Charles Mccarry - The Tears Of Autumn

“The cops think there must have been a kilo of plastique in the car. I guess you’re immortal, just like Patchen’s always said.”

“I was surprised that they were so public about it-why not wait until I was asleep in the hotel?”

“Maybe they thought you’d done enough talking. What did you say to them, anyway?”

Christopher’s hearing continued to clear; when Wolkowicz shook his glass, he heard the ice cubes rattle.

“They’re doing something with heroin,” Christopher said. “Jean-Baptiste Ho is an addict, but for some reason his church is the depot. That country is VC-controlled. They bring in the raw opium from Laos, Cambodia-wherever it’s grown. Luong told me there’s a tunnel complex under the village. They keep it there. It’s crazy, but that’s the way they’re doing it. They store it under the church.”

“Did you confirm any of this?”

“The tunnels, yes. I saw the priest’s woman disappear through the floor.”

“Opium isn’t heroin.”

“Tom Webster thinks they’re trying to buy the technology in Marseilles. Have you seen that traffic?”

“Yeah, I read the cables-two million bucks through Lebanon. But why take all the risk?”

“They figure they’re going to have a big market in-country pretty soon,” Christopher said. “The Yanks are coming.”

“That’s speculation-garbage,” Wolkowicz said.

Christopher shrugged. “Okay, Barney.”

“What’s their objective? They’ve got enough money not to have to take chances like that.”

“What chances? Jean-Baptiste is a member of the family- he’s not going to talk,” Christopher said. “If the police or the ARVN come smelling around, they’ll see them coming ten miles away. They can blow those tunnels in thirty seconds.”

“Thanks to you, they’re probably moving the stuff out right now.”

“Maybe. It doesn’t matter. They’ll do it some way-they’re not in it to make a profit,” Christopher said. “They want to send a few thousand junkies back to the States when all this is over. That’s the purpose.”

Wolkowicz tossed melting ice from his glass into his mouth and chewed it. “Why?” he asked.

“They think we killed Diem and Nhu,” Christopher said. “They think we ought to pay for that.”

Wolkowicz walked across the room and came back with a handful of ice cubes and a bottle of bourbon. He dropped ice into the glasses and filled them with whiskey. Handing Christopher one of the dark-brown drinks, Wolkowicz beckoned him to follow and walked out of the house. The garden was surfaced with gravel, so that Wolkowicz could hear footsteps approaching in the night. In the center of the garden was its only ornament, a bed of flowers surrounding an aviary. Wolkowicz paused by the cage and made kissing noises at the sleeping birds.

“You ought to come out in the daylight and have a look,” he said. “Some of these birds are really pretty-they don’t sing worth a shit, though.”

Christopher sipped bourbon; his hands were steadier than they had been in the first hour or two after the explosion.

“Now that we’re in the open air, how about coming clean?” Wolkowicz said.

“You’re the only man I know who goes outside to get away from his own bugs,” Christopher said.

“I think you told the Truong toe and the priest more than you’ve told me,” Wolkowicz said. “I thought maybe you’d feel easier in your mind if we could talk in the open.”

“I don’t care where we talk. Even next to the birdcage. I’ve told you everything I can.”

“Okay, it’s your ass. But I know you’re on to something besides a heroin racket-just remember that. I know. I’m going to be on you like a sheet of flypaper, Christopher.”

“I’ll be glad of your company, after tonight.”

Wolkowicz took Christopher’s arm and walked him over the crunching gravel to the back of the garden. “I’m going to tell you something I’m sure you know, Christopher,” he said. “I don’t like you and I never liked your operations. That’s basic.

However, you’ve been around for a long time and I feel I’ve got an obligation to you-do you understand?”

“Perfectly, Barney. Spit it out.”

“I’ve heard some things about you behind Mother’s back. There’s a certain guy in the White House you had some problems with-you follow me?”

Christopher nodded in the dark. Wolkowicz rattled the ice cubes in his glass after each sentence.

“Well, this guy sent me a letter. A Green Beret captain carried it out to me from Washington. In the letter he says you’re around the bend with a crazy idea about something that could have dangerous consequences to national security. What he was asking was this: if you showed up out here, would I get in your way.”

“And have you been getting in my way, Barney?”

“No. Who the fuck is he to tell me what to do in a letter delivered outside channels? However, remember the Green Beret.”

“What about him?”

“Well, they’re gung-ho sons of bitches. And they’re amateurs. They’re setting up all kinds of networks around here. You said the guy who shot at you looked like he’d had training. What kind of a handgun did he use-did you notice?”

Christopher thought for a moment. “It was a.22 automatic with a long barrel and a silencer-a Colt Woodsman or maybe the Hi-Standard that looks almost the same. The rounds didn’t ricochet, they gouged big hunks out of the concrete like heavier ammunition when they hit, so I could have been wrong.”

“Mercury in the bullets,” Wolkowicz said. “Didn’t you think it was funny the Truong toe would try to shoot you and blow you up, all on the same night?”

“I thought it was thorough of him.”

Wolkowicz rattled his ice. “It’s not a pretty thought,” he said. “But I think you ought to consider the possibility that you’ve got people coming at you from two directions.”

“You’re telling me that Americans are trying to do me in?”

“If they are, maybe it’s a case of too much zeal. Soldiers have a way of giving a hundred and ten percent-look at Diem and Nhu. The lieutenant who shot them thought he was a hero. Nothing was supposed to happen to them, the way I understood it.”

“The way you understood it, Barney?”

“That’s what the traffic said-stand back and watch. We had a guy carrying messages between the ambassador and one of the generals in the plot, but that was all. There was no mention of bloodshed. I guess they couldn’t face it in Washington. I could have told the dumb bastards what would happen.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“You know why. I wasn’t allowed to do anything, why should I say anything? The amateurs were running the show.”

“I see,” Christopher said.

“What happened to you tonight was more amateur stuff- shooting in a crowded street, chasing you through houses full of witnesses. I’ll do what I can to shut these guys off-not that I think they’re going to admit anything. That captain is just a kid. Whosis in Washington probably told him just what he told me -get in Christopher’s way. The kid misunderstood-but that’s not going to be much help to you if you end up like Luong, with pudding for brains.”

“That was no amateur bomb.”

“No,” Wolkowicz said. “I’d say that part of it was real life.”

Christopher put his hand in his pocket and touched the sharp edge of the photograph the Truong toe had given him. Molly’s face, as perfect as Cathy’s had once been, moved over the screen of his memory. He knew they would kill her if they thought he needed the lesson.

“What are you going to do?” Wolkowicz said. “The cops want you out of the country in twenty-four hours.”