“There are no others!” she screamed.
His savage blow knocked her back to the ground. Too dazed to move, she sprawled helplessly at their feet and fought to clear her head.
“Finish her off.”
No, she thought. Please, no…
But she knew that no amount of begging would change their minds. She lay there, hugging herself, waiting for the end.
Then the other soldier said, “Not yet. She might come in handy.”
She was dragged back to her feet to stand, sick and swaying, before them.
An expressionless face, blackened with camouflage grease, stared down at her. “Let’s see what the good Friar thinks.”
Chapter Fourteen
Made it to third base. Time to go for that home run.
Guy, sprawled behind a boulder, scouted out the next twenty yards to the gun. His only cover would be a few bushes and, midway, a pathetic excuse for a tree. He could see the AK-47’s barrel extending over the rock ledge, so close, he could practically spit at it, but still beyond reach.
Slowly, he rose to a crouch and got ready for the final dash.
Gunfire splattered the cliff. Instantly, he flopped back to the dirt. This is a crazy-ass idea, Barnard. The dumbest idea you’ve ever had.
He glanced below and saw Maitland trying to signal him. What the hell was he trying to say? Guy couldn’t be sure, but Maitland seemed to be telling him to wait, to hold on. But there was so little time left. Already, Guy spotted men in camouflage fatigues moving through the brush toward the cliff base. Toward the first booby trap. God, slow ’em down. Give us time.
He heard, rather than saw, the first victim drop into the trap. A shriek echoed off the cliff face, the cry of a man who had just slid into a bed of stakes. Now there were other shouts, curses, the sounds of confusion as soldiers dragged their injured comrade to safety.
Just a taste, fellas, Guy thought with a grim sense of satisfaction. Wait till you see what comes next.
The attackers didn’t delay long. A shouted order sent a half-dozen soldiers scrambling up the cliff path, closer and closer to the second trap: a trip wire poised to unleash a falling tree trunk. But now the attackers were warned; they knew that every step was a gamble, and they were searching for hazards, considering every rock, every bush with the practiced eyes of men well versed in jungle combat.
We’re almost down to our last resort, thought Guy. Prayer.
Then he heard it. They all heard it. A familiar rumble that made them turn their gazes to the sky. Choppers.
That was the instant Guy ran, when everyone’s eyes were focused on the heavens. His sudden dash took the soldiers by surprise, left them only a split second to respond. Then the maelstrom broke loose as bullets chewed the ground, throwing up a storm cloud of dust. By then he was halfway to his goal, scrambling through the last thicket. Time seemed to slow down. Each step took an eternity. He saw puffs of dirt explode near his feet, heard a far-off shriek and the thud of the poised tree trunk, the second trap, slamming onto the soldiers in the path.
He launched himself through the air and tumbled onto the ledge. Time leapt to fast forward. He yanked the AK-47 out of the dead man’s grasp, took aim and began firing.
One soldier, standing exposed below, went down at once. The others beat a fast retreat into the jungle. Two lay dead on the path, victims of the latest booby trap.
Welcome to the Stone Age, Rambo.
Guy held his fire as the attackers slipped out of view and into the cover of trees. He watched, waiting for any flash of movement, any sign of a renewed attack. A standoff?
He turned his gaze to the sky and searched for the choppers. To his dismay, they were moving away; already they had faded to mere specks. In despair he watched them slip away into a field of relentless blue.
Then, from below, he heard shouts in Vietnamese and saw smoke spiral up the cliff face, the blackest, most glorious smoke he’d seen in his whole damn life. The villagers had set the mountainside on fire!
Quickly he scanned the heavens again, hoping, praying. Within seconds he spotted them, like two flies hovering just above the horizon. Was it only wishful thinking, or were they actually moving closer?
A new hint of movement at the bottom of the cliff drew his attention. He looked down to see two figures emerge from the forest and approach the cliff base. Automatically, he swung his gun barrel to the target and was about to squeeze off a round when he saw who it was standing below. His finger froze on the trigger.
A man stood clutching a human shield in front of him. Even from that distance, Guy recognized the prisoner’s face, could see her blanched and helpless expression.
“Drop it, Barnard!” The command of an unseen man, hidden among the trees, echoed off the mountainside. The voice was disturbingly familiar.
Guy remained frozen in the pose of a marksman, his finger on the trigger, his cheek pressed against the rifle. Frantically he wracked his brain for a plan, for some way to pull Willy out of this alive. A trade? It was the only possibility: her life for his. Would they go for it?
“I said drop it!” the disembodied voice shouted.
Willy’s captor raised a pistol barrel to her head.
“Or would you like to see what a bullet will do to that pretty face?”
“Wait!” Guy screamed. “We can trade—”
“No deals.”
The barrel was pressed to Willy’s temple.
“No!” Guy’s voice, harsh with panic, reverberated off the cliff.
“Then drop the gun. Now.”
Guy let the AK-47 fall to the ground.
“Kick it away. Go on!”
Guy gave the gun a kick. It tumbled off the ledge and clattered to the rocks below.
“Out where I can see you. Come on, come on!”
Slowly, Guy rose to his full height, expecting an instantaneous hail of bullets.
“Now come down. Off the cliff. You, too, Maitland! I haven’t got all day, so move.”
Guy made his way down the cliff path. By the time he reached bottom, Maitland was already waiting there, his arms hooked behind his head in surrender. Guy’s first concern was Willy. He could see she’d been hurt; her shirt was torn and bloodied, her face alarmingly white. But the look she gave him was one of heartwrenching courage, a look that said, Don’t worry about me. I’m okay. And I love you.
Her captor smiled and let the pistol barrel drop from her head. Guy instantly recognized his face: it was the same man he’d tackled on the terrace of the hotel in Bangkok. The Thai assassin—or was he Vietnamese?
“Hello, Guy,” said a shockingly familiar voice.
A man strolled into the sunshine, a man whose powerful shoulders seemed to strain against the fabric of his camouflage fatigues.
Maitland took in a startled breath. “It’s him,” he murmured. “Friar Tuck.”
“Toby?” said Guy.
“Both,” said Tobias Wolff, smiling. He stood before them, his expression hovering somewhere between triumph and regret. “I didn’t want to kill you, Guy. In fact, I’ve done everything I could to avoid it.”
Guy let out a bitter laugh. “Why?”
“I owed you. Remember?”
Guy frowned at Toby’s legs, noticing there were no braces, no crutches. “You can walk.”
Toby shrugged. “You know how it is in army hospitals. The surgeons gave me the bad news, said there was nothing they could do and then they walked away. Shoved me into a corner and forgot about me. But I wasn’t a lost cause, after all. First I got the feeling back in my toes. Then I could move them. Oh, I never bothered to tell Uncle Sam. It gave me the freedom to carry on with my business. That’s the nice thing about being a paraplegic. No one suspects you of a damn thing.” He grinned. “Plus, I get that monthly disability check.”
“A real fortune.”
“It’s the principle of things. Uncle Sam owes me for all those years of loyal service.” He glanced at Maitland. “He was the only detail that worried me. The last witness fr
om Flight 5078. I’d heard he was alive. I just didn’t know how to find him.”
He squinted up at the sky as the rumble of the choppers drew closer. They were moving in, attracted by the smoke from the cliff fire. “Time’s up,” said Toby. Turning, he yelled to his men, “Move out!”
At once, the soldiers started into the woods in a calm but hasty retreat. Toby looked at the hit man and nodded. “Mr. Siang, you know what to do.”
Siang shoved Willy forward. Guy caught her in his arms; together, they dropped to their knees. There was no time left for last words, for farewells. Guy wrapped himself around her in a futile attempt to shield her from the bullets.
“Finish it,” said Toby.
Guy looked up at him. “I’ll see you in hell.”
Siang raised the pistol. The barrel was aimed squarely at Guy’s head. Still cradling Willy, Guy waited for the explosion. The darkness.
The blast of the pistol made them both flinch.
In wonderment, Guy realized he was still kneeling, still breathing. What the hell? Am I still alive? Are we both still alive?
He looked up in time to see Siang, shirt bloodied, crumple to the ground.
“There! She’s there!” Toby shouted, pointing at the trees.
In the shadow of the forest they saw her, clutching the ancient pistol in both hands. Lan stood very still, as though shocked by what she’d just done.
One of the soldiers took aim at her.
“No!” screamed Maitland, flinging himself at the gunman.
The shot went wild; Maitland and the soldier thudded to the ground, locked in combat.
From the cliff above came shouts; Guy and Willy hit the dirt as arrows rained down. Toby cried out and fell. What remained of his army scattered in confusion.
In the melee, Guy and Willy managed to crawl to cover. But as they rolled behind a boulder, Willy suddenly realized her father hadn’t followed them.
“Dad!” she screamed.
A dozen yards away, Maitland lay bloodied. Willy turned to go to him, but Guy dragged her back down.
“Are you nuts?” he yelled.
“I can’t leave him there!”
“Wait till we’re clear!”
“He’s hurt!”
“There’s nothing you can do!”
She was sobbing now, trying to wrench free, but her protests were drowned out by the whomp-whomp of the helicopters moving in. An army chopper hovered just above them. The pilot lowered the craft through a slot in the trees. Gently, the skids settled to the ground.
The instant it touched down, a half-dozen Vietnamese soldiers jumped out, followed by their commanding officer. He pointed at Maitland and barked out orders. Two soldiers hurried to the wounded man.
“Let me go,” Willy said and she broke free of Guy’s grasp.
He watched her run to her father’s side. The soldiers had already opened their medical field kit, and a stretcher was on the way. Guy’s gaze shifted back to the chopper as one last passenger stepped slowly to the ground. Head bowed beneath the spinning blades, the old man made his way toward Guy.
For a long time, they stood together, both of them silent as they regarded the rising cloud of smoke. The flames seemed to engulf the mountain itself as the last of the village men scrambled down the cliff path to safety.
“A most impressive signal fire,” said Minister Tranh. He looked at Guy. “You are unhurt?”
Guy nodded. “We lost some people…up on the mountain. And the children—I don’t know if they’re all right. But I guess…I think…”
He turned and watched as Willy followed her father’s stretcher toward the chopper. At the doorway, she stopped and looked back at Guy.
He started toward her, his arms aching to embrace her. He wanted to tell her all the things he’d been afraid to say, the things he’d never said to any woman. He had to tell her now, while he still had the chance, while she was still there for him to touch, to hold.
A soldier suddenly blocked Guy’s way and commanded, “Stay back!”
Dust stung Guy’s eyes as the chopper’s rotor began to spin. Through the tornado-like wash of whirling leaves and branches, Guy saw a soldier in the chopper shout at Willy to climb aboard. With one last backward glance, she obeyed. Time had run out.
Through the open doorway, Guy could still see her face gazing out at him. With a sense of desolation, he watched the helicopter rise into the sky, taking with it the woman he loved. Long after the roar of the blades had faded to silence, he was staring up at that cloudless field of blue.
Sighing, he turned back to Minister Tranh. That’s when he noticed that someone else, just as desolate, had watched the chopper’s departure. At the forest edge stood Lan, her gaze turned to the sky. At least she, too, had survived.
“We are glad to find you alive,” Minister Tranh said.
“How did you find us?” Guy asked.
“One of the men from the village reached Na Khoang early this morning. We’d been concerned about you. And when you vanished…” Minister Tranh shook his head. “You have a talent for making things difficult, Mr. Barnard. For us, at least.”
“I had to. I didn’t know who to trust.” Guy looked at the other man. “I still don’t know who to trust.”
Minister Tranh considered this statement for a moment. Then he said quietly, “Do we ever really know?”
“A toast,” said Dodge Hamilton, leaning against the hotel bar. “To the good fight!”
Guy stared down moodily at his whiskey glass and said, “There’s no such thing as a good fight, Hamilton. There are only fights you can’t avoid.”
“Well—” grinning, Hamilton raised his drink “—then let’s drink to the unavoidable.”
That made Guy laugh, though it was the last thing he felt like doing. He supposed he ought to be celebrating. The ordeal was over, and for the first time in days, he felt human again. After a good night’s sleep, a shower and a shave, he could once again stand the sight of his own face in the mirror. For all the difference it makes, he thought bleakly. She’s not here to notice.
He was having a hell of a time adjusting to Willy’s absence. Over and over he replayed that last image of her sad backward glance as she’d climbed into the chopper. No last words, no goodbyes, just that look. He wished he could erase the image from his memory.
No, no, that wasn’t what he wanted.
What he wanted was another chance.
He set the whiskey glass down and forced a smile to his lips. “Anyway, Hamilton,” he said, “looks like you got your story, after all.”
“Not quite the one I expected.”
“Think it’s front-page material?”
“Indeed! It has everything. Old war ghosts come to life. Ex-enemies joining sides. And a happy ending! A story that ought to be heard. But…” He sighed. “It’ll probably get shoved to the back page to make room for some juicy royal scandal. As if the fate of the world depends on who does what to whom in Buckingham.”
Guy shook his head and chuckled. Some things, it seemed, never changed.
“He’ll be all right, won’t he? Maitland?”
Guy looked up. “I think so. Willy called me from Bangkok a few hours ago. Maitland’s stable enough to be transferred.”
“They’re flying him to the States?”
“Tonight.”
Hamilton cocked his head. “Aren’t you joining them?”
“I don’t know. I’ve got a job to wrap up, a few last minute details. And she’ll be busy with other things….”
He looked down at his whiskey and thought of that last phone conversation. They’d had a lousy connection, lots of static on the line, and they’d both been forced to shout. She’d been standing at a hospital telephone; he’d been on his way out to meet Vietnamese officials. It had hardly been the time for romantic conversation. Yet he’d been ready to say anything, if only she’d given him some hint that she wanted to hear it. But there’d been only awkward how-are-yous and is-your-arm-all-right and yes
-it’s-fine-I’m-all-patched-up-now and then, in the end, a hasty goodbye.
When he’d hung up the receiver, he’d known she was gone. Maybe it’s for the best, he thought. Every idiot knew wartime romances never lasted. When you were huddled together in the trenches and the bullets were whizzing overhead, it was easy to fall in love.
But now they were back in the real world. She didn’t need him any longer, and he liked to think he didn’t need her either. After all, he’d never needed anyone before.
He drained his whiskey glass. “Anyway, Hamilton,” he said, “I guess I’ll have a hell of a story to tell the guys back home. How I fought in Nam all over again—this time with the other side.”
“No one’ll believe you.”
“Probably not.” Guy looked off at a painting on the wall—Ho Chi Minh smiling like someone’s merry uncle. “You know, I have a confession to make.” He looked back at his drinking partner. “At one point, I was so paranoid that I thought you were the CIA.”
Hamilton burst out laughing.
“Can you believe it?” Guy said, laughing as well. “You of all people!”
Hamilton, still grinning, set his glass down on the counter. “Actually,” he said after a pause, “I am.”
There was a long silence. “What?” said Guy.
Hamilton gazed back, his expression blandly pleasant and utterly unrevealing. “General Kistner sends his regards. He’s happy to hear you’re alive and well.”
“Kistner sent you?”
“No, he sent you.”
Guy stiffened. “You got it wrong. I don’t work for those people. I was on my own the whole—”
“Were you, now?” Hamilton’s smile was maddening. “Quite a stroke of luck, wouldn’t you say, that meeting between you and Miss Maitland at Kistner’s villa? Damned odd about her driver vanishing like that, just as you were heading back to town.”
Guy looked down at his glass, swirled the whiskey. “I was set up,” he muttered. “That mysterious appointment with Kistner—”
“Was to get you and Miss Maitland together. She was in dangerous waters, already floundering. We knew she’d need help. But it had to be someone completely unconnected with the Company, someone the Vietnamese wouldn’t suspect. As it turned out, you were it.”