Robert Tanenbaum: Absolute rage

It was a crude shaft, most likely dug nearly a century ago by a little group of men with picks and shovels, earning a little extra money to supplement their incomes from the land. The floor sloped slightly downward; the ceiling dripped in places and was supported by props made of chestnut logs. She followed it until it was intersected by another adit, at a slightly lower level, this one much larger and clearly made by more modern machinery, an accidental intersection with a newer and hungrier mine, sucking at the same rich seam. She did not need to consult the map. On the soft dust and mud of the floor were the marks of many feet, and also of narrow wheels. They were using bicycles, which made sense. No one on earth had been more successful hauling heavy military supplies by bicycle than the Vietcong.

She followed this trail for many hours, climbing up or down where tunnels intersected, pausing occasionally to rest and drink from the bottle. Now she noticed other signs, too, cigarette butts and crumpled food wrappers. Not very military after all; she recalled that Tran always shredded his butts.

She became aware of a strong chemical smell and of noises ahead. She began to sing, in Vietnamese, a song from the war that Tran had taught her:

When he was a child, his father died

His mother left him all alone,

Yet he grew well, like a healthy plant,

In wartime now he lives for himself

The boy makes himself into a man, by himself

Never mourning the orphan he is.

A flashlight beam shot out of the blackness ahead, blinding her. She stood still, turned off her own light, and held her hands high. She heard footsteps approach. Squinting around the glare, she made out the face of Phuong, one of the Lost Boys. He was staring at her in amazement. Held tightly under his flashlight was a submachine gun pointing at her.

"Hello, Phuong," she said cheerily. "I've come to visit Uncle Tran. Would you kindly take me to him?"

"Anything new?" asked Marlene when she came in to relieve Karp at the hospital.

"No, he's always the same. Zak says he's dreaming. How're you holding up?"

"Marvelous. The press is out in force. There's no news from the siege, so they've discovered Giancarlo. I had twenty cameras shoved in my face coming in here. How do you feel?"

"I'll get some more security."

"Oh, the security's fine. Deputy Petrie is in charge. He likes pushing people. He's got a yellow ribbon tied to his badge. We're a national spectacle."

"Marlene, cripes! I feel like I've a lance piercing through my chest. I can give a shit about a so-called spectacle."

Momentary stone silence filled the room. Then Karp said matter-of-factly: "I have to go back to the City tomorrow."

"What is this now, Saturday? I've lost track of the days."

"Yes, Saturday. Mac and cheese at Rosie's, that's how I can tell."

"This is for the scam on Weames."

"Right. Guma came through."

"Good old Goom. Well, I wish you luck. If it works, can you get a conviction?"

"Oh, yeah. I got both of them if it works, without any deals. They'll both go for the max."

"What is that? Being eaten alive by army ants?"

"No, just life."

"Fuck life." She looked at the still boy on the bed.

Phuong led Lucy through the mine tunnel, which became gradually lighter, until they came to a section illuminated by large fluorescent fixtures and stinking of phenol and acid. Here there were fifty-five-gallon drums of chemicals, and rows of plastic garbage cans rigged with hoses and duct tape. Racks of steel shelves held cartons and brown bottles and laboratory glassware. Lucy had never been in an illegal meth lab before, but Billy Ireland had described them to her, and she figured she was in one now. A former meth lab. A good deal of destruction was apparent, bullet holes, smashed and punctured equipment, the marks of fire, dark stains on the duckboards they walked on, spatters of red-black. She could reconstruct the events these suggested. The Cades, or their employees, had been peacefully making poison when Tran and his people had burst in among them.

They arrived at an elevator cage. Phuong used a phone attached to the wall, and immediately Lucy heard the sound of a large motor. The boy motioned her into the cage. It was large enough for twenty men and moved fast enough to blur the black walls outside.

Tran was waiting for her at the head of the shaft along with Freddy Phat and several other Vietnamese. They were wearing black cotton pajamas and military web gear. Tran had his Stechkin in its big wooden holster on his hip; his face was wooden, too, and unsmiling. In French he said, "You know, this is the first time that I have not been happy to see you. I am quite displeased. Why have you come?"

"To try and stop you. I'm sorry you're angry."

Tran took her arm. "Come with me."

He led her past the staring, glowering men, through a door to a large room, wooden, painted flaking green and gray. Tangles of rusting pipes and smashed enamelware lay in heaps-some kind of bathhouse for the miners. Out into the air again, across gritty, black soil, to another building, also wooden, unpainted gray, with most of the windows smashed out. A loud noise of flies. Lucy saw that the flayed and gutted carcasses of a dozen large dogs hung from the eaves of an adjoining building. He took her to a room, formerly an office. On the wall, the same map Lucy had carried, with a plastic sheet over it, marked with grease pencil, and a calendar showing a train and the month of October 1977. There was a bench, a table, some chairs. They sat.

Tran said, "You see we are quite comfortable here. It was lucky for us that the Cades maintained the lift for their drug laboratory. I had visions of having to climb up five hundred meters in the dark, with all our equipment. They maintained as well the water and the electrical generator. And the dogs were a benefit, as well. We brought very little food, you see."

A volley of shot sounded from a distance, answered by several short bursts of automatic fire.

"Yes, the war has already started. They know we're here, of course. They're rather dismayed, I think. They thought their rear was secured by the strip mine. I think they had no idea that the network of tunnels debouched ultimately in an area outside their control. Your mother was clever to discover it. As were you, to be sure."

"Is that why you're doing this? For her?"

"To an extent. My own reasons are, as usual, complex, but my people are doing it for the gold. And now the drugs as well."

"I don't understand. You said you were sick of killing."

"Well, yes, but you understand, much of that sentimentality was the drug talking. In the light of day, I am just another bloodthirsty bandit chief. It is not a constitutional regime, I am afraid. The old guard is loyal to me, naturally, my old comrades, but the young guard… I am afraid Freddy has them in his grip. He is more stylish and modern than I am. This brings us to the problem of you."

"What do you mean?"

"We will go into action soon, perhaps tonight. From this action, either Freddy or I will not return. If it is Freddy, he will certainly kill you, or worse. But I can't let you go either."

"You can't?"

"No, because you will inform either the Cades or the police of our plans, which I dare say you know as well as I do." He paused and gave her an amused inspection. "Don't you?"

"The dead ground to the south, the creekbed to the north. A diversion at one or the other, and strike at their flank."

"Excellent. What a coup de l'oeil you have, my dear! It's a pity you are not coming with us."

"You're enjoying this?"

"To an extent. It makes a change from breaking the arms of defaulting gamblers. Besides, my old comrades always enjoy killing Americans."

"There are women and kids down there," said Lucy. "Families. It's a village, not a camp."