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Cambodia

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Школа кожевенного мастерства: сумки, ремни своими руками
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  SILVER SHAKE SOCIETY
  
  Cambodian terrorists — fanatic, lethal and primed to
  
  STRIKE PATROL
  
  American Ranger-Raiders — specially trained, totally armed and primed to kill…
  
  NICK CARTER
  
  AXE's top agent — officially assigned to penetrate the Cambodian jungles, accidentally aligned with a sensuous native guide, and, by the very nature of his Killmaster rating primed to kill…
  
  They're all in a cold-blooded international death game that begins in a small corner of Cambodia — and could end in a global war.
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  Nick Carter
  
  One
  
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  Four
  
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  Six
  
  Seven
  
  Eight
  
  Nine
  
  Ten
  
  Eleven
  
  Twelve
  
  Thirteen
  
  Fourteen
  
  Fifteen
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Nick Carter
  
  Killmaster
  
  Cambodia
  
  
  
  
  Dedicated to The Men of the Secret Services of the United States of America
  
  
  
  
  
  OCR Mysuli: [email protected]
  
  
  
  
  
  One
  
  
  
  
  We were almost an hour out of Saigon. The big, noisy C-47 had just passed over Xuan Loc and was heading toward Vo Dat. I was sitting on a short bench looking out the open doorway. It was a moonless night. I was going to go through that doorway soon, into the blackness and down to a hostile jungle. Somewhere over the Long Khanh Province I was to bail out. I started checking my gear.
  
  The pack was strapped to my back. It contained all the items Special Effects thought I would need. The parachute felt bulky across my chest, and I rested my chin on the top of it, smelling the canvas. The map and pen light were in my shirt pocket. Under my left armpit, Wilhelmina, my stripped Luger, rested. Hugo, the stiletto, was in its sheath along my left arm. The tiny, deadly gas bomb, Pierre, was between my legs.
  
  I wasn't convinced that my disguise as an Asian peasant would work. I was too tall. I could wear the costume, have my eyes and cheeks altered, but nothing would change my size.
  
  I heard the engines cut back slightly. It was almost time. The co-pilot came back to where I was sitting. He held up the fingers of one hand. Five minutes. I stood and checked the leg straps of the chute. The co-pilot watched me. The red fights inside the plane gave his young face a ghostly glow. I guessed his age at under 25. Youth showed in every feature except his eyes. They looked weary with age, as though he had seen 50 years of frustration within a very short time. It was the face most young American fighters had in Vietnam. Maybe the eyes would look young again when they went home. But now they looked tired of it all, weary with the thoughts of an endless war.
  
  America had come to Vietnam in naive arrogance. What was American was right. We could do no wrong. But now the fighting men were tired of it. The war was going nowhere, accomplishing nothing and showing no signs of ending.
  
  But we didn't think of that, the co-pilot and I. He held up two fingers. Two minutes. He was concerned only with getting me out that door and on target. I was concerned with completing an assignment. One minute.
  
  I moved close enough to the open doorway for the warm wind to whip at my clothes. I looked out and down into total blackness. I knew the jungle was down there and that it would be crawling with enemy patrols. I had the handle of the ripcord in my hand. I felt the co-pilot touch my shoulder, and I fell forward through the open door. The wind caught me at once, pushed me past the tail of the C-47. I counted, my eyes closed. Three, four… I was tumbling through the air, falling. I could hear nothing but a loud hiss against my ears. Five. I pulled the ripcord. I kept falling for a few seconds as the straps played out above me. Then I felt the jerk against my shoulders as the chute puffed. My legs rocked back and forth. The hissing against my ears stilled. I was floating down now, slowly. I opened my eyes and saw nothing.
  
  My target was supposed to be a small clearing. I didn't know how I was going to find it in the black night. They had told me I wouldn't have to. The wind, the rate of descent, had all been prejudged by the pilot. All I had to do was ride down. That's what they had told me.
  
  The drone of the C-47 engines faded from earshot. Now there was only silence. There were no fights below me, no outline of the clearing. I pictured myself smashing through heavy-limbed trees, entangling the chute lines and hanging while an enemy patrol used me for target practice. I could see shadows darker than the night below me now. Treetops. I was moving forward as I floated down. The treetops came toward my feet rapidly. I grabbed the chute straps tightly and waited. I knew the treetops stood above dense jungle growth. And it looked like I was going right into it.
  
  I felt limbs slapping at my feet. I bent my knees and felt a stinging along my legs as the limbs scraped them. My grip tightened on the straps. I braced myself, fully expecting to crunch into those trees. Then suddenly the trees and growth were behind me. I was falling free again close to the ground. I let my body relax. I had reached the clearing and it looked like I was going to hit at dead center. My heels rammed the soft ground. I rocked forward over my toes then rolled head-first. The earth pounded at me as I tumbled. The chute came down and dragged me almost four feet. Once again there was silence.
  
  It seemed to me that I had made a lot of noise. I knew I had to move quickly now. I jumped to my feet and shrugged out of the chute harness. I checked the luminous dial of my watch-I was running five minutes late. I looked around the clearing. Directly to my right there should have been a path through the jungle growth. I moved toward the point pulling the chute with me. When I reached the edge of the clearing, I had the chute rolled into a large ball. I shoved it in the growth until I could no longer see it. The night heat was muggy, and my clothes were sticking to me with sweat. Mosquitoes buzzed around my ears. I moved along the clearing edge, my eyes searching. There was no path.
  
  I dropped to one knee. From my shirt pocket I pulled out the plastic-covered map and small pencil flash. I played the flash over the map and kept looking up to get my bearings. In the fall I had gotten twisted around. The path was on the other side of the clearing. I moved swiftly across and along the opposite side of the clearing. I almost passed the path in my haste. When I spotted it, I paused. One hour along the path. I checked the watch again. I quickly calculated the time lost and figured I would have to move at a half-run to make it up. But at least I was on the path. So far so good. I moved off.
  
  There would be two forks ahead. I would need the map to know which one to take. The path wound like one large S after another. On each side of me jungle growth towered like huge walls. I could no longer see the sky. The ground under my feet was dirt packed as hard as concrete. The path seemed well used. I had to slow at every curve of the S. I knew there would be traps. I slowed, speeded, slowed again, keeping my eyes on the floor of the path.
  
  I had traveled 20 minutes when I came to the first fork. It was three pronged. I knelt down and pulled out the map and flash. The middle road was well worn, the other two slightly overgrown with brush. But I had picked up enough time to put me right on schedule. The map was hand drawn with crudely sketched landmarks. The three-pronged fork was shown. I was to take the one to the right.
  
  I started along it at a quick walk. It was smooth going for about 50 yards, but then the jungle started closing in ahead of me.- Elephant-ear leaves slapped at me as I pushed through. I could no longer see where I was stepping. The path continued making S curves. At times the growth was so thick I had to move through it sideways. I was losing time. Insects were sticking to my neck and face. The heat was unbearable. I fought my way for 15 minutes when I came upon the second fork. This one was five pronged. I knelt and pulled out the map and flash once again. I was to take the middle path.
  
  The path was wide and fairly straight. My feet slapped the concrete surface as I trotted. I rounded a long lazy curve and suddenly pulled up. Ahead of me there was brush lying across the path. It looked like a square patch stretching almost five feet. The brush wasn't high and that made me suspicious. It was the same level as the path. I moved up to it cautiously and knelt at the edge. My toe touched a string stretching across the path. I heard a swish above me and saw the branch of a tree straighten suddenly. At the end of the branch were tiny, sharpened bamboo spikes. If I had been standing, those spikes would have struck me full in the face. I nodded grimly. The branch had been bent and tied loosely with the string. If the string were touched, the branch would have straightened quickly and smacked those bamboo spikes into my face. But that still didn't tell me what was under the brush. I pulled the branch to the side a piece at a time, half expecting something to jump out in front of me. I then discovered that the brush covered an open pit.
  
  The sides and bottom of the pit were dotted with the sharpened trunks of bamboo trees. Stubby and lethal, they were spaced about a foot apart. If the branch didn't get you, then you'd fall into the pit. Either way it would be messy and painful.
  
  I left the pit uncovered. I moved back six paces, and with a good run jumped over it. I had lost a lot of time. But I wasn't going to kill myself trying to make it up. I moved off as quickly and carefully as I could. I had to get to the stream, and I knew I was going to be late.
  
  I kept moving at a half-run, slowing at every curve. The trail was almost ten feet wide, and the going was easy. Twice I came to landmarks I was supposed to watch for. I checked them against the map, found them correct and continued on. By the time I reached the stream, I was a half hour late.
  
  There was a wooden walk bridge across the stream, although the bubbly water itself was only about three feet wide. But the banks on each side were marshy. The foot bridge began and ended at the edge of the marshes. I knelt beside the bridge and listened. All I could hear was the gurgling of the stream. Jungle growth grew right up to the edge of the marsh, then the space was open across the stream and the opposite marsh where thick growth began again. I knew I was close to the village, but I didn't know how close. I was just supposed to get to the stream. I waited.
  
  Something might have gone wrong. I waited for five minutes. The marsh was thick with mosquitos. They buzzed in front of my eyes and seemed to be flying inside my ears. I thought I might have to try to find the village myself. If something were wrong, I would need an alternative plan. Across the bridge there was bound to be another path. Maybe that would lead to the village. Then suddenly I heard a voice whisper my name.
  
  "Mr. Carter," the voice said. "Remain where you are. Do not move."
  
  It was coming from behind me. I heard movement as someone came through the brush. I shrugged my left shoulder, and Hugo my stiletto fell into my hand.
  
  "Turn around slowly," the voice said. It was close to me now, just behind my left shoulder.
  
  I twirled and leaped to my feet with Hugo stuck out in front of me. I checked my lunge for one second before I would have killed the unarmed man.
  
  He stood without moving, a vague shadow in the darkness. His head bobbed as he looked from my face to the stiletto and back again. He was a Vietnamese peasant, and the flowing white beard made him look ancient. His body was small and thin. He waited with his head bobbing to see what I was going to do with Hugo.
  
  When seconds had passed and neither of us had moved, he said, "I am Ben-Quang. I am your contact."
  
  "How do I know this?" I asked.
  
  "You jumped from an American plane into a clearing. You used a map that I made to guide you here. I am to take you to the village. You were to meet me at the stream and you are late."
  
  "You also are too large to pass as a peasant. I had thought they would send someone smaller."
  
  "All right," I said, replacing Hugo in his sheath. "I am large. I thought you would be someone younger. Can you take me to the village or can't you?"
  
  For the first time he moved. He walked past me to the bridge and then turned. "I will take you to the village. We must move carefully. There is a Vietcong patrol in the area. It passed through the village two hours ago. Follow me. I am an old man. Keep up if you can."
  
  He moved off in a quick shuffle. He was halfway across the bridge before I started after him. There was no path on the other side. When Ben-Quang left the bridge, he plunged into the jungle out of sight. I pushed after him, trying to catch up. The brush stung my legs and slapped at my face. He still wasn't in sight. I followed more by sound than sight. But his wiry body made less noise than mine. Three times I went off in the wrong direction, only to hear his faint thrashing to my left or right. I had to stop and listen now and then to make sure exactly where he was. I climbed over tree trunks and snapped branches but kept plowing after him.
  
  Then I stopped to check his location, and I couldn't hear him. I seemed to be trapped in a maze of underbrush. The sweat poured from my face. I listened carefully, but I couldn't hear him. I had lost him. In anger I pushed through in the direction I thought he had gone. I keep myself in top physical condition. Yet this old man was making me feel as though I were 40 pounds overweight and on an exercise program of beer and TV. But I kept at it, hoping I was going in the right direction. When five minutes had passed and I still saw no sign of him, I stopped. I looked in every direction. I could have sworn I heard him breathing.
  
  Ben-Quang took one step out toward my right, and he was standing directly in front of me. "Mr. Carter," he said in his soft voice, "you make a great deal of noise."
  
  "How much farther is the village?" I panted. I knew he was mocking me, and enjoying it.
  
  "Not far. This way." He struck out again.
  
  But this time I stayed right on his tail. I knew he was playing a little game, trying to lose me so he could surprise me again. But I watched what I could see of him closely. I stepped where he stepped, moved my body as he moved his. Even though I was larger, in an area I didn't know, and carrying a heavy back pack, I was still right behind him when he stepped out of the jungle into a large clearing.
  
  We were in the village. It was very small. There were nine thatch-roofed huts arranged in a circle. Without a word Ben-Quang moved off toward the second hut to our right.
  
  There was no sign of movement, no fires, no people that I could see. I followed Ben-Quang into the hut. There was a glowing lantern hanging from the arched ceiling. The floor was made of dirt, brushed and packed hard. The only furniture was a single table with no chairs and two mats on one side of the hut. There was one uncovered window. Insects buzzed around the lantern. Dead ones that had been too close to the heat dotted the dirt floor. I eased the pack off and put it on the table. Then I faced Ben-Quang.
  
  In the lamplight he looked over a hundred years old. His face was gnarled like the trunk of an oak tree. He stood just a few inches over five feet. The white beard looked less white in the lantern glow. The thin mouth was blotched with brown. His narrow dark eyes squinted at me.
  
  "What happens now?" I asked.
  
  Ben-Quang motioned to one of the mats. "You will rest. When it is daylight Nam Kien will be here. He will guide you to the ruins."
  
  I nodded and sat cross-legged on the mat. Ben-Quang gave me one last look then turned and walked out of the hut. I pulled out one of my cigarettes and stretched out on the mat. When my lighter flame had touched the cigarette, I blew smoke toward the ceiling. With the cigarette between my lips, I locked my hands behind my neck and watched the insects die against the lantern.
  
  Another leg of my journey had been completed. The hardest part lay ahead. It would take me to the ruins of Angkor Thorn in Northwestern Cambodia. But the journey had begun over a week ago in Hawk's office.
  
  
  
  
  
  Two
  
  
  
  
  The call from Hawk couldn't have come at a worse time. I was in my New York apartment, in bed, not alone, when the jangling of the phone sounded.
  
  Janet groaned as I untangled myself from her and I snatched the receiver. The apartment heater hadn't been turned on and the nip of the night before lingered in the bedroom. It gave a comfortable warmth to be between the sheets and blankets, the kind of warmth you tell yourself war wouldn't drive you out of. And Janet had her own little built-in heater.
  
  I grumbled something into the phone.
  
  Then I heard Hawk's unmistakable voice. "The weather in Washington is very good this time of year, Mr. Carter."
  
  Hawk wanted me in Washington. When? "I understand the mornings are kind of nippy," I said.
  
  "Not the late mornings. Shall we say just before lunch?"
  
  "Today?"
  
  I wasn't sure but I thought I heard Hawk chuckle to himself. "No," he said. "Tomorrow will be fine."
  
  When I'd hung up I felt Janet's slender arm around my neck. I scooted myself down between the warm sheets and gathered the slender flesh heater in my arms.
  
  "Darling," she mumbled sleepily. "It's so early."
  
  My hand was doing something to her. At first she was passive, then slowly she started to move against my hand.
  
  "I'm still asleep," she whispered. "I'm doing it in my sleep."
  
  Janet was one of New York's top fashion models. Like most of them she had a boyish, small-breasted body. Her skin was paper smooth and flawless, her brown hair thick and long. She had spent a great deal of time in Florida, and her bronzed body showed that she had spent a lot of that time in the sun. I let my hand move lightly between her legs.
  
  "Men are awful," she cried. "In the morning, yet. Do you all like it in the morning?"
  
  "Shh." I pressed my lips to hers. I moved my body to where my hand had been. I heard a loud insuck of breath from her as I entered.
  
  "Oh, Nick!" she cried. "Oh, darling!"
  
  As always with Janet the first time was quick. Her long fingernails clawed at me while she hissed between clenched teeth. We moved together and apart slowly, knowing that the second time would be for the both of us and it would take some time.
  
  "You're wonderful," she said huskily. "My wonderful, wonderful lover."
  
  My face was lost in the thick richness of her hair. I moved my hand down the small of her back and pulled her closer to me. I could feel the heat of her breath against my neck. The warmth of the sheets deepened, bringing wetness to our mated bodies. It was as though we were welded together.
  
  I could feel her movements begin to hasten. She was climbing again. We started as children, climbing a flight of stairs, at first one step at a time until the distance could be judged. Then the pace quickened. Some of the stairs could be taken two at a time. Hand in hand, we ran up the stairs. I felt growls coming from my throat. We were both very close and noisy. The sheets were a soft-lined oven where we sweltered with effort.
  
  And then we reached the top together. Janet was slightly ahead of me. But when I knew she had made it, I quickly followed. On the other side of the stairs was a long slide. We jumped on it together and slid for long minutes, feeling the rush of wind on our fevered cheeks, arms wrapped tightly around each other.
  
  At the bottom of the slide were piled all the goose-feather pillows of the world. We slid into them together and started tumbling and tumbling. Then all strength left, and we collapsed together.
  
  "Oh, Nick!" Janet whispered hoarsely. "When I die I want to die like that." She felt me moving away from her. "Easy," she said.
  
  I was careful. When I was sitting up with my back propped against the headboard I said, "Want a cigarette?"
  
  "Mmmm."
  
  We smoked in silence for a few moments. My quick breathing returned to normal. This was the fuzzy-soft time. The act of love itself is so basic that all animals can accomplish it. But the feeling, the words before, during and after, were what gave meaning to a relationship.
  
  I looked down at Janet. Her face had a classical kind of beauty. The features were sharp but there was a softness around the mouth. But the gray-green eyes were by far her most outstanding feature.
  
  We had met at a party. I knew she was a fashion model; she knew I worked for some kind of international police force. We knew little else about each other. In our conversations, little things were bound to pop up. I knew she had an illegitimate daughter somewhere; she knew I had been shot several times and had killed at least one man.
  
  We had been going on like this for almost two years.
  
  I had long ago given up trying to figure out how I felt about her. We simply didn't see each other that often. When I was in New York I always phoned her. If she were at home, we got together. Our times together were limited and we both knew it. Either she or I could be snatched away at any time, as I was going to be tomorrow. We'd had almost a week this time.
  
  "I'll be leaving tomorrow," I said.
  
  She blew cigarette smoke straight up to the ceiling. "I think I love you, Nick. You have probably heard that before from many women. But I never thought I could love anybody. And now I think I love you."
  
  "Did you hear what I said?"
  
  She smiled, her eyes twinkling. "I know you're leaving. I knew it when the phone rang. Did you hear what I said?"
  
  I kissed the tip of her nose. "All I can tell you is that I'm always happy when you answer your phone. And I'm sad when we have to leave each other."
  
  "Promise you'll make love to me again before you go?"
  
  "I promise.
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  For once the weather in Washington was decent. It was a clear crisp day when I checked in at the offices of the Amalgamated Press and Wire Services. I went directly to Hawk's office.
  
  Hawk was having lunch when I walked in. He had just about demolished a rare steak, and there were only bits left of French fries. Hawk's spare, stringy body was bent over the tray. His leathery face raised toward me and he motioned to a chair opposite his desk. He swallowed the piece of steak he had been chewing.
  
  "You had lunch, Carter?"
  
  I nodded. "Yes, sir, on the plane." Hawk was in shirtsleeves. I pulled off my jacket and hung it on the coat rack. I sat down as Hawk eliminated the last piece of steak. He pushed the tray aside.
  
  Hawk's cold blue eyes studied me. "Sorry to pull you away from — what is her name?"
  
  "Janet," I said, with a smile. "Janet and I have an understanding about these calls."
  
  "Humpf. So how did you leave her?"
  
  My smile widened, "Happy, healthy, hard as a rock and tanned."
  
  Hawk chuckled. He pushed himself away from the desk and stood. At the coat rack he pulled a long brown cigar from his jacket pocket. When the cigar was between his teeth, he suddenly turned his head to look at me.
  
  "Damn it, Nick. I know you get the tough ones. It seems like AXE always gets the dirty assignments. But this one shouldn't be too tough."
  
  I frowned. But I remained silent. I knew Hawk would get to it in his own time. He returned to the desk and sat. When he struck a match to the end of the cigar, the room was filled with a unique aroma. He puffed, then with the stub between his teeth, opened the top drawer of his desk and pulled out a folder.
  
  "What makes this one so different is that we know so little about it." Hawk held the cigar and studied the gray tip. "If we go ahead openly on this, the United States may be in for real trouble." Then he suddenly said, "Nick, how is your Southeast Asian history?"
  
  I blinked at him and shook my head. "About as good as can be expected, I guess. Why?"
  
  Hawk bent over the folder. "Let me read you some facts. Three hundred years ago the land-hungry Vietnamese, descending from the north, wrested the Mekong Delta from its original Cambodian inhabitants. This Delta is a waterlogged world of meandering rivers and crisscrossing canals that, during the summer monsoons, spill over their banks and turn the surrounding countryside into one of the richest rice bowls in all of Southeast Asia."
  
  I said, "Yes, sir, I know. The Delta is about the size of Denmark. I understand that nearly thirty-five per cent of South Vietnam's population is located there."
  
  Hawk nodded. "That's right," he said. "And they work in the mud of a hundred thousand rice fields."
  
  "That's pretty ancient history."
  
  Hawk held up his hand. "Now we get more recent. In the last half of the nineteenth century, the Delta became a French colony, and it was renamed Cochin China. When the French Indochinese Empire collapsed in 1954, the Delta became ripe for Communist picking."
  
  "Well, it might have. But when Ngo Dinh Diem's government was toppled in the late 1960's the United States became involved."
  
  Hawk leaned back. "Involved is a good word, Nick, because we are sure as hell involved."
  
  "Don't tell me the Communists have taken over the Delta."
  
  Hawk gave me a wise smile. The cigar had gone out and he was chewing on it. "Let us say there is a possibility they might try. Somebody — we don't know who — is gathering a group of loyal volunteers to reclaim the Delta for Cambodia. Whether they are Communist or not, we also don't know."
  
  I lit one of my cigarettes. "Is that my assignment? To find out?"
  
  "Partly." Hawk pulled out the cigar and held it between his thumb and index finger. "Nick," he said, "for some time now the United States has been complaining to the Cambodian government that Chicoms are operating and fighting out of Cambodia. Despite the fact that we have aerial photos proving our complaints, Cambodia has denied it all. We felt our hands were tied, that is until yesterday."
  
  I frowned. "Yesterday?"
  
  Hawk nodded. He kept staring at the unlit cigar he was holding. "Yesterday a member of the Cambodian government told an American representative — off the record, of course — that this whole Chicom trouble may be caused by some secret group known as the Society of the Silver Snake. According to the man, the leader of this Society has only one ambition — to reclaim the Mekong Delta for Cambodia. We have no idea who the leader of this Society is, if the Society exists at all."
  
  I said, "It could just be some cover-up for the Cambodian government. Maybe they created it to get off the hook."
  
  "Could be," Hawk said. He stuck the cigar back between his teeth and lit it. I put out my cigarette and looked at Hawk who was puffing again. He said, "Right now the United States is in a ticklish position. This so-called Society is supposedly operating out of some ruined temples in the Angkor Thorn area. The Cambodians seem to think that the leader is using the Society to help the VC. What's more, they have given the United States permission to send in a small strike force to wipe the Society out. But the strike force has to be finished with the job and out of Cambodia within thirty days after landing."
  
  The possibilities of a ticklish situation began to form in my mind. I leaned forward with my elbows on the desk. "You know, sir, it could be a sucker play. Suppose this Society does exist, and suppose it is getting too powerful and the Cambodian government wants it crushed. But when you carry it a little further, suppose Cambodia thinks this Society is planning a coup on the Cambodian government itself. Wouldn't it be dandy to let the United States do the dirty work?"
  
  Hawk placed his palms flat on the desk. "Precisely. And as long as we're supposing, Nick, suppose the Cambodian government wants that strike force inside its borders for propaganda value. I'm sure it could be worked around so the world would think the United States had invaded Cambodia. We would be in one hell of a mess."
  
  Hawk was silent for a moment, chewing on his cigar. I could faintly hear the bustle of other offices outside. In Hawk's office smoke hung from the ceiling, and the room smelled pungent. I gave a small start when Hawk spoke again.
  
  "There is one other possibility, Nick. It's possible this Society does exist and that it is doing just what it says the members are doing-reclaiming the Delta for Cambodia. Maybe they, too, are fighting the Chicoms. They could be used as an ally."
  
  I knew what my job would be before Hawk spelled it out for me. He pushed away from the desk and stood a second, then walked to the window and turned to face me, his hands in his hip pockets.
  
  "So here is your assignment, Nick. You'll go into Cambodia before any strike force or troops are sent in. I want information. Does this Society of the Silver Snake actually exist? If so, where? Is it really trying to reclaim the Delta for Cambodia, or is this a cover-up for other motives? Is this so-called Society connected with the enemy troop movement coming from Cambodia against the United States? Find these things out."
  
  Hawk came back to the desk and closed the folder. When he spoke again, he continued to look at the folder.
  
  "If you are captured, we never heard of you. The United States is not connected in any way. There will be a special strike force of sixteen Marine raiders standing by if you need them. You won't need them unless this so-called Society proves to be our enemy." Hawk gave a long audible sigh.
  
  "A contact has been set up in South Vietnam, as well as a guide, to take you to the ruins at Angkor Thorn. There are things you'll have to pick up at Special Effects. Your plane leaves for Saigon in the morning."
  
  I said, "Anything else, sir?"
  
  Hawk blinked twice. "Good luck, Nick."
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  From Special Effects I picked up several things. One was a plastic case containing 12 electronic buttons, 11 were white, one was red. With these I could call the Special Strike Force if I needed them. I listened carefully while the procedure for using the buttons was explained to me.
  
  I also picked up two light plastic suits covered with barbless hooks. The suits looked like light wet suits. While I listened to how they would be used, it was explained to me that the reason I had two was because I couldn't speak Vietnamese. There would have to be someone with me when I used them.
  
  The items were placed in a back pack along with tiny electronic bugging devices and a small radio receiver. A disguise was placed in there, too, an Asian peasant disguise that I would change into once I reached Saigon. Next morning with my pack I boarded the plane for Saigon.
  
  In the raunchy, corrupt city of Saigon I was met by a member of Army Intelligence. I learned my contact in the Vietnamese jungle would be a man named Ben-Quang. I was given the crude map he had drawn. I changed into my disguise, and at midnight boarded the C-47. Then I waited in a village hut for a man named Nam Kien who would guide me to the temple ruins of Angkor Thom.
  
  
  
  
  
  Three
  
  
  
  
  I awoke with a start. The insects no longer buzzed against the lantern. It was daylight. I sat up slowly, my body stiff from the hardness of the mat. I heard the laughter of children outside the hut. I saw my mashed cigarette of the night before on the earthen floor. Automatically my gaze shot to the table. The pack was still there undisturbed. It was still hot, and I was still sweating.
  
  I concentrated with every fiber in me to relax my muscles and let the stiffness move out of them. I closed my eyes and kept telling myself I was alert and well-rested. I finally opened my eyes, I was completely alert and relaxed. There was no hint of stiffness. I looked to the doorway. Ben-Quang was standing there.
  
  He smiled at me, wrinkling his gnarled face. "You slept well, Mr. Carter?"
  
  I nodded. I rolled to my feet and stood. "It is daylight," I said. "Where is Nam Kien?"
  
  Ben-Quang waved a hand. "He will come, he will come. You Americans, so impatient. So impatient and so comical."
  
  "What do you find so funny?" I asked.
  
  Ben-Quang stuck his arm toward me. "Look at you. You are so large and you try to pass yourself off as a peasant. Only an American would do something so stupid and comical. Come, Mr. Carter, we will eat."
  
  I followed him out of the hut. There were children running between the huts squealing and laughing. They paid no attention to me. In the center of the circle of huts a large black pot bubbled over an open fire. Three old women tended it. Behind each hut was a garden where I could see men working. The air was thick and moist, the sun almost blinding. The village looked like it was inside a small fort. Although there was the brown of the hut roofs and the dirt of the clearing, the green wall of the jungle surrounded everything, green was the dominating color, giving a sense of cool serenity. The insects were hungry. So was I.
  
  As we neared an open fire, Ben-Quang said, "The Red Cross drops rice to us once a week. We try to keep as much as we can."
  
  "Why can't you keep it all?" I asked.
  
  He shrugged. "The Vietcong come through our village. They need rice for their army. They take it."
  
  We reached the fire. The women moved off in a shuffle. They had not taken notice of me. Ben-Quang picked up two wooden bowls, dipped them in the rice pot and handed one to me.
  
  I said, "The children didn't notice me. Neither did the women. Maybe they don't think I'm too large to pass as a peasant."
  
  Ben-Quang led me to the shade of one of the huts. We sat cross-legged with our backs to the wall. He dipped his fingers into his bowl and shoved a loose wad of rice in his mouth. His eyes were closed. I did the same. The rice had all the flavor of watered chalk dust.
  
  "The women and children noticed you," Ben-Quang said.
  
  "They didn't act like it," I said. The second bite tasted a little better somehow.
  
  Ben-Quang said, "They know who you are and why you are here. They take no notice of you because they know you will be gone soon."
  
  "I see. Tell me, do you also find the Red Cross, which drops rice to you once a week, comical?"
  
  His eyes flicked to me then went immediately back to stare at the jungle. "No," he said. "But if the Americans were not here, perhaps we could grow our own rice."
  
  "You'd rather be dominated by Communists?"
  
  He put the rice bowl down and stared at me for a long moment. When he spoke his voice was very soft. "Mr. Carter, my brother has a farm close to Hanoi. He is dominated by Communists. Once a month a man from the government comes to the farm. They sit and talk. They speak of the fields, the weather, what kind of rice year it will be. My brother is treated like a man, a man of pride, an individual. My brother is not a politician. He knows only the man who comes to him once a month. American mortar shells do not bomb his farm. His privacy is not invaded by American GIs looking for the enemy. He has not been pulled from his home and placed in a detestable relocation camp. My brother always has enough to feed his family. And it is food he has grown himself. It is not given to him as though he were a beggar on the streets." He picked up his bowl and continued eating.
  
  "Somehow I get the impression you don't belong in this village," I said.
  
  He chuckled. He shoved the last of the rice into his mouth and put the empty bowl down. "I am chief of this village," he said. "Before the war I taught at the University in Saigon."
  
  I finished my rice. Ben-Quang was again staring into the jungle. I wondered if he could tell me anything about this so-called Society of the Silver Snake. I was about to ask him when he spoke again.
  
  "This village is protected," he said. "There is a company of South Vietnamese regulars being trained by your Light Infantry Brigade. Before they came, we were constantly raided by the Vietcong. So now the Regulars are here with the Americans. When the Vietcong come through our village, they are peaceful. But they are waiting. As long as the Americans are here, the Vietcong will not raid. But they do not believe that, even with tons of M-16 rifles and equipment, the Americans will ever make a fighting unit of the South Vietnamese. So the Vietcong come through our village quietly and at night. They wait in the jungle for the Americans to leave. Then the raids begin again."
  
  I pulled out a cigarette and lit it. Ben-Quang refused the one I offered him. He just kept staring at the jungle. I said, "Ben-Quang, do you know why I'm here?"
  
  "Yes," he said. "You wish to go to the ruins at Angkor Thom."
  
  "That's right. Do you know anything about a group called the Society of the Silver Snake?"
  
  Ben-Quang's eyes dropped. "I have heard rumors of it," he said simply.
  
  I frowned. "What kind of rumors?"
  
  "It is said they get their recruits from surrounding villages. They use terror and murder."
  
  "Do you know how many are in the Society?"
  
  Ben-Quang rocked to his feet and stood. His eyes never left the jungle. He brushed the back of his pants as I moved to my feet beside him. I let my eyes follow where he had been staring. There was a figure coming out of the jungle toward the village.
  
  "How many?" I asked.
  
  Without looking at me, Ben-Quang said, "I know nothing more of the Society. Put your questions to Nam Kien. He will know. The Society murdered his son." He lifted his gnarled hand and pointed at the distant figure. "Here he comes now," he said.
  
  The man approaching looked short and stocky. His steps were sure and quick. I figured he was a young man although he was still too far away to see his face. I glanced at Ben-Quang.
  
  The old man seemed to be waiting with anticipation, as though the approaching figure was an old friend. He was a strange one, I thought, but not really. An American tourist hearing the words Ben-Quang had told me probably would have exploded with indignation. I had been to almost every country in the world. My own beliefs were nobody's business but my own. I was an agent for my country. If I were captured, my country would deny my very existence. I accepted this as part of the paycheck. But I knew there were always many sides to every situation.
  
  In my opinion my country was not always right. Her history was frequently marked with stupid mistakes. But even the words right and wrong were relative. There could be no fine line of distinction. So I had listened to the words of Ben-Quang in silence. I had heard them before. Each ideology, each country, was looking for its own personal place in the sun. Each thought its way was the right way.
  
  My own beliefs were more basic and more personal. They involved only two things — life and death. For me death was always the next step or around the next corner. Life was something I could hold on to for short periods. I could not waste time simply taking up space. I had to grab what I could, enjoy it fully and let it go when I moved on. Each assignment for me was individual. It had little to do with countries, ideologies or war. Each was a simple or complicated problem that I alone had to solve. I knew I was simply a tool, but I intended to be one of the best tools on the bench, if for no other reason than just to stay alive. So Ben-Quang had his thing and I had mine.
  
  Nam Kien greeted Ben-Quang by wrapping his arms around the old man. They smiled at each other and spoke quietly in Vietnamese. Nam Kien was not young. His straight hair was salt and pepper. He didn't seem to have a neck, it was as though his head sat between his huge shoulders. He was much smaller than I was, but I doubted if he weighed much less. He was built like a bull, with thick powerful-looking arms. His face was wrinkled but not gnarled like Ben-Quang's. His voice was deep. I stood silently as the two men talked. Eventually they got around to me.
  
  Nam Kien turned away from his friend to face me. He had a brooding look. "So you are the American, Nick Carter." It was not a question, just a statement to let me know I had been noticed. "And you are going to pass yourself off as a native."
  
  "I am going to try," I said through tight lips. "Will you take me to Angkor Thorn or won't you?"
  
  "Yes, I will take you."
  
  "When?"
  
  He looked up at the sky, shielding his eyes with his hand. Then he looked back at me. The brooding look was a permanent part of his face. "With your size you cannot travel by daylight. When the sun is down we will leave."
  
  Ben-Quang said, "He has been asking about the Society of the Silver Snake."
  
  Nam Kien's whole facial expression changed. His jaw muscles tightened, his body went rigid. He stared at my face with open contempt. "If you are a friend of the Society," he said slowly, "I will kill you where you stand."
  
  I let my lips move to a small smile. "Then it would be foolish for me to tell you I am a friend of the Society."
  
  He remained rigid. Ben-Quang put an arm on his shoulder. "He did not know the Society existed until I told him," the old man said.
  
  Nam Kien relaxed slightly. He still looked at me but some of the contempt had gone from his face.
  
  I said, "Can you tell me anything about this Society?"
  
  "They are butchers and murderers. I will tell you nothing else." He then walked away with Ben-Quang beside him.
  
  I watched until they had entered a hut. Then I sat and lit a cigarette. The children continued to play around the huts. The old women had returned to the pot over the open campfire. The men of the village continued working in their gardens.
  
  
  
  
  
  Four
  
  
  
  
  The heat did not lessen with sunset. Ben-Quang and Nam Kien had spent most of the day in their hut. I milled around watching the daily activity of the village. The people seemed puzzled by me, but their curiosity was not enough for them to ask questions. They let me watch what they were doing, but they didn't speak to me.
  
  During the day only elderly men, women and very young children were left in the village. The others were working in the four rice paddies stretching to the south. At sunset the women began drifting in from the paddies. Mostly they were small and wiry, and although their bodies looked youthfully firm from the work, their faces showed age before their time. As they drifted in they took charge of the children and began doing housework. Laundry was taken to the stream that bubbled west of the village. The men would return from the paddies soon and there was much to do.
  
  At sunset I walked between the thatch-roofed huts watching the activities with a curious fascination.
  
  Also at sunset Nam Kien emerged from a hut, his pack already on his back. I was standing across from the hut listening to the jungle sounds. It had almost become too dark to see. Nam Kien walked across the short open space toward me.
  
  "We go now," he said.
  
  I nodded and stomped out a cigarette. Nam Kien's eyes looked heavy from sleep. I crossed to the hut and grabbed my pack. He waited impatiently while I shrugged into it. Then I nodded to him and without a word he started off. I followed slowly. There was no sign of Ben-Quang.
  
  Although Nam Kien's stocky legs were short, he pumped them up and down often. I found myself taking long strides to keep up. He never looked back to see if I was there and he never spoke. My shirt was soaked with sweat by the time we reached the jungle.
  
  The jungle birds kicked up a hell of a racket as we plunged in. There had been just enough light to make out Nam Kien's back, but once the thickness of leaves closed around us the darkness became total. Nam Kien moved along a well-Worn path. I didn't know if he was going to try to play games with me like Ben-Quang, but just to be sure I kept myself right on his tail.
  
  After an hour I felt as though I was moving rapidly down a narrow hallway. The path was uneven and curved. But the jungle raised black walls on each side.
  
  Nam Kien kept moving quickly and silently. When an hour and a half had passed, I started getting angry. I had a pretty good idea what Nam Kien was trying to prove. He was waiting for me to tire, to tell him to slow or stop and rest. Maybe he thought all Americans were soft button-pushers. I didn't know what he thought, and at that point I didn't much give a damn. I didn't expect a lot of small talk and friendly smiles, but I didn't expect silent hostility either. I didn't need this; I didn't need any of it.
  
  "Hold it, Nam Kien!" I said loudly. I stopped in my tracks and started easing the pack off my shoulders.
  
  He took seven steps more before he stopped. Then he turned slowly. It was too dark to see the expression on his face. He started walking back to me. "You are tired?" he asked. "You wish to rest."
  
  I crouched down on one knee. "I wish to talk," I said. I lit a cigarette.
  
  Nam Kien eased off his own pack and knelt beside me. "Americans are always talking," he said sarcastically.
  
  I let it pass. I knew how he felt, but I didn't know why and didn't care. I looked at the dark shadow of his face. "Nam Kien, I think you and I should understand each other beginning right now. I'm not asking that you like me; I really don't give a damn if you do. But if you want to run a foot race to Angkor Thom, then take off. I want a guide not an Olympic athlete. If I offend you for some reason, just let me know and I'll get another guide. I don't need you trying to wear me down. I don't need your hostile silence. I don't need your sarcastic remarks." I let that set with him for a few seconds.
  
  He was crouched straight across from me looking down at the path while I talked. Sweat was dripping from both of us. The jungle birds were still making their racket. If Nam Kien was listening he made no sign.
  
  Finally he sighed and said, "There is a village not far from here. We will rest there and eat."
  
  I nodded. "Okay. What do you know about this Silver Snake Society?"
  
  Nam Kien stood suddenly. "I will guide you," he said with a strained voice. "But I will not speak of the Society." He picked up his pack and started pushing his arms through the straps. "We will move slower if that is your wish."
  
  He started off. I pulled my own pack on and started after him.
  
  Although Nam Kien continued on in silence, he did slow his pace. The path became thin in places, and we had to push through thick growth. After another hour of my following him, he struck off to the right through the thick jungle. I plowed after him, keeping up with him more by sound than by sight. The darkness was total. I couldn't even see the vines I was crashing through. The jungle thinned and there seemed to be many paths crisscrossing with the one we were on. When the path widened enough, I moved alongside Nam Kien.
  
  The village seemed to spring up in front of us. I saw the thatched roofs first, looking almost silver in the moonlight. The jungle just seemed to pass away on each side of us, and we stepped into a clearing. Like the first village, this one had the huts arranged in a circle.
  
  I turned to my left and saw two young men with old bolt-action rifles across their shoulders. They stepped out of the jungle about 50 yards from me and walked easily apace with me. Two more men stepped out of the jungle about the same distance to my right.
  
  I shot a glance at Nam Kien. He walked unconcerned, and I thought I saw the corners of his mouth turned up in a wry smile.
  
  A man stepped out of the nearest hut with two wooden bowls in his hands. As we approached him, he handed Nam Kien and me bowls filled with rice. Nam Kien let the pack drop from his shoulders and squatted on his haunches. The other man, who looked to be about Nam Kien's age, squatted opposite him. They spoke in Vietnamese while Nam Kien dipped fingers of rice from the bowl to his mouth.
  
  I eased my pack down and squatted a small distance from the two men. I started eating the rice. Although it was late, there seemed to be a lot of activity around the village. There was a lamp burning in almost every hut. As I ate I watched the four men who had stepped out of the jungle. They walked with an insolent prance, keeping their eyes on me. They had probably gotten the rifle across their shoulders idea from an old John Wayne movie. They were teenagers, looked about 18 or 19. I kept watching them until they went into one of the huts.
  
  The man talking with Nam Kien suddenly stood. Nam Kien remained squatted. He listened while the standing man said something in a snappy biting tone, then the man turned on his heels and walked away.
  
  I shuffled over to Nam Kien. "What was that all about?" I asked.
  
  "Chief," he said nodding to the retreating man. "He does not want us here. He wants us to return."
  
  "What the hell for?"
  
  "He say you are too large to be a villager. He say North Vietnamese know you are some kind of agent."
  
  I frowned. "That's stupid. How could they know?"
  
  "He say they know you are an American. He say they think you are a spy."
  
  I shoved more rice in my mouth. I didn't know what to think. Sure — if the North Vietnamese had seen me, they might think I was a spy. But when had they seen me? Were they following us?
  
  "What difference does it make to this chief what I am?" I asked. "What does he care what the North Vietnamese think?"
  
  Without looking at me, Nam Kien said, "Could be village is in danger. Could be other villages are in danger." He looked over at me as he reached for his pack.
  
  When I was standing and pushing my arms through my pack straps, I said, "What about those four who came out of the jungle with us? Maybe they tipped us off to the North Vietnamese."
  
  Nam Kien was squinting toward the hut the four men had entered. He looked at me with no expression in his eyes. "I think we should leave now," he said.
  
  I nodded. We started off at a quick pace. When we reached the edge of the jungle, I turned back. The four young men were coming out of the hut. One of them pointed at me. Two others joined them and looked where he was pointing. All six of them had those old bolt-action rifles. They started to run from the hut toward us.
  
  "They're coming after us, Nam Kien," I said.
  
  Nam Kien was looking over his shoulder at the six men. "They are young," he said without feeling. "They will be easy to lose."
  
  In a matter of minutes we had once again been swallowed by the blackness of the jungle. The caws and screams of the birds told us we were unwelcome.
  
  By the time our young pursuers entered the jungle, we had moved almost half a mile. The jungle cries behind us gave us a pretty good idea where the six were. I kept right on Nam Kien's tail, and I think it surprised him. I figured the hostility he'd shown toward me was because he had me pegged as some kind of dud. I may not have known the right trail to take through the jungle, but I was no stranger to this kind of travel.
  
  Nam Kien left the main trail and started crashing through the thick branches. I knew if we could hear our pursuers, they could undoubtedly hear us. If Nam Kien was any kind of night fighter, he'd realize there was a time to run, a time to stand and fight and a time to hide and watch. My respect for him leaped when he led us to a tiny four-foot circular clearing well off the main trail then suddenly held up his hand. We froze. We crouched, both panting slightly. I could feel the sweat dripping from me. Nam Kien's face was expressionless.
  
  We waited crouched and motionless and finally heard the thrashing. The men had stepped off the main trail but on the opposite side from where we had. It was easier going on that side. And maybe they figured that a couple of old timers like Nam Kien and me would be taking the easier route.
  
  They were moving slowly now. I looked at Nam Kien. Our eyes locked. Each of us knew what the other was thinking. With two more good men, we could have taken all six of them easily.
  
  The thrashing kept fading past us. When it was almost too quiet to hear, Nam Kien's muscles seemed to relax. He shrugged out of the back pack and stretched out. I dropped my pack behind me and leaned back on it. I pulled out one of my cigarettes and handed one to him. When we were both lit and smoking, I said, "If they were North Vietnamese, why didn't they try to take us right there in the village?"
  
  "Face," Nam Kien said. "They would have lost face with the villagers. We were only two while they were six.
  
  I gave Nam Kien a crooked smile. "I'm not so sure it would have been easy to kill us."
  
  "Neither am I," he said.
  
  He put out his cigarette and lifted his pack.
  
  I pulled on my own pack and stood facing him. "These terror tactics sound a little like the Society of the Silver Snake," I said.
  
  He turned his back to me. "We will not have to travel so swiftly now," he said, moving back into the jungle.
  
  When we got to the main trail, I stayed behind him as we moved along. I finally had to accept it: I was going to learn nothing about the Society from Nam Kien. My best bet would be to ask around as we moved from village to village. Surely somebody besides Nam Kien had heard of the Society. Of course I could have been put on by Ben-Quang and Nam Kien. It could be the Society didn't exist at all. Maybe all this hokum about butchers and murdered sons was just a big con game at my expense.
  
  Creatures of the jungle continued to complain as we moved through their territory. As we traveled I had even greater respect for Nam Kien as a guide. He knew the jungle as a worker knows the way to his job day after day. The hours passed, and I found myself wondering about him — what kind of family he had, how he met Ben-Quang and what they meant to each other, where he really lived, how he happened to get this job of guiding me. They were questions that might never be answered. Nam Kien was not the mouthy type.
  
  I figured it was about two hours before dawn when once again the jungle began to thin. The trail became wide and well worn. Other paths crossed it. We were coming close to another village. I moved to walk beside Nam Kien. He seemed to look worried about something. Then I felt worried, too.
  
  Nam Kien silently pushed his hands out from his sides. He didn't have to do it twice; I knew what he meant. While he veered to the left, I moved away from him to the right. If we were walking into something, we shouldn't go in like a couple of drunks arm in arm.
  
  It was puzzling, like a dream you've had and you're trying to remember it and you can't. The feeling was there, and it was real, yet I couldn't put my finger on what caused it. If we were walking into a trap, we'd be ready for it. Nam Kien and I were about 20 yards apart. We weren't in the open. Both Wilhelmina and Hugo were close at hand.
  
  But the danger was not for us. The danger had already passed. Nam Kien and I walked into the village wary and under cover. We stayed that way even when we discovered the first dead child with his head cut off. And we still darted from hut to hut after we passed the bodies of two disemboweled men and four mutilated women. We were looking for an enemy, and we continued to look until the sky began to lighten with dawn. Then we had to accept it. The enemy was gone. Every man, woman and child had been killed. The village was wiped out.
  
  
  
  
  
  Five
  
  
  
  
  There's no way you can prepare yourself for something like that. You tell yourself you're an agent, you're hardened against the sight of death. You've seen the flies and worms crawling out of sightless eyes. You've seen women used horribly in torture. It's always unpleasant, but there isn't anything really new about it. You've seen it all before. But not like this.
  
  We searched every hut, the grounds all around the village. Although we didn't say it to each other, we knew. We were looking for six teenage boys. If we located them, we would kill them without question. And we would find pleasure in the killing.
  
  It was not part of my job. My job was to find out about some Society. But as I searched through the village, that Society seemed like part of another life. I was surrounded by the most horrible kind of death I had ever seen. And I wanted to cause death at least as horrible.
  
  And then somehow I was standing in the center of the village with the Luger in my hand. The sun was peeking over the jungle. Nam Kien walked toward me looking from side to side.
  
  "They were looking for you," he said. "They came here because the village was next, it is where we were coming, it was where we were going to rest."
  
  I looked at him through narrowed eyes. "Are you telling me all this was done because I am here?"
  
  He nodded grimly. "It was done as an example so other villagers will know. We will have no help from now on. None of the villagers can be trusted. They are afraid."
  
  I put Wilhelmina back in the holster. "Nam Kien, you talk as though you have seen something like this before."
  
  He looked around keeping his face away from me. I saw his eyelashes blinking. "Once," he said softly. "Yes, once I saw something like this. When my son was murdered."
  
  I moved around so that I stood in front of him. His eyes had misted slightly. "Are you telling me this Society operates like this?" I asked.
  
  Nam Kien sighed deeply. "It is two hours to the next village. If the North Vietnamese are looking for you, daylight will make it easier for them. We must be very careful as we enter villages now."
  
  I looked around at the carnage. "What about them?"
  
  "They will not mind our leaving. You find this barbaric, leaving the bodies open to the elements? Is it less barbaric than staring through an open casket at a body? I understand in your country friends and relatives actually stand in line to see a body."
  
  "All right," I said. "Let's go."
  
  Before we were completely out of the village I found myself thinking Nam Kien had been right. It would have taken us days to bury all those people, days I didn't have. But I wondered how smart it was for us to hide from those six young men. Maybe we should have waited and popped them off, as they came by. They were ahead of us now, entering the villages before we got to them. Maybe, like Nam Kien said, they hadn't tried anything in that last village because they would have lost face. But they could make their move anytime now.
  
  They could do one of two things. They could wipe out each village as they came to it, hoping to starve or scare us off. Or they could wait anywhere along the trail and take us out as we came by. Either way I looked at it, they had the advantage.
  
  As I moved behind Nam Kien I found myself searching the jungle around me. With the sun had come the insects. I slapped at mosquitos and other larger biters. Nam Kien stepped lively, like a man with a purpose. It was almost as though he expected something. The sun could not touch us in the jungle. But as the sun lifted, the air felt as though we were passing through a sauna. The sweltering heat sapped my strength and drained it right out through my aching legs.
  
  I kept going because Nam Kien was going. But as the morning crept by I saw that he too was feeling fatigued. His movements were jerky, clumsy. As he marched on, he was tripping more often. Small obstacles like branches across the trail became devices to stumble over. But he wouldn't stop to rest. And I kept right behind him. I had to keep wiping my eyes because the sweat closed them. The back of my neck was welted with mosquito bites. My clothes were soaked and sticky. I could have sworn someone was walking behind me loading rocks in the pack as we went.
  
  I lost track of time. It seemed we had been in the muggy heat for almost two weeks or longer. It had become a permanent part of my life. If I had ever been cold I couldn't remember when. But I trudged along, stumbling when Nam Kien stumbled, tripping when he tripped. Then at last he raised his hand for a rest break.
  
  With great effort Nam Kien pushed the straps of the pack off his shoulders. As the pack sunk to the ground he quickly followed it. His head laid back on it, his eyes closed, his mouth open and puffing.
  
  I was on my knees when my own pack dropped from my shoulders. I had managed to make it close to him. When I leaned back, I fished for my cigarettes. Most of them were soggy with sweat. Way in the back of the pack I found two with the ends dry enough to fight. Nam Kien took one, then cupped his hand over mine while I lit it.
  
  "The village is not far," Nam Kien said in quick panting words. Even to talk was an effort.
  
  "What do you think we'll find?"
  
  "Who knows?" He shrugged, but I could see the worry in his eyes. It did not look good. Neither one of us liked those North Vietnamese kids in front of us.
  
  If we found another village like the one we had just left, I think I would have made a point of hunting those young soldiers down. I could build up a good case for letting everything else go to hell. I leaned back, smoked and looked up at the greenery blotting out the sky. In a voice that did not sound like my own, I said, "Do we walk straight into this village like we did the last one?"
  
  "No. The village is very near. Even now I can smell rice cooking. Perhaps they have guards who already know we are here. No, we shall go in separately. I will go in directly along the trail. You will be twenty to fifty feet on my right. If it is a trap it will be an American they are looking for. I will see it as I go in and warn you."
  
  "And what happens to you?"
  
  "No harm will come to me," he said.
  
  I had just about given up trying to learn anything about the Silver Snake Society from him. I respected Nam Kien as a man, and I guess in a strange way I even liked him. Although he didn't come right out and say it, what happened to his son and what he knew of the Society was simply none of my business. If I had problems with the Society that was between me and them. It didn't concern Nam Kien, and he wasn't going to become part of it. His attitude irritated me, but I wasn't going to break him down and I knew it. That fact in itself was probably why he earned my respect.
  
  As though Nam Kien had just been shot with an overdose of energy he stomped out his cigarette and rocked to his feet. He lifted the pack and started to push his arms through. "We go now," he said.
  
  I climbed to my feet. By the time I had my pack on he had already started marching off. I knew he was every bit as tired as I was. We had been traveling all night and most of this morning. And we hadn't eaten anything since the first village we had come to.
  
  Nam Kien was right. We hadn't gone for more than 15 minutes when I too could smell the rice. I wondered why he rested just outside the village. Then I knew he was expecting trouble. He wanted to be as fresh as possible when we actually came to the place.
  
  As with the other villages, the jungle thinned and well-worn paths crisscrossed all around. I cocked my head, listening, but there were no sounds. We could see the thatched roofs now. Three old women were bent over a cooking pot. Two men lounged in front of the door of the first hut. Nam Kien motioned me away with his hand. I trotted 30 feet off to the right. There was one hut separating me and Nam Kien. We entered the village at about the same time. I kept my eyes on him and moved behind the hut to the next one. He nodded at the two men in a form of greeting. They talked in Vietnamese. I couldn't understand the words but the men seemed nervous. I let my eyes sweep around the village. No children were playing. No other men or women were in sight, just those in front of the first hut.
  
  Across from where I was standing a small toddler wandered out of a hut. It was a naked girl, less than two years old. She wandered about aimlessly, crying. Her little fists kept pushing in at her eyes. She seemed to be looking for another hut. Suddenly a young girl of 13 or 14 charged out of the same hut. She ran up to the baby, snatched it off the ground, gave one fearful look around, then ran quickly back into the hut.
  
  Something was not right here.
  
  I pulled Wilhelmina from its holster. Neither the two men lounging in front of the hut nor the three women huddled over the pot could see me. I moved along the side of the hut. When I was close to the front I shrugged out of the pack and eased it to the ground. The two men were shuffling toward the door of the hut. Nam Kien watched them warily as he spoke to them. I guessed he was asking for the village chief, and he wasn't getting any satisfaction from these two. I raised the Luger. I was waiting for something sudden, and I was expecting it. I figured I could squeeze off two quick shots killing both men before they jumped into the hut. I was waiting for either one of them to make a sudden move.
  
  The conversation ended. Nam Kien took a step backward, letting his eyes jump around the village. The two men shuffled closer to the hut door.
  
  When the movement came, it came quickly and from an unexpected source. One of the three old women suddenly straightened and raised her hand high. There was a long dagger in the hand. The other two then straightened and raised daggers of their own. Nam Kien took another step backward as the three advanced. I saw that they weren't old women at all. One of them was one of the insolent teenagers I had seen in the first village. He was the nearest to Nam Kien.
  
  I shot him just behind the ear. As his head snapped forward with the rest of his body following, the other two looked around confused. I could smell the burned gunpowder from the Luger. I fired again and a second man twisted around clutching his side. Then loud rifle shots came from the jungle around the village. The dirt at my feet kicked up as bullets plowed into it. Nam Kien had raised his foot high, kicking the dagger out of the third man's hand. They were rolling together on the ground. The two nervous men lounging outside the hut had scrambled for the door when I fired my first shot. They would never know how close they came to getting themselves killed.
  
  I was running now, streaking back to the jungle. It seemed the closest cover. Rifle bullets plunked all around me. I ran a zigzag pattern, jumping and ducking as I moved. When I reached the first greenery of the jungle I dove into it, rolled three times and got back to my feet. I cut to the left and took off again, skirting the village. Through small open clearings I could see the village. The rifle shots became small cracklings. Then I realized that I wasn't the only one the rifles were aimed at. I saw the youthful girl come running from the hut with the small baby in her arms. The hut had somehow caught on fire and others followed the girl out. She was the first to catch it. The bullet ripped away one side of her face, yet as she fell she tried to cushion the baby's fall with her own body. The baby started to scream with fear. Another woman running right behind the girl bent to scoop up the baby as she ran. As I ran I saw a man cut down as he ran across to another hut. I was trying to see where all the shots were coming from. They seemed to be scattered around the village. Whoever they were they were shooting from the jungle and seemed to be well-hidden. I wanted one of them. I wanted all of them.
  
  I was getting worried about Nam Kien as I reached the end of the village. The only thing to do was to move from hut to hut. In the jungle I couldn't locate the rifles, but if I could fire from the village I might be able to hit one or two of the snipers. I cut another left taking me directly back to the village. Then I pulled up.
  
  A man lay across my path. He was naked and the lower part of his body had been mutilated horribly. He had the markings of a chief. His eyes and mouth were open wide with horror. A rifle fired very close to me. I saw the bullet hit the old woman who had just come out of the burning hut. I looked up, carefully watching for movement of any kind. Another shot came, and I had the spot pinpointed. I couldn't make him out clearly, which was all right because that meant he couldn't make me out either.
  
  I raised the Luger at some rustling leaves and fired twice. The height had been about ten feet. The rifle came down first. It bounced through branches and then on to the floor of the jungle. The sniper followed his rifle. I didn't have to check to see if he was dead. He struck the ground with his head and was bent over like a cannon ball off a high dive. There were still rifles firing from the jungle. I listened in a crouch trying to figure how many. I guessed at three more.
  
  There was a hut 20 yards from me. I stepped over the dead chief and ran for it. When I reached the door I looked farther down inside the village where Nam Kien had been. There was no sign of him or the third man.
  
  A rifle was firing directly across from the door of the hut. A bullet from it ripped a piece from the shoulder of my shirt. In anger I got off four quick shots in the direction the bullets had come from. I heard a high, piercing scream. The firing stopped.
  
  I moved out from the hut. There was still no sign of Nam Kien. Almost all the huts were burning. Smoke hugged the ground, limiting visibility. As I walked in a semi-crouch into the swirling smoke, I came to realize that the man I had shot from the tree was no teenage kid. It looked like the kids had picked up some help along the way. I suddenly shivered. There seemed to be a wind blowing at my back. But in that humid heat I knew there was no wind. It was some kind of force coming at me. I turned swinging the Luger with me.
  
  The kid dove from three feet away. He had been running at top speed for I don't know how far. But his feet had left the ground and he was coming at me head first. At that speed I knew I couldn't stop him. My eyes were burning from smoke. He was almost on me before I saw the glint of a long dagger in his hand. His young face showed a look of surprise-surprise that I had seen him I guess.
  
  I dropped on my hands and knees and quickly rolled to my back. When the force of his hurtling struck me, I let the bulk of his weight land on my feet, then I just kept my legs moving, using his momentum to push him over me and down. But even before I stopped him, the arm with the dagger was raised for a throw. I managed to pick up Wilhelmina, fired quickly, missed and fired again. His head snapped back; the bullet had hit him through the center of the forehead. The dagger fell from his hand, then he simply toppled over backward.
  
  All the huts were burning now. I was starting to cough from all the thick smoke. I got to my feet. There were no more rifle shots. I hoped Nam Kien wasn't in the jungle with one of them. There had originally been six youths. So I figured they had picked up one other, maybe someone older, like a leader. That meant there still were two roaming around. Nam Kien was tangling with one when I left him. There was still one more to go.
  
  People were streaming from the burning huts. Confusion reigned. Everyone was bumping into everyone else. Some of the older, wiser men had taken charge and were leading women and children slowly between the burning huts and out of the village. There was a great deal of crying. I was doing a little myself.
  
  I waded through them, trying not to run any of them down. I made my way along one side of the village and headed for the end where we had entered. The combination of wet, sweltering heat and eye-searing smoke was almost unbearable. Only the insects stayed away.
  
  As I moved I let my burning eyes search all areas of the village. I was halfway along the circle of huts when I saw something across the clearing and between two other burning huts. At first it looked like a small clump of rocks. I went toward it, and as I drew close, I saw it was three men, two standing and one lying on the ground. I started to run. The two standing were young, one still had on the old-woman-over-the-boiling-pot outfit. Both had long knives.
  
  I knew who was on the ground, Nam Kien.
  
  I aimed the Luger. On the run I figured I might need four or five shots to kill the two men. In that time they could have Nam Kien's limbs amputated. The two were doing something to him, but I couldn't see what. At least Nam Kien was still alive. His arms were flailing, striking the men's legs, trying to get away from them. His face was covered with blood. The smoke between us wasn't quite so thick now. My breath came in pants. I jumped over two dead villagers without slackening speed.
  
  I was getting close. I aimed loosely and fired two quick shots. Both shots slammed into the man with the dagger. The first hit his shoulder and the second one took a chunk of meat from his left cheek. He jumped like a child skipping rope. He actually attempted to run. But after two steps, his knees buckled like a football halfback hit from behind. He rolled against a burning hut and lay still. The second man immediately dropped the pant legs he was tugging on. He fell to one knee, and when he rose, he had a long dagger in his hand. Nam Kien was reaching out for a rifle that lay beside him. He was kicking at the man trying to get him away from him. The man was raising the dagger high to plunge it into him. I fired and hit the man in the leg. He twisted in a half-turn facing me. His face looked quite young, not more than 17. He appeared wide-eyed, like a man running from a pursuer. I was less than ten feet away and ready to leap on him. The dagger came high. Nam Kien got his hands on the rifle. I fired, hitting the youth in the chest.
  
  He gave one piercing scream as I reached him. "Death to all Yankee invaders!" he cried. He fell downward, pushing out at me just as I hit his side.
  
  The blow was enough to keep me rolling. I didn't have a good grip on him, and he twisted out of my grasp as he went down. Nam Kien swung the rifle barrel toward the youth's mouth and pulled the trigger. The shot blew half the teenager's face away, but not before he had plunged his dagger all the way to the handle into Nam Kien's chest.
  
  
  
  
  
  Six
  
  
  
  
  When I got to my feet, the youth already had stiffened and fallen backward. I shoved my Luger back in its holster and stood frozen as I watched what Nam Kien was doing.
  
  He had his hand on the handle of the dagger. He grimaced with pain as his powerful body gave one mighty jerk, and then the blade was out of his chest and dripping with blood. Nam Kien threw the dagger away in disgust. He fell on his back and put his forearm across his eyes.
  
  I took off at a run. When I rounded the ruin of the hut where I'd been earlier, I snatched up my pack and raced back to where Nam Kien was lying. Kneeling beside him I pulled the first-aid kit from the pack. But when I looked at the wound I knew that wasn't going to do it.
  
  "It is bad?" he asked in a weak voice. He saw the look on my face and he knew.
  
  "If we could get you to a hospital…" I said weakly.
  
  He snorted and closed his eyes. We both knew there wasn't a hospital within a hundred miles from where we were. I dressed the wound with what I had. Even when there is no hope you are supposed to pretend there is. A lung and some arteries had been pierced. There was no way I could stop the internal bleeding. His eyes were getting to be a milky color, and his breathing sounded gurgling and liquid.
  
  All that was left to do was to sit beside him and watch him die. I wished there had been more of the youths to kill. I wished there had been more of them running around. What gets to you is the senseless waste of it. The young girl, the child, Nam Kien, that whole village, even the youths themselves. And why? For what? A piece of real estate? A way of life? Greed?
  
  "American," Nam Kien said, "I do not wish to die in a village of death. There is a place I would have you take me."
  
  When his eyes closed again I looked around. Only skeletons remained where the huts had stood. But the smoke was rising and slowly drifting away. The bodies scattered about looked tinged with black.
  
  "Where do you want me to take you?" I asked.
  
  His eyes fluttered and opened again. "There is… a village one hour to the south. I… have friends there."
  
  "Like here, and that last village?"
  
  He managed a weak smile. "Those… villages were mere contacts. I… have friends in this village I speak of." His eyes looked up at me with pleading. It was the first time I had seen any such expression in them.
  
  I decided to leave his pack. When I had my own on I pushed my arms behind his back and knees and lifted him from the ground. He gave out a loud hiss of pain. From the weight of him, I knew I would have to rest often. He pointed in the direction he wanted to go, and I started out.
  
  The going was not easy. Once we were back in the jungle, the heat and insects attacked with fresh vigor. I knew Nam Kien was growing weaker. He seemed to doze in my arms, his eyes closing slowly, then jerking open as though he were fighting it. My respect extended beyond his ability as a guide. But besides respect, I now really liked the salty old guide. He had been a moody and silent traveling companion, but then maybe I had changed his opinion of Americans a little.
  
  The one hour to the south took me more than two hours. In the last 20 minutes Nam Kien had not opened his eyes. I saw the thinning jungle first, crisscrossed with well-worn paths, the signs of a village. There was a dull, aching pain across the back of my shoulders. My legs felt like they were made of gelatin.
  
  I stumbled along the path, tripping often and almost falling down twice. I had been gritting my teeth for so long that my jaw muscles ached.
  
  Nam Kien was very still and very heavy in my arms. At first he had tried to help by holding onto my neck, but now his arms dangled, his hands striking my knees with each stumbling step. I was huffing through my open mouth and almost to my knees when I could see the first hut of the village. For hours I had kept telling myself there was no time to rest. Whenever I felt I just had to, I told myself it was just a little farther, take six more steps, then 12, then 20. I was now eight or nine steps from the first hut in the village, and I doubted if I could make it.
  
  The village was alive with activity. Women and children were close to the edge of a creek that almost ran through the village. Laundry was rinsed, slapped against rocks, rinsed, slapped against rocks. They kept up the sing-song Asian chatter, light-hearted and gossipy. Beyond the village lay six large rice paddies, where the men from the village were working. In front of the first hut an old woman stirred a pot over an open fire. Beyond her, children romped and ran.
  
  I had six steps to go and was on my way down. "Hey!" I called, and I felt some kind of desperation in my voice. My knees hit the trail, and I started forward to my face.
  
  I don't know where the people came from, but suddenly I was surrounded by a small crowd. Nam Kien was taken from my lead-filled arms and into the first hut. I was helped to my feet and supported until my watery knees would stiffen. Then I was helped to the hut and inside. I sat heavily and somebody shoved a wooden bowl of rice in my hand. With the first bite I felt strength return. I wiped the sweat from my eyes and eased out of the pack. The old woman was bending over Nam Kien, and he was stirring.
  
  "Sariki," he said in a weak voice. "Old woman, get me Sariki." The old woman nodded and quickly left the hut. A crowd had gathered outside the hut door, but nobody else came in.
  
  I scooted over to offer Nam Kien some of the rice, but he had passed out again. I had finished the rice and was smoking a cigarette when I saw him move again. I knew he was dying, and I knew it wouldn't be long.
  
  The hut had one mat where Nam Kien lay. In the center there was a low table with no chairs. A single kerosene lantern hung from the curved ceiling. It was unlit, probably because of the heat and the fact that the blistering sun offered good enough light. Nam Kien was lying on his back. He raised an arm feebly and motioned me over to him.
  
  "Sariki… is a good guide. Sariki will lead you… to Angkor Thorn," he whispered in a croaking voice.
  
  "Don't try to talk now, Nam Kien."
  
  His lips moved but no words came. His tongue licked out over them. "S-Society of the… Silver Snake… bad. Killed my son. When Society needs men they… enter village. Ask for volunteers. Say it is patriotic duty. Win back Mekong Delta for Cambodia. If… if… no young men volunteer, kill one or two. Then no… trouble getting volunteers."
  
  I wanted to hear this, but I knew that by talking Nam Kien was hastening his own death. I thought of the time we had spent together and how often I had tried to get this information out of him. Now he was willing to tell me, when he might not ever tell anybody else anything again. I felt guilty.
  
  He had sighed. His eyes had closed and even now as he spoke they remained closed. "My… son in small village… Northwest Cambodia. Visiting girl. Society come to him… tell him to join. He refused. He was not of the village. He was visiting girl. He did not care who Mekong Delta belong to. He tell them… over and over he is not of village. Next morning… he received one of the Society's daggers. Very mysterious… before nightfall… my… son… is… dead…"
  
  "How?"
  
  He licked his lips and kept his eyes closed and waited. I knew this was painful for him. He was dying himself, yet he talked about the death of his son. "The dagger," he said. His voice was growing weaker. "Society got many volunteers from village. They… are ruthless… more than… Vietcong… North Vietnamese…"
  
  I thought he had slipped away. All the muscles relaxed in his face. He looked passive and completely without life. And then his lips began to move again.
  
  "Sariki… has a dagger. You must… tell Sariki to show it… to you. Sariki will guide you… to… Angkor Thorn…"
  
  His lips stopped moving. His mouth was open slightly. He lay perfectly still with every muscle in his face relaxed. I knew before I checked his pulse that Nam Kien was dead.
  
  Someone came through the door of the hut. I turned quickly to see who it was. She looked to be 18 or 19. Her chocolate eyes bored right through me, yet there was no expression on her lovely face. She was Vietnamese, and her skin had a rich smooth texture. A large man who must have been the chief came in behind her.
  
  The girl looked at me calmly and said, "My name is Sariki. I was told Nam Kien was hurt."
  
  
  
  
  
  Seven
  
  
  
  
  "He does not hurt any longer," I said. "He is dead."
  
  Suddenly her whole facial expression changed. Her teeth were bared and her eyes flooded in an expression of grief. She let out a loud choking sob and fell to her knees beside Nam Kien's body. Her slender body shook with deep sobs.
  
  The chief's old wrinkled face had a look of sadness as he looked at the girl. Then his tired eyes turned to me. "You will leave, please."
  
  "Leave?"
  
  "You will wait in another hut," he said. "Go!"
  
  I got to my feet and picked up the pack. Things were going on here I knew nothing about and probably weren't any of my business. I silently stepped outside. An old woman motioned me to follow her. As we walked toward another hut in the circle I got a lot of stares from women and children. I felt like the odd man on a date. I had come here looking for a Society, and now I was involved with a guide, his village and a girl who was supposed to be taking over. I wondered what connection she had with Nam Kien. He only had the one son. Was she a cousin? Then I wondered why I was wondering.
  
  The old woman stood aside and I went into the hut. This one had no table. The earth floor had no mats. My head hit the bulky softness of my pack, and I thought I'd try Yoga to relax without sleeping. It was the last thing I remember.
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  She shook my shoulder once, then stood back. I had been very deep in a pool of the past. I was with a lovely woman named Kathy, her son and we were in an old Austin streaking for the border into Hong Kong. And afterward while I kissed her and felt the softness of her, she had doubts about the world she came from. But the doubts left when I returned her to her husband. She had thanked me, and she had said she wished… but then she said no more. Her husband took her and his son and drove away, leaving me with Hawk, a steak, a drunken night in Hong Kong and a meeting with an airline stewardess a week later in Spain. When I felt my shoulder being shook, my feet touched the sandy bottom of the past, my knees bent then stiffened and I started swimming up through the dark subconscious. The pressure relaxed, I kicked as though I were pulling in a rope, and when I broke surface my eyes opened to look at Sariki's lovely face.
  
  "American," she said. I shook my head and focused on her, sniffled, mumbled something about all right, then sat up straight.
  
  The sun was already on the downward slide across the sky. In my sleep I had sweated so that my clothes were soppy enough to wring. My back was stiff, but I felt rested. Sariki was kneeling across from me. She wore a plain, loose-fitting shift, and her dark shiny hair was piled in a bun on the back of her head. Her wide, slightly slanted eyes looked at me curiously. Her face was triangular with a sharp almost jutting chin. Her mouth was wide, her lips full. Her slender body did not push or stretch against the dress anywhere. She looked fragile, as though she would be very easy to break. But a couple of things contradicted that: the clearness of her gaze, unblinking, steady, and the strong jawline angled sharply to the chin that looked strong and stubborn.
  
  Her brown eyes looked at me with a mild curiosity and a hint of recent hurt. They were red-rimmed from crying. "You knew Nam Kien?" she asked. Her voice was surprisingly low for someone so young.
  
  I shook my head slightly. "Not well. He guided me here. I mean, he was supposed to guide me to Angkor Thorn. We were ambushed about two or three miles from here by some young North Vietnamese…"
  
  "Do not say more, please!"
  
  I frowned at her. "I'm sorry. I thought you wanted to know how he died."
  
  She looked at the earth floor. "Did he speak to you before he died?"
  
  "He told me how his son died. He was guiding me to the Society of the Silver Snake. I have to find out about the Society. It is the reason I am here. He told me the Society killed his son with a dagger, and that you have one of these daggers. I am supposed to ask you to see it. And he said you would guide me to Angkor Thorn. If you won't, then I'll have to go back. I think I could find my own way. My superiors will find another way for me to locate the Society."
  
  "I did not say I would not take you."
  
  "Well, I'm not very popular. Two villages have already been wiped out and a lot of innocent people killed because of me. Nam Kien was one of them. If you don't want to guide me, I'll understand."
  
  "American," she said wearily. "You are an agent sent here by your government to find the Society of the Silver Snake. What will you do to the Society when you find it?"
  
  "I can't answer that right now," I said honestly. "I won't be able to answer it until after I locate them."
  
  "You will wait." She stood and smoothly flowed out of the hut. I slapped a mosquito on the back of my neck. My face felt crusty with sweat that had dried and then poured again. My clothes felt and smelled like I'd been wearing them for a year without a change. I had just about finished a cigarette when Sariki returned to the hut. She had something with her, something wrapped in a torn rag. She dropped it at my feet and backed up to the opposite wall. She crouched again, watching me.
  
  I put out the cigarette and leaned forward to pick up the bundle. I unwrapped it carefully.
  
  The dagger was silver, or at least it looked like silver. The point of it was the head of a snake honed to a razor-sharp edge. The rest of the blade was a wavy, semi-curled trunk of a snake's body. The outside edges were very sharp. The handle was made of woven leather, making it look like the snake was leaping out of a small basket. It was a wicked-looking weapon, and I could understand why it was guaranteed to strike terror into the hearts of any who resisted it. I started wrapping it again and looked up at Sariki.
  
  "How did you come by it?" I asked.
  
  She shook her head as though to throw the question aside. Then she said, "I am the chief's daughter. I have relatives in a small village in Northwest Cambodia where I once lived. If it was Nam Kien's last wish that I should lead you toward the ruins of Angkor Thorn, I will do so. But I will not lead you all the way to the ruins. I will take you to the small village where my cousin and two brothers live. It is close to the ruins." She moved gracefully to her feet and picked up the wrapped dagger and glided to the door. Her body was willowy and seemed to give her movements an almost swaying motion. She would have no trouble moving quietly in the night. At the door she turned back. "We will cross into Cambodia tonight," she said. "When we are in Cambodia there will be less concern about the North Vietnamese and the Vietcong. We will travel during the day and night. Rest quickly if you can." Then she left.
  
  I didn't know how I was going to rest quickly. I stretched back on the pack and closed my eyes. Maybe I could return to Kathy or the airline stewardess in Spain and take up where I left off before Sariki shook my shoulder. But sleep wouldn't come.
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  It was actually twilight when we left. The sun had been down for almost 20 minutes, the heat was still with us, the insects came in mobs, and as the sun had dipped it pulled a huge wrinkled scarlet tablecloth across the sky after it. All of the cloth wasn't quite down yet. It had tears and holes showing some blue and gray and extended almost directly above the village.
  
  Sariki had changed into the peasant pants that most of the villagers wore and a blue button-down-the-front blouse with long sleeves rolled to the elbows. Although she had changed clothes she brought along her same disposition. Her lovely face remained passive in her special brand of indifference. She had her own pack made of a coarse material.
  
  We started out on foot through the jungle. There was one very real difference as far as I was concerned. I had bathed, shaved and changed clothes. With another bowl of rice I felt ready to rejoin the human race. No one waved goodbye, no one stood watching. If there were to be a funeral for Nam Kien, neither Sariki nor I would see it. Life in the village seemed to go on just as usual.
  
  Darkness came quickly. Sariki took long girlish strides, and it seemed both delightful and odd after following Nam Kien. I had no problem keeping up with her. She picked the trails as though she knew what she was doing. In the darkness, she became just a shadow in front of me, a willowy form I was to follow.
  
  We moved swiftly and rested seldom. Sariki proved herself to be at least as silent as Nam Kien had been. I was used to jungle traveling, and it seemed to me we were making good progress. When we rested, Sariki never spoke, just sat opposite me and looked at the ground. And she never said when it was time to start off again; she simply got up and started walking.
  
  Shortly after midnight, she said the first words to me she had said since we left the village. "We have crossed into Cambodia," she said. She had kept walking without slowing.
  
  I looked around. "No border guards, no checkpoints?"
  
  "There are many places like this."
  
  And that was the sum total of the conversation.
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  We traveled on through the next day and night across Cambodia toward the Mekong River. In the villages we passed through, Sariki was treated with the humble respect apparently due a chiefs daughter. She spoke only to the chief of each village, and in private. We ate in villages and slept in them. Several times I had tried to start a conversation, but I was met with stone-faced silent stares. The pattern became simple. We walked with her in the lead. If we came to a village, we were immediately separated, and I didn't see her again until it was time to leave. If there were no village after four hours of walking, we stopped and ate a handful of rice.
  
  The heat didn't seem to affect her. If there were no village when darkness came, she picked out a place for me and a little farther on a place for her. We spread out mats and went to sleep. She always woke me before dawn, though I occasionally surprised her by being awake when she came. I figured in another day or two I would be waking her.
  
  At first I was anxious about her. She felt grief because Nam Kien was dead, and maybe in some left-field way I was responsible. So what did that make me? Hatred is a visible emotion. Contempt is another. You can see these things by a sly look or an insolent gesture. But she showed nothing of this toward me. What she showed me was indifference. And I didn't even know what Nam Kien meant to her.
  
  If I tossed Nam Kien out, I came up with another reason for her indifference. A princess. I figured that was a large deal here in this part of Asia. Maybe they brought her up to think she was a cut above the human race. In that case, I was beneath her station. But because of some unexplainable bond to Nam Kien and the fact that he had given me his word, she felt bound to mingle with me, a low commoner. That is if you wanted to call what we were doing mingling.
  
  Walking all those hours behind her gave me a lot of time to think. And although I worried at first, I soon changed it to a mild curiosity. If circumstances had been different, and if I hadn't felt guilt for Nam Kien's death, I would have told Sariki to peddle her guidebook somewhere else. I had struck out with her, and my ego did not take kindly to strikeouts.
  
  We reached the Mekong River late in the afternoon. I could hear it for a long time before we reached it. The trail made a slight turn in the jungle, the surface of it softened to a weedy sand, ahead grew a clump of thick vines, and on the other side stretched the river. Where we stood it ran deep and quick, looking like a wide ribbon of green canvas. Because of the depth and width at this point it gave a sense of hidden power.
  
  Sariki suddenly got very talky.
  
  "We cannot cross here," she said louder than I had ever heard her. "We must find a shallow place, and we must cross after dark." Her pert nose was wrinkled. She looked up and down the river.
  
  "Why?" I shouted. "We can drift with the current. We can go in together and hang on to one another. If we have to, we can take a log or some wood to float on. Why do we have to wait until dark?"
  
  "The river is patrolled. It will be less dangerous at night. In the daytime the river is used by the Vietcong. It is patrolled both day and night by American boats and helicopters. They shoot anything that moves."
  
  "Wonderful," I said without feeling.
  
  She led the way downriver, staying close enough in the jungle so that we couldn't be seen by snipers on the water.
  
  I followed her closely, noticing that the tight little bun on the back of her head was coming loose. It bobbed with each step she took and spidery wisps of it were sticking to her moist neck. It was a nice neck, kind of long and smooth. I knew that unless something in our relationship changed, or we reached our destination quickly, I was going to have problems.
  
  Walking behind her that way I caught myself looking for things. The way portions of the peasant pants pulled tight when she took those long steps. The way the blue blouse clung across her breasts. I was very physically aware of her. She was too easy to look at and too close too often.
  
  We walked along a set of rapids, the white water swirling and boiling around boulders, with sharp jagged rocks just under the surface. I thought about jumping from boulder to boulder, but there was one place where I would have had to be able to leap tall buildings in a single bound. Sariki kept going. I kept following and watching.
  
  Above the rapids we came to a section of swift, shallow water. The current was so quick it looked dangerous, but the water looked less than waist high. Sariki studied it, looked upriver, then downriver. With each gesture the bun loosened more and more. To keep from thinking about her I checked out a shallow spot myself. There were enough rocks to hang onto so you could keep from being swept away. I thought we should try it.
  
  "When it is dark," Sariki said. "It is much too dangerous in daylight."
  
  We eased out of our packs and sat on rocks along the bank. Sariki looked across the river to the other side.
  
  "Why did you leave?" I asked.
  
  Her head twirled around to me. It was just enough to almost break the bun loose, but not quite. She looked at me as though I had been invading her thoughts. "Leave where?"
  
  "That village in Northwest Cambodia, the one where your two brothers and cousin live."
  
  She looked away from me. I could see the hard set of her jaw arching to the pointy chin. The skin of her cheek looked so smooth it seemed to be stretched. But she did not answer me. I realized I had not once seen her smile.
  
  It was about an hour or two before dark. I leaned against the pack and lit a cigarette. "Sariki," I said, "you and I have been traveling together for one full night and almost one full day. In that time I could count the total number of words you've said to me on my fingers and not use both hands. Maybe the fact that I'm an American offends you. Maybe you think I'm beneath you in stature, you being a chief's daughter and all. Maybe you think I planted that dagger in Nam Kien's chest." She was looking at me now but with no expression in her eyes. But at least I had her attention.
  
  "If that's what you think, you couldn't be more wrong. I know you told me not to talk about it, but if you think Nam Kien and I were enemies you are mistaken. We were almost hit in one village by a group of North Vietnamese teenagers. We got away and hid while they passed us. The next village was wiped out by them, and in the one after that, they were waiting for us. It was a trap. I killed six of them. Somehow they'd picked up an older one, a leader, I guess. The seventh was killed by Nam Kien, but not before he had plunged that dagger in Nam Kien's chest. He told me to take him to your village. That's what I did. I was with him when he died."
  
  "You are an American agent seeking out the Society."
  
  "Is that why you're so indifferent toward me? Because I'm an American? I mean I've traveled alone before, but I didn't leave four footprints, and I wasn't made to believe I was just taking up space."
  
  "It is my way. I am sorry."
  
  "Okay," I said. "If that's how you are, then all I can do is feel sorry for you. You're a sad girl, and you leave sadness in your wake."
  
  "Please!" She turned her head away from me.
  
  "Then it isn't your way. There's a reason why you act like this. Have I said it, or is it something I haven't touched on yet? You don't strike me as the kind of girl who thrives on a caste system or snob appeal. But I don't know. I don't know you. We could go on like this for months, and I still wouldn't know you."
  
  "It is the war," she said.
  
  "No, that's too general. What part of the war? Have you been touched personally? I mean besides Nam Kien. Was your village blown up or your family killed?"
  
  "Enough!" She jumped to her feet and walked far enough upriver so that I couldn't see her.
  
  I tossed my cigarette in the river with disgust. Shadows were long, stretching halfway across the water. I watched the river swiftness and tried to think out the puzzle that was Sariki. It was possible she knew something about the Society she wasn't telling me. Three things about her stood out in my mind: What was her relationship with Nam Kien? Why did she have one of the Society's Silver Snake Daggers? Who did she get it from? Maybe she was actually a member of the Society itself.
  
  She came back slowly. A typical female would have been pouting. But not Sariki. She had used the time away from the questions to fix her bun. She watched me closely as she approached in the fading sunlight. The expression on her face looked thoughtful, as though she wanted to say something. She sat next to me.
  
  "You are beautiful, as all American men are supposed to be beautiful," she said. "You are strong and healthy to look at. And you say I am indifferent. It is true, but I wonder how open and friendly you Americans would be if your country were overrun by opposing attacking invaders."
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  We started across the river one hour after sunset. The extra hour was to give the twilight time to darken completely.
  
  Holding our packs high, we stepped into the water, Sariki in the lead and me right behind. Surprisingly, the current was much stronger than it looked. The dark water pulled at my legs and ankles, and I had to hang onto the rocks tightly. Sariki was having trouble. Her legs kept sliding from under her, and when she tried gripping the rocks, her fingers slipped over the edge. I moved in a high-step splash to her side and offered my hand. She gave me a look of proud defiance and refused my hand.
  
  The hell with her, I thought. I shouldn't have let her take over Nam Kien's job. I should have gone back and tried to get another guide.
  
  As we reached the halfway point across the river the water grew colder and deeper. Sariki had her head bent back, thin arms grabbing for each rock she came to, pack held high above her. As a chief's daughter maybe she thought she had powers beyond other human girls. But her powers weren't going to help her if the current got any stronger.
  
  We were past the halfway mark now. The river didn't get any deeper, and it hadn't started to shallow again yet. Because my legs were stronger, I was pulling up on Sariki. It was easy to tell myself I didn't give a damn if she went zipping along the rapids, but the fact remained that she knew the way to the village. I didn't. If she wanted to be proud and stupid that was her business. The water started to shallow now. Then I heard something else beside the hiss of swirling water.
  
  At first it sounded far away. Sariki and I both froze where we stood. There was a little moon glimmering on the water. I could see upriver and wondered if it was a boat. There was enough space between the rocks for a boat to pass, and although the rapids farther down were swift and rocky, a good boatman could maneuver them. Then when I heard the wup-wup-wup sound I knew what it was. I pushed Sariki.
  
  "Hurry to the bank!" I shouted.
  
  Sariki struck out quickly, half-swimming, half-jumping from the rocks. I stayed right behind her. Then I thought it would be better if I got in front of her. I could hurry to the bank, unload my pack, then help her. I cut out at an angle as the slapping water sounds grew louder. But I still could hear the powerful purr of the unmuffled engine. It was coming from upriver, and it was getting closer.
  
  I was moving slightly downriver from Sariki, letting the current help me along. I swung between the rocks like Tarzan going through the trees. I was slightly more clumsy though. In the darkness, I could make out the shadowy bank right in front of me. The river bottom didn't ease up, and the bank looked high, muddy and grassy.
  
  Then the engine sound was so loud it sounded as though it was right on top of us. I saw the powerful light first. The helicopter was tracing the river. The copter rounded the curve upriver and passed lazily back and forth across the river as it came toward us. I couldn't see any guns, but I knew they were there. Sariki was about ten feet from me, and I still had a good five feet to reach the bank. The copter dropped altitude, and its large egg-beater blade churned up the water under it. It hovered, moving slowly. I bent backward with the pack, heaved it forward, then grunted with satisfaction as I heard it thump on the bank. Then I bent slightly and made a dive for the bank. The current took me down another 15 feet before I found a vine to grab. I pulled myself up the muddy steepness.
  
  The copter passed over us and continued slowly on. In the shine of moon and reflection from the spotlight on the water, I could see the American insignia on it. Then it made a lazy circle. I was moving upriver along the bank, pushing my way through thick greenery. The copter came back faster. Leaves slapped against my face, my soggy pants almost tripped me.
  
  In the brightness of the spotlight I could see Sariki. The bun of her hair had come completely loose and her hair fanned out on the water like dark moss.
  
  The copter was zooming back now just a few feet above the water. Suddenly, there was a loud crackling and spurts of fire spit from somewhere along the bottom of the copter. The line of fire had splattered a row of water less than three feet from Sariki. Her hands slipped from the rock. The current took her to another and she tried to grab it. Again she missed. The copter had flown almost to the curve again. It made a roller-coaster dip and climb, then peeled back for another pass. It was going much faster now. Again fire spit from the big guns, and shells hit the water. Sariki was almost alongside me now. I was ready to jump in and grab her. But the current took a swift turn. Sariki was swept out toward the center of the river and down toward the rapids.
  
  I couldn't see her. In the dim moonlight I watched the section of current that had taken her and saw which rocks it circled and on which side of the river it would reach the rapids. It stayed to the center most of the way. Then it seemed to move in two small whirlpools to the opposite bank. I felt a sense of hopeless despair. There was no way I could get across in time. And then I saw Sariki.
  
  I had reached the rapids, and she had pushed out of the current that swept her. She had been swimming at an angle toward the bank. An undertow hadn't sucked her under; her head hadn't struck any rocks. But she was tired. Her strokes looked like a baby in its bath; the arms came up and swung down but without strength.
  
  I was leaping over vines and bulling my way through thick leaves as I ran to her. She was beginning to hit the rapids, and part of her fatigue was caused by the fact that she was fighting the current. She wasn't making any progress, but at least she wasn't drifting. It gave me enough time to get in front of her. I was halfway down the rapids when she came over a little ledge and started twisting and turning. Her pack had already passed me. I knew this was going to be a one-shot deal. I wished there were more light.
  
  I left the bank in a leap that sent me three feet into a large boulder. I landed on my hands and feet and froze, hanging on. The rock was slippery. River water splashed on my face closing my eyes. Slowly I moved to a standing position on the rock. Sariki wasn't coming toward me. She was closer to the center of the river, moving headfirst, her long dark hair billowing behind her like a waving flag. I had an uncontrollable desire not to take my eyes off her. Maybe that's why people drown while others look on.
  
  I shook my head clear and looked at the area around me. She was coming very fast. Soon she would go on by and then nothing could be done. There was a fairly flat rock five feet out. Without thinking, I jumped for it. The edge of the rock struck my stomach. The wind was knocked out of me. The current was tugging at my legs, pulling me off the rock. I started clawing with my fingernails. The water seemed icy, colder than anything I had felt. I got my elbows on the rock and hoisted myself up. Sariki was coming by on the other side.
  
  Her hand was held out to me. I reached for it and the current pulled her away from me. My hand hit the water, grasping at anything. I felt spidery strands of hair, then a thick richness of it. I gathered a handful of it, wrapped it once around my wrist and leaned back, pulling. I felt the drag of her body against the current. I kept pulling until I was at the opposite end of the rock. Her head was close now. I reached down, felt her back, got a hand under her arms and pulled her onto the rock with me.
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Even in the jungle a campfire can lend a cozy warmth. The one I made was smoky because there wasn't much dead wood to find. Along the rapids I managed to find a log or two, which had been waterlogged, then sun-dried. It was a cozy fire.
  
  Sariki's clothes were drying around it. She was wearing my extra change of clothes, which she had insisted on changing into herself. Everything she had was lost when her pack was swept away. That sort of dumped her in my lap and seemed to make her unhappy.
  
  I had carried her back, got a fire going, cooked up a batch of rice and gave her half my dry clothes. She had not uttered one word of thanks. Despite that, I felt good. For the first time since I met her, I felt like I was in charge. She may have known the way to the village, but I had her clothes. Like the Truehart villain, if she didn't play ball my way, I'd make her run around in her altogether.
  
  She sat on a rock in front of the fire, legs together, bottom of my peasant shirt held tightly around her. She seemed awkward, embarrassed. She had taken the rice I cooked and had eaten in silence. Then she just sat there wringing out her long thick hair.
  
  "Well," I said, stretching and yawning, "I guess it's about time to turn in." I knelt in front of her. She looked away.
  
  "Sariki," I said softly, "I don't mind cleaning up the eating mess tonight because you've had a pretty harrowing experience. But from now on I think it's only fair that you pull your own weight. You can take the sleeping mat; I've made a comfortable bed from leaves. But you're not tripping off fifty yards from here to spend the night. If I'm that offensive to you then go ahead by yourself. Just leave my mat, that's all. I've spread it by the fire so you can be nice and warm. I think we'll get started right after sunup, if that's all right with you. If not, I'll be glad to hear any logical reason why not."
  
  I waited. She kept looking at the ground to her right. Her hands were wrapped around her hair like it was some rope she was climbing up on. There was no expression on her face. I smiled at her and lightly kissed her forehead. "No complaints? Good. See you in the morning."
  
  On the other side of the campfire, I stretched out on my bed of green leaves with my hands locked behind my head. Sleep eluded me. It had built so many thoughts — the river, going after Sariki, the helicopter. American. Lovely. I wondered how far we were from our destination. There would be villages in between where Sariki could find clothes and food, and maybe even another pack. But until then we'd have to live out of mine. She was an ungrateful spoiled brat as far as I was concerned. I toyed with the idea of taking her over my knee. What would be the point of it? No, I'd let her guide me toward the ruins. In that village she spoke of where her brothers and cousin lived, I could either hire another guide or strike out on my own. In any case, I would be done with her. Then my eyes grew heavy. I slept.
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Something awakened me, making me realize I was not alone. I turned to my side and smelled the richness of her hair. My eyes were still closed. I reached out and touched warm smooth flesh. My hand slid down the small of her back, over the firm curve of her smooth fanny, and my eyes opened suddenly.
  
  Sariki was lying next to me on my bed of leaves. Her small naked breasts were pressed firmly into my chest. Her eyes searched my face intently, as though she were looking toward the horizon and trying to pick something out. Her lips parted slightly.
  
  "Sariki," I started, but her hand came to my mouth. It was a slender hand with long slim fingers.
  
  "You have saved my life," she said, and her low voice had a husky tone to it. "It was a brave thing you did. I wish to show you my gratitude."
  
  "I don't want it like this," I said.
  
  "Then take it for whatever reason you wish." Her petal lips pressed against mine, her mouth opened, tongue darting, hands touching, probing.
  
  Then she was over me, raised slightly so just the nipples of her breasts brushed the hair on my chest. Her moist lips found my cheeks, my ears, my throat. I rolled back to my side again and tried weakly to push her away. My heart wasn't in it, and she knew it. I kept telling myself I didn't want it out of gratitude, but because of mutual need, a physical awareness of each other — man and woman — was basic.
  
  My hand found the gelatin softness of her breasts. She guided the nipple to my lips. My hands moved lightly along her back; I pulled her down beside me, then raised on one elbow.
  
  Her eyes were closed. Her shiny black hair was spread fan-like under her head making a frame for it. Her body looked mahogany in color with the texture of finely polished wood. I let my fingers trace an imaginary line between her breasts, over the tiny belly-button, over the small mound of belly, and down through the downy softness of velvet between her legs.
  
  I wanted to tell her how I'd been watching her move, that I approved of the way she moved and the way it looked.
  
  Her hand was on me, guiding me toward her moistness. Her legs spread. Her lower lip was pulled between her teeth as I entered her. I looked down at the dark nipples pointing the firm smooth breasts. Small groaning sounds came from her throat as we moved together then apart. There were many things I wanted to tell her. But I told her nothing.
  
  Our movements started to become irregular. I could feel myself climbing. Looking down at her, I saw that her lower lip was still between her teeth.
  
  Then she became wild. Her knees came up, her mouth opened; she writhed and twisted under me. Her fingers grabbed my hair and pulled my mouth down to where hers was waiting open and eager.
  
  When she reached the summit of completion it was like a car smashing into a brick wall. Her body came alive with shivers. I could feel her tongue darting in and out of my mouth.
  
  And then I felt myself go. I clutched her tightly to me, ignoring her tiny cries of pain and feeble attempts to catch her breath.
  
  I wanted to tell her a lot of things, but I said nothing. I took her just as she wanted to be taken.
  
  
  
  
  
  Eight
  
  
  
  
  I had felt her in my arms for most of the night. I had felt the sweetness of her breath against my cheek. Strands of her coal-colored hair tickled my nose. The warm softness of her naked body pressed against me. Her head rested in the pocket between my chest and shoulder. Yet when the bright heat of morning sunlight made me stir, she was not in bed with me.
  
  I awoke to see her fully dressed in her dry clothes making a fire. As I watched her, I thought I liked her better in my peasant shirt. In fact I liked her best of all in nothing.
  
  "Good morning," I called cheerfully. "Are you trying to impress me with your wood lore. I mean building the fire and all."
  
  She said absolutely nothing.
  
  I frowned at her. "Is something wrong, Sariki?"
  
  "Nothing is wrong," she said.
  
  I crept off my leaves and came up behind her. Slowly I let my hands circle her waist. "Gotcha!" I laughed.
  
  She wriggled around in my arms then jerked herself free. She jumped away from me and bared her teeth at me. "Stop!" she shouted. "You will stop!"
  
  I noticed the hair was back in a bun. I sat on a rock staring at her. Then I felt the anger oil in me.
  
  "Forgive me, Sariki," I said cooly. "But when I have made love to a girl — to a woman I care about — it is my nature to get familiar. I tend to hold her whenever I can, pat her as she passes by and maybe kiss the back of her neck when she bends over. I keep putting my hands on her because I feel a kind of exclusive belonging. I feel there is a kind of mature responsibility afterward that says each should treat the other with kindness. I awoke feeling good because of last night. I wanted you to know."
  
  "Last night was silly," she hurled at me. "A stupid mistake of gratitude because of the river."
  
  "It was more than that to me, Sariki. But you can play it this way if you want. Your reputation won't be ruined by the jungle creatures who saw and heard us. I want you to remember one thing, though. You came to me last night. Call it a stupid mistake of gratitude if you want. If it meant nothing to you maybe you should. But remember, you came to me."
  
  "We waste time," she snapped. "We will eat then go. There is still much distance to cover."
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  And that was how it stayed for the next two days and nights. We traveled in silence, and when we stopped for the night, she never came to me again. In the first village we came to, she outfitted herself with a new pack.
  
  Faced with something like this, a man tends to question himself, and maybe even the ability of his performance. She had come to me in the night wanting pure sex. No matter what kind of label she put on it, like gratitude, it was still sex she wanted. Not that she had a wide range of choice out here in the jungle, but she could have let it pass, waited for somebody else more to her liking. Yet she had chosen to have sex with me. But why?
  
  She seemed to turn it on and off like a faucet.
  
  However, a man tends to question himself. She had come to me wanting something. I had given it to her. She had returned to her quiet moodiness the morning after. What did that tell me? I was losing my touch? I've never had any complaints before, and I sure didn't have any against her. In the most intimate relationship Sariki had become female primitive with complete abandon. She had become unglued like very few women I have known. In the act of love she had become a basic jungle female.
  
  In the afternoon of the third day, we reached the village.
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  For me the novelty of foot travel had already worn thin. I was exhausted and I saw by the fatigue in Sariki's face that she was too. We entered the village with the sun at our backs, side by side. The children were the first to see us, and they shouted something and rushed off. Soon some middle-aged women came running behind the children. They huddled around Sariki as though she were royalty. Then two of them hustled her off away from me.
  
  I eased my pack to the ground and fell beside it. The village looked like all the others we had passed through: thatched-roofed huts arranged in a circle with the bulk of activity done inside the circle. Beyond lay the eternal rice fields. The younger men were just now beginning to come in. To my left I saw a group of young men crouched on their haunches in a right circle. One of them, out of sight, was making noises familiar to me, familiar but out of place in this village.
  
  "Coming out," he said. "All bets faded now. Come on, baby, speak to me. Talk to your daddy. Talk pretty." There was a slight pause. "Four," the voice said. "Gentlemen, the point is four. Lay your bets on me 'cause I'm making it two and two. Okay, you're faded. And you? Twenty francs? You're faded. That's it, gentlemen. Coming out. All bets down. Come on, baby. Speak to daddy."
  
  The others were talking like all players in a good crap game, but they were jabbering in Cambodian, while the shooter rattled off in GI American. I may have been tired, but not that tired. I had to see this, so I ambled over to the group. I stood over them, but all I could see of the shooter was the porcupine head of a Cambodian in a crewcut.
  
  "Four!" he shouted. "Sorry, gentlemen, you lose." The others started moving back. "Had enough already? Come on, now."
  
  A woman entered the group at a fast trot. I recognized her as one of the women who had taken Sariki. As the other crap players drifted off, I got a better look at the shooter. He was tossing the dice up and down in his hand, listening while the woman spoke to him in Cambodian. Besides his hair being crewcut, he wore a loud red shirt. On his feet were Army shoes. He was chewing gum vigorously and looked to me like he had just stepped out of an American used car lot. He nodded curtly to the woman, then walked off with her. I had been standing to the side of him so I didn't think he had seen me. When he had gone in the hut where Sariki was, I picked up my pack. Two women came to me and motioned to me to follow them. They led me to another hut where I sat and was served a bowl of rice and another of mixed vegetables. The bowl of rice had chunks of boiled fish in it. I ate hungrily, then leaned against the pack and smoked with my eyes closed.
  
  I didn't want to think, because my thoughts always returned to Sariki. I remembered how Sariki's young body had felt to my hands the night she came to me, and I shook the thought from my head. Think about the job, about the mission.
  
  So I did. I figured I was within one or two days from the ruins at Angkor Thom. This village was as far as Sariki said she would take me. From here I would either have to hire somebody else or find a map of some land.
  
  I was sure the Society existed. Whether it was good or bad I couldn't decide. Sariki had one of the daggers with which Nam Kien's son was killed. But I had no proof. There are always two sides to every story. Maybe Nam Kien's son was a troublemaker who had to be dealt with. Maybe Sariki belonged to the Society or was friendly with one of the members. There was still a hell of a lot to find out.
  
  Then my thoughts were interrupted.
  
  He came through the door of the hut flashing a wide grin. "Hey, GI Joe," he said as he came toward me with his hand out. "Slip me some skin, man." When we had shaken hands he sat down next to me. That grin was still on his face. It was a young face, about 19. He had the look of a hustler. "Hey, you didn't think I noticed you watching the crap game, did you? I wanted to check you out before we talked."
  
  He still had hold of my hand. "I'm Nick Carter," I said a little bewildered.
  
  "Tough enough, Nick. I'm Chong, Sariki's cousin."
  
  I nodded with understanding. "You were in the hut talking to her. Where did you pick up that American lingo?"
  
  "Hey, how about that? I talk it pretty good, huh? Picked up a lot of stuff in Saigon," he said, puffing his cigar, "like craps. I'm trying to get the guys around here to dig the game, you know? Just so I can pick up a little extra bread,"
  
  "Chong, I think you're a con man," I said with a wide grin.
  
  He matched my grin. "Why, Nick, whatever gave you that idea?" He blew cigar smoke at the ceiling. "You're right, I've been talking to Sariki. She tells me you're here to check out the Society of the Silver Snake."
  
  "Just check it out," I said. "I'm not doing anything about it until I do, then I still may do nothing. I heard they were in the ruins at Angkor Thorn. That shouldn't be too far from here."
  
  "Right, it's about two days. You need a guide, and in that respect you are very lucky. I am the greatest guide, tracker and fighter in all of Cambodia — hell, maybe the world. I'll take you to Angkor Thorn, and if this Society needs dealing with, pow, we'll deal with them. Right, Nick?"
  
  "Well…"
  
  "Hell, man, I don't expect you to take me at my word. I'll show you I'm the best. Of course, taking you there means I'll have to postpone some of my enterprises here. I got a floating crap game started, and I'm setting it up to make contact in other villages for a cut of the trading." He squinted at me. "How long you figure we'll be gone?"
  
  I shrugged. "Anywhere from two to five days. Look, Chong, if this is going to interfere with your hustling maye you ought to let me…"
  
  Chong held up his hand. "No more, say no more, man. You and me, we'll make it to the Society together, right? I mean, I got to guide you; it's a matter of family honor. Sariki told me you saved her fife, plucked her right out of the river rapids. To guide you is the least I can do for rescuing my cute cousin."
  
  "Okay, Chong," I said. "You're my guide. We'll see how good you are. I want to get a good night's rest. I thought we'd leave tomorrow morning."
  
  "Tough enough." He hesitated, scratched his head, pulled his earlobe, sniffed and looked at me from an angle. "There's just one thing."
  
  "What is that?"
  
  He looked thoughtful and even a little troubled. "It's Sariki's brothers," he said. "About a week ago, the recruiters of the Society came through here. They spouted a lot of junk about needing soldiers to recapture the Mekong Delta for Cambodia. Sariki's two brothers were forced to join. The only reason they didn't get me is that I don't hang around for that kind of jazz, you know?
  
  "As soon as I got wind they were coming, old Chong split like a thunderbolt cutting open a tree, dig? I was long gone. Nick, whatever you and I do about the Society, I mean if we leave them alone or blow the whistle on them, we got to get Sariki's brothers out of there and home. That's something we've just got to do. I promised her I'd ask."
  
  I sat up frowning. "She wanted you to ask me? Why didn't she ask me herself? All the time we spent together, and she never once mentioned that her brothers had been recruited. She didn't talk about her family at all."
  
  "Well, she didn't know until she got here." Chong leaned back and locked his hands behind his neck. "Sariki is one funny little chick. She never has been the gabby sort, you know? Anyway, she used to be kind of bubbly until the Society came through about two months ago. You see Sariki was going to be married to a cat named Lee Kien."
  
  "Hold it!" I cut in. "Chong, you said Lee Kien. Do you mean the son of Nam Kien?"
  
  "One and the same, man. Hey, I heard what happened to Nam Kien. That just about rounded it out for Sariki."
  
  I was sitting straight up moving my head slowly from side to side. It explained a lot of things, like how Sariki got hold of that silver Society dagger. She probably got it after it was used on her betrothed. And why she was so grieved over the death of Nam Kien. He would have been her father in law, and they shared the loss of Lee Kien.
  
  "She is one strange little chick, all right," Chong said. He turned to me. "But we got to get her brothers back to her, right?"
  
  "We'll do what we can," I said.
  
  Chong stood up. He was a small wiry sort and moved in quick easy gestures. He stuck his hand down to me. "I dig you, Nick. You're my kind of cat."
  
  I took his hand. "Will you be ready to leave as soon as it's light?"
  
  "Man, I'll be camped right in front of your door come sunup. I'll take care of the grub and stuff. You got things you want to do?"
  
  "I've got dirty laundry and I'd like to clean up. You got a creek or body of water around here anywhere?"
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  For the second time since we met she came to me late at night. I was not asleep when she approached. I felt her presence in the small hut as soon as she stepped in. Then I lay on my mat and listened to the rustle of fabric. I could not see her clearly. Night jungle sounds filtered in, giving a background sound to her undressing. She was a silhouette against the open doorway of the hut, firm naked breasts protruding, hair shaken loose, body lithe and hourglass as she turned to come to me. I stayed motionless as she knelt near my side and a silly thought occurred to me. I wondered if she was smiling. I still had never seen her smile. I doubted it. Her hand touched the inside of my leg.
  
  "Nick?" she whispered. "Nick?"
  
  "I am awake," I said, keeping the whisper tone. "I watched you undress."
  
  She moved to lie next to me. I felt her fingers groping for my hand. She found it and placed it gently against a breast where the hardened nipple brushed my palm.
  
  Her lips touched my cheek then moved to my ear. "Nick, you will return my brothers to me?"
  
  "I will if it is possible. But why must you always find an excuse for it? Why can't you see it as a need, a want?"
  
  She silenced me with her partly open mouth over mine. We kissed, slow, and I held her slender body close to mine. There was no start, no tension, just a slow and dreamy sensuousness as she pressed gently against me with small urging pressures. And then I moved over her, raised her to my elbows to keep my weight from her.
  
  It took a full 30 seconds for us to come completely together, then another 30 seconds to move apart. Our movements were languid, lazy. Our eyes were open, watching each other's body. There was a kind of gleam in Sariki's eyes. She stared at my lips, then at my mouth. Her hands moved from my shoulders to each side of my neck. Then her lips touched mine. The kiss was as long and lazy as our movements.
  
  "You are a good lover," she whispered.
  
  "Sariki, Sariki, Sariki," was all I could say.
  
  Sariki and I were coupled. The closer we got to the surface the quicker we seemed to drift. But our movements continued to be lazy. Our lovemaking was not as intense and wild as it had been in the jungle.
  
  I felt her give a small shivering jerk, then her smooth perfectly shaped body stiffened. Her eyes took on a filmed, dreamy look, then closed. It was very good.
  
  When I felt her beginning to leave me, I reached out for her. I caught at her to hold her, but she kept moving away. My fingertips trailed off her shoulder and down her arm feeling spider-web strands of hair as she slipped out of the moonlight, and after dressing in darkness, out of the hut.
  
  One other time I called, "Sariki," in the night. There was no answer. In the morning when I awoke, there was no sign that she had ever been there.
  
  Chong and I left the village, and I did not see her. In the harsh, humid sunlight, I wondered if it had been a dream. But I knew it hadn't; it was as real as the moonlight had been. I wondered if I would ever again have intimate whispered words with her. Marching beside a cheerful, talking Chong, with the heat and the wetness and the insects all around, I could agree with what Chong had told me. Sariki was indeed one very strange chick.
  
  
  
  
  
  Nine
  
  
  
  
  I couldn't say if Chong was the greatest guide in all Cambodia, but he sure was one of the most colorful. As the morning hours passed and we walked side by side, I knew that the more I got to know this young roguish vagabond, the better I liked him. So far this one morning had been one of the most pleasant parts of the whole trip.
  
  "I got my whole philosophy of life from one GI in Saigon," Chong was saying. He had one of his thin unlit cigars between his teeth. While he spoke, he was in front of me, facing me and walking backward. "This GI Joe's name was Mike O'Leary, he continued. "He came from the old country, see? And pizza? Boy that guy loved pizza, and kept saying he couldn't wait to get to Brooklyn where he could sink his teeth in a good pizza."
  
  I shook my head. "Chong, I think you're putting me on."
  
  "Yeah," he said sheepishly. "Maybe just a little. I don't know what country Mike really came from. But there really was such a cat, see? And he gave me this great philosophy."
  
  Chong paused long enough to put a lit match to the end of his cigar. I don't know how he did it, but he never faltered or tripped once while he was moving backward.
  
  "Mike and I had a kind of partnership. He worked in the commissary on the base in Saigon and used to smuggle stuff out so we could sell it to whores.
  
  "The prosties were always in the market for junk like jeans and American dresses. We had a pretty good markup, nothing out of sight on account of we dealt in volume, and had a lot of other little things going. We got a cut from three crap games around Saigon, and Mike and I personally owned six prostitutes, from which we naturally took large cuts. Like I say, we had our hands in a lot of stuff. But, old Mike, he says to me a long time ago, 'Chong, he said, 'P. T. Barnum once stated that there is a sucker born every minute of the day. You stick with me, and I'll show you that estimate is conservative. There is actually one born every fifteen to twenty seconds. And man, was that ever a fact. I never seen so many eager-beaver dum-dums so anxious to part with their money."
  
  "Most of them servicemen, no doubt," I said.
  
  "Sure, but don't forget, Mike was a serviceman, too. We had a partnership. And we clipped regular South Vietnamese soldiers. Like Mike always said, 'Don't discriminate. Dig?" His teeth flashed in a wide friendly smile.
  
  I shook my head. "So you must have made a pretty great haul. What happened to it?"
  
  "Mike took his with him when he got shipped home. For a while, he thought about staying in Saigon and keeping the partnership going. We might have lost some contacts, I mean him not being on the base and all, but we'd have done okay, you know?" He rolled his eyes in disgust. "But old Mike, he's got the hornies for all that stinking Brooklyn pizza. We sold out everything, split the take down the middle and off he went."
  
  I gave Chong a wide grin. "Maybe you've got your own kind of pizza here."
  
  Chong blinked up at the sky. "Hey, Nick, it's almost noon," he said. "Let's take a break. All this marching is making me hungry. Come on, let's find a shady spot with less than a thousand insects and sit and eat and drink some of the vino I brought along. Never do nothing on an empty stomach, that's what Mike always used to say. Hey, Nick, you're kind of quiet, like Sariki, huh? You don't say much."
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  So that's how it went. As Chong explained late in the afternoon, as we were approaching the city of Kompong Chikreng, the question was where we would make camp for the night. All day we skirted villages and avoided contact with anyone.
  
  It was my idea. I didn't want anyone tipping off the Society. If the Society happened to be a tool of the government and they found out a big American disguised as a peasant was moving through the country, some embarrassing questions might be asked in Washington. I wanted to make sure what this Society was first.
  
  We camped on a small hill overlooking the city. We had stopped by a stream earlier where Chong showed me his fishing ability with a three-pronged stick. He ended up with four pan-sized trout.
  
  "What a day," Chong said. "It moved quick, didn't it, Nick?"
  
  "Very quick," I answered.
  
  Chong and I were sitting with backs against trees on our mats looking down the hill. The small campfire glowed between us at our feet, no longer in flame, just red embers. Each of us was lost in his own thoughts. I thought if we made as good progress tomorrow as we did today, we would reach the ruins sometime tomorrow night.
  
  "Sometimes I talk too much," Chong said suddenly. "I was just thinking, you know? Hell, I've been jabbering at you all day today. Listen, Nick, anytime I get spouting off too much for you to take, you just say, 'Chong, shut up, and I'll clamp my mouth."
  
  I laughed at him. "Chong, if you knew how gabby my other traveling companions were, you'd know that I welcome some conversation."
  
  Chong had been sipping on his wine. He nodded once at me and flashed his con smile. "Just remember, if you want me to shut up, say so."
  
  I drank some of my own wine. We looked at the crystal lights of Kompong Chikreng below us. I drained my cup and put it in my pack. The stars looked low enough to hit with a stick. When I had a cigarette going, I said, "Chong, what do you think of this Silver Snake Society?"
  
  He shrugged, drank some more of his wine, then tilted his head back, draining his wine. He wiped the back of his hand across his lips, sniffled, pulled on his earlobe and belched loudly.
  
  "Way I see it they're a bunch of radicals," he said in a strained voice. "Southeast Asia is puffed with them. Can you dig it, Nick? Seems like we're loaded with cults and superstitions and everyday fear. So, man, these little gangs spring up all over the place. Old Mike told me that in America you got what they call outlaw motorcycle gangs; well, maybe that's what these groups over here are, you know?" He scratched his head. "But this Silver Snake jazz is a little different."
  
  "In what way?"
  
  Chong dropped his cup next to him then scooted down so he was lying on his back on the mat. He locked his fingers behind his neck. "Well, most of these cults or gangs only spout one thing; they all just cry that we should drive the Yankee invaders out of Southeast Asia, nothing more. They make a lot of noises, but mostly they're just saying one thing.
  
  "Now this Silver Snake Society is on another giggle. What they're spouting is for everybody to help win back the Delta for Cambodia. To the clowns who are walking battles, waiting for a peace to happen, this makes sense, dig? It has logic and purpose to it.
  
  "Okay, so maybe this Society really believes it's going to pull it off. Maybe they're straight and have only this one purpose in mind. But the word is that they fight the VC and the Vietcong. Any group that digs that kind of action is A-Okay in my book. So their recruiting methods leave a little to be desired, I mean, Lee Kien was a buddy of mine. I don't dig that nasty silver dagger and the killing to scare others into joining. Also, I hate the VC and the Vietcong and the Red Chinese.
  
  "To me it's just Naziism and Facism with a different label. And if the Society is fighting this kind of action then they're good for Cambodia. Besides, I find it funny that one gang is singled out and bad-mouthed like it is. The more I think about it, the more curious I get."
  
  I frowned at him. "What do you mean, Chong? Do you think somebody is deliberately putting them down?"
  
  Chong raised up on one elbow so he could face me. "Let's just say it gets curious for me. Nick, the leader of this Society is a cat named Tonle Sambor. Nobody knows anything about him, where he came from, what he believes, nothing. So maybe he's a Communist, but nobody really knows. Though I don't go for his recruiting methods, they bring results. He's got himself quite a goddamned army. Who do you think is hurt by a big army?"
  
  "The Cambodian government," I said. "Then you're saying the government is worried that maybe this Tonle Sambor is getting too powerful."
  
  Chong held his hand out to me palm up. "Now, man, I'm not saying any such thing. What I'm saying is I'm curious, and such a thing is more than just possible, dig?"
  
  I scooted down on my own mat and matched Chong's position. What he told me tossed a few different elements on this so-called Society. Suppose the Cambodian government was using both me and the United States to rid itself of an unwanted rising power? That official who had revealed to the U.S. information about the Society could have done it just for that purpose. Maybe the government wanted us to do its dirty work for it.
  
  Now I didn't quite know how I was going to handle this assignment; right now there were too many loose ends. I had to find out everything about this Silver Snake Society. I heard Chong snoring as I drifted off to sleep.
  
  The next night we reached the outskirts of Siem Reap. Chong said we had to be more careful now, for we had entered the operating area of the Society.
  
  We had decided to continue moving through darkness. We were close to the ruins; we could make it before daylight with no problem.
  
  Chong picked his way carefully through the jungle. Several times we had to freeze in our steps because of thrashing around us. We saw men in groups of two's and three's pass by us. Chong proved it to me; he may not have been the greatest guide in the world, but he was sure as hell one of the best. Without a moon, and with the jungle overgrown above us, there were times when we moved in total darkness. The men passing us were dark shadows, making no attempt to be quiet. As the sky started to lighten, Chong told me we were very close to the ruins. We had to move about a hundred yards at a time, then freeze and listen. Just before dawn, as we approached the ruins of Angkor Thom, Chong showed me what kind of fighter he was.
  
  We had entered a grassy plain that spread flat to the ruins. In the predawn light we saw the massive stone structures rising above us. The stones had a brown tint to them, with archways and windows just black pockets in the pale light. Crystals of decay showed white on the edges and corners of the blocks. It looked like a bombed-out village of stone. I knew there would probably be tunnels and caves and hidden passages.
  
  Chong and I were crouched at the edge of the plain. Grass was almost waist-high in front of us. Chong was chewing gum. He looked at me and raised his eyebrows. I knew what he was thinking. Walk or crawl?
  
  If we walked, keeping low, we would disturb the grass. But we also would make better time. If we crawled, we would be able to pick our way quietly. But it would take longer. Either way somebody sitting on top of a temple wall with a pair of binoculars could see us as soon as the sun started rising.
  
  I had a lot to learn about the Society. I didn't want to be picked off before I even reached them. I elected to crawl.
  
  The grass was tall right up to the edge of the ruins. Chong and I dropped to our bellies and started out. I didn't like it. It was a bad way because even though we seemed to be well-hidden we couldn't see beyond our immediate area. Somebody could be standing two feet away, aiming right at our backs, and we never would have known they were there. The sky turned from pale gray to a deep blue. We were almost halfway across. Then I saw something directly in front of us.
  
  Chong halted at the same time I did. The roll of barbed wire looked like a long webbed water pipe. The top strands were about six inches from the top of the grass. Beyond the first row another lay curled, with a third beyond that. The grass rustled as Chong elbowed over to me.
  
  "Man, what the hell are we going to do about that?" he said.
  
  I sat up and brushed at the front of my shirt. "We look for a break in the wire," I said.
  
  "Oh, really? And just why does there have to be a break in the wire?"
  
  I flashed a wide smile. "The Society members have to get through the wire somewhere, don't they?" I nodded to my left, and we started to crawl along.
  
  The roll of wire seemed to stretch out of sight. Moisture from the night before clung to the wire like thousands of tiny bits of broken glass, winking at us in the rising sun. And then suddenly the wire ended.
  
  It was chopped off at the end. There was a large clearing in the grass, then the roll of wire started up again. Chong and I rested, catching our breath. The way was clear, and it looked like an invitation.
  
  "What do you think?" Chong said.
  
  I shook my head. "Too easy. It's either mined or somebody is lying there waiting for us." I looked above the grass to the crusty tops of the ruins. I patted Chong on top of his porcupine head. "Which one do you think the Society is in?"
  
  The ruins seemed to be laid out in several temples, maybe eight or nine. Beyond the front wall, they might have stretched out on and on. But the way the front wall looked there were three temples. There was no way of knowing how long the triple line of temples stretched until we got to the other side of that front wall.
  
  "I'd say the left third of the wall, directly across that clearing," Chong said.
  
  I nodded in agreement. "We have to go across that clearing. Let's keep to the grass until we have to skirt the wire. Once we get past the wire, we'll cut to the right side of the wall. You want to lead or should I?"
  
  "Why change now?" He started off in front of me.
  
  It seemed logical to me that the Society would mine or trap the area directly in front of its temple. If we got past the wire and to the right, maybe we could come up behind its temple and set up some kind of base camp.
  
  We reached the wire. Chong gave me one backward glance, flashed a quick smile, then crept into the clearing around the flat cut edge of the wire. He moved only a foot on hands and knees, then drew his hand back as though he had touched something hot.
  
  "Mine here," he whispered.
  
  I nodded and waited until he was almost past the wire. He had pointed out three more mines before he was lost in the grass again on the other side of the wire. I moved out into the clearing, trying to put my hands and knees where he had. When I was directly in front of the wire I heard grass suddenly rustling in front of me. Soles of shoes slapped on the rocky soil. I heard Chong give a loud grunt, then there was a lot of thrashing in the grass just on the other side of the clearing. Chong wasn't the only one grunting. There were at least two of them, maybe more.
  
  I fought back the impulse to jump and run to help Chong. My muscles tightened as I slowly moved over and between the damned land mines. Large sections of grass were moving. The grunting grew louder and changed to pants. I had passed two of the mines. There was just one more to go. The noise didn't seem to grow any worse, but I knew Chong was having his hands full. At last I moved past the third mine, rounded the wire and moved into the tall grass. I rose to my feet, and keeping my knees bent and head down, moved toward the noise. Hugo was in my hand.
  
  There were two of them. They each had machete-looking knives. Chong was scooting on his back away from them. He had one by the knife wrist, but the other was coming in from the side. Chong was pulling at the waist band of his pants trying to get something out. He didn't look afraid, just nervous. What he pulled out from his waist band was a long old GI bayonet. As soon as he had it in his hand, he rolled toward the wrist he held. The man came down on his knees. He tried to knee Chong in the groin. Chong's back was to the second man, and he was heading for it. I figured he would be mine.
  
  I was facing the man's right side still partially hidden in the grass. He had his long knife raised as he rushed to Chong's back. Keeping low, I moved out. As the second man came up to Chong, he spotted me coming. He half-turned, his mouth and his eyes opened in surprise. I got a foot in front of him, pivoted so I was between him and Chong, then drove into him with my shoulder. My left hand caught his arm at the elbow, and I moved it down to his wrist.
  
  If the man was surprised it was short-lived. He backed three steps and twisted to the side. My shoulder hit his hip bone. He tried to wrench his knife hand free.
  
  He might have taken me if he hadn't done one stupid thing. I had hold of his right hand. He could have grabbed my wrist with his left hand as I had done. But he thought he would beat me down. His left fist pounded into my back and neck and head. My stiletto met no resistance, and I plunged it into his stomach. The thin blade sliced under the rib cage and pierced the heart.
  
  I turned toward Chong.
  
  He and his man were still rolling in the grass. Chong had a small scratch on his forehead. He was trying to bring his knees up to his chest. The feet of both men were scuffling, to get a foothold in the hard dirt. Chong finally got his knees under him. He put his feet against the man's chest, then stiffened his legs. The man flew off him, and Chong let the rest of his body rock forward in the direction of his feet. The man stumbled back. He started to go down and with instinct put both hands down to cushion the fall. Chong became a fencer. He jabbed straight out with the bayonet stiffening his right elbow. The blade plowed through the man's chest. Chong pulled the blade out slowly. He wiped it on the man's pant leg, then turned to me.
  
  "Man," he said. "Let's get the hell out of here."
  
  We took off at a dead run for the opposite corner of the wall.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ten
  
  
  
  
  We reached the corner of the wall in morning sunlight. Around it the wall continued. We were on the opposite side from where the Society had its temple, if our theory was correct. For awhile we leaned against the wall panting.
  
  "What happens when they find those two?" Chong asked.
  
  "It probably will be days before anyone finds them. I hope by then to be the hell away from here."
  
  I nodded to Chong, and we moved out along the wall. We passed huge cavities, looking into barren roofless temples. The walls must have extended an acre. There was no telling how many temples there actually were.
  
  When we came to an archway in the wall we went through it cautiously. Like most of the other temples, this one had no roof; the walls stretched almost 14 feet, then just seemed to crumble at an end.
  
  Inside the temple the air was stifling. I put my pack down, and Chong did the same. For a long while we rested against the packs without talking.
  
  "These places must be interconnecting," I said.
  
  Chong gave me a wise grin. "Thinking of looking around?"
  
  Our voices sounded hollow as though we were in a canyon. I figured the best way to make sure where the Society temple was would be to find it from above. I wondered how sturdy the stones were locked in place along the tops of the walls. Chong was looking up with me. His eyes met mine and without a word we rose to our feet. Chong came to my side, and we pressed against one of the walls. We walked along it, fingering the cracks between the stones.
  
  "My ancestors were pretty damned good stone masons," he said lightly.
  
  I was halfway down the wall before I found a crack large enough to use. It was just above my knees. I saw others climbing higher on each side of me. I called Chong over and pointed them out.
  
  "The way I see it," I said, "we'll have to climb in a zigzag pattern."
  
  "Okay, man, want me to go first?"
  
  "Look, your job was to bring me here," I answered. "You did that. Now the rest is up to me. You can head back and get your crap games going again. I can find my way when I'm done here. You were a good traveling companion, Chong. I appreciate it."
  
  He was frowning at me. "Man, what the hell is this? I didn't hire out as a guide; I came to help you because of Sariki. I'm still going to help you, but I've got my own reasons now, dig? Whatever you're going to say, I don't want to hear it. I mean whether you know it or not you're going to need me."
  
  I sighed. "Chong, for the record I told you to leave. If you come with me, it is strictly as a tourist."
  
  "Whatever turns you on, man. Are we going to stand here jawing, or are we going up that wall?"
  
  "I'll go first," I said. I got my foot in the crack and lifted myself up. My clothes were again soaked. I found finger holds and moved slowly from one side to the other as I climbed up. Chong had already started by the time my fingers touched the top of the wall.
  
  The stones wiggled when I touched them. My pack had a tendency to pull me back and down. The tops of the walls were uneven, looking like up and down shallow stairs. If all the top stones were loose, I'd have to think of another way to get around.
  
  About four feet from where I originally reached the top I found solid wall. I crawled up and rested. I could see over an acre of topless temples, the crusty stones looking like a pen knife-marked picnic bench. Then, as I looked more closely, I noticed that some of the temples still had roofs on them. I turned toward the direction Chong and I thought the Society temple might be. But it was too far to make anything out clearly.
  
  Chong was grunting at my feet. His hands came to the top of the wall. I reached down and grabbed his wrists and helped him up. When Chong was standing behind me, I started out toward the Society temple.
  
  We still had to be very careful where we stepped. Some of the other stones were loose. Chong kept close behind me. We passed over faces of ancient gods that had been etched into the stones. The noses and cheeks were eaten away by erosion and time. The eyes of the faces were closed, slanted slightly, and the lips were full.
  
  We had come to a roofed temple. Below us was a courtyard. The temple was U-shaped. Chong pointed to the side buildings.
  
  "That is where the main army sleeps," he whispered. "The officers occupy the end building."
  
  I noticed the courtyard was closed off by a huge wooden gate. Unlike the time-worn stones and musty look of the rest of the temple, the gates seemed made of fresh lumber. They also looked strong enough to keep a truck from smashing through them. There wasn't much activity.
  
  I looked around the roof, then pushed myself backward. Chong came back with me. I remembered there had been an open-roofed temple just south of this one. I could use it as my base camp. I raised myself to a squatting position when I was far enough away from the roof edge.
  
  Chong touched my arm. "Aren't we going to stick around and check them out?" he asked.
  
  I winked at him. "I've got some goodies in my pack I want to pull out first. Come on."
  
  
  
  
  
  Eleven
  
  
  
  
  As it turned out we didn't have to climb down the wall. When we left the Society's temple and crossed to the one I wanted to use, we found a section of wall with a huge cavity cut from the top to within four feet of the floor. It was a jagged, uneven cavity that let us climb down as though we were descending a staircase. When we were on the temple floor, I looked around until I found a little cubbyhole with the roof intact. I peeled out of the pack and let it drop, then I knelt beside it.
  
  "I don't know about you, Nick," Chong grunted as he shrugged out of his own pack. "But I'm so hungry right now I couldn't care less about any Silver Snake Societies. You dig?"
  
  "I dig," I said.
  
  When Chong saw what I was pulling out of my pack he seemed to forget all about eating. "Man-oh-man-oh-man," he kept saying. Then, "Explain these goodies to me, Nick."
  
  First I pulled out the two plastic suits with barbless hooks. "Most of this stuff we'll use tonight," I said. Then I grinned at Chong. "We're going to have us a busy night." I held up the plastic suits. "We'll put on these tonight. The hooks we'll stick in cracks and crannies along the Society temple walls. That way we can hang outside the windows and listen to what's being said. You'll have to interpret everything that's said."
  
  "Crazy," Chong mumbled. He was looking at some of the other stuff. "So what else you got?"
  
  I pulled out a small radio receiver and what looked like two gray bottle caps. I held the caps up for Chong to see. "These are bugging devices. Before we're ready tonight I have to know where Tonle Sambor's chambers are."
  
  I closed the pack. "That's all for now. There's only one other thing that we might use later. If we don't…" I shrugged.
  
  Chong nodded. "I know, it's none of my business."
  
  I sat down and leaned against the pack. "I may be dirty and sweaty, but I don't think there's anything wrong with my ears. Did I hear you mention something about food?"
  
  Chong laughed. He pulled a gourmet's feast of snacks from his pack; things like dried cheese, hard biscuits and thick circles of baloney. The wine was gone, so we drank water from our canteens.
  
  "When we leave, we'll stop at the Great Lake on the other side of Siem Reap, and I'll catch us some fish, dig?" Chong said. For dessert he pulled two sticks of gum from his treasure-laden pack. I wondered how he got it all in there.
  
  The bad thing about eating well is if you have been awake and traveling all night — well, you tend to get drowsy.
  
  Thoughts of Sariki came to me in the night, Hawk's cigar-smoke smell, Nam Kien, Ben-Quang, American helicopters…
  
  "Nick?"
  
  My head jerked up. For an instant, I looked at Chong's young face without focusing. My eyes felt as though they were burning. I shook my head trying to clear it. "Must have dozed off."
  
  Chong looked at me with sympathy. "I'm about ready to drop myself. Nick, do we have to go back there now? Why don't we have a little nap first."
  
  I shook my head and stood on my feet. I put my hand down to Chong. "Come on, tiger. We'll catch a nap before nightfall. Right now I have to know where Tonle Sambor's chambers are."
  
  So, tired and with muscles like rubber bands, we once again climbed to the rocky wall and made our way to the roof of the Society temple. The sun was high, almost directly overhead. We dropped to our bellies and crawled five feet to the edge of the roof. The courtyard was 14 to 15 feet below us. There was more activity this time.
  
  Men dressed like peasants were paired off. I didn't try to count them, but a rough guess would have been about two hundred. They were packed a little tight and seemed to be practicing hand-to-hand combat. Another smaller group of about ten were bunched at the side of the courtyard. A man talked to them, gesturing to the paired-off ones, giving examples of blows to deliver. Chong scooted close to me.
  
  "The smaller group is made up of recruits," he whispered. "You see the two on the right end?" I nodded. "Those are Sariki's brothers, man. Come hell or high water we got to get them out of there. Can you dig it?"
  
  I nodded with a wry half-smile. I could dig it all right. But what I couldn't dig was the size of the Society's army. If they turned out to be undesirables, my job would be to wipe them out. Even if I called for a Strike Force there still would be less than ten of us. How would we take on 200-plus men? There was no sense worrying about it until the time came.
  
  We watched the men for another hour.
  
  Then from the archway at the end of the courtyard there was a small commotion. Several of the men seemed to jump and stiffen as rigid as boards. Soon everybody was standing rigid, heads high, arms at their sides with the elbows locked. A man stepped out of the archway and into the bright sunlight.
  
  Chong pinched my arm so tight it hurt. "That's him, man. That's the cat himself. Tonle Sambor."
  
  I saw one, then three, then five altogether. "Which one is he?" I asked.
  
  "The one in front. Those others are his top generals. Christ, I never thought I'd really get to see him again."
  
  I didn't like Chong's tone. He spoke of Tonle Sambor with a kind of reverence in his voice.
  
  "When did you ever see him?" I asked.
  
  Chong wiped sweat from his brows. "Nick, I told you they came through the village recruiting. Sure I got away. But I hid in the jungle and watched that little peacock. See? Watch how he walks, looking at those soldiers. Hell, he doesn't walk, he struts. You see the way he twirls the end of his mustache. Oh, he's an arrogant little bastard."
  
  "Then why all the respect?"
  
  Chong grinned. "Man, you got to respect a guy like that. I mean marching through village after village demanding that men join your army. It takes balls, and that's what our strutting general has. Can you dig it?"
  
  Sambor was a proud one all right. He strutted between the men with a ton of arrogance. Unlike the others he was dressed in a shiny general's uniform, complete with small-billed hat. I couldn't identify the uniform, but that didn't mean anything. He probably had it custom made in Saigon or one of the larger cities. One hand was behind his back, the other twirled the long waxed mustache.
  
  I watched Tonle Sambor pass among his men. The four generals seemed to act as a buffer between him and the men. Tonle Sambor talked to the recruits for a long while. At one point he threw back his head and his little body vibrated with laughter. He looked around, nodding to his generals, and they happily joined in. But only Tonle Sambor's high crackling voice reached us on the roof with any clarity. We waited and watched until the party of generals once again left the courtyard. We watched until we saw Tonle Sambor appear at one of the windows in the end structure. He smiled and waved at the men below. Then he turned his back and started removing his wide belt.
  
  I punched Chong's arm. We now knew where the little general's chambers were. That was enough for now. We pushed back from the edge of the roof. When we were far enough we stood and made our way back to our little base camp. We both walked doggedly with arms dangling loosely. If we had been caught, we wouldn't have put up much of a fight. But now there was time for a nap before nightfall.
  
  I decided we'd better leave the receiver in the little cubbyhole. All Chong and I were taking with us were the bugging devices. We were wearing the hooked plastic suits. They fit similar to wet suits. There were no arms or legs, and they zipped up the front. The hooks hung from all over but they were spaced far enough apart so that they didn't clang against each other.
  
  Chong and I were well-rested and had eaten again. The sun had been down almost an hour. We climbed to the wall and made our way back to the Society temple. When we reached the roof we could hear the clanging of metal trays. It was suppertime for the troops.
  
  Chong and I made the edge of the roof. We moved along it to the end where it joined with the roof of the end building. There was a gap of about five feet between the two roofs that we jumped easily. Keeping close to the edge, we moved along the roof until we were directly above Tonle Sambor's chamber window.
  
  Chong stood in front of me, as I had shown him when we practiced. His hands locked around my wrists, and mine did the same to his. His back was to the edge of the roof. I felt his weight pull as he stepped over the edge. Slowly I knelt first to one knee then the other. I fell forward to my elbows. He had just been a shadow in the night, but now he was out of sight. I was lying flat on my stomach with my arms dangling over the edge. I felt I was holding his entire weight. Then Chong released my left wrist, and I felt a sudden jerk to my right. I heard him faintly as he set the hooks of his suit in the temple wall. Going up and down the wall wasn't going to be bad. But there was at least a three-foot overhang on the roof that we both had to get under before we could set our hooks.
  
  The pressure on my wrist was released. I knew Chong was now hanging by his hooks. I turned around to aim my feet toward the roof edge. I had to move slowly because the hooks of my suit scraped against the rock of the roof. When I was turned around I started slowly pushing away from the roof. I felt my feet go over the edge, then my shins, then my knees. As I worked my way down so that the roof edge was against my waist, I realized that I was trusting Chong one hell of a lot. If he were not there when my feet came down, my first step was going to be about 15 feet and hard.
  
  The edge of the roof was against my stomach. I was beginning to slide because the roof slanted down to the edge. My feet were dangling, and I gingerly stabbed the air with my toes looking for Chong. The only thing keeping me from sliding off the roof completely was the pressure of my elbows on the slanted roof. The air was hot; I was sweating and my elbows were starting to slip. My toe jabbing became more than just gingerly. Where the hell was Chong?
  
  I pushed my fists into my chest and tried to bear more weight on my elbows. My stomach slid over the edge of the roof. I could feel the edge move up to my rib cage. Then I dropped to my chest. I felt Chong's hands grab my feet. Slowly I transferred my weight from my elbows to my feet. Chong guided me toward the wall of the temple.
  
  For an instant, I didn't think I had made it. I seemed to hang suspended. Then I felt pressure against my crotch and back. I was hugging the wall, and the hooks were holding me there. Chong was beside me. The reason he had taken so long was that he had turned completely around so his back was to the wall. Carefully wedging hooks from the side of his suit Chong got slowly turned so that he faced the wall. We were right next to each other.
  
  We worked our way down the wall carefully. It was a fairly simple procedure. The more practiced we became, the faster we were able to go. But this wasn't any race. I wanted Chong close to me when we reached that window. These soldiers were all talking Martian as far as I was concerned, and Chong was going to turn it into English.
  
  In the courtyard, men passed back and forth. To our right, we could hear the chatter in the mess hall. There was no moon; and the clothes we wore blended in with darkness.
  
  As we continued down, Chong stopped suddenly. I stopped beside him.
  
  "What do you hear?" I whispered.
  
  He put his index finger to his lips. When he had listened longer, he turned to me and bent close. "The men in the mess hall are talking about the Delta," he said. "They seem to believe that is the only purpose of the army." He shrugged. "Maybe they're dedicated."
  
  I motioned for us to continue. We kept going down the wall like two spiders at the end of a web, spreading it as they went. Only our target was not some helpless fly buzzing against the stickiness of a web; we were after a window. And when we came down toward the top of it, it was like a fork to us. Chong went right; I went left. We continued down and met just under the open window.
  
  Tonle Sambor was not alone in his room. His four generals were with him. Chong and I set our hooks deep in the cracks between the slabs. We hunched close together. The voices came to us with crystal clarity, but I couldn't understand the words.
  
  "What are they saying?" I whispered.
  
  Chong had a look of disgust. "They are making a top-level decision. The great Tonle Sambor and his generals are trying to decide when they should eat."
  
  "Oh, hell."
  
  We listened for a while longer, then chairs began to scrape against the stone floor. One of the generals coughed. Chong turned to me.
  
  "A momentous decision has been reached," he whispered. "They are going to eat now."
  
  I listened until the door slammed shut. Chong and I watched each other. I didn't think there was any sense rushing into this. All we'd need is to have one leg over the window sill about ready to enter the room and have one of the generals come back because he forgot his pipe or some such tripe. We gave them plenty of time, and when we thought it might be okay to go in we gave them a little extra time.
  
  "Let's go," I said at last. I got one hand on the windowsill and pulled my hooks loose. I got my knee on the sill and climbed into the room. I turned for Chong and helped him in.
  
  The walls were stone like the rest of the ruins. The room contained an unpainted desk with chair, a low table about seven feet long, and over in a far corner a mat for sleeping. Tonle Sambor had a photo of the wife and kiddies on his desk. The wife was plump and matronly; there were seven children, four boys and three girls. The oldest looked about 12. I wondered how the general would feel if one of his children were recruited into an army by his methods.
  
  Chong and I just gave the room a shallow lookover. I didn't know how long the generals would be gone, and the purpose of this invasion was only to plant the bugs. We didn't look in closets or pull drawers in the desk. Tonle Sambor had found a way of fixing picture hangers between the cracks in the stones. He had five pictures in all — nice picturesque scenes of rolling hills and waterfalls. While Chong nosed around shuffling papers on the desk, I chose two pictures to plant the bugs behind.
  
  "Hey," Chong called when the bugs were planted. "Look here."
  
  He had found one of the Silver Society daggers under the papers on the desk. I turned it over in my hand. It was certainly a wicked-looking weapon. Chong was giving me one of his con grins.
  
  "I wonder how much the silver would bring if the dagger were melted down," he said.
  
  I shook my head and shoved the dagger in my waistband. "Come on."
  
  We went out the window again and using the hooks moved up the wall. Getting past the overhang was just the reverse of going over it. I set my hooks, arched my back until I could grab the roof edge, then Chong released my hooks and pushed me up. Once on the roof I stretched out on my stomach and reached down over the edge for Chong. We moved quickly across the roof to our camp.
  
  We rested, smoking the last of my cigarettes. In a few minutes we'd be able to hear everything said in Tonle Sambor's room. I didn't know if it would prove anything. If Tonle Sambor and his army proved to be actually trying to reclaim the Mekong Delta for Cambodia, there wasn't much I could do about it. If they were trying to take over the Cambodian government, there wasn't much I could do about that either; except maybe get hacked off because the Cambodian government was using the United States to do its own dirty work. It had been one long sweaty trip, and now I was going to find out if it had been worthwhile.
  
  I had the receiver set up. Chong had been watching me with eager eyes. He ran fingers through his hair when I handed him the ear phones.
  
  "Remember," I cautioned. "You tell me everything that's said whether you think it's important or not."
  
  "I can dig it, man," he said. He put on the head set. I was crouched in front of him, watching his face. He scratched the side of his nose. His eyes nicked from one part of the wall behind me to the other. Then he looked at me and said, "I don't hear nothing, man."
  
  "Maybe they're still eating."
  
  He held up his hand palm toward me. "There's shuffling. A door closed. They're coming back now." He wiggled himself around and leaned forward slightly. There was a frown of concentration on his young face. "They're saying something has to be done about the food. They're talking about how it was cooked; it was really rotten tonight. Chairs are scraping; they must be sitting around that table." Chong leaned back.
  
  "Hell, now they're talking about chicks. Old Tonle Sambor thinks they should have some chicks in the temple. He's saying maybe they ought to go on a recruiting campaign for women. Uh-oh, another one of the generals says bad news. They can't do that; it would turn the villages against them. It might be the end of all their recruiting programs. Old Tonle Sambor doesn't like that kind of talk, but he says he knows the guy is right. They must keep their recruiting program alive." Chong frowned. "Hell, now they're laughing."
  
  "Laughing?"
  
  "Yeah, like it's all some kind of a big joke." He shook his head, then the muscles in his face stiffened. "They're talking again, but they're still laughing. They're calling the soldiers fools." Chong's face flushed; his jaw muscles tightened. "They're talking about something called Operation Snake." Then he stared at me in open mouth shock, his eyebrows arched, his eyes wide. "Nick," he said in a hoarse voice. "Nick, Tonle Sambor and his generals are Chinese Communist agents!"
  
  
  
  
  
  Twelve
  
  
  
  
  I sat back, leaning my head against the stone wall. Operation Snake? What the hell was Operation Snake? Chong was still listening. His face had gone sallow. The way Chong felt about Communists, I could see a large case of hate building inside him for Tonle Sambor.
  
  "Chong?" I said. "I have to know what this Operation Snake is. What are they doing now?"
  
  When Chong spoke, his voice sounded strained. "They have finished laughing now, the bastards. Chairs are scraping. The other four generals are leaving. Tonle Sambor is bidding his generals goodnight. Feet are shuffling along the floor. The door has opened. Now they have all gone. Tonle Sambor, that motherless cockroach, is still chuckling to himself. Paper is being moved. A chair scrapes." Chong looked up at me. "He must be sitting at the desk, either reading or writing."
  
  I nodded. "Keep listening."
  
  An hour passed and all Chong heard was Tonle Sambor moving around the room. There were no visitors and no voices. When another half hour had passed, Chong told me he heard an empty boot thonk on the stone floor. Twenty minutes later the little general was snoring.
  
  I reached for the headset and removed it from Chong. "Look," I said. "Why don't you take a nap? I'll listen on these, and if I hear anything I'll wake you. When you've slept for a few hours you can relieve me."
  
  I put on the headset and relaxed with my back against the wall. Because of the roof in our little cubbyhole, we couldn't see the stars. I listened to Tonle Sambor's snoring and allowed my own eyes to close. The last words of Hawk drifted back to me. He wanted information. Did the Society of the Silver Snake really exist?
  
  Yes, it existed as an army. Where? Some abandoned ruins at Angkor Thorn. Was this Society really trying to reclaim the Delta for Cambodia, or was it a cover-up for other motives? I still didn't know the answer to that one. I found out they were Communists, but I still didn't know what their purpose in Cambodia was. I was sure this Operation Snake had something to do with it, and there was nothing I could do about the Society until I found out what the operation was.
  
  The night was quiet. Somehow it didn't seem quite so hot. All I heard through the earphones was the snoring of Tonle Sambor. My eyes were closed. My mind drifted to the face of Sariki. During quiet times my thoughts returned to her. I had never known anyone quite like her.
  
  Then I could see brightness just on the other side of my eyelids; I knew I couldn't have been asleep more than 20 minutes. Yet the brightness was there, not constant like the burning of the sun but flashing all around.
  
  I could hear the men now, walking along the crumbly wall top, talking to each other in a foreign tongue. I remained motionless letting only my eyes race along the wall, pinpointing each man by the beam of his flash. I counted seven.
  
  I leaned forward slowly. Placing my left hand across Chong's mouth I shook his shoulder with my right. His eyes popped open wide. I put my right finger to my lips, knowing it was unnecessary because he couldn't see me.
  
  We both gathered the receiver, the mats and packs and pulled them with us while we pushed back to the inside wall. We each took a far corner and pressed ourselves into it. I pulled out Wilhelmina. Chong dragged out his army bayonet. We waited.
  
  They were coming toward us all right. The light beams danced toward the middle of the temple floor, then moved in our direction. There were four men on the wall to our right, two on the left, and one on the far wall directly in front of us. As long as they stayed on the walls, I figured we were okay. But if that one in front of us climbed down and shined his flash in our direction he would definitely see us, and I'd have to kill him — and that would set off a chain reaction. Each one of the soldiers was carrying a rifle. And they kept jabbering to each other.
  
  They came down to us. In shuffling back against the wall I had removed the earphones. Chong shuffled as silent as he could toward me. Orders were barked. The light beams made little circles right in front of us, then played once more over the temple floor and disappeared. The voices grew lighter and finally seemed far away.
  
  Chong let out a long, wheezing breath.
  
  "Did you hear what they were saying?" I asked in a whisper.
  
  Chong nodded. "They found our two friendly cats in the high grass, man." He shook his head. "Bad scene."
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  We alternated through the night with the headphones. I was on them most of the morning. I heard Tonle Sambor rise and call for his breakfast, then I handed the earphones to Chong. We ate the rest of the baloney while we waited.
  
  I knew time was pressing. They would make one light sweep over the ruins trying to flush us out. It was a large area, and they probably wouldn't devote many men to it.
  
  Around noon when Chong was on the set, he suddenly held up his hand. It had been a fruitless night and morning. Tonle Sambor had either been reading or going over some papers. Chong gave me a smile and a wink. "The generals are coming in," he said with a hint of excitement. Chong's face took on a pained expression. "Oh, man," he groaned. "Now they're talking about when they'll have lunch."
  
  I popped another piece of baloney in my mouth and washed it down with water from my canteen.
  
  "They're talking about Operation Snake!" Chong said excitedly.
  
  I moved closer to Chong so that my knees were pressed against his. I put my head close to the earphones. "Tell me everything they're saying," I told him.
  
  Chong nodded once. "The generals have decided to wait until Tonle Sambor talks with China before they eat."
  
  I frowned. "Talks?"
  
  Chong held up his hand to silence me. "Two of the generals are pulling a radio transmitter from another room. Tonle Sambor is going to contact the Chinese Communists on the radio."
  
  I knelt close to Chong so we could both hear the voices. Chong remained quiet and I understood why. The little general was on the radio now, and if Chong spoke, he might miss something that was said. We both listened, frozen, for almost an hour. Then the voices on the radio stopped. Tonle Sambor told one of the generals something.
  
  "They're putting the radio back," Chong said. "They've decided they can have lunch now. They're laughing as they leave. Nick, I think something really stinks." He pulled off the head set and threw it down with disgust.
  
  "What is it?" I asked. "What is this Operation Snake?"
  
  Chong looked off to the west, then he turned to me. "Man, we're going to have to hustle."
  
  "Damn it, Chong! Don't give me riddles. What the hell is Operation Snake?"
  
  As Chong talked, he traced a crack between stones in the floor. "Tomorrow morning a company of Chinese Communist regulars are due to arrive at the temple. They will be coming in five trucks along Kompong Road. They will use the Society temple as a main base. From there, they'll use hit and run tactics against American forces along the Mekong River. That's Operation Snake, man."
  
  "Anymore to it?"
  
  Chong nodded. "This is going to be a trial operation. If they can pull it off, make it work okay, then more Chicom troops will be brought in later. The trucks carrying the troops are also loaded with large amounts of arms, supplies and food. You know, Nick, there's one real sickening part of this. The recruits are going to be told that the trucks are filled with more volunteers disguised as Chinese troops. Now isn't that really low class, man?"
  
  "Very," I said. "Do you know where this Kompong Road is, Chong?"
  
  He nodded. "It'll take us half a day of hustling to make it. Nick, I mean we're going to have to move at almost a run all the way.
  
  "We're going to wipe out the Society of the Silver Snake, aren't we?" he continued.
  
  I nodded. We moved off side by side to the west. Chong trotted next to me with fixed determination. I knew it all now, and I knew what I had to do. First I'd have to get to the road. And second I had to find a good landing place for the Strike Patrol raiders.
  
  
  
  
  
  Thirteen
  
  
  
  
  Kompong Road was what a Jeep driver would call a trail. Coming to it in darkness as Chong and I did, we almost passed right over it. There were two narrow ruts on each side of the road with a high grassy strip running down the middle. The jungle grew right up to the edge, paused briefly for almost ten feet, then began growing again. It was a narrow, little-used road.
  
  Chong and I dropped beside it to rest. We had been running, then trotting, then walking, then running again for more than 12 hours.
  
  But we sure as hell had reached Kompong Road, That was the first thing I had to do. Now to get on with the second.
  
  I patted my complaining stomach with both hands and looked over at Chong. He was lying flat on his back, both legs spread.
  
  "Chong?" I said.
  
  "Man, I will not move for anyone. I will lie here until my bones bleach in the sun. I am actually dead; my body just hasn't been told yet."
  
  I leaned forward and got to my feet. "Come on, tiger, there's work to be done."
  
  Chong groaned, but he got to his feet. We started walking. I didn't see how five trucks filled with troops, arms, supplies, and food could drive along it without their sides scraping jungle on both sides.
  
  I was looking for a clearing somewhere along the road where the strike patrol could land. I knew they would be parachuting from planes, and the planes wouldn't start until I gave the signal. But I couldn't give the signal until I located a place for the men to land. Chong stumbled beside me, protesting how I must had once been in charge of the slave trade from the Gold Coast of Africa to New Orleans. It was either me or my grandparents. I was well suited for such a trade, the way I was making his dead body move.
  
  "Chong," I said. "You're the one who said we had to rescue Sariki's brothers, right? My job is simple now. All I have to do is signal for some help, wipe out five truckloads of Chicom regulars, which probably will be by here shortly after dawn, attack the Society of the Silver Snake and kill Tonle Sambor if possible, convince the recruits that the whole Society idea was a Communist plant to dupe them, and if I handle all that, rescue Sariki's two brothers. Simple, see? Do you want to help me or not?"
  
  Chong stumbled in front of me and put up his hands like in a western movie. "Hey, man, ease up. I don't mind telling you, Nick, old buddy, I don't like the odds. I think we're just a wee bit outnumbered, dig?"
  
  I gave him a grin. "Maybe I can even the odds a little." We had come to a place in Kompong Road just before it started around a blind curve. With the growth of greenery on each side of the road and along the middle any curve would have been blind. But I found a place that looked pretty good to me. On one side as the road began to curve was the thick-growing jungle; on the other, or inside the curve, was a large grassy clearing. Squat heavy trees marked it off. It looked like it had been cleared at one time for a way-station or a rest-stop. It reminded me of the time recently when the American government decided to introduce a remote Indian reservation to the marvels of modern time-savers in the home. A batch of shiny, brand-new refrigerators and washers were sent to the tribe. But the man who originally had the idea forgot to find out one small detail: the reservation had no electricity. So the tribe ended up with some pretty expensive storage bins. They kept tools well insulated in the refrigerators, as well as little jars of nuts and bolts.
  
  That's the way I figured Kompong Road. Asian governments just seemed to spend more for less practical projects than the Americans. They are second only to the Latin Americans, who build freeways that cars and oxen use, and modern cities that become ghost towns within five months.
  
  I pulled out the plastic bag of electronic capsules. Chong came running over to me when he saw me at the bag.
  
  "Is this the little electronic gizmo I didn't get a chance to see before?" he asked.
  
  "Only now we're going to use them." I said. "It's going to be dawn in an hour or so, Chong, so listen carefully." I handed him five white capsules and kept five for myself, plus the all-important red one. Chong was looking curiously at the ones I had given him. They looked like white buttons with a corkscrew on one side. "What you do, Chong," I explained, "is screw these into the sides of the trees around the clearing. Just screw them in tight, then give them a extra half-turn to set them off."
  
  Chong frowned. "What the hell are they, man? Some kind of bomb?"
  
  "I'll tell you when we get them all set. I want you to head up the road about fifty yards. Stick the capsules on trees about ten yards apart. Put them on the side of the trees that face the clearing. Can you remember that? Remember to give them that extra half-turn to set them off."
  
  Chong gave me one short nod then took off back up the road away from the curve. I trotted ahead, rounded the curve, then plunged into the jungle toward the clearing. I judged I was about 50 yards away from it, on the opposite side from Chong. Moving at a fast trot and only stopping every ten to fifteen yards, I screwed the capsules into the trees facing the clearing. I looked straight up above me. Was it my imagination? Or was the sky not quite as dark as it was an hour ago? Dawn was not that far off, and I was just now calling for help.
  
  Even the jungle leaves seemed wet with heat. They slapped at me as I moved between them and gave an itch to my skin. Thick brush tangled around my legs making me jerk with each step to free them. The wetness of my clothing seemed to be a permanent part of my existence. I couldn't remember ever being dry or cool.
  
  Now Chong and I were without food, our water was low, help might or might not be on the way, and there was the business that lay ahead. I had to keep those trucks from reaching the Society temple. A company of Chinese regulars plus almost 200 men would be too much for even the sharpest crack Strike Patrol.
  
  I was making my way back to the clearing. I had no idea how many men would parachute down to help me, but I figured on seven or eight. Even with Chong and I, it wouldn't be enough. All of us fighting a company of Chinese. I didn't think so. I was in the clearing now and cutting across it. I found a tree closer to the actual clearing itself than any other. Chong came running up to it.
  
  "Nick," he said. "What the hell are all these kooky little buttons supposed to do?" I wondered how many men in Southeast Asia there were like him. And I was willing to bet I could count them on the fingers on one hand.
  
  I had the red capsule screwed into the tree. I turned to face Chong. "These little buttons are giving off radio signals. All the white ones are giving out a signal that sounds like static; all the signals are conflicting with each other. Anybody trying to pinpoint where they are coming from would have such a maze of static it would be hopeless." I patted the red capsule. "Only one of these buttons is giving out as a good true signal."
  
  "Outasight," Chong exclaimed. "Man, I have never seen anything like that in all my life." He suddenly frowned. "But how come this drop plane doesn't hear all that static, too?"
  
  "Because it is tuned in on one frequency, the one put out by the red capsule. That small strike force I told you about is going to help us stop those five trucks;"
  
  "You're kidding," Chong said. "You and me and a scrawny strike force against a company of Chicoms? No way, man."
  
  I looked up at the paling sky. "If they don't come soon, Chong, it's likely to be just you and me against all those Chicoms."
  
  "How long you think it will take them?"
  
  I shrugged. Enough time had passed that any number of things could have happened. That member of the Cambodian government could have got in touch with the U.S. Ambassador and told him all deals were off. The Cambodian government could have protested loudly to American officials. That Vietnamese village being wiped out could have changed it. Hawk might have been notified to cancel everything on the Silver Snake Society. There were just too many things that could have happened.
  
  If there had been any changes in plans, how would anybody get hold of me? Then there were those pleasant words from Hawk about how if I were captured the United States would deny knowing me. How would I know? I already had to make a few changes of my own along the way.
  
  I looked at Chong. "I don't know," was all I could think of to say.
  
  He seemed to accept it. We had been stumbling along all right so far; maybe he thought we'd just keep right on doing it. He looked to the trees around us. "Nick," he said, "we won't be able to do anything about the trucks until we know they're coming, right?"
  
  I nodded. It sounded logical, but I wondered what he was driving at.
  
  "I'm going up one of these trees to see if I can tell when they're coming, dig?"
  
  I watched him choose one of the taller trees. He went up it easily, his wiry body like a piece of elastic swinging from limb to limb as he climbed. I stood under the tree, my hand shielding my eyes from the sun. When he was almost to the top he found a comfortable seat and wedged himself between the trunk and a limb. He waved down at me with a happy grin.
  
  I knew what weapons Chong had; that one long drab army bayonet. Besides his quick mind and fleet body that was it. I had Wilhelmina, my stripped Luger with half the shells fired; Hugo, my stiletto which was all right for close work but no good at a distance, and Pierre, my gas bomb. That comprised our total forces. With those weapons Chong and I were going to take on a company of Chinese regular soldiers. I wished I had a cigarette.
  
  An hour passed. I was pacing back and forth along the road. Lovely visions danced just behind my eyes. Suppose in all the jostling of the last few days those little electronic capsules had become defective? It could have happened anytime. I hadn't been too careful with that pack. So it was possible that little red button wasn't working at all.
  
  "Nick!" Chong called. "I can hear them!"
  
  I could hear the trucks myself now, on the other side of the curve.
  
  "What are we going to do, man?" Chong asked. He had lowered his voice, and his tone was anxious. He was looking toward the curve where in a few moments the first truck would be coming.
  
  If we hid and waited for a strike force, which might not even be coming, we would have to let the trucks pass. That would be no problem. All we would have to do is hide in the jungle. But the road was narrow here. I don't know what it was like farther on. If we had any advantage at all, it was here.
  
  I punched Chong's arm. "Come on!"
  
  We ran to the opposite side of the road so that the trucks would be coming at us from the left. Chong stayed right on my tail. I plunged into the jungle, then immediately turned back. I crouched to my knees. Chong came down with me. The laboring engines were much clearer now and coming directly from the curve as though the trucks had already entered it.
  
  "Just what the hell do you think you're going to do, Nick?" Chong asked.
  
  "Stop those trucks if I can. Give help enough time to reach us, if help is coming."
  
  Chong patted my shoulder tenderly. "Nick, I want you to know it's been a real thrill traveling with you, but I think I'll just split now."
  
  "There is one problem." I was watching the curve closely. The whole idea depended on how big those trucks were. "The road along here is real narrow," I told Chong. "If we can stop the lead truck, there's no way the others can get around it. They'll have to clear the road before they move on, and maybe that will be enough time for our help to come."
  
  Chong rubbed the palm of his hand across his mouth, watching the curve. "The idea has possibilities, old buddy, but say by some miracle we're able to stop the lead truck, what then?"
  
  I grinned at him. "We run like hell."
  
  The nose of the first truck was snaking slowly around the curve. It looked like the slow-motion movement of a train coming out of a tunnel. The headlights were out. As it began to straighten, I saw it was a two-ton, six-wheel stake painted an odd, dark shade of blue. There were no markings. Two men dressed in the tan uniforms of Chinese soldiers were sitting in the cab. The side windows were open. Their bodies rocked back and forth and from side to side as the truck crawled over the uneven surface. The engine whined in labor, moving the truck at a snail's pace. In the back of the truck I saw the soldiers. They were sitting in two lines along each side of the truck, their heads bobbing, rifles between their legs.
  
  I pulled the tiny gas bomb out and sat back on my haunches. There weren't going to be any second chances with this scheme; the first one was going to have to do it. Chong was ready to run.
  
  Then I heard another sound similar to the grinding truck engines. It was a deeper, smoother sound, a steady drone. I knew what it was even before Chong punched me and pointed to the sky. It was the drone of the drop plane. I looked skyward with a grin. The fluff of white parachutes seemed motionless in the still sky, the men dangling looked like toy soldiers made of plastic. They had sub-machine guns across their chests. They were supposed to be the very best fighters America had to offer. And there were 16 of them.
  
  But my problem was right there in front of me. The front fender of the truck was passing by very slowly. I could see the tired eyes of the driver, and the bobbing sleepy head of his passenger on my side of the truck. The side window was about two feet above me and four feet away. I heard Chong suck in his breath. I gave the gas bomb a twist. In seconds the deadly gas would be escaping from it. I tossed it out from my shoulder lightly as though I were throwing darts. It went through the open window and landed in the passenger's lap.
  
  The driver looked over with a frown. Then both his hands clasped around his throat. He slumped forward over the steering wheel. In the back of the truck the first soldier fell face forward to the bed of the truck. His rifle clanged noisily beside him. The front wheels of the truck angled off to the right. The truck itself jerked arid rocked, stopped, jumped forward again, then the fender pushed into the jungle and the truck stopped completely. Another soldier in the back fell from his seat. Others joined him. The first of the strike patrol raiders struck the clearing, his parachute billowing out before him. As he gathered in the cords, another one landed.
  
  The second truck was fully in view now. I saw one soldier in the back pointing to the last of the parachutes coming down in the clearing. Rifle fire cracked from around the curve. A raider emerged from the jungle beside the second truck. He lobbed one, then followed immediately with another grenade into the back of the second truck. The gas tank erupted like a volcano. The raider had already vanished back into the jungle before the explosions. From around the curve came the rat-tat-tat of machine gun fire. Six soldiers came around the burning second truck. They spotted Chong and me on the road. I fired two shots, killing two of them, then jumped into the jungle. Chong was right beside me. Rifle shots cracked behind me, then came the sound of a larger weapon. The rifle fire ceased after a large explosion.
  
  I cut to the right and started to circle back. When we reached the road again we were already around the curve. Chinese soldiers had poured from the three remaining trucks. They were firing on the run. The raiders were picking them off and cutting them down.
  
  Chong snatched up a dead Chicom's rifle and we both started firing at the scattering men. I couldn't see any of the raiders. Their shots were deadly accurate, and they seemed to be firing from the jungle. They had split and were moving down both sides of the road. Each time one of the Chicoms tried to run into the jungle he was picked off. Moving like that, keeping the Chicoms on the road, staying on either side of them, the number of Chinese dropped to ten, then seven. Three started running down the road away from the back of the trucks. After four steps they dropped their heavy rifles and picked up speed. After 20 steps they were cut down by hidden raiders.
  
  Chong and I were using the last truck in the line for cover. The remaining Chinese were almost out of sight. They fired at movement and shadows. I picked one off by resting the Luger against the bed of the truck. Chong picked off another. The gunfire that had been sounding like a rocky avalanche now slowed to an isolated crack every so often. I heard a rat-tat-tat way off to my left. Rifle fire came from way in front of the lead truck. I looked to the sky and saw a heavy column of black smoke rising from the second truck. Bodies of Chinese soldiers littered the area and were scattered as far as I could see down Kompong Road. Then there was a silence. I waited for the raiders to start emerging from the jungle. Nothing happened. My head jerked to the right as I heard a rifle crack deep in the jungle to my right. It was followed almost immediately by another shot far down the road. Chong stood beside me. Both our eyes scanned the jungle looking for a sign of the raiders. All we could smell was the pungent odor of burning tires from the second truck.
  
  
  
  
  
  Fourteen
  
  
  
  
  Chong put the Chinese rifle behind his neck and held it by barrel and butt. He stood in the center of the truck bed and turned slowly to survey the scene. There were two trucks in front of the one we were on. Around the curve sat one skeleton of a truck still burning and another truck that had been run into the jungle slightly. Dotted on the road and around the trucks were the bodies of dead soldiers. I was standing beside Chong. As far as I could tell we were all alone.
  
  "Listen," Chong said. "Listen to the quiet."
  
  I frowned at him. I shoved Wilhelmina back in its holster. "You've heard the quiet before, Chong," I said.
  
  "Sure. But, man, I have never seen anything like this. That help you sent for is the deadliest I have ever seen."
  
  "They're supposed to be the best."
  
  "They are better than the best. I am one of the best, and they are far better than I am." He shook his head at me. "I am still not reaching you, am I?" There was a strange look of reverence in his eyes. He swung the rifle down to his side and draped his arm over my shoulder. "Close your eyes, Nick, and listen." When I had done this, he said, "You hear nothing but quiet. A battle was fought here, Nick. It was short but there was a whole company of soldiers. So I ask you, where are the cries of anguish? Of pain? Where are the tears of the bleeding wounded? Where is the movement of those hit in the arm or legs?"
  
  He was right. All I could hear was the quiet. Twice I thought I heard the rustle of leaves in the jungle, but when I looked I saw nothing.
  
  Chong said, "Every shot was a killer. Every bullet entered the head or heart. Somehow those who survived the explosion were shot. There is not one survivor, not one wounded."
  
  His words sounded almost eerie against the quiet. I looked at the ground beside the truck. When I looked up again to the stretch of Kompong Road extending behind the truck I saw a solitary figure standing in the middle of the road about 50 yards away.
  
  The submachine gun was across the front of his stomach, the short barrel rested in the crook of his bare arm. He wore the olive color of American forces; his shirtsleeves were rolled up; his pants were tucked into calf-high boots. He stood slightly.
  
  "I'm looking for a Nick Carter!" the solitary figure bellowed.
  
  "Right here!" I answered.
  
  He put something in his mouth. Then there came the shrill screech of a police whistle. Men emerged from the jungle and drifted onto the road. They dotted the gap between the solitary figure and me. They came out on the road and started checking their weapons. The group of two's and three's, seeming to ignore both me and the solitary figure, now came toward me.
  
  The solitary figure stepped up just as I jumped down from the truck. He was a lieutenant and stuck out his hand.
  
  "Mr. Carter, I'm Lieutenant Rice. My instructions are to follow your orders."
  
  I took the hand. He looked in his middle twenties with smooth tan cheeks, a regulation haircut and youthful clear blue eyes. His nose was longish and slightly uptilted. His face looked rectangular and cheekbones, jaw line, chin, all looked angular. He had the most magnificent handlebar mustache I had ever seen. From the obvious care he took of it, I knew it filled him with pride.
  
  We dropped to our haunches behind the last truck of the line. I gratefully took the cigarette offered me. While lighter flame was being touched to it Lieutenant Rice said, "Hotter than the hinges of hell." He wiped sweat from his forehead with his thumbnail.
  
  Several of the men were checking over dead bodies. The rest were in a half-circle, talking with Chong.
  
  "Did you lose anyone, Lieutenant?" I asked.
  
  He shook his head. When he talked the tips of his mustache wiggled. "One man caught it at the waist, but it was a graze. He'll be okay. What is your problem here, Mr. Carter? All we heard was something about a society and some old ruins close by."
  
  "Lieutenant, I think you'd better start calling me Nick. I already feel ancient enough around your men without being called mister. This company was heading for those ruins you heard about." I then told him everything Chong and I had learned about the Society of the Silver Snake. There was a lot I had to guess at. "We don't know how many of the regular army will stand behind Tonle Sambor. The thing is there are a lot of men in there who have been duped. I know for certain the new recruits have been. How many of the regular army have, I don't know. That's what makes it tricky. If we hit that temple like you and your men hit these trucks a lot of innocent young men are going to be killed."
  
  The lieutenant took a drag on his cigarette. His clear blue eyes looked at the sky above him as though he'd like that drop plane to come back and pick him and his men up.
  
  He looked at me with one eye closed against the heat of the sun. His nose wrinkled slightly. "Nick," he said, "what you want us to do is select those who are loyal to Tonle Sambor and let the rest go, is that right?"
  
  "Maybe it would be better to work it this way. When we hit the temple we should play it by ear. There is bound to be confusion, especially after I kill Tonle Sambor. But one element who won't be confused is that loyal to Sambor. They'll act when they see him dead."
  
  "In other words, well take out those who show aggression toward us. Pick and choose is not what we were trained for, Nick, but I suppose it's better than going in cold without hitting anyone. That's how units lose men." He gave me a half-hearted smile. "You haven't said how we're hitting the temple."
  
  "We'll take the trucks, Lieutenant. If you'll instruct your men, we'll change into the Chicom uniforms and load up in the trucks. We can fill the gaps with soldiers already dead. Your blowing of that one truck might present a problem. Tonle Sambor is expecting five trucks, not four."
  
  Lieutenant Rice shrugged. "China is a long way off. So one truck broke down."
  
  I nodded in agreement. "We have to get the blown truck off the road. Once that's done, I'll take the lead truck. You drive the second, Chong will take the third, and you'll have to assign a man to drive the fourth. We'll take four men each in the back of the first three trucks; the last truck will have two men."
  
  "What about a signal?" the Lieutenant asked.
  
  I thought about that. It had to be something loud and simple. I stood and walked along the side of the truck to the cab. Climbing on the running board I reached in through the side window and pressed the horn button. A metallic blat sounding like the cry of a mechanical sheep came out of the front of the truck. I looked toward the back of the truck. The Lieutenant was standing with the right side of his hip stuck out. Chong was looking at me, but that didn't stop him from continuing to stuff a handful of American cigarettes in his shirt pockets.
  
  I jumped from the running board and faced the lieutenant. "The gates of the temple should be opened for us. I'll drive in and across to the farthest wall.
  
  "Since Tonle Sambor is expecting these trucks, he should be in the courtyard waiting. When all the trucks are inside the gate, and I'm sure I have a clear shot at Sambor, I'll lay a blast on the horn. That will be the signal for your men to come out of the trucks. They kill anyone who shows aggression. As soon as I honk the horn, I'm going to put a bullet through Sambor. Chong will take care of the four generals. With them gone you'll soon know who really supported them. So how does it set with you, Lieutenant?"
  
  "It sounds almost workable," he said. "We've had less to work with."
  
  In 20 minutes, the burned truck was buried in the jungle, and we were rolling toward the Society of the Silver Snake temple.
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  In the rear-view mirror I saw Lieutenant Rice in the truck right behind me. Chong was driving behind him, and a raider sergeant drove the last truck. Between the two rows of men in the back of each truck crates of arms and food supplies were lashed down. We were crawling along at less than five miles an hour.
  
  I eased Wilhelmina from her holster and dropped her between my legs on the seat. This was going to be the end of it. All the traveling, sneaking, fighting had been leading to this. I felt a flutter of excitement as the new wooden gate began to focus more sharply. My assignment had been simple: to find out if a Society of the Silver Snake exists, and ft it does, what its purpose was.
  
  Before noon, Tonle Sambor would be dead, and the Society of the Silver Snake would no longer exist.
  
  I was trying to talk myself into success and I knew it.
  
  There were a lot of things that could go wrong. Maybe the Chicom army was trained to defend itself against just what we were trying to do. We weren't going to offer much resistance to two hundred men. No, the only way it was going to work was for me to hit Tonle Sambor as soon as all the trucks were inside the courtyard.
  
  Without the leader, there was bound to be confusion, especially if Tonle Sambor was the kind of leader I figured him to be.
  
  I heard several loud clicks, and then the huge gates began to separate and pull in. They were almost 14 feet high, and the hinges creaked as they swung open for us. I saw a sliver of the courtyard. The soldiers were in the courtyard, lined up in four long rows. The gates opened all the way, and I drove the truck through.
  
  I kept going slowly, heading for the end structure. As yet I had not seen Tonle Sambor or any of the generals. Lieutenant Rice was bringing the second truck through the gates now. My eyes scanned the lines of soldiers. There was no way to separate the regular army from the recruits because they were all lined, up together. I was approaching the end building. Chong was bringing the third truck through. Then Tonle Sambor and his four generals marched out of the archway in front of me.
  
  They were coming up to the left front fender. My bumper came within inches of the building before I stopped the truck. The brakes squeaked. More brakes squeaked behind me. The raider sergeant was bringing the fourth truck through the gates.
  
  Tonle Sambor was flanked by two generals on each side of him. He strutted toward the truck, flashing a wide grin. His teeth glimmered with gold fillings. My hand dropped to the seat between my legs. Four fingers and my thumb wrapped around the butt of the Luger. My index finger slid lightly along the trigger guard, then found the trigger. It was going to have to be quick.
  
  The blast from the horn touched off an explosion of activity. The truck I sat in rocked back and forth as the four raiders leaped to the ground. The lines of dead Chicoms bounced into each other. Helmets clanged. As yet a shot had not been fired.
  
  I got Wilhelmina up, got the ugly snout of her through the window and aimed at the proud expanded uniformed chest of Tonle Sambor. The door yanked open as I fired. There had to be a hero. One of Sambor's generals proved in his last moment of life to be a quick thinker. He spotted the Luger aimed at his leader and jumped forward and to the side. As the Luger jerked in my hand, I saw half his neck split away. Tonle Sambor dropped his pride and arrogance. He turned and ran. The door was open all the way. Another general was drawing his service revolver. I swung Wilhelmina toward his pockmarked face and squeezed off another shot. He jumped back three feet, then fell like poured water.
  
  I heard Chong fire two shots from behind me. The two remaining generals bumped into each other and fell bleeding to the ground. Tonle Sambor had reached the archway leading to his chambers. He was running very fast. Isolated gunshots were being fired around me. The lines of soldiers split and scattered. Lieutenant Rice told everybody to freeze. He was shouting in Cambodian.
  
  Tonle Sambor was not the kind of man you let get away. Even without an army or generals, he was still a threat. Few men would have the ability of recruitment like Tonle Sambor. He could start from nothing as he once did before and soon have another stronger army, an army always on the lookout for such traps as Tonle was now in.
  
  As I reached the top of the stairs I was aware that somebody was coming up behind me. I didn't look around because, in front of me, Tonle Sambor was rushing with one of his silver daggers.
  
  I spread my legs and kept my weight on the balls of my feet. I had Hugo in my hand. Tonle Sambor was moving in panic. Behind him, I saw flames in his chamber, papers that had to be burned. His small dark eyes held the same look of a fox. He was running and fighting in fear. He had to kill me to move past me, and the next man to move past him. He would have to keep on until he either got away or one of the men got him. I intended to get him. I took another step forward; my arm was back, ready to swing forward and stab the thin blade through him.
  
  "Wait!" The voice came from behind me. I twirled, ready to meet whoever it was. Chong stood there with a Chinese rifle aimed at me. "Don't kill him, Nick," he said quietly.
  
  I frowned at him. "What the hell is this, Chong?"
  
  Chong's face was without expression. "You have no right to kill General Tonle Sambor," he said in a toneless voice.
  
  I nodded toward Chong. "What are you trying to say, Chong? Are you part of Sambor's army?" I knew taking him would be a problem. He was too far to jump with Hugo. And he had that rifle while Wilhelmina was empty. But more than that I was confused. I didn't figure Chong. A lot of things didn't surprise me too much, but I just didn't figure Chong. "What are you going to do?" I asked.
  
  Chong said nothing. Behind me Tonle Sambor started rising to his feet. He was grunting with effort from the broken arm. He moved in staggering steps to my side. Then Chong did another puzzling thing. He swung his rifle away from me and pointed at Tonle Sambor.
  
  "Just don't get any cute ideas about running off anywhere, General," he said.
  
  I cocked my head and squinted at Chong. "Just which damned side are you on, Chong?" I asked.
  
  He flashed me a large grin. "Hell, man," he said lightly, "I've always been on your side. I didn't want you to knock off this worm just yet, that's all. There are guys he duped waiting downstairs. We got plans for the little general, dig?"
  
  I returned Chong's grin. "I dig." I stepped back one step. "After you, General."
  
  In the courtyard, the strike patrol had everything in hand. They had lost one man, another was wounded; they had killed 22 of Sambor's soldiers. We marched through the archway with Sambor in the lead. His troops watched him being herded out by Chong and me, and they looked at him with their eyes filled and with questions he couldn't answer. While Chong jumped up on the back of one of the trucks, Lieutenant Rice came over to flank the other side of Tonle Sambor so the general was between us.
  
  Chong was facing the grouped men who had once belonged to Sambor's army. He started rattling off to them in Cambodian. Lieutenant Rice twitched his magnificent mustache, dug in his shirt pocket and handed me a cigarette.
  
  "What is he saying?" I asked.
  
  The lieutenant gave me a small smile so that the pointed ends of his mustache raised only slightly. "He's telling them about how they were used by this little guy here and the other."
  
  Suddenly Tonle Sambor rose his voice in loud speech. I thought about clipping him one and even stepped over to do so, but Lieutenant Rice held up his hand.
  
  "The little bastard is fighting for his life," the Lieutenant said. "Let him have his say."
  
  Even Chong listened with the men to what the general was saying. When he finished, the men looked at Chong. Chong had a look of pure disgust. He started tearing loose one of the crates on the truck.
  
  "So what did he say?" I asked.
  
  The lieutenant was looking at Sambor with a half-smile. "He said that we and our raiders are enemies of Cambodia. He thinks his men should attack us or something."
  
  I had to match the Lieutenant's smile. Strike force raiders were stationed at each corner of the courtyard, in three doorways, and the rest paced back and forth on the roofs and on each side of the gates. All of them were armed with submachine guns. All the weapons of Sambor's army had been piled in the back of one of the trucks.
  
  Chong had one of the arms crates broken open. He pulled a machine gun from it and tossed it over the edge of the truck to the men's feet. Next he pulled out a rifle and did the same thing.
  
  Lieutenant Rice turned to me. "He's telling the men to check the markings on the weapons, to make sure they are Chinese weapons. He's saying that Tonle Sambor and his generals were Chinese agents." Tonle Sambor shouted a few words. The Lieutenant shook his head. "Our little friend here is calling Chong a liar."
  
  Chong moved from the crates to a line of dead Chinese soldiers. He cut the body loose and tossed it at the feet of the men.
  
  "He's telling the men to check the body closely. They will see that the soldiers were Chinese."
  
  Three of the men checked the body, then stood straight. All eyes turned to Tonle Sambor; and there was no mistaking what was in those eyes — pure hatred. The little general started looking around like a man on the run.
  
  Tonle Sambor roughly pushed both of us and took off at a dead run for the open gates. Three strike patrol raiders stationed on the roofs raised their submachine guns to their shoulders. Lieutenant Rice held his hand straight up. The raiders lowered their weapons. As the little general reached the gates and disappeared through them, Chong jumped down from the truck and took off after him. Sariki's two brothers then started running after Chong. Soon all the men were streaking out the gates.
  
  The Lieutenant and I smoked our cigarettes and stared at the ground and listened. I had no doubt who was going to reach Tonle Sambor first. I don't think the Lieutenant did either. And then after a few minutes I was positive. There had been the silence, a stillness without the men where the Lieutenant and I could hear the boots of the raiders on the roofs.
  
  First there was the stillness, then there was the most agonizing death scream I had ever heard. And I knew Tonle Sambor had died the most horrible of deaths. I also knew that Chong was the first to reach him.
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  For the first time since I had met her I saw Sariki actually smile. But it wasn't a smile aimed at me in gratitude for a safe return. No, she smiled to have her two brothers home safe. We had brought the trucks, which made the traveling much easier. We had picked up my equipment left in the ruins, and with the radio carried by the strike patrol raiders, we had already notified the American helicopter that would pick us up the next morning.
  
  It was about four in the afternoon with nothing to do but lounge around until the copter came. The people of the village were happy with all the food in the trucks. There was talk of a large feast that night, and a celebration because of the return of the brothers. To a lot of the villagers, the strike force and I were great heroes. But not to Sariki. She seemed to go out of her way to avoid me. I hadn't seen Chong all day.
  
  I took the opportunity to wallow in the downside of the creek. I shaved off the heavy whiskers and washed my clothes. I kept myself covered with the cool creek water for almost two hours. Then I changed into my clean set of clothes and walked in the coming darkness back to the village. The feast and celebration had already begun. Although I was clean and well rested, I had a deep feeling of fatigue. Up until now I had a goal, something I was going after. But now that it was over, all the outside forces seemed to gang up on me.
  
  Back in the village I leaned against a hut and watched the festivities. There was a large fire with a pink pig roasting over it turning slowly. The whole village seemed to be out. They sat in a large circle around the fire. But where was Chong? I still hadn't seen him.
  
  I joined in the celebration just long enough to have a bit of that delicious meat and drink some concoction I couldn't even pronounce let alone remember. Then with the party still all wound up, I told everyone goodnight and went alone to my hut and turned in.
  
  For a long while I lay awake while the fatigue kept me from sleep. I listened to the small insects around me, and farther away the strange drumming and voices of the party, and just barely, the gurgling of the creek. I thought about how Chong had pointed that rifle at me just outside Tonle Sambor's chambers. Then I remembered seeing what was left of the little general's body as we left the ruins of Angkor Thom. The mutilation was worse than in any of the villages I had passed through. And Chong had done it. I wondered if Chong was more than merely the greatest guide and fighter in all of Cambodia. And again I wondered where he was. Sleep came to me in snatches.
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  And again Sariki came to me in my sleep. Her lithe young body was becoming familiar to me. It was so strange, the way we always seemed to know. Her touch brought me swimming up out of the pool of slumber. I felt her hand on my shoulder, then she was over me and down on the other side to face me, fists against my chest, around my knees and against my thighs. She smelled of fresh soap; her breath was sweet with the drink. Far off, I could hear the babble of a creek.
  
  She started worming and squirming, trying to work one of her legs under me. I raised slightly, and she slid the leg under, then hooked her calf back against me. I felt the other leg lift over me, felt the smooth weight of it on my hip. The fists on my chest opened and her hands went around my ribs and flattened against my back.
  
  There were no words; no thanks for bringing my brothers back to me; no this is not for me but out of gratitude; none of the lame excuses and reasons why. There was no speaking this time, only the movement.
  
  And then there was the blind searching in the dark, the guiding touch, the pressure steadily increasing, probing, feeling the moist resistance and then the soft release and penetration. I heard the little gasp of air through her nose as we coupled, and then we were sleekly and deeply together. She wiggled herself a little higher, changed her position, moved her hands further around me, and made a small warm sound of contentment.
  
  My hands slid down the small of her little-girl back until I reached her lovely bottom. I cupped a warm, smooth, solid fanny and with a touch and pressure turned her into a loving little machine. And then it started, the slow, rhythmic pumping of her hips, rich and demanding.
  
  With dark all around, she at last turned her full mouth up to me for a kiss. The beat would remain slow and steady until that time we both went searching for each other.
  
  And suddenly the fantasy and the unreal world faded far away from me. The Tonle Sambors, and Silver Dagger Societies, and Chongs, and strike patrols, and Hawks, and AXEs, all seemed like pages being flipped in a book. My world was a private one of need, a small and personal and totally shared world. Their faces were masks made of cardboard and spit hanging on strings from an empty tree. They were part of a wind that blew parched and dry across an empty heart. They were not of my world these bodyless faces and names.
  
  "Ah," said the only other living creature of my world. "Ah."
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  And yet the next morning she was not there. She did not show as the helicopter stirred the thatched roofs with its whupping blades. The strike force climbed bleary-eyed and sleepy into the huge copter but I hung back, looking, waiting. There was no sign of Sariki, no sign of Chong. The noisy, gas-fuming copter engine loped behind me waiting. Three men were left to be gobbled into its large Air Force belly; three men and one Nick Carter.
  
  I wondered if I should look for them. Maybe Chong had been hurt; stepped on a mine, or trapped somehow, by someone; but it was only idle thoughts of concern. I had to face it. The American had come. The American had done a job. The American was now leaving.
  
  "Nick! Hey, Nick!" It was Chong, a wide grin on his youthful con face. He was running toward me. He reached me in a sweat. "Hey, man, glad I caught you before you took off."
  
  I put my hand on his shoulder, then took his outstretched hand. "So what happens to you now, Chong? More organized crap games? A jaunt to Saigon?"
  
  "No man, no more of that jazz for me. I spent almost two days talking to those recruits. You know, the new guys and the ones who had been with Sambor for awhile. They're all agreed, finally, to stay together." His grin widened. "Thanks to me they think Americans are okay guys, you know, I mean GI Joe is okay stuff. They think the Americans are really here in Southeast Asia to help all our people. I'm lousing this up, but I think you can dig what I mean. I mean, I'll probably be as great a leader as I am a guide and fighter."
  
  I roughed up that porcupine mop of his for him. "I don't doubt it for a minute, Chong." And then suddenly I looked just to my left and Sariki was standing there, her hair down and blowing like a flag out behind her. I walked up to her and took her hands in mine. She had a small smile on her full lips.
  
  She didn't speak. Instead she wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed me soundly for a long time. Then she stood away from me, still with that small smile. I felt a twinge of longing for her. I had never met anyone quite like her before.
  
  The pilot was impatient. I turned and started to climb into the belly of the copter. I waved vigorously at Chong once I was inside. Then I saw Sariki wave her hand slightly. As the copter lifted off the ground, I noticed Sariki had a stream of tears running down each cheek.
  
  
  
  
  
  Fifteen
  
  
  
  
  It was raining in Washington. I could see it beating against Hawk's window. His office was filled with smoke from the cigars he had gone through while I told the whole thing to him. In his hands he held the silver dagger Chong had given me the day we bugged Tonle Sambor's chambers.
  
  Hawk dropped the dagger on his desk. He cleared his throat, pulled the black unlit stub of cigar from his teeth, looked at it with distaste, scratched the back of his neck, then fixed me with a stare.
  
  "You are right, Carter. It is a wicked-looking weapon." He leaned forward, elbows on the desk. "And you say this Chong has taken the trucks and is seeking out and destroying communist forces?"
  
  "Yes, sir, anywhere he can find them, whether they're Chinese, Viet Cong, or North Vietnamese. He hates communists with a passion."
  
  Hawk was still staring at me. "And you think he's good?"
  
  "Very good, sir."
  
  Hawk snorted. "Maybe we can give him a little help."
  
  "I think he'd appreciate that."
  
  Hawk leaned back. "Carter, you did fine on this. I don't have to tell you. I'll see if we can't get you a little extra time off. Janet, I presume?"
  
  I smiled. "As I told you earlier, sir, Janet and I have an understanding. I would appreciate a few days, thank you."
  
  Hawk stood and crossed to the window. He clamped the cigar between his teeth, then looked back over his shoulder to the dagger resting on his desk. When he spoke he seemed to be almost talking to himself.
  
  "So what did we accomplish, I wonder? Have we actually helped anyone, Carter? Have we eased any of the struggle in Southeast Asia simply by removing one pawn? I truly wonder how many Tonle Sambors there are wandering around?"
  
  "I don't know, sir," I said honestly. "Maybe others like Chong and his small band will provide the answers."
  
  "Perhaps," Hawk said. "Perhaps. But I wonder?"
  
  I wondered, too, not only about what Chong was doing, but about what Ben-Quang had told me, about how the feeling runs for Americans in Asia. Then suddenly I felt a twinge across my chest. I thought fondly of a girl named Sariki, and I wondered what would become of her.
  
  
  
  
  
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