the plane, they would find the team’s trail.
The seventeen-year-old Vietnamese soldier was hungry and tired of tramping through the soggy jungle, and his bladder was bursting. When Carl rounded the bend, the boy was standing with one foot on the narrow game trail and the other still in the undergrowth. His fly was unbuttoned and he was holding his penis as he prepared to pee. Carl and the soldier stared at each other, eyes wide and openmouthed. It seemed that time had stopped in this ridiculous situation.
Carl knew that it was out of the question to let the soldier scream, but he couldn’t shoot the man without revealing their position, so he thrust the butt of his rifle into the soldier’s solar plexus, driving the air out of his lungs, then broke his windpipe. Settles rounded the bend and instantly figured out what had happened. He covered Carl while Morales raced by to tell Molineaux. Moments later, the team was grouped around the dead man. Molineaux ordered Carl and Settles to move the body off the trail.
“Empty your packs of everything except water and ammo,” Molineaux said as Carl and Settles concealed the soldier in the underbrush. “Morales, you hump the radio. McFee just told me that there are enemy troops between here and the river.
“This man will be missed soon. Then we’re in for it. We have to move through the enemy in the dark. It’s five now, and the first pickup is at midnight. You know the routine.”
No one said anything. No one even nodded. They knew what Molineaux meant by “the routine.” There would be no way they could take a wounded brother with them if he couldn’t keep up, and no one was to be taken alive. That was Molineaux’s job.
“Let’s go,” the captain said. The men emptied their packs of food, dry clothes, and first aid kits. Then they concealed the dead man in the undergrowth and took off.
The sniper got Carpenter just before twilight. Carl saw the electronics expert sag and stumble. If he had not seen the red stain on Carpenter’s neck he might have thought that Carpenter had tripped over a root. The red stain saved Carl’s life. He dived behind a tree and the bullet meant for him only grazed his side. Carl waited awhile before peeking from behind the tree to try to locate the sniper. As soon as he moved, a bullet chipped the bark inches from his eye. Carl knew that time was on the side of the Vietnamese. If the sniper stayed where he was, Carl would have to move back into the jungle and hope he wasn’t seen. Circling around the sniper without giving away his own position would take a long time. He might miss the pickup. But staying put was out of the question because the gunfire would draw the sniper’s troops. Carl might even run into them while he was trying to get away.
Several gunshots broke the silence.
“Rice,” Molineaux shouted. “Get your ass out here.”
Carl was back on the trail in an instant. Molineaux handed him Carpenter’s pack, which held the electronics gear Carpenter had taken from the plane. The sniper lay crumpled on the trail a few yards ahead of him.
“Go,” Molineaux said. As Carl sprinted ahead he heard voices shouting in Vietnamese behind them. The enemy knew where they were.
Darkness descended and the pursuit stopped. The Vietnamese were content to surround the Americans, putting a wall between them and the river until daybreak. The hours after sunset were filled with fear and confusion, and the team did not reach the river until four in the morning, well past the first pickup time. Molineaux pulled the men into a star perimeter as close to the river as he dared. All the men lay flat on their stomachs with their feet touching. Carl was exhausted, but he was too well trained and too keyed up to sleep.
Ten minutes before the gunboat was due Molineaux moved them out. A fog bank covered the river, and tendrils of mist curled through the jungle. Molineaux saw movement in front of them and called a halt. The Vietnamese were facing away from the river because they thought the team was deeper in the jungle. The sound of a motor brought the troops around. Molineaux raced into a clearing near the riverbank and opened fire just as the gunboat appeared. The boat crew laid down fifty-caliber covering fire. When he dived into the river, Carl saw a face flying away and a slender boy split in two. Strong hands jerked him onboard as bullets smacked into the side of the boat. As Carl flopped over the side of the boat he saw the other men clambering onboard. Then Settles jerked back and fell toward the water. Carl started for him but was pulled away from the rail just as Settles disappeared in the foaming wake. Someone pushed him down and he lay with his face pressed against the deck, smelling death and deafened by the firefight until the jungle muffled the noise and the gunfire faded away.
During his debriefing in Okinawa, Carl was ordered to discuss his mission with no one, not even his commanding officer. As far as anyone was concerned, the last few days had never happened. After the debriefing, Carl flew back to Fort Bragg, where he remained for a few weeks before being sent to Washington, D.C., on courier duty.
When Carl landed, Morris Wingate’s driver was waiting to take him to the Pentagon so he could drop off the documents he was carrying and then take him to meet the General. Carl’s orders had not mentioned Wingate, and he wondered how the General knew that he would be on assignment in D.C. Carl had not thought about Morris Wingate much during his time in the army, but he experienced childish feelings of insecurity at the thought of meeting him again.
Wingate’s car stopped in front of a three-story redbrick town house that was squeezed between two similar homes on a quiet side street in a wealthy residential area of Alexandria, Virginia. Carl walked up a short flight of stone steps to the front door. Before he could ring the bell Enrique opened the door.
“Nice to see you again,” Enrique said before leading Carl down a dimly lit hall to a spacious dining room that was brightly illuminated by a crystal chandelier. A long antique dining table covered with white linen dominated the room. Twelve antique high-backed chairs were arranged around the table, but there were only two table settings.
Carl walked around the room, studying it as he had been trained to study any environment in which he found himself. He stopped when he got to an oak sideboard, above which hung a portrait of a somber, bewigged eighteenth-century male. A door opened behind him, and he turned to find Morris Wingate striding toward him dressed in a charcoal-gray pinstripe suit, white silk shirt, and wine-red tie. Wingate’s shoes were polished and his skin was deeply tanned.
“You look great, Carl. I was right, the military agrees with you.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Sit down. I’m glad you could come.”
Carl hadn’t realized that he had a choice. “How did you know I’d be in D.C.?” he asked.
Wingate smiled enigmatically. “Being the head of an intelligence agency has its uses.”
A servant entered and ladled lobster bisque from a silver tureen.
“How is Vanessa?” Carl asked as soon as the servant left.
“Fine,” Wingate answered. “She’s near the top of her class and she’s made the tennis team.”
Carl sensed that he was not getting the full story. “Will she be home for the summer?”
“I’m not sure. She’s been talking about Europe. Some program the university has in Paris. But tell me what you’ve been up to.”
Carl gave the General a sanitized version of his army experience.
“I’ve been to Airborne and Special Forces training and I’m at Fort Bragg now,” he concluded as the servant entered wheeling a dining cart. The servant cleared the soup plates and placed a serving of beef Wellington in front of Carl and his host. Carl had never eaten lobster bisque or beef Wellington before, and the meal was delicious, but a simple home-cooked meal would have been fabulous after months of army chow.
“The last time we talked, you were reluctant to join the army. How do you feel now?” Wingate asked.
The truth was that Carl’s training and his experiences made him feel special. He could do things that none of his classmates at St. Martin’s could do and he’d had experiences that few St. Martin’s boys would ever have. He was confident that he could survive anywhere and could kill if he had to. That was heady stuff for someone still in his teens.
“I’m satisfied with my choice, sir,” Carl answered.
“Have you been in combat yet?”
“No, sir,” Carl answered without hesitation. He had anticipated the question.
“I heard that you’ve been in North Vietnam,” the General stated quietly.
