Assignment - Cong Hai Kill (4 page)

He studied the dossiers
McFee had given him.

“Sam, just look at me.”

He made the mistake of
looking at her. And lost. She had been in his apartment, as McFee predicted,
when he returned from the briefing. For Sam Durell, she was the most beautiful
woman in the world. He knew her intimately; after the years of their alliance,
there were no more secrets between them.

She was ready for bed,
and her long black hair was a soft, coruscating wave around smooth shoulders.
She had a proud, challenging body, and although she usually did not resort to
feminine stratagems, she had gone all out tonight. Behind her gray eyes was an
unfamiliar uncertainty; it was in her voice, too. It made him feel guilty,
because she was always composed and self-assured. He wanted her to feel safe
and happy. Instead, he knew he might have to take her through hell before they
could hope to come back here again.

“Sam, please?”

“All right, Dee.”

“My only crime is that I
love you and want to be with you and share everything with you.”

“Not everything. Why
share treachery and death?”

“Because you fight it,
so I want to fight it with you.”

He could not tell her
how he felt at the mere thought that she might be the victim of the enemies he
fought. He checked his snub-nosed .38 revolver. It was all he would take. He
usually dispensed with the gimmicks dreamed up by K Section’s dipsy-doodle
boys--the cyanide pens, the small incendiaries in the heels of your shoes, the
needle stiletto taped to the nape of the neck. Durell did not need their
weapons. He could kill with a rolled newspaper, the edge of his palm, a sewing
needle held between thumb and forefinger. You had to know the precise neural
centers. You made the hit in twenty seconds, or you never made it at all. His
blue eyes turned dark as he wondered angrily how much training of this sort
McFee had arranged for Deirdre. He put away the gun. His hands were deft, with
long, strong fingers, like a gambler's. He knew all the tricks of gambling,
picked up as a boy from his Grandpa Jonathan in the hot backwaters of Bayou
Peche Rouge. The old man had been one of the last of the Mississippi riverboat
gamblers, and Durell’s boyhood had been spent aboard the mud-bound hulk of
the 
Trois
 
Belles
—the old sidewheeler the rugged
old gentleman had won on the turn of a card.

Old Jonathan had taught
Durell to be a hunter, and it set him apart, and he knew that never in
Deirdre’s quiet, placid childhood was violence ever mentioned. Deirdre’s life
had been sheltered, an image of old Maryland aristocracy. His world was not
hers, and never could be. Yet here she was, abandoning all she had and all she
was. He looked at her as she waited in his bed, her gray eyes patient, a little
worried. . . .

In Moscow there is a
square named after Felix Dzerzhinsky, a Russian Bolshevist born in Poland in
1877. This man had aided the Red Revolution by founding the Cheka, the
dreaded predecessor of the OGPU, and he had served as head of the secret police
until 1921. At No. 2 Dzerzhinsky Square, in KGB headquarters, there was a
tabbed file with Durell’s name, code, and cover identities in a complete
dossier on microfilm. There was a similar, if not as complete, report, in
Peiping.

Nothing in either file
promised Durell a long or peaceful life.

“Sam, darling, this is
no way for us to begin working together.”

“We’re not going to work
together,” he said,

“You know we are. I
didn’t ask for it, Sam, but I’m glad it happened, anyway. In the past, I’ve
died a thousand nights, waiting for you to come back.”

“You don’t know what
it’s like, Dee.”

“Yes, I do. And I know
you regard me as an albatross around your neck. But I promise you—”

“You can’t promise
anything, because you just don’t know.”

“Sam, it’s foolish to
argue. You know you’re not going to disobey McFee’s orders.”

“I’m not taking you with
me, Dee.”

He faced her and saw
that his words had changed her gray eyes. The quiet plea faded, and her mouth
tightened ever so ‘slightly. It wasn’t often that she looked at him with
hostility. They had been in love for a long time, and had come to accept each
other as integral parts of themselves. He wondered if he could make love to
her, and when she was asleep, perhaps abandon her in his bed and pick up his
papers and cover forms and take the first plane out of Dulles for the Orient.
By the time she Caught up, he might have settled the whole thing. It was
dangerous to rush any job, but to accept Deirdre with him and feel a constant
concern for her safety would make him more vulnerable than otherwise.

As if reading his mind,
she said, “Sam, I can take care of myself, I assure you. I’ve been training at
the Farm for over a month.”

“Deirdre, we won’t argue
about it.”

“You’re being stubborn
and masculine,” she said.

“Right.”

“Prejudiced and stupid.”

“Right.”

“Maddening and hateful.”

“And I love you, Dee,”
he said. “I only want to take care of you.”

“I told you, I’ll take
care of myself.”

“You wouldn’t know how,
out there.”

She started an impatient
reply, then bit her lip and regarded him with cool gray eyes. He smiled and
stood up to turn on the heat under his pot of Louisiana coffee, a thick brew
heavily flavored with chicory, which he preferred. It was hot and quiet in his
bachelor apartment facing Rock Creek Park. He looked at Deirdre and suddenly
wanted her with an ache that could not be denied.

He moved toward her.

“Sam, you stay away from
me,” she said tightly.

He halted in surprise.
“But you just asked—”

“That was five minutes
ago. You had five minutes. You lost them. Now it’s going to be different.”

“Dee, that’s silly, you
know how it is with us—”

“Yes, and now it’s going
to be business,” she said. “And 
only
 business. Until you
change your mind about me. Or until we get back to the States together.”

He sat beside her and
took her fine face between his hands and kissed her deliberately on the mouth.
Her lips were carved of marble.

“Dee, this is probably
our last night—”

She spoke against his
mouth. “You made the rules, Sam.”

“I didn’t say anything
about you and me—”

“You said enough. Too
much. Now go away and get some sleep. Over there, on the couch.”

He did not leave. He
understood her game and he resented it and yet could not avoid an inner
amusement. Her lips were even colder when he kissed her again.

“Don’t think, darling,
that you can wheedle me into making love with you,” she said with finality.
“I’ve quite made up my mind.”

“Yes, I can see that.”

“And don’t touch me that
way.”

“I can’t help it, when
I’m so near you—”

“Then go away from me.”

“It’s 
my
 bed,”
he pointed out.

“Then I’ll take the
couch.

“It’s hard and
uncomfortable.” 

“Make up your mind,
darling, I’ll take discomfort, anything until you accept me and trust me and
rely on me and respect my judgment. Until then, nothing else happens between
us.”

“You’ll break
down," he said confidently.

“There speaks the
arrogant, primeval male. And don’t think, as I’m sure you were so craftily
thinking, of slipping away from me while I’m asleep. I won’t be dreaming of
you, darling, and if I do, the dreams won’t be rosy. Make sure you know it,
sweetheart; I’m going with you to Dong Xo. Otherwise, you’re out of the
business, right now.” ‘

“What does that mean?”

"That’s what
darling Dickinson McFee said.”

“ ‘Darling Dickinson
McFee’?”

“The dear man. He knows
I’d like to have you out of K Section. He knows that my second-best choice,
since you won’t quit and they seem to renew your contract forever, is simply to
join you. But if you disobey Bangkok Central or Control this time, you’re out.
And that wouldn’t make me unhappy at all, either.”

“So I’m damned if I do,
and damned if I don’t.”

She smiled with sweet
venom. “Precisely. And now, do you take the couch, or the bed?”

“The couch,” he said,
and surrendered.

                                               
 
5

Code File: Yellow Torch
21/O7/0264 INT. 14

Classification: K/A 105

Item
:
INTERPOL (ABLE coma 4 THE HAGUE 21 JUNE ADDRESSEE SECINSPEC USBN SEASDEP)

Report significant
increase raw poppy appearance South Thailand-Cambodian Highlands traced
Kuomintang Anny renegades Burma-Thai area. Suspect Syria-Havana pipeline
financing via Hanoi Peiping for Cong Hai. No hard evidence Interpol.
Urgent co-operation requested Thai Security signed Major T.M.K. Muong.
Follow more. Invest Yellow Torch. End.

                                      *
* * * *

Item
:
Handwritten memorandum from E. K. Farnsworth, G Dept, U.S. Narcotics
Bureau

Subject: Smuggling;
opium; Dong Xo area, Thailand. “Mac, State transfers this to you. We have
nothing on it. Who or what is Yellow Torch and Cong Hal?”

                                      *
* * * *

Item
:
Tape Extract 56/A, Analyst S, dossier Orris Lantern. Classification
K/A 105-T. Informal Assessment for Sub-Chiefs only:

A make or break
situation has developed in southern Thailand along the Cambodian border with
infiltration of subversive guerrilla bands known as Cong Hai. A crisis in
penetration campaign to outflank Vietnam. Financing from former Kuomintang Army
units engaged in illegal opium trade forbids irritation Taipeh. Cong Hai “fortress
areas” developed by Code Yellow Torch. Who is he? K/A 105 17/22064

                                      *
* * * *

Item
:
LANTERN, Orris, Code YELLOW TORCH, K/A 105 TT URGENT. Profile
from DoD, MAAG, Special Forces Unit BORAD, coordinated, USMC. See photos,
military history attached. Composites two years old, perhaps not valid for
apprehension this date. Caution advised. Tape L/A excerpted from documentary
data, Military Assistance Advisory Group:

“Orris Lantern,
born Hemmington, Kentucky, 3 April 1938, family eight children, two boys,
six girls. Father tried incestuous relations, mother alcoholic died State
Hospital Freeport 1939. Poverty throughout youth. State Golden Gloves Boxing
finals. Arrested two larceny charges (State Legislative appendix 556-26)
suspect member Kateen Gang illegal mine-stripping. Dismissed. Subject
charged manslaughter Freeport Sup. Court (see G-225, Document F ). Dismissed
lack of evidence. Apolitical to enlistment US Marine Corps age 18.

“Physical description on
enlistment: Six feet, sandy hair, sallow complexion, very light brown eyes, no
visible scars, weight one-five-two, evidence childhood malnutrition, all UCD’s.
Military history exemplary. Promoted first sergeant, served drill instructor,
volunteered Special Forces Fort Benning Fort Bragg, qualified
Psychological Warfare, Counter-Insurgency, Unconventional Warfare, top security
clearance granted. Twice decorated as member A team BORAD, missing or captured
ambush Luc Bat 13 October. No further official history known of subject.

                                      *
* * * *

Item
:
Taped interview, Sgt. Grayman, Edward F., ex-USMC and Senior Sergeant
Special Forces Group A BORAD. Taken at home of Mr. Grayman, now an auto
salesman, living 2325 Summit Street, Charleston, S.C., wife and two children.
Mr. Grayman wounded, left leg amputated hospital Danang. Inter.
17:

“Sergeant Lantern? Of
course I remember the son of a bitch. He was a nut, a kook, y‘know? I don’t
recall exactly what he looked like-more like our strikers than a white
man—except for his crazy eyes. They were piss-yellah, like a tiger’s, and if
you did anything wrong, he chewed your ass in front of anybody so’s you’ll
crawl into a hole and want to die, or maybe charge the whole goddam V.C. in the
jungle just to show him. He was a grade A, indelible, cotton-mouthed bastard.
I seen him hit Johnny Demming with his BAR for bein’ a
second or two closin’ up on the trail, long before he got us into that mess
at Luc Bat. He almost greased Tom Whitman another time.

“Personality? I told
you, he was a stubborn, crazy, bloodthirsty, mule-brained SOB. You couldn’t
trust him. He was a glory hunter, and he like to get us all zapped every time
we went out on one of his crazy missions.

“Politics? We never
talked about it. We stayed out of his way. Well, I heard him gripe once how
America never gave him anything, so he owed America nothing. We all got loaded
on Dewars when he didn't come out of the Luc Bat mess. Only thing
was, the Meo kids cried for him; they missed him in the villages. He
only got along with the strikers’ kids, don’t ask me why. As for me, I hope the
V.C. cut the bastard into ribbons when they got him.”