‘Good morning, Ivan,’ Kelly whispered to himself. He didn’t even need the binoculars for that. The size was so different – the man was over six feet – and the uniform far neater than that worn by the NVA. The glasses showed Kelly the man’s face, pale and florid, with a narrowed-eye expression to contemplate the day. He made a gesture to a small private who’d been waiting outside the door of the officers’ quarters. Orderly, KeUy thought. A visiting Russian colonel would like his comforts, wouldn’t he? Definitely a pilot from the wings over the blouse pocket, plenty of ribbons. Only one? Kelly wondered. Only one Russian officer to help torture the prisoners? Odd when you think about it. But that meant only one extraneous person to have to kill, end for all his lack of political sophistication, Kelly knew that killing Russians wouldn’t do anyone much good. He watched the Russian walk across the parade ground. Then the senior visible Vietnamese officer, a major, went towards him. Another limper, Kelly saw. The little Mayor saluted the tall Colonel.
‘Good morning, Comrade Colonel.’
‘Good morning, Major Vinh.’ Little bastard can’t even learn to salute property. Perhaps he simply cannot make a proper gesture to his betters. ‘The rations for the prisoners?’
‘They will have to be satisfied with what they have,’ the smaller man replied in badly accented and phrased Russian.
‘Major, it is important that you understand me,’ Grishanov said, stepping closer so that he could look more sharply down at the Vietnamese. ‘I need the information they have. I cannot get it if they are too sick to speak.’
‘Tovarisch, we have problems enough feeding our own people. You ask us to waste good food on murderers?’ The Vietnamese soldier responded quietly, using a tone that both conveyed his contempt for the foreigner and at the same tune seemed respectful to his soldiers, who would not have understood exactly what this was all about. After all, they thought that the Russians were fast allies.
‘Your people do not have what my country needs, Major. And if my country gets what she needs, then your country might get more of what it needs.’
‘I have my orders. If you are experiencing difficulty in questioning the Americans, then I am prepared to help.’ Arrogant dog. It was a suffix that didn’t need to be spoken, and Vinh knew how to stick his needle into a sensitive place.
‘Thank you, Major. That will not be necessary.’ Grishanov made a salute himself, even sloppier than that given him by this annoying little man. It would be good to watch him die, the Russian thought, walking off to the prison block. His first ‘appointment’ with the day was with an American naval aviator who was just about ready to crack.
Casual enough, Kelly thought from several hundred yards away. Those two must get along fairly well. His scrutiny of the camp was relaxed now. His greatest fear was that the guard force might send out security patrols, as a line unit in hostile country would surely have done. But they were not in hostile territory, and this was not really a line unit. His next radio message to Ogden confirmed that everything was within acceptable risk limits.
Sergeant Peter Meyer smoked. His father didn’t approve, but accepted his son’s weakness so long as he did it outside, as they were now, on the back porch of the parsonage after Sunday evening dinner.
‘It’s Doris Brown, right?’ Peter asked. At twenty-six he was one of his department’s youngest sergeants, and like most of the current class of police officers a Vietnam veteran. He was within six credit hours of completing his night-school degree and was considering making an application to the FBI Academy. Word that the wayward girl had returned was now circulating through the neighborhood. ‘I remember her. She had a reputation as a hot number a few years back.’
‘Peter, you know I can’t say. This is a pastoral matter. I will counsel the person to speak to you when the time is right, but -‘
‘Pop, I understand the law on that, okay? You have to understand, we’re talking two homicides here. Two dead people, plus the drug business.’ He nipped the butt of his Salem into the grass. ‘That’s pretty heavy stuff. Pop.’
‘Even worse than that,’ his father reported more quietly still. ‘They don’t just kill the girls. Torture, sexual abuse. It’s pretty horrible. The person is seeing a doctor about it. I know I have to do something, but I can’t -‘
‘Yeah, I know you can’t. Okay, I can call the people in Baltimore and fill them in on what you’ve told me. I really’ ought to hold off until we can give them something they can really use, but, well, like you say, we have to do something. I’ll call down first thing tomorrow morning.’
‘Will it put her – the person – in danger?’ the Reverend Meyer asked, vexed with himself for the slip.
‘Shouldn’t,’ Peter judged. ‘If she’s gotten herself away – I mean, they ought not to know where she is, and if they did, they might have got her already.’
‘How can people do things like that?’
Peter lit up another. His father was just too good a man to understand. Not that he did either. ‘Pop, I see it all the time, and I have trouble believing it, too. The important part’s getting the bastards.’
‘Yes, I suppose it is.’
The KGB rezident in Hanoi had General-Major rank, and his job was mainly that of spying on his country’s putative allies. What were their real objectives? Was their supposed estrangement with China real or a sham? Would they cooperate with the Soviet Union when and if war came to a successful conclusion? Might they allow the Soviet Navy use of a base after the Americans left? Was their political determination really as solid as they said it was? Those were all questions whose answers he thought he had, but orders from Moscow and his own skepticism about everyone and everything compelled him to keep asking. He employed agents within the CPVN, the country’s Foreign Ministry, and elsewhere, Vietnamese whose willingness to give information to an all? would probably have meant death – though to be politic about it, the deaths would be disguised ‘suicides’ or ‘accidents’ because it was in neither country’s interest to have a formal breach. Lip-service was even more important in a socialist country than a capitalist one, the General knew, because symbols were far easier to produce than reality.
The enciphered dispatch on his desk was interesting, all the more so since it did not give him direct guidance on what to do about it. How like the Moscow bureaucrats! Always quick to meddle in matters that he was able to handle himself, now they didn’t know what to do – but they were afraid to do nothing. So they stuck him with it.
He knew about the camp, of course. Though a military-intelligence operation, he had people in the office of the attache who reported to him as well. The KGB watched everyone, after all; that was their job. Colonel Grishanov was using irregular methods, but he was reporting good results, better than the General’s own office got from these little savages. Now the Colonel had come up with the boldest idea of all. Instead of letting the Vietnamese kill the prisoners in due course, bring them home to Mother Russia. It was brilliant in its way, and the KGB general was trying to decide if he’d endorse the idea to Moscow, where this decision would surely be kicked up to ministerial, or perhaps even Politburo level. On the whole, he thought that the idea had real merit … and that decided matters.
As entertaining as it might be for the Americans to rescue their people with this BOXWOOD GREEN operation, as much as it might show the Vietnamese again that they should cooperate more closely with the Soviet Union, that they really were a client state, it would also mean that the knowledge locked in those American minds would be lost to his country, and it was knowledge they must have.
How long, he wondered, could he let this one wait? The Americans moved quickly, but not that quickly. The mission had been approved at White House level only a week or so earlier. All bureaucracies were alike, after all. In Moscow it would take forever. Operation KINGPIN had gone on forever, else it would have succeeded. Only the good luck of a low-level agent in the Southern United States had allowed them to warn Hanoi, and then almost too late – but now they had real forewarning.
Politics. You just couldn’t separate that from intelligence operations. Before, they’d all but accused him of delaying matters – he shouldn’t give them that excuse again. Even client states need to be treated as comrades. The General lifted his phone to make a luncheon date. He’d bring his contact over to the embassy, just to be sure that he had some decent food to eat.