Macv, p.15
MACV, page 15
As he stepped out of the way, he put his tools back in their case and pulled his pistol, while Layons moved forward and took hold of the knob. He turned it slowly and then pushed on the door. It swung open quietly.
Layons entered the house, stopping just inside the door. He tried to remember the diagram that Pittman had made. A living room to the right and a hallway to the left that led into the kitchen. Bedrooms upstairs.
Pointing at one of his men and then at the living room, Layons moved to the stairs. He turned and sent another man toward the rear of the house. Clear the downstairs and then move to the second floor.
Maxwell joined him at the foot of the stairs. One MP appeared and held up a thumb. The second did the same, and Layons started to move up. Again Maxwell stopped him and leaned very close.
“Use the sides, and step on the front of the riser. Less chance of noise.”
Layons stared at him but moved to the side, taking Maxwell’s advice. He flattened himself against the wall as he slowly climbed the steps. Maxwell, his pistol in his right hand locked against his shoulder, followed. They reached the top of the stairs and stopped. Maxwell caught the odor first. Hot copper. He glanced at Layons who shrugged.
They moved into the bedroom. Layons slid around the door and then crouched, his back to the wall, using the shadows to hide. Maxwell moved right to the bed. He aimed at the center of it, and although it was unmade, he could tell that the tangle of sheets and pillows did not conceal a body.
Layons swept a flashlight beam around the room. They found nothing out of place. Then Layons slipped into the hallway, moving toward the bathroom. Maxwell was right behind him. The odor was stronger, now.
As they reached the door, Maxwell reached out to stop Layons. He leaned very close. “Don’t touch anything.”
Again the MP was annoyed. He didn’t like the spook telling him his job. Still, he was careful to avoid touching any surface that might have taken a print.
This time he didn’t enter the room. Using the wall for protection, he snapped on the light. In a flash he saw the gore-covered body of the woman. He turned the light off again and looked away, gulping at the air. He was used to seeing violent death, but not that of naked young women.
Maxwell wasn’t sure what he had seen. From the odor hanging in the hallway, he thought he knew what Layons had seen. He took the light from the MP’s hand and turned it on. He looked at the puddled blood, the splatters that dripped down the wall, and the crusting blood around the body.
“Been dead for a while,” said Maxwell speaking in a normal tone of voice.
That caught Layons off guard for a moment. “Yeah. Better get Pittman up here,” he finally said.
“Don’t tell him what we’ve found. Let’s see his reaction to the body.”
Layons turned on Maxwell. “How about you stop telling me how to handle my job?”
“Sorry.”
One of the MPs peeked around the corner of the staircase. “Everything all right up here, Captain?”
“You go get Mr. Pittman and tell him we want to make sure we’ve got the right woman.”
“Yes, sir.”
Layons stepped into the bathroom, one foot in the door. He stopped then, not wanting to spoil the evidence. Again he used his flashlight, spotted the light switch and used the muzzle of his weapon to punch it. He turned and saw the full horror of the blood-caked body.
“Oh my God,” he said. “Jesus.”
Maxwell centered himself in the door and looked at the dead woman. He told himself that she was an enemy agent, working to see Americans killed, but that didn’t lessen the impact of seeing the body. No one deserved to die like that.
There was a noise behind them. Maxwell stepped away and walked down the hall. He found a light switch and snapped it on. That made the light streaming from the bathroom less noticeable.
Pittman was climbing the stairs. He stopped halfway and asked, “What’s going on?”
“We want to make sure that we’ve captured the right woman here.”
Pittman started up again. Maxwell stepped in front of him so that he couldn’t see anything of the bathroom. When they were close to the door, he stepped aside and then turned to look at Pittman’s face.
Pittman started forward, a hand in front of him. “Thi,” he said, “I’m sorry, but they believe you’re…” He stopped dead in his tracks. The color drained from his face. His eyes began to roll up into his head and his knees buckled.
Maxwell leaped forward and caught the man as he fell. He lowered the body to the floor. “Looks like he was caught by surprise,” said Maxwell.
“Either that or he’s one hell of an actor.”
One of the MPs said, “I’ll get some water,” and started for the bathroom. He saw the body then and gasped, “Jesus Christ.” He turned away. “What in hell happened?”
“She was murdered,” said Maxwell.
“He do it?”
“I don’t think so.”
Pittman groaned and opened his eyes. He pulled away from Maxwell. “Oh, Jesus Christ, what did you people do to her?”
“That’s the way we found her.”
“Oh Jesus,” he said again and then gulped rapidly, as if he were about to throw up. “Oh Jesus, oh Jesus. What happened?”
“You feel well enough to stand?” asked Maxwell.
Pittman got to his feet and wobbled there. Maxwell held on to him and motioned the MP over. “You take Gary out and get him some fresh air.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then you get the others together and—”
“If you don’t mind, Mr. Maxwell, I’ll handle this,” Layons blurted.
“By all means.”
Layons, who looked like he had regained his composure, stepped forward. “Radio this in to Waco and have them get someone from the local police force here. Tell them to hurry and that we’ll preserve the crime scene until they arrive. We have no suspects yet.”
“We’re going to have to tell them why we’re here, and that’s going to blow my investigation out of the water.”
“I don’t see how. Your boy already knows that we’re on to him. He served up the girl as a source, hoping to draw heat off himself.”
“Still, we don’t have to tell them everything at this moment,” said Maxwell. “We get a good answer, we can always hand it to them, but I don’t want to lose my guy to them.”
Layons said, “Just tell them to get someone here and that we’ll stay until they arrive. Nothing else.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And tell our guys not to talk to them at all. They don’t know a thing.”
“Yes, sir.”
While Layons gave instructions to the other MPs, Maxwell moved forward and stared into the bathroom. It hadn’t been a simple murder. There had been frenzied activity involved. From five or six feet away, he couldn’t be sure, but it looked like some of the wounds were ragged, as if the knife had been twisted. A crime of passion. The murderer had wanted to destroy the victim, not just kill her.
He backed away and shook his head. Maybe the VC had learned that she was burned as a source and had killed her. Or maybe it was as Layons suggested. The leak gave her up as the source, trying to divert the suspicion.
He walked down the stairs and out into the night. The sky was beginning to turn gray with the coming of the sun. He looked up at the fading stars and wondered how someone could kill like that. It seemed to be an impossible thing, even in a war zone, but it wasn’t. And that’s what worried him.
CHAPTER 13
CARASEL HOTEL, DOWNTOWN SAIGON
Gerber couldn’t sleep. He was up and down all night. He turned on the tiny black-and-white television, but unlike the World, where the bigger cities sometimes showed all-night movies, AFVN shut down as soon as Carson, or one of the other late-night shows, was over. Nothing to watch, when it would be the perfect time to stay up with a Bogart classic.
Morrow wasn’t having a similar problem. She had fallen asleep immediately and had hardly stirred. Not even Gerber’s bumping into the wardrobe had awakened her.
He got the Beam’s out, took it into the bathroom and made himself a drink, using some cold water with the alcohol. He hoped that no one ever discovered that he sometimes weakened the drink with water. He returned to the bedroom and opened the curtain so that he could look down on the streets of Saigon.
As always, he was surprised that there were people moving around. It didn’t make any difference what time it was, there would always be people on the street.
He turned away from the window and stared into the gloom of his room. Morrow was a vague shape under the sheet, one foot sticking out where he could grab it, if he decided it was time for her to wake up.
But that wasn’t the reason he was awake. It was the damned leak at MACV. No pressure on the brass hats and other pukes who worked there. They weren’t the ones going into the field to be ambushed. Only the men who had to fight the war had to worry. Someone was selling, hell, maybe giving secrets to the enemy, and it had to be an American. There was no way for the Vietnamese to have access to some of the data.
That’s what Maxwell had said, and Maxwell should know. An American doing it to his fellows. Gerber shook his head and looked at his watch. It was too early to do anything about it now. Later in the day he could start to work on the problem, but now anyone with half a brain was asleep.
Gerber chuckled to himself, because he must have half a brain. He couldn’t sleep. Just no way. He drained the last of the Beam’s in his glass and set it on top of the air conditioner. He moved to the wardrobe, opened it and took out a clean uniform. With his right hand, he found his holstered M-35 pistol and took it out too.
Trying not to waken Morrow, though she seemed to be so deeply asleep he could open fire and not wake her, he walked to the bathroom. He closed the door and turned on the light. Quickly he dressed, saw that he should shave and decided that it wouldn’t make that much difference.
After tiptoeing out to the hall with his boots in his hand, Gerber put them on and went down to the lobby where, much to his surprise, he found Fetterman.
“Couldn’t sleep,” explained the master sergeant.
“Yeah. Me either.”
“I was trying to think of a way of calling you without waking Robin. Thought I’d try ESP.”
Gerber grinned. “Did it work?”
“You’re here, sir. You figure it out.”
Gerber pointed at the front door. “Want to head over to MACV and see what’s cooking there?”
“My thoughts exactly.” Fetterman checked the time. It was just before five. “Might be a little early for them.”
“So we steal doughnuts and drink coffee. There’ll be someone on watch over there.”
“Works for me,” said Fetterman.
Together they walked out into the humidity of the city. It was still hot, even that early in the morning. Gerber felt the sweat bead immediately.
Fetterman walked to the curb, saw a taxi and waved at it. The driver eased on over and slipped up to the curb.
Fetterman opened the rear door and Gerber climbed in. The driver looked at them and asked, “Where to, Joe?”
“MACV.”
The driver nodded and checked the traffic before pulling into traffic.
They rode in silence through the darkened streets until they came to the blazing MACV headquarters. A VC gunner with a mortar tube would have no trouble identifying the target, but that rarely happened. The mortars and rockets dropped on Saigon to frighten the civilians. The military targets were avoided.
Fetterman paid the driver, and the two men walked up to the building. There were some lights on in some of the offices. Sergeants and lieutenants getting ready for the day. As they entered, there were some people moving about. Men in uniform, khakis or jungle fatigues, but no women. The Vietnamese wouldn’t show up for another several hours.
“Think Maxwell’s in?” asked Fetterman.
“If he’s smart, he’s not. Let’s go look.”
They walked downstairs to the iron gate where a tired MP sat, trying desperately to stay awake. He stood as Gerber approached.
“Maxwell in?”
The MP looked at the sign-in sheets. “Nope. Left about an hour ago.”
Gerber looked at Fetterman. “How about that? If we’d hurried, we’d have got him.” Then turning to the MP he said, “Thanks. You see him, tell him that Captain Gerber is in the building and would like to talk with him.”
“Yes, sir.”
They headed back upstairs. “Let’s see if we can find those doughnuts,” suggested Fetterman.
As they reached the top of the stairs, they saw Reed enter the building. He looked as if he had been out all night. His clothes were dirty and the sleeve of his shirt was torn. He glanced at Gerber and Fetterman and then beyond them, as if he didn’t see them.
Gerber looked at Fetterman and whispered, “Maybe God does like us.”
“You know his name?”
“Reed.”
Gerber moved toward the man and said, “Hey, Reed, we talk to you for a minute?”
Reed looked at him. “I’m heading down to see Jerry. Check in with him.”
“Jerry’s not there,” said Gerber. “We just came from there.”
“Well then, what do you want?”
Gerber glanced back. “Let’s move into the conference room down here so we won’t be disturbed.”
“Sounds serious,” Reed said, trying to sound casual.
But Gerber insisted. “Come on.”
They walked down the hall to the conference room. Fetterman opened the door and turned on the lights. As he did, he whispered to Gerber, “I’ll tell the MP to send Maxwell up here when he gets in.”
“Good idea.” Gerber stepped in and took a seat close to the door. He pointed at the head of the table. “Have a seat. I don’t think I know your first name.”
“Philip.”
“Have a seat, Philip.” Gerber rocked back and laced his fingers behind his head. It had been simple to maneuver it so that Reed would have to pass him to get out. Saved a hassle if Reed decided he didn’t like the questions.
As he sat down, Reed asked, “Where’d the sergeant go?”
“Went in search of coffee. Find us something to get our hearts started.”
Reed sat there but didn’t respond. Gerber stared at him, but the younger man didn’t get uncomfortable, didn’t squirm in his chair. Finally Gerber leaned forward, his elbows on the edge of the table.
“Got a couple of questions for you.”
“All right. Remember, though, I don’t have access to everything around here.”
“Understood.” Gerber studied the man’s eyes. They seemed to be flat, dead, as if there were no soul to the man. Once again Gerber realized how much he didn’t like Reed. There was something about him that Gerber couldn’t stomach, and if anyone had asked him why, he wouldn’t have had an answer.
“You know,” said Gerber, “that we’ve got a problem here. Someone talking out of turn.”
“Mr. Maxwell and I have been working on it.”
“Yes,” said Gerber. “You have any ideas on how the information is getting out? You know who might be leaking it to the VC?”
“I spoke to Jerry about it last evening. Gave him everything I knew then. You want to know, maybe you should wait for him to get back.”
“Why not fill me in now? Save us time later on. Jerry and I have no secrets.”
“I don’t know about that. We’re talking about a leak, and you want me to leak information to you.”
Before Gerber could respond, the door opened and Fetterman entered.
“Where’s the coffee?” asked Reed.
“He couldn’t find any,” Gerber replied harshly.
Fetterman crossed his arms and leaned back against the door. He didn’t say anything.
The captain turned his attention back to Reed. “Now, I was wondering what you told Maxwell.”
Reed stared at Gerber, then at Fetterman. “Are you threatening me?”
Gerber laughed. “Threatening you? What in the hell makes you think that?”
“The way your sergeant comes and leans on the door there.”
“If I wanted to threaten you, I wouldn’t need Sergeant Fetterman’s help. Now, let’s get back to the issue. What did you tell Maxwell?”
Sweat had blossomed on Reed’s forehead. He wiped at it, then rubbed his hand on the thigh of his pants. “Not much to tell him, really.”
“Then you won’t mind telling me.”
“I guess it can’t hurt,” said Reed. His voice was higher, as if he were scared. His eyes shifted right and left. He leaned forward and lowered his voice.
“I found out that Gary Pittman, one of the other new guys around here, had a girlfriend in town. She’s a VC, and Pittman has been spending a lot of time with her.”
Gerber snorted. “That’s shit. Every other Vietnamese is VC. Hell, half the people who work here are probably VC.”
“That’s what Maxwell said.”
“He going to check it out?”
“Well,” said Reed, “what do you think? I’ll bet they do, but it won’t do them any good. The girl’s dead. Pittman must have done it so that he could get off. He’ll probably be reassigned in the next couple of days.”
“You seem to know a lot about Pittman’s business,” said Fetterman.
“Well,” said Reed, “after I learned that we were having trouble, I started keeping my eyes open. I knew that Pittman had a girlfriend, so I asked around.”
“How do you know she’s VC?” asked Fetterman.
“Talked to some of the Vietnamese here. They told me. Had to be very careful about it, though. Didn’t want them to know why I wanted to know. Had to talk around it until one of them let it drop that she was VC. Once I learned that, I knew who the leak was.”
“Why?” asked Gerber.
“Because Pittman has a big mouth. Likes to hear himself talk. I can see him now, sitting there with her, telling her about what’s happening at work. Little things about the patrols and such. Then she runs off and tells her VC bosses.” Reed twisted his face up like he had gotten a whiff of something soft and warm and smelly. “He’d just be bragging about what he knew, and she was listening oh so carefully, and the next thing you know, our boys are dead in the jungle.”
