Black Heart, page 60
Lauren's reserve melted. The man was rather charming, jju smiled the special smile she reserved for her best audiences, said 'I'm sure you can be forgiven.'
Dong Zhing bowed his head. 'You are most gracious, Miss Marshall. As an honourable - and tangible way of making amends I would invite you to have supper with me this evening.' He pointed to her leg and his face fell. 'But I see that your injuries would prevent -'
Lauren had seen Martin's expression, his hands clasped in an exaggerated gesture of prayer. 'Nonsense. I am not that badk hurt. I'd be delighted to accept your invitation. And please call me Lauren.'
The Chinese minister was delighted, his face beaming 'Capital!' he exclaimed, then clapped one palm over his mouth, giggling. 'Pun intended.' All three of them laughed.
He extended his hand and Lauren took it, allowed him to draw her to her feet. She tested the leg, found only a slight twinge of pain.
'Now, Lauren,' the Chinese minister said, putting his hand over hers, as they linked arms, 'I shall show you Shanghai's night life. Such as it is.' He giggled again and Lauren thought she might indeed have a fine time with this odd but endearing man. At least, she thought, he was not bent on spouting communist propaganda at her; that she could not tolerate.
He opened the door for her, ushering her out to his waiting car. 'And please,' he said, 'you must call me the Monk. Everyom does.'
'What's the matter?' Her delicate fingers travelled up his an.: along his side, with the deftness of a blind man's.
'It is nothing; nothing at all.'
Joy's soft eyes stared up into his, and she began to peel offhis black shirt. 'What's happening. Khieu? Please tell me.'
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jj,e I saw my sister get hurt I saw the degradation she had
hoped into, whoring for the Yuan and their Soviet masters In
rder to survive amid the remnants of what once was my
beloved Cambodia, peaceful, beautiful Yes, I saw someone get
hurt, a^ n8nt Isaw how she was repaid by the patriots of her
country I was witness to what she has become headless,
bloated, spewing dank and muddy water from her permanently
open mouth
Oh, Buddha1 Apsara dances only for me now, pursuing me, her fingers presenting me with a message Apsara tells me what [ must do now But what is it? Becoming an American I have forgotten the meaning of chorus and verse, I can no longer decipher the celestial dances, for is it not true that only our gods, the gods of the Khmer, may know the messages of their servants, apsara7
Stripped to the waist, he found himself being led by the hand down the hall, into Joy and Macomber's bedroom - a place his father no longer seemed to come to Into the plum and cream tiled bathroom to sit on the closed seat of the toilet while, kneeling, Joy ran the bath
Soon he scented lilac and evergreen, salts wafting up with the steam Then Joy had returned to him, helping him to slip off the rest of his clothes
Apsara came creeping towards him on her disfigured belly as he lay soaking in the hot bath, engulfed in incense with Joy's infinitely gentle hands Apsara spoke to him with her fingers, webs of information he could not absorb or understand Yet still she came, seeking what'
Khieu shuddered, his hard flesh quivering, and Joy, in her concern for him, whispered over and over, 'It's all right, it's all right now '
I was right in begging him not to go back, she thought, watching his face, the rolling of his eyes beneath the closed lids Kifhe were asleep and dreaming in rapid-fire sequence
It's Del who's driving him to this, she thought, hating her sband in a quite tangible sense for the first time Del and his goddamned obsessions What was it this time, she wondered
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Who or what was it he wanted you to seek out in Kampuchea) The answer did not really matter to her.
But whatever it was this time she knew it was tearing Khieu apart, and this she could not understand. Her heart broke fot him as she held him in the water, the dampness plastering her dress to her skin. She did not care; she felt him and only him close to her.
Thwaite was in the emergency room at Bellevue when they brought Atherton Gottschalk in on a gurney. The attendant pandemonium caused him to look up. He was watching an intern working on Melody's temple. '
'Jesus,' the young doctor said. 'You must've been on some tear.'
'Just get it done, Doc,' Thwaite growled.
Til have to call the cops,' the young intern said as he dressed the wound. 'It has to be reported.'
'That's already been taken care of,' Thwaite said, flashing his badge. He had called the precinct from the paper wholesaler's phone on the ground floor.
An intern burst through the doors just ahead of the gurney. He was followed by a resident, a half-a-dozen uniforms and as many plainclothesmen. During the brief time the doors were open to the corridor, Thwaite could see the jam up of patients, visitors, more cops, plainclothesmen manning walkie-talkies and three or four men who were obviously aides.
'Who brought him in?' the resident wanted to know. 'Paramedics?'
'No,' one of the cops said. 'Squad car. It was the fastest way.'
'Who was with him?' The resident was helping the intern transfer the body onto a table.
'One of the Secret Service guys,' the uniform said. 'Bronstein, I think his name is.'
'Get him,' the resident said. 'And for Christ's sake, tell your men to back everyone out of the corridor.'
He was very good, Thwaite said. No panic in him, just quick economical movements. He began directing the nurses. 'Get Dr Weingaard down here, will you?' One of the nurses hurried out
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(jo his bidding Tumult from the packed hallway intruded once agam
-rjje uniform returned with a tall, lanky man with dark hair
you Bronstein''
The man nodded
'Talk to me,' the resident commanded Tm too busy to look
3t you ' He was working on Gottschalk, putting in the IV lines 'plasma, stat,' he said to one of the nurses 'And run a blood check right away We'll need his type if he requires whole blood '
Tm Bronstein '
'You come in with the candidate7'
'I had his head in my lap '
The resident was having difficulty getting Gottschalk out of his suit He picked up a scalpel 'How was his breathing''
'He was having difficulty '
'Uh huh Could you hear it''
'Like a bellows'
'Lotta blood, huh' This looks like a chest wound '
'Right over his heart,' Bronstein said 'But there wasn't much blood'
The hole is over the heart, all right' The resident bent lower But it must've missed Puncture the heart and you'll get a fountain of blood Get the portable EKG unit over here '
'I saw him get hit,' Bronstein insisted 'It was the heart, all right'
'Well, if you're right, I'll go back to my rounds He'll be dead'
He used the scalpel, swiftly, lightly to shred back Gottschalk's clothes Layer by layer it came apart 'Gotta see if it's beating,' he said almost to himself He lifted his stethoscope into place Get X-ray ready,' he said to the intern
Another resident came in, followed by the nurse Dr Weingaard He was an older man, his well-clipped beard shot through with grey 'What've we got here''
'Atherton Gottschalk,' the resident said 'Just been shot This °ne says through the heart but it can't be, he's still breathing '
'Let me see it,' Dr Weingaard said
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'Just let me get this last bit ofJesus Christ!'
'What is it?'
The first resident looked up. His young face was spattered with blood. His dark curling hair was already matted with sweat. 'Take a look at this.' He stepped away so that his colleague could get a clear view. 'This man's been shot in the heart
and he's not dead.'
Dr Weingaard shook his head. 'Not possible.'
'It is,' the young resident said, 'if you happen to be wearing
a bullet-proof vest.'
'Give me one of their guns,' Tracy said. 'What for?' 'Just do as 1 say!' Using the slightest bit of kiai to ensure
immediate compliance.
Mizo's twisted body jerked a little and, using his free hand, he snapped his fingers. One of the young Chinese appeared at the top of the stairs.
'I want the other one in view, too,' Tracy said. He snapped his fingers again and the second man appeared beside the first. Mizo made a motion with his fingers and the first Chinese came carefully down the staircase. At no time did his eyes leave Tracy's face and Tracy could read the almost palpable hatred there. Hatred for the foreign devil; a more personal hatred. Perhaps he had been related to one of the men who had gone into Aberdeen Harbour; Dragon Tattoo, for instance. Tracy made a note of it.
The young Chinese stopped about ten metres from where Mizo stood and Little Dragon lay, half-dazed. He snaked a hand inside his jacket, produced a .33 Airweight, began to hand it
over to Mizo.
'No,' Tracy said sharply in Cantonese, startling the other. 'Grip it by the barrel, slide it along the floor over to me.'
The young Chinese looked from Tracy to Mizo. He got the nod and complied, a sour look on his face.
Tracy knelt slowly down, taking his hostage with him, picked up the pistol. He clicked open the chamber, glanced down, then looked up quickly, grinning. 'It would be nice, you
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illegitimate son of a pus-ridden sea snake, if you'd give me a loaded weapon.'
There was no expression on the young Chinese's face but Tracy became aware of Mizo smiling. The Japanese shrugged as if to say, you can't blame me for trying. He snapped his ringers again and the man rolled six cartridges along the floor.
Tracy made Mizo lie face down on the floor next to his mistress while he loaded the gun. Then he bent down, placed the muzzle of the enormous pistol just behind Mizo's right ear. 'I don't suppose,' he said softly, 'I have to test this.'
Mizo, whose head was turned to one side, his lower cheek pressed uncomfortably against the polished wooden floor, a break in the Chinese carpets, blanched. 'No, no, no,' he said quickly. 'Everything is in order, I assure you.'
'Yes. Indeed it is. I can tell blanks from live ammo.'
As Mizo twisted his head around further to see him better, Tracy abruptly let the Japanese go, took a firm hold on Little Dragon.
Mizo immediately scrambled up and the young Chinese, perhaps not seeing clearly what Tracy was up to, began to dart forward.
Tracy cocked the hammer of the .38, aimed it at the back of Little Dragon's neck.
'Back away, you dung-infested, lice-ridden offspring of a whore!' Mizo screamed. 'Can't you see he'll shoot her if you move against him.'
The young Chinese backed away immediately, the tension in his shoulders dying reluctantly and Tracy was gratified to see proved his theory that Mizo would be more reliable with Little Dragon under the gun.
Tracy pulled her slowly up and Mizo said shakily, 'I'm going to tell them to move backward out of the room.'
'Don't do that,' Tracy said immediately. 'I want them right where they are; otherwise, they're liable to go elsewhere and plot something nasty.'
Mizo said nothing but Tracy knew he had lost that round and «ce at the same time.
'Just so we're quite clear,' Tracy said. 'If you or they do
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anything I construe as hostile, Little Dragon's brains will end up all over this room.'
Mizo was white-faced. 'There's no need for that kind of reminder,' he said, rubbing his arm where Tracy had twisted it back. 'We have a truce.'
Tracy jerked Little Dragon to her feet. She was wearing a blue-green Shantung silk dress slit up both sides, revealing long lean legs. The mandarin collar framed her neck where gleamed a choker in diamonds and emeralds in alternating vertical bands. She kept her body and head very still, as if awaiting his cornmand but her tilted almond eyes were dark with hate and a power held tightly in check. She was a woman used to getting her own way; she would not take kindly to such treatment. Too bad, he thought.
Mizo lifted an arm, pointing. 'May we at least sit down and conduct this, er, meeting like civilized people.
Tracy thought that comment amusing in light of the deadly maze Mizo had been leading him through over the last few days but he said nothing. ,,
To his right was a snakebacked sofa of clear-lacquered barnboo frame and Burmese jade-coloured silk cushions. Beside it was a small wicker table from Bali on which was a porcelain lamp. Beyond that, was a traditional Chinese dragon, a tnpes curve rising vertically from the floor, hammered out o on, painted in gaudy crimson, bottle green and bn1 "J^* long sword-like tongue reaching upward towards the cei ^ On the opposite side of the room was a matching so^^ a pair of leather easy chairs, incongruous amid the other flavoured furniture. A three-fold antique Japanese screen ^^ ing herons in flight over a marsh or river mouth sto° ous]y the far sofa. Scattered about were various artifacts, ail ^^ ^ old and just as obviously worth a fortune, of °ronze'out stone: remnants of civilizations either dead or dymg 'of ^e 'Take that chair there,' Tracy said, indicatl^rds it wl* leather easy chairs. Mizo went obediently tow ^ facjng it, Tracy took Little Dragon to the bamboo and silk ^^^ sat down. The two Chinese looked on impassively, been turned to stone.
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you are quite a bit more formidable than I had been led to believe,' the Japanese's voice held a note of regret. 'But then my ^formation was spotty.'
Tracy was instantly alert. 'It would be,' he said easily now. 'f>Io one knows much about me.'
Mizo's face fixed in a frown. 'Just who the hell are you, anVway' ^hat do you want from me?'
The more Mizo spoke, the more information Tracy could Mean- The trick would be in keeping him talking without making him suspicious. 'I told you why I came here. My father
'Oh, please! Let's drop that lie, at least.' Time to take a stab in the dark. 'I want in on the business.' Mizo was impassive. 'What business?' 'Your business, White Powder Sun.'
This time Little Dragon shivered. Out of the corner of his eye, Tracy was aware that she was staring at him, wide-eyed.
'You know about my, er, school,' Mizo said carefully. 'You know me as White Powder Sun. Tell me, do you even know Louis Richter?'
'As I told you, he's my father.'
'What's a power-ratio resistor?'
Tracy told him.
'A d-Appline micro capacitor?'
Tracy answered that as well.
"Then it is possible,' Mizo said softly. 'You could be the son."
Tracy wanted to get on with it; his shoulder was paining him; it had been a long day. 'It's "Operation Sultan" I'm interested in.'
'If you really are Louis Richter's son,' Mizo said, 'I'm not surprised.' His eyes were somnolent, the one leg crossed over his nee swinging back and forth in time with some interior
ythm he was setting up. 'It is not unknown to me that his son, f tacy, if you are, indeed, Tracy Richter, was part of the Special . ces while they were in, er, South Vietnam during the years '%-i970.'
:xhS ^'Z0 s expressionless voice sing-songed on, Tracy felt austion creeping back into his bones and overworked
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muscles, fraying the edges of his consciousness. With a visity start, he snapped back. Mizo seemed to be smiling slightly Watch it! Tracy admonished himself. This is just what he wants He knows what a race you've run; he's been the maze-keeper
Tracy clicked back the hammer on the .38, enjoying the effect the startlingly loud sound made in the room, jammed it pain, fully into Little Dragon's ribcage so that she jumped, reaching vainly out with her left hand so that he could see the white jade ring with its surround of small, faceted diamonds on her finger She cried out softly and Mizo went very still.
"There's no need for that.' His tongue came out, wet his lips
'Mizo,' Tracy said, leaning forward, 'or White Powder Sun
or Backblast Sun or Sun Ma Sun, whatever you want to call
yourself, let me make this very plain. I have no time for games
If you don't come across with the information I want right now,
I'm going to kill her while you watch. Is that what you want?'
'No,' Mizo said, abruptly switching to English. He sighed.
'Calm yourself, young Richter, and do not harm my Little
Dragon.'
Tracy nodded at him and to his hostage, he said, 'Sit back and relax.' He glanced at her, thinking she reminded him of someone but he could not determine who it was.
Mizo settled his buttocks more comfortably against the
cushions, then began:
'In the early months of 1969, units of the American Special Forces under the control of Major Michael Eiland of the Daniel Boone operations, began to cross the border of South Vietnam from their semi-permanent base in Ban Me Thuot into Cambodia a neutral nation. Their objective was to destroy COSVN HQ, the US Army acronym for "Central Office for South Vietnam"; that is, the secret base of the North Vietnamese and the Viet Cong.'
The Japanese paused to determine whether or not he was boring the man sitting across from him. Satisfied, he went on. 'Since 17 March of that year, US "Arclight" B's2s had been daily engaged in "Operation Menu", a clandestine bombing mission, approved by your President Nixon, to accomplish just that: the destruction of COSVN HQ.
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T
'But MACV, General Creighton Abrams' Military Assistance Command, Vietnam, had identified no less than fifteen COSVN
trongholds along the eastern border of Cambodia.
'The first of the sites to be hit was Base Area 353, designated "Breakfast" by the Army. That was followed by the bombing Of Base Area 352, "Lunch", and then, 350, "Dessert".'
jVlizo's head turned a little, his black, slitted eyes catching the light for a moment, turning them opaque. He was watching Tracy very carefully. 'It is this last, Area 350, that should concern us now.' His hands were still and his leg had ceased its swinging-
