez looked around. 'I never thought anything would grow here again, what with all the Agent Orange and shit they dumped and all.'

'Yeah, must have worked its way right through the food chain by now,' said Hammack.

Doc climbed off his bike. 'We won't be here long enough for it to affect us,' he said. 'Tomorrow lunchtime we'll be back in Saigon drinking beer and laughing at this.' He pushed his bike off the track and into the undergrowth.

'Yeah, I sure hope so,' said Hammack. He dismounted and pushed his bike after Doc. Ramirez followed.

All three men were bathed in sweat by the time they reached the sandstone rock formations. They parked their bikes and took off their helmets and gloves. Ramirez wiped his forehead with his sleeve, smearing red dust across his skin.

Doc went over to an anvil-shaped rock that came up to his waist. 'This is it,' he said. Hammack and Ramirez walked over to stand by him. They stood in silence, staring at the rock.

'I can't believe we came back,' said Ramirez.

'Believe it,' said Doc. 'We're here.'

All three men put their shoulders against the rock and pushed. It slid slowly to the side.

'That's enough,' said Doc. He knelt down and began scraping away the red soil with his hands until he found the trapdoor. Ramirez helped him and together they lifted up the wood and bamboo hatch, revealing the hole underneath.

'We know one thing for sure,' said Doc. 'No one came out this way after us. They wouldn't have been able to budge the rock.'

'That doesn't mean anything,' said Ramirez. 'There could be lots of other ways out that we didn't know about.'

'Always looking on the bright side, aren't you, Sergio?' said Doc sarcastically. 'Okay, let's get our gear on.'

They went back to their bikes and untied their kitbags. After stripping off their dusty clothes they changed into T-shirts and jeans and slung their rucksacks on. Doc and Hammack pulled on soft caps made of camouflage material, and Ramirez tied a scarf of green and brown around his head. They put their clothes into the kitbags, along with their helmets and gloves and the keys to the motorcycles.

'Okay?' asked Doc.

'We'll leave the kitbags down in the tunnel,' said Doc.

They carried the bags to the tunnel entrance. All three men were breathing heavily and sweating. Hammack's T-shirt was already soaked. They dropped their bags and stood around the hole, looking down. Doc patted Ramirez on the shoulder. 'Do you wanna lead the way, Sergio?' he said.

'Happy to,' said Ramirez.

He switched on his flashlight and sat down on the ground, swinging his legs into the square of darkness. He took several deep breaths and then crossed himself. He slid down through the hatchway, then dropped into a crouch and shuffled to the side. Doc and Hammack passed the kitbags down. Ramirez stacked them at the far side of the tunnel and then moved away from the hatch.

Hammack eased himself into the hole, his shoulders scraping against the wooden frame. He grunted, then he was through, bending his legs and crawling forward. Doc followed. He 288 STEPHEN LEATHER switched on his flashlight and then pulled the cover across the entrance.

' O t0P nere> Chinh,' said Bamber, pointing at a roadside shack. k3Chinh jammed on his brakes and they shuddered to a halt in a cloud of dust.

Wright opened his eyes. 'Are we there?' he asked.

'Not yet,' said the FBI agent. He opengtl the door and got out. 'I figured we should get some water.'

Bamber went over to the shack where an old woman in a wide-brimmed hat was hacking away at a coconut with a machete. Wright climbed out of the taxi and joined him. In the back of the shack was a refrigerator full of cans of soft drinks and bottles of water. An old man was sprawled on a sun-lounger, his head turned to a wall. He was skeletally thin, his ribs clearly outlined through his mahogany skin.

Bamber pointed at the water and held up four fingers. The old woman gave him four bottles. 'Do you want a Coke or something?' Bamber asked Wright.

Wright shook his head.'An ancient bus rattled down the road towards Saigon, scattering a group of scrawny chickens that had been pecking at spilled rice grains. He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to loosen the knotted muscles there. The sun was dipping towards the horizon. 'How long until it gets dark?' he asked.

'A couple of hours,' said Bamber. 'Don't worry, we'll be there well before the sun goes down. And once we're underground, it won't matter whether it's night or day.' He handed two of the bottles to Wright. 'You okay?'

Wright smiled tightly. 'Getting a bit of a headache, that's all.'

'It'll all be over in a few hours,' said Bamber, patting him on the back and guiding him towards the taxi where Chinh was gunning the engine impatiently.

May Eckhardt climbed out of the Isuzu and stretched lazily. The heat of the afternoon sun had been almost unbearable, even with the pick-up's airconditioning full on, but now it was early evening and there was a soft breeze from the north. She was wearing a faded sweatshirt and blue jeans, which she stripped off and tossed into the back of the pick-up truck. She kicked off her sandals and took off her bra and pants and stood naked, enjoying the feel of warm wind on her skin. She had a sudden urge to run across the sand, to go jumping over the rocks and skipping around the trees as she had done as a child. She smiled to herself. She wasn't a child any more and she had an adult's work to do.

She took the blue and green holdall off the passenger seat and took out a pair of black pyjamas, the sort that peasants still wore when they were tending their fields. She shrugged them on, then tied a black and white checked scarf around her neck. The sandals she put on were old and worn, but comfortable, the soles cut from truck tyres, the strip that ran between her toes made from an old inner tube. She took a leather belt and fastened it around her waist, then attached two metal water canteens, one either side. Also in the bag was a long hunting knife in an oiled leather scabbard, and she clipped that to the back of the belt. Everything else she needed was down in the tunnels already. The only food she was taking was a ball of rice wrapped in a silk handkerchief and placed in a small cloth bag that she tied to the front of the belt. She didn't need food to sustain her. Hate would be more than enough.

May used a rubber band to tie back her hair in a ponytail, locked the doors of the Isuzu and slid the key into the exhaust pipe. From the back of the pick-up she took a long flashlight. She walked confidently through the undergrowth, skirting a bomb crater half filled with green stagnant water.

The three motorbikes were in the shade of the jagged rock. One by one she pushed them to the water-filled crater and rolled them in. When she'd finished she stood at the edge watching the oily bubbles gradually subside until the surface was still once 290 STEPHEN LEATHER more. She wiped her hands on her trousers and walked over to the anvil-shaped rock.

The hatch covering the tunnel entrance had been pulled back into place but there had been no one to replace its covering of dirt. She pulled it open, and put her head to the opening, listening. There was only silence. She dropped down into the tunnel. Three kitbags lay to one side. Closing her eyes, she breathed in, sniffing like a tracker dog. She smelled sweat, cigarette smoke and beer, and the minty odour of toothpaste.

She pulled the hatch over her head, blocking out the light. It was a perfect fit and the darkness was absolute. May sat for a while, her back pressed against the hard, dry clay, breathing in the smell of the tunnels. The entrails of Mother Earth held no fear for her. They would protect her, as they had done in the past. She twisted around and began to move down the tunnel in a half crouch, still in total darkness because she wanted to use the batteries of her flashlight as little as possible. Besides, there were no traps in the early part of the tunnel. All the dangers lay ahead.

Ramirez played the beam of his torch along the floor of the tunnel. It ran for some fifty feet before it bent to the right. The roof was arched and the tunnel was slightly wider at the base than at the top. It was about three feet tall, so Ramirez could crawl on his hands and knees without banging his head. The Viet Cong, being smaller and slighter, were able to run along in a low crouch, giving them the advantage of speed. Ramirez knew, though, that speed wasn't what counted when exploring the underground labyrinth. Care and caution were the watchwords. The tunnels were a death trap for the unwary.

'How's it going, Sergio?' asked Hammack. The black man was about ten feet behind Ramirez.

'No problem,' said Ramirez. 'Makes all the difference knowing that a VC isn't just around the corner with a loaded AK-47, doesn't it?' Ramirez looked over his shoulder. Sweat was pouring THE TUNNEL RATS 291 off Hammack's face and he wiped his forehead with his massive forearm. 'Don't forget to drink,' said Ramirez. 'It's easy to get dehydrated down here.'

Hammack grinned and his gold tooth glinted. 'You wanna teach me to suck eggs while you're at it?' he said.

Ramirez smiled. 'Bet you're regretting all that fried chicken now, huh? You must be what, twenty pounds heavier than last time we were down here?'

'At least,' said Hammack. 'You want me to go point, thin man?'

'Hell no,' said Ramirez. 'This is the fun part.'

He turned away from Hammack and began to crawl forward, his flashlight in his left hand, his knife in his right.

'fT* here,' said Bamber, pointing at the jagged rock formation _L to their right. He grabbed Chinh by the shoulder and told him to stop. He checked the map, looked at the milometer, then rechecked the map. 'Yup, this is it,' he said. He pointed to the side of the road. 'Can you pull off here?' he asked Chinh.

The driver frowned. 'No road,' he said.

'I know there's no road, but the undergrowth isn't too thick, you can drive through it.'

Chinh pulled a face. He shook his head.

Bamber took a handful of Vietnamese banknotes out of his pocket and thrust them at the driver. 'If it's your paintwork you're worried about . . .'

Whether or not Chinh understood what Bamber had said, he grabbed the money and put the car in gear. He edged the Mercedes off the road and through the vegetation.

'I just want us away from the road,' said Bamber. 'Just in case someone goes by and wonders why Chinh's waiting.'

'Sure,' said Wright. He peered out of the window at the darkening sky. 'We made it just in time.'

'It's perfect,' said Bamber. 'We'll be out again at dawn. And the car's less likely to be spotted at night.'

The Mercedes slowed to a crawl. It had to skirt a bomb crater and then circle around a clump of tall trees covered with vines. Bamber looked over his shoulder. He couldn't see the track they'd left. 'Okay, Chinh, this'll do fine,' he said. Chinh brought the car to a halt.

Bamber opened the door and climbed out. Wright followed him. 'Is it far?' Wright asked.

'Over by the rocks,' said Bamber. 'According to the map, it's by a rock shaped like an anvil.'

He popped open the boot and clicked the combination locks on his suitcase. 'Mickey Mouse or Snoopy?' he asked.

'What?'

'The mouse or the dog? Which do you prefer?' He held up two knapsacks, the sort children used to carry their books to school. One had a grinning Mickey Mouse on it, the other featured Snoopy lying on his kennel.

'Either,' said Wright.

Bamber tossed him the Mickey Mouse bag. 'You'll need this to carry your stuff,' he said. He handed him one of the infrared goggle sets, spare batteries, a flashlight, and a large plastic bag.

'What's the plastic bag for?'

'You'll find out,' said Bamber, packing his stuff into the Snoopy knapsack. He took his jacket off and threw it into the boot. 'I suggest you strip down to the bafsics,' he said.

Wright removed his jacket. He was wearing dark brown Chinos and a fake Lacoste polo shirt that he'd bought for a couple of pounds on Sukhumvit Road. He loosened the straps on the knapsack as far as they'd go and put it on his back. It was a snug fit, but not uncomfortable. He took it off again and filled it with the equipment that Bamber had given him, then put in the two bottles of water.

'Ready?' asked Bamber.

'As I'll ever be,' said Wright.

Chinh got out of the car as Bamber slammed the boot shut. 'Where we go now?'

'You don't go anywhere,' said Bamber. 'You stay here, with the car.' He looked at his wristwatch. 'We'll be back here in twelve hours.'

Chinh looked at the two men, totally confused. 'You go walking at night?' he said.

'Don't worry about what we're doing,' said Bamber. 'Just make sure you're here when we get back.' He took a one-hundred-dollar bill from his pocket, tore it in two and gave one half to Chinh. 'You get the rest tomorrow,' he said.

Chinh nodded enthusiastically. 'No problem,' he said.

Bamber put the map case under one arm. 'Okay, Nick, let's go.' He walked towards the rocks and Wright followed. A bird squawked off to their left, then fell silent. The colour was draining from the trees and bushes, turning theni from bright green to a muted grey. Something settled on Bamber's neck and he felt a sharp stabbing pain. He ignored it. He studied the map, and took a bearing with a small compass. 'This way,' he said, pushing through a cluster of broad-leaved bushes. Hundreds of small flies swarmed around them and a large purple dragonfly buzzed over their heads.

They walked through a clearing, then around a clump of tall palm trees. The ground dipped and then they stood in front of the rock formation, weathered from centuries of wind and rain. Bamber looked around. He pointed at the anvil-shaped rock. The wood and bamboo hatchway was clearly visible in the dirt. Bamber went over and pulled it up. He peered inside.

Wright came up behind him. 'That's it?' he said.

'That's it,' said Bamber. 'That's the way in. Doc and the rest are already down there.'

Wright crouched down. 'It looks so small,' he said.

'More than enough room,' said Bamber. He folded the map case. 'Why don't you go down first, just to get a feel for it. I'm going to make sure that Chinh understands he has to wait.'

'Okay,' said Wright.

Bamber walked through the undergrowth, making almost no sound. Crickets clicked all around him, like Geiger counters gone crazy. The sun slipped down below the horizon, leaving behind only a red smear in the sky. Dark clouds scudded overhead and beyond them stars began to become visible, winking into existence one at a time.

Chinh was standing at the back of the car, the boot open. He 294 STEPHEN LEATHER was fiddling with the catches to the metal suitcase. Bamber crept up behind him. In a smooth, fluid movement he grabbed Chinh's head and twisted it savagely, snapping his neck like a dry twig.

The tunnel dipped down ahead of him and Sergio Ramirez felt his centre of gravity move forward so that more of his weight was on his hands. Grains of dirt sprinkled down from the roof and pitter-pattered on his scarfed head. Behind him he could hear Hammack grunting with exertion. They'd been underground for almost an hour and by Ramirez's reckoning they'd covered about half a mile. The muscles in his shoulders were aching and he'd scuffed his palms in several places. The floor of the tunnel was rock hard, and it was like crawling along a road.

Ramirez stopped and played his flashlight beam along the length of the tunnel. Something moved and Ramirez stiffened.

'What?' asked Hammack, behind him.

'Centipede,' said Ramirez. It was more than six inches long, dark green in colour with countless legs, and it was moving purposefully towards the Americans, its antennae twitching. Ramirez had once been bitten by a similar insect and his arm had swollen up like a football for more than a week.

The centipede seemed oblivious to the flashlight. Ramirez pressed himself against the side of the tunnel and raised his knife.

'Kill it, man,' hissed Hammack.

'Well, Jeez, Bernie, why didn't I think of that?'

'What's the hold-up?' called Doc, from the rear.

'Centipede,' said Hammack.

'Just kill it and let's get moving,' said Doc.

'Yeah, well, if I had a gun, I'd just shoot it, but seeing as I've only got a knife I'm gonna have to wait until it gets close, okay?' said Ramirez. 'Now will you guys just pipe down and let me take care of business?'