Solemn Duty (1997) (21 page)

And so is hate; if the motive was pure hate, the killer would have done more damage . . . made them linger in agony before killing them. Which leaves us with revenge. But revenge for what? What did these men do while in Vietnam that would cause others to go after them twenty-some years later?"

"Could be what the team knew," Ashley said. "In the letters the victims say that their mission was secret. It turned out to be a bust, and many innocent people paid with their lives. Maybe it's not revenge but rather a cover-up of some kind."

Ramona smiled as she reached in her blazer inside pocket. "I like it." She pulled out a thin flip phone and began pushing numbers. "You two have given me something to work on. . . ."

She broke her gaze from Ashley and spoke into the phone. "Hi, Simon, it's Mona . . . Yes, it's a difficult one. I need you and Mac to come to Atlanta and work with me . . . Simon, don't worry, I will clear it with Bryan later. Just bring your equipment and catch the first flight you can . . . The Atlanta office, that's correct. I'm staying in the downtown Marriott, so have Glenda book you rooms. And book two extra rooms for two others who will be helping me. My room number is 326, please try and get the rooms adjoining and close by . . . I said I would clear it, did I not? Now, please, no more questions and just do what I said. Good-bye."

Ramona folded the phone. "The two extra rooms will be for you two, but right now I would like both of you to fly to Washington on the first flight available. I want you to talk to Mrs.

Robert Anderson. Find out everything you can about her husband. Had he visited any of the victims' cities prior to his disappearance? Did he have contact with team members? Did he withdraw money from the bank, cash in bonds, before he disappeared? You can think of many more questions, but those are starters."

Eli shook his head. "Come on, Mona. We can call the Washington office and get that information in ten minutes. You know they've already asked her those questions and checked out her and her husband. Why are you really sending us there?"

Ramona smiled as she reached over and patted Eli's shoulder. "Eli, dear, of course I have an ulterior motive. It's obvious Don and George believe Anderson is the number one suspect. We must therefore torpedo their theory before we can move ahead on our theory. Once we eliminate Anderson as a possible suspect, the SAC will have to listen to what we say with an open mind. Just now he and George wouldn't even consider the possibility of having more than one person involved in the murders. Please go and see Mrs. Anderson. Eli, talk to her as a veteran to a veteran's wife. And you Ashley, talk woman to-woman with her. I trust your impressions and judgments about what she tells you. Go on, I am going to sit here, read the victims' letters, then start work on the new theory. Simon and Mac should be here by this afternoon to help me. Here is my cell phone number. Call me as soon as you have something."

Eli took her card and stuffed it in his shirt pocket "Better call the travel office and tell 'em we're on the way to pick up tickets. I suspect we'll make it to Washington before nightfall.

We'll rent a car and drive straight to Fairfax. We'll have something for you by late this evening."

Ramona patted his back and winked at Ashley as she walked to the door. "Please keep your eye on him for me. He has a tendency to wander into trouble when not under adult supervision."

Ashley forced a smile. "Don't worry, Dr. Valez, I won't let him out of my sight. See you tomorrow when we return."

Once in the hallway, Ashley gave her partner a side glance.

"Does that batting of the eyes and that touchy stuff she does always work with you men?'

Eli thought a moment before he nodded. "To be honest, yes.

Something to do with our egos or testosterone, I can't remember which. Why are you asking?"

"Just wondering."

"Agent Sutton, don't even think about it. You're not the type that can get away with it"

"What type is that, Tanner?' she snapped.

"You know."

"No, I don't know. Enlighten me."

Eli slowed his steps and faced her. "Agent Sutton, you're different. You wear your emotions for everybody to see, and your eyes won't lie. Ramona can deceive anyone and make you believe anything she says. You're not a deceiver . . . you're a `here I am, this is what you get' type of person."

"I'm not sure, but I believe that was a compliment, Agent Tanner."

"No, it was honesty, Agent Sutton," he said and began walking down the hall again. "I like the aisle seat," he said over his shoulder. "You want the window for the flight?"

"I like the aisle, too. You take the window."

Eli stopped, reached in his pocket and took out a quarter.

"Heads I get the aisle. Tails you get the aisle." He flipped the coin, caught it and slapped it on the back of his hand. He looked at it. "Two out of three?"

.

4:30 P. M.

The SAC was about to leave for the evening when his deputy, George Polous, knocked and entered the office holding a piece of paper. "We've got it, boss, John Elder's address. It came in a few minutes ago from the IRS."

"Where is he?"

"It took so long because he's moved twice in the past year, but now he lives in Charleston, South Carolina. I contacted the resident office there and they're sending out a team to get him covered. Our people are leaving now and should be there tonight. That's it, sir, we'll soon have both team members protected and have traps set for our killer."

Farrel grinned. "Soon the good Dr. Valez will be eating crow. I want to see her face when our people nab Robert Anderson. I still can't believe she brought up the possibility of an assassination team as a theory at the three o'clock meeting. Keep me informed, George. I want this case closed by tomorrow."

"No problem, sir," Polous said confidently.

.

4:36 P. M. Charleston Bay, South Carolina.

John Elder steered his small craft well clear of the wake made from the big tourist boat heading for Fort Sumter. He never could figure out why the tourists visited the place; the original fort was destroyed in the first battle of the Civil War, and what the tourists saw was nothing but a scaled-down version that wasn't even close to what the old fort looked like.

Dumb, he thought, they're all dumb. He put the tourists out of his mind and looked out again, searching the bay. Seeing the blue-striped bayliner laying off to port, he nodded to himself as he steered toward the small cruiser. Yep, that's her, The Mackeral. Dumb sonofabitch rents it but doesn't know a damn thing about how to run her. Dumb, they're all dumb.

A minute later Elder cut the motor and glided alongside the sleek craft. "Ahoy on board, you radioed for help?' he barked loudly.

He heard a voice from the cabin. "Yes, please come on board. The engine died and won't start."

"Dumb bastard," Elder mumbled aloud. He quickly secured a line and picked up his toolbox. He climbed up the ladder, stepped onto the deck, and immediately felt as if he'd been stabbed in the chest with a red hot fork. Pain seemed to explode, sending searing lightning bolts from his chest to the rest of his body. He staggered and fell forward, knowing he was about to meet his maker.

His facial muscles involuntarily twitched and John Elder let out a moan. He opened his eyes and saw blue sky. Afraid to move and start the pain again, he lay perfectly still. He was overjoyed that he was alive, but fearful of what had happened to him. Was it a heart attack? Did I pass out? He wondered. He felt a gentle rocking motion and remembered he'd just stepped on board the cruiser and had thought he had seen a . . . Oh God!

He moved his eyes right then left and froze, seeing a man seated on the pleasure deck's cushions. The man was holding a pistol and was looking at him with eyes totally absent of emotion.

Elder knew then he had not suffered a horrible nightmare or a heart attack. In the instant before the pain had overcome him, he'd seen the man and seen something coming toward him in a blur. No! This can't be happening. Sweet Jesus, no!

Elder blinked. An ugly brown-skinned man was still there, holding his expressionless stare on him. A Cambodian, he thought. He had to be a Cambodian. Vietnamese were slightly lighter in color and their cheekbones more prominent The gold chain, yes, that tells me for sure he's a Cambodian. But why here? What is he doing here and why is he trying to kill me?

"Very good. I see you have regained consciousness."

Elder shifted his eyes toward the voice and felt hope. He saw a handsome Eurasian man with dark brown hair, approaching him and holding two cans of Coke. Thank God, he thought, they made a mistake of some kind. They were druggies and thought he was the police or something.

Elder lifted his head and was about to try and sit up when he felt a quick stab of pain again. The man with the drinks shook his head. "No, Sergeant Elder, please remain still. My colleague, Hu Nim, will only increase the voltage and give you more distress if you try to move. Please, lie still. We have much to talk about"

Tears ran down the sides of Elder's face as the tremor subsided. He looked up at the good-looking man, whom he judged to be in his mid-thirties, and stammered, "Wh-what do you wa-want?"

The man handed a Coke to the Cambodian, brought up a deck chair and sat down. He looked into Elder's eyes and said, "I want you, of course. Do you not remember me, Sergeant Elder?

You taught me how to fire a rifle and arm a claymore mine. You even allowed me to browse through your Playboy magazines.

Come now, Sergeant, surely you remember Camp 147?"

Elder's eyes widened in disbelief. "No, you're . . ."

"Dead? No, Sergeant, as you can see for yourself, I am quite the contrary. Yes, most did perish, but I and sixteen others survived. An old friend of yours is also alive. You would recognize him, I am sure. Lieutenant Quan Tram. Yes, I see you remember him. He is the one responsible for my living, Sergeant Elder. He tended my wounds, and along with the others we made our way into Vietnam to seek refuge. We found instead only more suffering. The Vietnamese hated us, you see. They cast stones at us, and drove us away like dogs from every village we came upon. The three young children with us died, and four of the badly wounded. We had to return to our country, Sergeant. It was a very long journey and we lost more of us. Only seven reached Phnom Penh. We found no hope there, Sergeant, only more suffering. It is a sad story .. . very sad, and makes my heart heavy . . . very heavy."

Trembling, Elder spoke in a whisper. "I . . . I . . . didn't know. God, I swear I didn't know. We tried to reinforce the camp. We tried, but . . ."

"Yes, I know, Sergeant," the man said, nodding. "I have heard the story many times from the others. . . . I know about Colonel Stroud and the general who made the decisions."

"Oth-Others?"

"Yes, Sergeant, I have spoken to the others on the team, but circumstances did not allow me much time for conversation.

You are different, you see, I owe you a debt of gratitude. You were the one who befriended me first and you gave me my name, remember? You called me Frenchy."

Elder nodded his head slightly and closed his tearing eyes.

"Why are you doing this to me?'

"My name was Jean Paul Devoe, Sergeant. My father was French, remember? I lost my name and my grandfather and grandmother. I lost my uncles and aunts and nieces and nephews. I lost my village, Sergeant, because we believed in you and the others who pledged their word of honor that you would help us. You ask 'why,' Sergeant? You know the answer. You lied to us. I have waited for well over twenty years to fulfill my solemn duty to find you. And I have done so, Sergeant. I am here to ensure justice is done. I have come to help you . . . help you regain what you lost . . . your honor."

"I . . . I am so sorry, Mr. Devoe. I have . . ."

"Yes, I'm sure you are sorry, the guilt has been a heavy burden on you. I, too, carry guilt, Sergeant" Jean Paul stood.

He turned and looked out over the bay with a vacant stare.

"Lieutenant Tram led myself and the seven other survivors to a small village just outside Phnom Penh. . . . It was a very difficult time, Sergeant Elder. My country was at war and food was scarce. Tram taught me English during the nights, and during the day we fished to live. Then in April 1975 the Khmer Rouge came and the butchery began. Tram and I were at the river using fish nets when it began. We could hear the screams and gunshots. Once again we had no choice but to try and escape. We traveled to the coast and boarded a fishing trawler filled with others like us, human refuse cast out by war.

"Twenty-two days, Sergeant Elder. Twenty-two days and nights we fought to stay alive on that leaking boat. Half died of starvation. Thai pirates attacked twice, killing more, and the want of water killed others. When the Hong Kong patrol boat finally found us off shore, there were only nine of us left. Hu Nim here is one of those, and I will not tell you how we survived, Sergeant. But I can tell you the guilt I carry makes eating meat impossible for me.

"We three found Hong Kong no better than the Vietnamese villages that had cast stones. The people despised us, and we despised them, Sergeant Elder. There were large camps filled with refugees. Vietnamese and Cambodian, all of us were considered as nothing but refuse. We lived on the garbage of others-it was fitting, garbage for garbage. It was Lieutenant Tram who once again saved me. He and Hu Nim found others like ourselves who were willing to fight to stay alive. Tram organized a unit, and no longer did we starve. We took what we wanted and killed who got in our way. We rose from the garbage piles called camps and moved into the slums of Chow Won District and soon were competing with the Chinese gangs for dominance. We were better prepared than they, Sergeant; we were willing to die. We knew suffering far more than they and we struck faster and harder and gave no quarter. As a result of our fighting we gained the one thing we desired most respect. Within six months Chinese gangs worked for us, and our services were in demand in other districts. We killed, Sergeant, we killed for money and respect. It is all the Chinese understand, you see. In order to survive, we did what we had to do and we became the best."