Four Blind Mice

Chapter One Hundred and Thirteen

I was lifted out of the car trunk and unceremoniously dropped on the ground. I landed hard on my hip. Rain lanced my body. Just the beginning, I knew. These bastards were out to hurt me before they killed me. I was handcuffed and there was nothing I could do to stop them.

Colonel Walker reached toward me and ripped my shirt open. The other man was pulling off my shoes, then my pants.

Suddenly, I was naked and shivering in the woods somewhere in upstate New York. The air was cold, probably in the low forties.

“Do you know what my real crime is? Do you know what I did that was so wrong in Vietnam? ”Hutchinson asked. “I gave the fucking order to fight back. They killed and maimed our men. They practiced terrorism and sadism. They tried to intimidate us in every way they could. I wouldn't be intimidated. I fought back, Cross. Just like I'm fighting back now.”

also murdered non-combatants, disgraced your command," I spat the words at him.

The general leaned in close. “You weren't there, so don't tell me what I did or didn't do. We won in the An Lao Valley. Back then, we used to say there were only two kinds in the world, the motherfuckers and the mother-fucked. I'm a motherfucker, Cross. Guess what that makes you?”

Colonel Walker and the other man had paint and brushes. They began to swab cold paint onto my body. “Thought you would appreciate this touch, ”Walker said. “I was in the An Lao Valley, too. You going to tell the Washington Post on me?”

There was nothing I could do to stop this. No one could help me either. I was naked in the world, and all alone, and now I was being painted. Their calling card before they killed me.

I shivered in the cold. I could see in their eyes that killing me meant nothing to them. They'd murdered before. Owen Handler for one.

So how much longer did I have? A few minutes? Maybe a couple of hours of torture? No more than that.

A gunshot rang out in the blackness. It seemed to come from beyond the headlights of the sedan we'd driven there in. What the hell?

A dark hole opened in Colonel Walker's face, just below his left eye. Blood spurted. He flopped over backwards, landing with a heavy thud on the forest floor. The back of his head was gone, just blown away.

The second soldier tried to duck, and a bullet drilled his lower spine. He screamed, then fell and rolled right over me.

I saw men come swarming out of the woods at least half a dozen. I counted nine, ten of them. I couldn't see who they were in the darkness. Who in hell was rescuing me?

Then, as they came closer, moonlight illuminated some of the features. My God! I didn't know them, but I knew where they had come from and who had sent them -either to follow me, or to kill Hutchinson.

The Ghost Shadows were here.

Tran Van Luu's people had been tracking me. Or Hutchinson.

They were speaking in Vietnamese. I didn't understand a word they were saying. Two of them grabbed the general and threw him to the ground. They began to kick him in the head, the chest, stomach, and the genitals. He cried out in pain, but the beating continued, almost as if they couldn't hear him.

They left me alone. But I had no illusions I was a witness to this. I lay with my face pressed against the ground. I watched the attack from the lowest vantage point. The beating of General Hutchinson seemed unreal and almost inhuman. They were kicking Colonel Walker and the other soldier now as well. Beating the dead!

One of them took out a serrated knife and cut Hutchinson. His scream pierced the night. It was obvious they wanted to hurt the general, but not kill him. They meant to torture and terrorize, to wreak havoc.

One of Luu's men pulled out a straw doll. He threw the doll at Hutchinson. He then stabbed the general in the lower stomach. Hutchinson screamed again. The stomach wound wouldn't be fatal. The torture was going to continue. And sooner or later they would paint all of our bodies.

I believe in rituals and symbolism, and I believe in revenge.

Tran Van Luu had told me that in prison.

One of his men finally came for me. I curled into a protective ball. No one could save me now. I knew the Ghost Shadows' plan wreak havoc, get revenge for ancestors who had been murdered but never buried.

“You want watch? Or go?” the man asked. His voice was surprisingly calm. “You free to go, Detective.”

I looked into his eyes. “Go,” I said.

The Ghost Shadow helped me to my feet, took off my cuffs, then he led me away. He threw me rags to clean up with. A second man brought my clothes and shoes. They were both respectful.

Then I was brought to the gates of West Point, near 9W, where I was released unharmed. I had no doubt that those were Tran Van Luu's explicit orders.

I ran to get help for General Hutchinson and his men, but I knew I was already too late.

The Foot Soldier had killed them.