There Will Be Killing (29 page)

He exited the room without speaking to anyone else and Izzy could hear the steady march of the combat boots escorting him out of headquarters.

The General cleared his throat. “I will say simply that you are to have an immediate and permanent case of amnesia regarding your dealings with the individual you were assisting on a case that never existed.”

“You are referring to J.D.?” Gregg asked.

“Who?” The general shook his head. “Never heard of him. You know nothing that you have learned and you know no one because, well, Doctors, you would like to go home, wouldn't you? Otherwise I can arrange a nice year's extension, then maybe another one after that. But if everyone shuts up, everyone goes home on schedule. And once you're there you still keep your mouth shut or there will be dire consequences. Go home, tell no tales. Am I clear?”

Gregg nodded. Izzy was just as mute. There was an unspoken innuendo in the general's tone that raised the fine hair on his neck. It reminded him of the creepy, crawly feeling he had at his back when they were bent over Rick and turned around to see J.D. pointing a gun at them.

The army wanted this whole thing squashed, gone, nonexistent, and the army would get its way. But, Izzy now wondered if they had somehow not gotten their way when the General snapped, “Let me hear you say it, Doctors: Go home, tell no tales.”

“Go home. Tell no tales.”

“Louder.”

“GO HOME. TELL NO TALES.”

There was a long silence. “All right, don't make me regret this. Are we on the same page?”

“Sir, yes, sir!”

Another long silence. “Dismissed.”

Izzy had never managed such a sharp salute. He got out as fast as he could without running, didn't even stop to say goodbye to Terry.

Neither did Gregg.

They were both breathing hard when they got outside.

“Holy mother of—” Gregg gasped as soon as they were out of earshot of a living creature. “Did you pick up on the subtext of that shit?”

“Loud and clear. It's what he didn't say that said it all.”

They looked at each other and knew:
Dead men
tell no tales
.

There had been over 10,000 troops sent home in body bags in the past year alone. A great many drafted, just like them. What difference would two more casualties make, particularly if they were in on some top secret shenanigans the powers that be had a vested interest in containing?

“Do you. . .” Izzy swallowed hard, kept his voice hushed. “Do you think, just to be on the safe side, J.D. was supposed to. . .?”

“Who?” Gregg said.

“Right,” Izzy agreed. “Well, we seem to be safe for now at least. But, what about everyone else?”

Kate, Shirley, Robert David, Margie, they all knew Rick was the Ghost Soldier now. They all knew J.D. worked undercover and had vanished as suddenly as he appeared. What they didn't know were the details, and the devil was in the details when it came to what the two of them knew and no one else did. The others had not seen the body bags, the proof of Rick's handiwork in the field. They did not know Rick had brutally murdered a Mnong Headman and his wife or an MP from San Antonio and no telling how many others. Or that he had escaped from a military mental ward to make a mockery of the US government's internal checks and balances or that he had been whisked away to cover it all up, as if he had never existed, but was nowhere near as dead as anyone else thought.

And
that
was the biggie. That's what made Izzy and Gregg a potential liability the others were not, whose collective silence had nonetheless been bought through other means:

The directive to Shirley and Kate was to simply go along with the story of the horrible VC massacre, a version in which Shirley's late husband was a heroic Christian martyr; otherwise, the three of them would be traitors who harbored the enemy like Professor Nguyen and their shared blame for the massacre would ensure they were incarcerated indefinitely and the mission would be closed. As for Margie and Robert David, they had careers to consider and it was clearly up to them to salvage their futures, not to do anything stupid. If anyone squealed, everyone paid. The military held them as hostage as Rick had himself.

And none of them had a fraction of the dirt to spread as the new team players did.

“They don't have the same tales to tell, Izzy. They didn't make the team.” Gregg's still-healing jaw clenched as he added, “Not even Peck. He's safe, too.”

It felt like a sugar sweet night ahead, Peck thought with a smile, as he arrived on his favorite island via a pleasant sunset boat ride on calm seas.

Uncle Sam was expecting him. Because of the whole Nikki fiasco he had waited a respectable time before scoring some action through his favorite source with nieces to spare.

His patience was about to be rewarded and handsomely. The stars were already aligned in his favor. Life at work was so much better now with that pompous Robert David Thibeaux returned stateside, then Margie shipped out just the week before which meant that Jew Moskowitz was moping around.

Best of all, though, a solid two months had passed with Mikel gone. As far as Peck knew, he was rotting away in LBJ, or better yet at cozy Ft. Leavenworth. It would almost be worth a trip to Kansas to see him behind bars. Indeed, that would be a pleasure.

But tonight he had more immediate gratification ahead of him and if that included some uppers and Jack to enhance the evening while he roughed up the girl, inside and out? That was one of the great things really about being in the military, and especially about being in Vietnam, most of the people around him were just so simple and unimaginative he could get by with just about anything, and no one would care what he did to a gook.

Uncle Sam met Peck outside the secluded hut on schedule, showed him in, simpering, “Numbah one for you GI. Numbah one, very young, very pretty.”

Uncle Sam immediately bowed out the door and shut it.

Peck heard a noise like ice cubes clinking in a glass. He turned. The room was as he remembered it with a desk, a phonograph, a chair, mattress on the floor surrounded by mosquito netting, a box containing adult toys—but there was an addition he wasn't expecting.

His heart immediately raced. His breath caught. That didn't happen often, not even when Nikki died. Normally, it was the elusive high he was always after, but not like this.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Mikel smiled. He stood beside the rattan chair, the same one Peck had urged Nikki to sit on before kneeling at her feet and delivering his Oscar-worthy proposal.

“Listen,” Mikel said softly. “Outside the wind is moving in the palms. And what's that? I do believe I hear the sound of rain on the roof.”

“It's raining,” whispered Peck. And he realized, suddenly—it was.

“Remember, I made a promise about the rain.” Mikel took another sip from his highball glass, filled with an amber liquid. “A certain headman who owes me a favor is waiting outside. I told him I had the officer responsible for killing another headman in the Highlands. I told him to bring his machete. Just not to come in until I gave him the word. And I will give him the word if you do not do exactly as I say.”

“But I didn't kill a headman!”

“No, you only killed Nikki.”

Peck's heart was pounding like the drums he thought he could hear outside.

“I am a United States Army Officer. You can't do anything to me.”

“Oh, really?” Mikel put down his glass, casually strolled over, and delivered a sharp blow straight to Peck's solar plexus.

Peck didn't even remember falling to the floor where he squirmed in pain, trying desperately to breathe.

Mikel pulled the chair closer. Turned it around, straddled the seat. He rested his arms and chin on the chair's back, then just sat there, quietly staring down where Peck continued to writhe and gasp for air.

“You know Peck, I actually thought about this, and believe me when I tell you I really dislike having to spend any time thinking about you. However, because of what you did to Nikki, and because you are basically the biggest asshole I have ever met in my life, I decided you and I could spend some quality time together on this nice rainy night in the tropics. So, I thought up a couple of nifty, old school Asian entertainments, say the old bamboo under the nails or perhaps actually skinning your face down to your neck line, or…perhaps some things involving insects. Actually, I like the idea of all three. What about you?”

“Please, please,” Peck managed to gasp out. “I'll confess. Go with you right now to Colonel Johnson. Give a full confession about Nikki. It was an accident.” An accident, he might get leniency. Even better, once he got out of here he would recant it all and turn evidence against Mikel. How Mikel got out after being arrested was not the issue right now, getting out of here alive was.

“Yes,” Peck repeated, his voice dripping with sincerity, “I will confess to accidentally killing her if that's what you want.”

“Well that is a fine idea, Major. In fact, knowing how smart you are I came prepared.” Mikel reached into his shirt pocket and produced a typed sheet of paper. “I just happened to bring along a confession—you know, anticipating your remorse and all. So, you just can sign this. . . come along now over to the table and have a seat and please make yourself comfortable.”

Peck did as instructed. “Certainly, we can be civilized about this,” he agreed. “It was a terrible mistake all around. Honestly, I just went into shock, like a panic, and then made up a stupid story. I meant no harm, believe me. I'm truly sorry you got stuck with the blame.”

“Oh, that's all right, Major. No harm meant. So go ahead there and just sign and then you can make a nice hand written statement on the back about how you covered it up like you said.”

Peck signed off with a flourish. “There, it's done. See? I did what you asked and now let's get right back to the unit and call the colonel and we are done with it all. Okay?”

“Okay,” agreed Mikel.

Just to be sure, Peck asked, “Then we can go?”

Mikel extended his hand. “After you.”

“And you will tell the Headman to leave me alone, make sure he doesn't harm me?”

“Absolutely.”

As they both moved toward the door, Peck was again hit with a sharp blow that left him writhing like a beached fish gasping for air.

Again Mikel pulled up the chair and simply sat, watching. After a while he said pleasantly, “Well, sure, that takes care of things for Nikki, but. . .what about the elephants?”

“The elephants,” Peck gasped, still writhing. “What about them?”

Silence.

“Okay, I'm sorry. Sorry! That was a mistake. I wish I could take it back.”

It began to rain harder outside. Peck's heart had never beaten so fast. “Please, you said we could go.”

Mikel was quiet for a long moment. Then he moved from the chair, went to the toy box, and returned with a very long rope made of twisted silk. “Time to get up now and put this around your neck.”

“You are joking? You cannot possibly be serious.”

“Get up on the chair.”

“
No
.”

“Then you are saying that you prefer my Chinese entertainment options, followed by being served up to the outside company with something sharper? Oh come on, be a good sport. I'll just leave you up there until you pass out so you know how it feels to look death in the face. Consider it an exercise in empathy, Doctor, a little extended education. I know it might scare you at first—and honestly I do hope it does—but the next thing you know you'll feel like you're going under with some very nice drugs. And when you wake up, you'll be on the boat so we can pay that nice visit to Colonel Johnson. Now, what's it to be? The chair and scarf or the Headman outside who owes me a favor and has an ax to grind? Your choice.”

Peck had heard that momentary asphyxiation could be stimulating. It was just a matter of Mikel not leaving him up too long. He did not trust Mikel, but neither were the present options much of a choice. At least this way there was a chance, however slim.

He climbed up and stood on the chair, hesitantly put the silk around his own neck. Mikel cinched it tight then looped the long end over the rafter. Pulled it down and then down a little more.

“Oh my, that might be a little too high. I fear I might have misled you. Can you hear the rain?”

Lightening cracked outside.

Peck had to dance on tiptoe to relieve the pressure on his neck.

Mikel secured the end he held. A nice, professional wrap job so if Peck kicked back the chair he would immediately hang himself.

Humming “Tonight” from
West Side Story
, Mikel made a show of producing some sharp bamboo, a scalpel, a few other instruments an actual MD might find useful in performing surgery.

Then he went over to the phonograph, flashed a smile. “Any favorites?”

Gregg got up extra early. If the wound to the balls and Dear John letters were the dreaded awfuls of RVN, then DEROS was the Holy Grail:

Date of Estimated Return from Overseas. DEROS had arrived.

He was leaving the unit today. He was already packed. Everything he was going to wear was on his bed. The shorts and tee and booney hat he had on, he would leave behind. His duffel was packed with all the gifts and souvenirs for family and friends. He had shipped the new Teac tape deck and stereo receiver, the Pioneer speakers; all the stuff everybody typically bought would greet him at home in Del Mar. He also had splurged with his last paychecks and bought through the military deal the new MG in racing green, which would be waiting along with a new life back in The World.

But today was wake up day. He had only to make it down to Saigon, spend a night, and then board a Freedom Bird, and he was gone. Goodbye to Vietnam. The weird thing was. . .Why did he feel like he was really excited but also sad and empty?

It was not anything like what he had expected.

Gregg walked alone through the scented Ironwood pines and the dawning light down to the beach and looked out at the now familiar sparkling South China Sea. He kicked off his sandals, took off his shirt, tossed aside his wallet, then walked to the water, dove in and swam out as hard as he could for a long ways. On the return, he swam on his back and watched the sky turn brighter. He sat down on the sand and waited for the sun. It was hard to imagine that in a couple of days he would be sitting on the sand in Del Mar and looking out across the waters there.

“Hey, surfer boy, you dreaming of Del Mar or Laguna?”

Gregg watched her walk toward him. She was so beautiful to him. In her cutoff jeans and T-shirt, she still could have been the girl next door. Though as fate would have it, a few years older and a head taller until he had a spurt of growth—not that it mattered because he still hadn't been able to catch up with the competition.

Seemed some things never changed.

“Come home with me,” he said anyway. He would never stop trying.

“Don't start with that. . .”

“You're staying because of him, aren't you?”

“No, because of me. He has nothing to do with it.”

“You're a liar and you know it.”

Kate sat down beside him. They were silent, just sitting, looking out over the water. Then she nudged his shoulder and leaned close. The feel of her skin, the warmth of it, had the same impact of that day so many years ago on another beach.

He was turning thirteen. She said she wanted to give him a birthday present he would never forget, something special before another girl beat her to it because he was
her
Gregg and always would be. Besides, she was curious and knew he wouldn't tell. It would be their secret.

“Did you tell him?”

“What?”

“Don't give me that. You know what.”

Kate hesitated, then shook her head. A little too adamantly.

Gregg thought she was lying but he wanted to believe her. He wanted to believe her so badly, that J.D.'s “babysitter on the boardwalk” comment had just hit a spot he was overly-sensitive about and Kate hadn't divulged their private, sacred trust.

“I still wonder if you have ever fully grasped what that day did to me.”

“Gregg, please, let's not get into this again. Don't make me sorry I came here so we could have a private goodbye.”

“After that day,” he said anyway, “I spent a lot of time looking at the picture I still carry in my wallet.” He took it out, showed her the proof. “I used to look at it when I did what boys that age naturally do. Hell, I'm way beyond embarrassing myself, so the fact is, it's still my go-to. I looked at it when guys who could drive came to pick you up, and then while I waited in the shrubs outside to see when you got home, how long you stayed in the car, knowing all the while I wouldn't even be able to get a license until you were gone.” He laughed, no mirth in it. “Knowing you let them touch you while you acted like I was some kind of kid brother. Knowing how desperately in love I was with you and I didn't have a chance. It was hell then. Still is.”

“I wish I could take it back,” she whispered. “I wish, I wish. What I did was wrong and I've regretted it more than you'll ever know. But Gregg, that was a long time ago and the girl you thought you fell in love with—she doesn't exist anymore. She probably never did. You've turned me into some kind of fantasy girl that I'm just not. What you fell in love with is an illusion.” She put her hand over his, over the picture he held between them. “But that doesn't mean we can't always love each other. Just not the way you—”

He kissed her then, full on the mouth and with every accumulated year of longing to do it, with the fury of a boy who had been enticed then spurned, only to turn into a man who had never forgiven her for not loving him back the way he loved her.

Kate's mouth was soft, pliant, as full of sweet nectar as a cherry ripe and juicy to the tongue. He didn't even know if she was kissing him back or just letting him do it, or maybe she was still curious and wondering how he might stack up against J.D.

Gregg hated him more than ever, the bastard intruding on the moment he had dreamed of since adolescence. And so Gregg kissed Kate harder, as if he could obliterate all those years and that bastard J.D. along with them, making it just him and Kate again, together alone on a beach.

She suddenly broke away, breathing hard, and pressed his head down, against her chest.

He could hear her heart beating. He could feel his own pounding in time to the thrum of blood infusing his veins, but. . .

Like this whole strange DEROS morning that wasn't at all what he had expected while he waited an eternity for it, this wasn't the moment he had envisioned a thousand times before. Kate was kissing the top of his head, rocking him more like a child than a man she wanted to strip down and mount.

Perhaps that's why he gave up the picture so easily. Why he let her take it, kiss it, then tear it down the middle.

She tucked the side that bore his image against her heart. But before he could grab back the other half, the image of her smiling with all the innocence and mischief and sexual alchemy of a sultry Lolita at sixteen, Kate tore it up. She threw the pieces to the wind like crematory ashes that floated up and out to the South China Sea.

“Let it go, Gregg. Let me go. You deserve better. And so do I. If you ever really had me, you wouldn't want me. And I would resent the hell out of you for knowing I could never live up to your expectations of who you think I am.”

She kissed him then. Sweetly, and all too fleetingly.

“You are always my hero Gregg, always and always. Promise me you'll try to be happy.”

He couldn't get a word past the constriction of his throat, so he nodded.

“And promise that you'll try to be happy for me, if I manage to find a little happiness of my own?”

She didn't wait for the affirmation he made himself give. It took amply long and enough out of him to grant, that Kate had already walked away.

Gregg watched her go, hoping she would turn back. He knew she wouldn't. But he could see her shoulders were shaking as she made her way to the mission that turned no one away.

The time came to leave his last, private respite where the 99KO officers were housed. Everyone else had already left for early morning rounds when he ran up the villa stairs, then showered and for the last time in Nha Trang dressed in his faded jungle fatigues and boots.

Gregg carried his bags and gear down by the door. A jeep honked outside.

It was the new psychology specialist who had taken Hertz's place—not that anyone could take his place.

The new guy loaded up Gregg's bags, drove him to the unit.

Gregg got out at the 99KO.

As soon as he walked into the unit, it looked like the whole staff and even the night shift was still there, cheering and chanting, “Gregg, Gregg, Gregg!” as they waved a big “Bon Voyage Gregg” banner everyone had signed with notes and cards attached to it. Everyone was so happy for him, but all he felt was guilty for getting to go home and they had to stay. Why wasn't this like WWII and they could all leave together?

What a fucked way to do it.

Gregg knew he had never cared so much and so deeply for so many people. It was like the year was a hundred years spent with them.

Once the handshakes and hugs were over, once Colonel Kohn patted him on the shoulder and said, “It's been an honor and a privilege,” then saluted him, then came the hard part.

“Hey, where's Izzy?”

“Apparently, some strings were pulled and Margie will be meeting him in Hawaii while you're landing back home yourself.”

“What? Are you kidding? That's great!”

Even as he said it and forced a smile, Gregg felt so empty that his stomach gnawed.

A jeep honked outside. Gregg made himself salute them all, give K.O. a last pat on the head, then commanded himself to leave—

Only to see Izzy waiting in the jeep for him.

Gregg hopped in, feeling lighter than he had since receiving his draft notice, and together he and Izzy waved goodbye until they rounded a corner and saw the sign: 8th Field Hospitalmarking the entrance they had just exited.

For Gregg, it would be the last time.