The car began to roll forward. Tyreen’s hands slipped on the wheel. The phenomenon of death made its impact once, and the impact stayed locked in forever. He thought, you could only witness a single death in a lifetime. A man only became a killer once. See one, and you’d seen them all.
Tyreen stopped the car in front of headquarters at fourteen minutes past twelve. He said, “We’ve got six minutes, and then all hell breaks lose.”
“Got you, Skipper,” said Nguyen Khang under his breath. He stepped out of the car brandishing his pistol. A sergeant came out of the building and stopped, arrested by shock. Flustered, the man made a belated salute and opened his mouth to speak. Nguyen Khang barked at him:
“These prisoners are to be handed over to Colonel Trung. Take me to him.”
The sergeant saluted again and almost tripped himself when he turned to hold the building door open. Khang opened the car door and waved his pistol. Saville climbed out and murmured, “Don’t overdo it,” and walked up onto the porch. Tyreen went past Khang’s gun and said loudly in English, “You’re making a bad mistake about this whole thing, Captain.”
Khang yelled at him in Vietnamese and prodded him in the back. Tyreen followed Theodore Saville into the building. The big corridor was active with soldiers hurrying about on errands. The North Vietnamese sergeant walked past Tyreen and led the way down the hall. Khang marched right behind them. Tyreen felt sick to his stomach. Feverhaze clouded his vision. A Vietnamese lieutenant strutted out of an office and halted the sergeant in his tracks, staring at Tyreen and Saville and asking questions harshly. Nguyen Khang spoke curtly and the lieutenant drew himself up and backed out of the way, staring straight ahead.
Soldiers halted and watched the procession move past. Tyreen felt the dig of Khang’s gun against his kidneys. The corridor seemed a hundred yards long. Two officers, a major and a subaltern, appeared in a doorway. The major’s eyes narrowed down, and his index finger stroked one end of his mustache. He wore a leather flying jacket and tennis shoes. His attention flicked from Saville to Tyreen and then settled on Nguyen Khang; his frown was thoughtful and suspicious. Khang made a flat-palmed salute when he passed the major. Tyreen could feel the major’s eyes boring into his back, but there was no outcry and, abruptly, the Vietnamese sergeant stopped by a door and knocked timidly.
There was no answer to his knock. The sergeant looked inquiringly at Khang. Khang nodded. The sergeant opened the door and went in. Saville and Tyreen were right behind him. Tyreen heard Khang close the door.
No one occupied the office, but Tyreen heard a muffled voice through a side door. The sergeant was headed toward that door with his fist upraised when Nguyen Khang said, “Wait.” The sergeant turned obediently. “That is Colonel Trung’s private office?”
The sergeant shook his head. “The room for interrogation, Dai-uy.”
“Perhaps we should not disturb the Colonel.”
The sergeant looked relieved. Khang said, “I shall wait here with the prisoners. You may return to your duties.”
“Thank you, Dai-uy. You wish Chinese tea or food?”
“No. Nothing. Return to your post, Sergeant.”
The sergeant left the room, and when he was gone, Saville reached around and turned the bolt. “That was too easy.”
Khang tipped himself against the wall. “You think that was easy, Captain? My God.”
Tyreen moved soundlessly toward the side door. He put his ear against it. When he came away from the door, Saville said, “Well?”
“I couldn’t make out the talk. But it’s only one voice.”
Khang said, “I get the funny feeling the whole place is booby-trapped or something.”
“We’re wasting time,” Tyreen said. He took his pistol back from Khang and walked again to the side door. His hand reached the knob and slowly turned it.
The door was not locked. Saville ranged himself beside the jamb, and Nguyen Khang straightened his uniform. Tyreen rapped sharply with his knuckles and swung the door open without waiting for a reply. He wheeled through the doorway with his gun up.
The Vietnamese Colonel was thin and small; his features were delicate. He was in the act of turning away from his prisoner to answer the knock at the door. He saw Tyreen, saw the guns and the other two men entering the room; but if any of it took him by surprise, it did not show on his face.
Tyreen said, “Cut him loose, Colonel.”
The Colonel’s eyebrows lifted politely. Tyreen said, “Come on, move. You wouldn’t be an interrogation officer if you didn’t speak good English.”
Khang and Saville had walked past him; Khang lifted the Colonel’s pistol and swagger stick from the man, and the Colonel neither stirred nor gave any sign of annoyance. Theodore Saville bent over the prisoner.
Kreizler lolled back in a spidery chair. He was naked. His eyelids fluttered open, but he stared at them all without recognition. He seemed to want to speak; his throat only made a vague guttural sound.
Saville said, “Easy. Take it easy, Eddie. It’s all finished now. You’re okay now.” Saville’s voice broke.
Tyreen took two long strides and drove his fist into Colonel Trung’s stomach. The Colonel coughed and bent over. Tyreen pulled him upright and rammed his knee into the man’s groin. Colonel Trung gagged and clutched himself. Tyreen said wickedly, “I wish I could mark you up, Colonel, but we’re going to need you for just a little while.”
Saville was holding back one of Eddie Kreizler’s eyelids, looking closely into the eye. “He’s in pretty bad shape, David.”
Nguyen Khang had gone back to the door to keep watch. Tyreen yanked Colonel Trung upright by the lapels. “Straighten yourself out, Colonel.”
Saville said, “It takes a lot of talent to hurt a man as bad as he hurt Eddie and still not knock him out or maybe kill him.”
Tyreen unloaded Colonel Trung’s pistol and jammed it back into the man’s holster. Trung’s hand absently buckled the holster flap down over the handle. All the while he had not spoken a word.
Tyreen said, “Give Eddie a shot of morphine and get out that other syringe.”
Saville took out his first-aid pouch. Tyreen snapped at him: “Hurry it up, Theodore. Let’s get out of here.”
“Yes, sir,” Saville said. It was hard to tell what his tone meant. He had two syringes; he handed one to Tyreen and turned around, searching for the vein in the crook of Eddie Kreizler’s bare arm.
Tyreen said, “Sergeant.”
Khang came away from the door. “I’m getting the jitters.”
“Hold him still,” Tyreen said.
Khang’s eyes glittered momentarily. “That’ll be a pleasure, Skipper.”
Colonel Trung drew himself up. Tyreen said, “Behave yourself, or you’re dead, Colonel.”
Behind Colonel Trung, Nguyen Khang gripped the man’s arms and drew them around behind his back. Tyreen walked around and plunged his syringe into the vein in Trung’s wrist. Trung did not make a sound. Tyreen emptied the syringe into the vein and tossed it on the table. Colonel Trung said, “How long will I be conscious?”
“Until you die,” Tyreen answered. “About an hour.”
“I trust,” said Colonel Trung, “it will be suitably painful?”
Tyreen said, “Agony is an occupational hazard for you and me, Colonel.”
“Just so.” Trung massaged his punctured wrist. “Which poison have you used?”
“You realize I can’t tell you that.”
“Of course. If I knew the poison, I might secure an antidote. There is an antidote, of course?”
“Yes.”
“But you do not have it with you.”