George Chesbro - Two Songs This Archangel Sings

"When the pimp finished his proposition, the American killed him. It was almost a casual gesture-the American just reached out with one hand, wrapped his fingers around the man's neck, and snapped it with a twist of his wrist." Kathy paused, shuddered. "Sometimes, in nightmares, I can still hear the sound of the pimp's neck breaking; it was a hollow pop almost as loud as a gunshot.

"Then the American stepped over the body of the dead pimp and picked up the boy and me in his arms. He held us close for some time, and when he set us down on our feet his face was once again filled with this terrible rage. He asked us to take him to the brothel. We couldn't remember how to get back, but the American was very patient with us. He walked with us through the streets, carrying us when he could see that we were too tired to go on, until we finally found the brothel. He held us close once again, then gently pushed us back into the shadows before he crossed the street and entered the brothel.

"I don't know what happened in there. I do know that there were always big men inside, armed with guns. I didn't hear any gunshots, nor even any shouts; still, I believe the American killed all the guards and managers inside the house, for when he came out he had the other eight children with him.

"The American, walking in the middle with his arms around us, led us through the city to a Catholic Relief Agency. I remember that it was dawn when we got there, because orange sunlight shone in the nun's face when she opened the door. The American explained the situation to her, and she promised to see that we were returned to our families. Then the American turned and walked quickly away. It was the last time I ever saw him."

Maru Tai, who had been standing and listening in the doorway, now entered with more pastries and hot tea, and a new bottle of liqueur. I opted for the liqueur; I needed it.

"Thank you, Kathy," I said. "I know how hard it must be to relive that experience. You said the American was in uniform. Could you tell his rank?"

The beautiful young Hmong woman shook her head, causing her black hair to ripple across her shoulders. "It was the only time I'd ever seen him in uniform, and I was a child. Rank wasn't something I was thinking about at the time."

"Of course. Can you remember if he was wearing any kind of decoration on his cap, or on the shoulders of his shirt?"

The girl closed her eyes and cocked her head to one side as she tried to remember. Finally she opened her eyes, nodded. "Yes. Now I remember that when he lifted me up and held me, I saw some kind of metal bird on his shoulder. It was silver. Does that tell you anything?"

"Yes, Kathy. I can't tell you how grateful I am that you were willing to come here and tell me this."

"When Peter picked me up, he said that the American had disappeared and that you were trying to help him. I'll never forget what the American did for me, and I would do anything to help him."

"Do you have any idea what the American was doing in Saigon, or how long he'd been there?"

"No, sir."

"Do you have any idea how much time had passed between this incident and the day he was forced to leave Laos?"

"I can answer that," Loan Ka said. "From information I've gathered from speaking with others since then, I would estimate that it was seven or eight weeks from the time Archangel left our village. And the attack came on the same day that Archangel dropped Kathy and the other children off at the Catholic Relief Agency."

"Attack?"

"Kathy saw the man you call Veil Kendry for the last time in Saigon; it was not the last time the rest of us saw him. He came to us in late afternoon of the day he'd killed the whoremasters and rescued the children. He came alone in a helicopter, flying in low over the jungle. He landed in the village, virtually at the edge of a cliff; it was very dangerous to attempt this, but he made it. Then he got out, leaving the helicopter running. He was still dressed in his army uniform, but now there was blood all over the front of his shirt and pants. He stayed only long enough to give us a warning. It seems Colonel Po had made it safely out of the jungle and back across the border. He'd claimed that our village had gone over to the Pathet Lao, and he argued that we should be made an example of. The South Vietnamese had been pressing the Americans for permission to launch some kind of joint offensive across the border. Now permission was granted, and our village was to be the object of the offensive. A combined force of American and South Vietnamese commandos had already crossed the border and was now very close, ready to begin the attack with rocket launchers. The entire village was to be destroyed.

"We had no choice but to flee with whatever possessions we could carry, and that's what we did. After warning us, Archangel got back into the helicopter and flew off.

"The first rockets landed on our village perhaps a half hour later, and then the commandos rushed in after them. By this time we were all out of the village, but the women and children slowed us down so that we were not as far up into the mountains as we would have liked to be. From our position, we could look down and see them burn our village and kill our livestock. Then the Americans and South Vietnamese began to fan out into the jungle, searching for us. Three helicopters were brought in to aid in the search, and they probably would have found us if not for Archangel. Suddenly his helicopter rose from a ravine and attacked the helicopters that were searching for us. Archangel fought in the air as he had always fought on the ground-with great skill and courage, and total abandon. He bought us the time we needed to climb higher into the mountains, into caves where we could not be found. It was from these caves that we saw Archangel's helicopter crash. All these years we assumed he had died in that crash. We are sorry for the great troubles you say he has now, but the entire Hmong community is overjoyed to learn that he is alive."

For some time I sat in silence, stunned by images of Veil being forced to fight against, and probably kill, a great many of his own countrymen and allies. It would have made him a traitor in the eyes of most of his countrymen, and certainly one in the view of the United States Army.

Traitors who kill their own people are shot or locked away in a military stockade for a very long time. Instead, in a very short period of time after the incident Loan Ka had related, Veil Kendry had been set free to turn up on the streets of New York City, where he had remained unmolested by anyone but himself-until many years later, when someone had winged a shot through his window. Although the bullet had been fired from a rooftop across an alley from Veil's loft, I was absolutely certain that the shot had also been traveling through a warp of space and time, traversing thousands of miles and nearly twenty years.

"It is all I can tell you," Loan Ka finished softly. "I hope it will be of help."

"Kathy?" I said, turning to the young woman. "On the morning Veil rescued you and the other children, did he have any blood on his uniform when he came out of the brothel?"

"No, Dr. Frederickson. I'm certain that his uniform was still clean."

"Thank you," I said, wearily rising to my feet. "I'm not sure how I can use this information; I am sure Veil wanted me to have it. I'll let you know how things turn out."

"What will you do now?" Loan Ka asked as his wife, two sons, and the grandmother came into the room.

"Go back to New York, think about the things you've told me, and try to sort some things out."

"You said that these men wish to kill you, too. You're in a great deal of danger yourself, aren't you?"

"Some."

"Then you must be doubly careful. You're being followed."

I turned quickly toward Loan Ka, swallowed hard. "How do you know that?" I asked, trying to keep my sudden attack of panic out of my voice. If it were true, I didn't even want to think about the possible consequences to this man and his family, and to Kathy.