Perfect Justice (13 page)

The map he had obtained from District Attorney Swain got him to the end of the dirt road, but from there he had to walk an additional half mile on foot. Honda Accords were not generally considered all-terrain vehicles. The journey was an exhausting series of ascents and descents. Ben felt winded after the first fifteen minutes. There was no point in kidding himself; he wasn’t in shape for this sort of exertion.

Finally Ben topped the final hill and saw the ASP camp in the valley below. The encampment was surrounded by a barbed-wire fence. To his relief, he didn’t see anyone on duty at the sentry posts. He had a hunch visitors weren’t greeted with open arms.

Attempting to look casual, Ben pushed open the heavy metal gate bearing a friendly sign that said
TRESPASSERS WILL BE SHOT.
In a clearing, perhaps a hundred yards away, he saw about fifty men running through field maneuvers. They were dressed in camouflage-green fatigues, heavy boots, web gear, and matching caps. They were all carrying weapons; from where Ben stood, they looked like assault rifles.

A brief glance was sufficient to tell Ben that these men took what they were doing very seriously. Their expressions were determined and they rarely missed a step. Two men stood apart from the rest, barking out commands. Drill sergeants, apparently. He heard one of them shouting about
kill zones.

This explained why no one was guarding the front door, Ben thought. They were all out in the field high-stepping through tires and crawling under wires on their elbows. He was relieved, although he realized this could make it difficult for him to interview anyone. On the other hand, it could give him an unexpected opportunity to survey the grounds unrestricted.

Four barrackslike buildings were positioned in the center of the encampment. They were cheap, portable, prefab constructions that kept the rain off your head and not much else. Two were considerably larger than the others. One of them was blackened on the north side, as if it had been subjected to a mild fire.

Ben stretched up on his tiptoes and peered through the window of the building closest to him, one of the large ones. The main interior room was filled with cots lined so close together they almost touched. These two buildings must be where the men slept, Ben realized. At least, those who didn’t have a place in town like Vick.

Ben assumed that one of the other two buildings performed an administrative function. And that meant, with any luck, he might find files. Records. Maybe the answers to a few of his hundred or so questions about Donald Vick.

Ben was just rounding the building and heading toward the door when he heard a loud voice directly behind him.

“Intruder!”

Before Ben had a chance to react, someone knocked his feet out from under him. He slammed into the side of the building, then thudded down on the ground.

He shook his head, trying to regain his bearings. He rolled over onto his back, just in time to get the business end of an M-16 poked directly into his face.

“W
AIT A MINUTE!” BEN
shouted. “Don’t shoot!”

“Shut your goddamn mouth!” the soldier hovering over him growled.

Two other men appeared on either side of the first, seemingly from nowhere. They were all dressed in standard ASP drill uniforms. They even had black charcoal smeared on their faces.

“Report, private!” one of the newcomers shouted.

“Sir, yes, sir!” The young man raised his gun and stood at attention. Ben took the opportunity to climb back to his feet. “Found the intruder sneaking around the barracks. Saw him looking through the window. He must be the one. Sir!”

The leader, a brown-haired man only marginally older than his so-called private, glared at Ben. “I’m Corporal Holloway. Do you have a pass?”

Ben swallowed. “Well, no …”

Corporal Holloway grabbed Ben by the neck and shoved him back down on the ground. Ben fell to his knees and caught himself by his hands, but a swift kick from one of the men’s boots flattened him. His chin pounded against the dirt.

“Search him, privates!”

Ben felt four hands roaming all over his backside. He didn’t care much for the sensation, but under the circumstances, he decided not to complain.

After the search was completed, Holloway pried the butt of his rifle under Ben’s ribs and rolled him onto his back. One of the privates clamped his hand down on Ben’s throat, securely pinning him to the ground.

“Who authorized your presence?” Corporal Holloway barked.

Ben didn’t feel lying would improve his standing in the community. “No one.”

“State your business!”

Where to begin. “Well,” Ben said hoarsely, “I came for information—”

“Spy!”
The private squeezed his throat.

“Look—” The grip on Ben’s larynx was so tight he could barely whisper. “I’m not any kind of—”

“Who sent you?”

“No one sent me.”

Holloway drove a boot into Ben’s ribs. The kick would have smarted under the best of circumstances, but in this case, it landed in the area already softened up by Deputy Gustafson’s pummeling the night before last.

“Let’s try it again,” Holloway said, teeth clenched. “Who sent you? Hatewatch, or the gooks?”

Ben tried to focus on the question, but he kept thinking: Belinda was right. When would he learn to rely on the sound advice of people with common sense? “I’m here for Donald Vick, actually.”

“Stupid choice.” Another kick to his ribs. This time the impact was so violent it knocked the air out of his lungs. Ben wasn’t sure he would be able to breathe anymore. “Stupid spy. You chose the only member of the camp who isn’t here anymore.”

Ben felt a sudden wave of nausea so great it was almost impossible for him to speak. No great loss. Everything he said only made matters worse.

“We’ll put him in detention,” Holloway said. It was an order, not a suggestion. “Till the Grand Dragon has a chance to interrogate him.”

“Sir. Where should we put him, sir?”

“I think the Box would be a good place for this spy,” Holloway said. “Especially on a hot summer day like today. After a few hours in there, he’ll be begging to talk to us. Ripley, Short! Take the prisoner to the Box.” He paused. “See that he comes to some harm along the way.”

“Yes, sir!” they answered in unison.

“What the
hell
is going on here?”

It was a familiar shout. Corporal Holloway suddenly stood at attention. “Sir. We found the spy surveying the grounds, sir!”

“Your alleged spy is Ben Kincaid, Holloway!” It was Sonny Banner, the leader of Ben’s ASP bodyguards. Ben hadn’t seen him since he got out of jail. “He’s the man who’s representing Private Vick.”

“He’s the mouthpiece?” Holloway’s demeanor slipped, if only for a second. “We didn’t know. Sir. I mean—”

“Did you ask him to identify himself?” Banner demanded.

“Of course. He—”

“Did he tell you he represented Private Vick?”

“Sir. I—” Holloway paused. “Well, he mentioned Vick’s name—”

“Consider yourself on report!” Banner barked. “I’ll fill out the paperwork when I have time. You can count on it.” He extended his hand to Ben.

Who, me? Ben thought. And just when the dirt was starting to feel comfy. They clasped hands. Ben’s ribs had no desire to be elevated, but he let himself be pulled upright nonetheless.

“This man is more valuable to us than you will ever be, Holloway,” Banner said sharply. Poor Holloway—Ben was almost starting to feel sorry for him.

Banner straightened Ben up and brushed off his shirt. “Are you all right?”

“I think I can walk. …”

“Good man.” He slapped Ben on the back. The slap was almost as painful as Holloway’s kicks. “What can I do for you?”

Ben thought quickly. “I’d like to speak to the Grand Dragon. It’s about the case.”

“Of course. I’ll arrange it immediately.” Banner turned back for a parting shot. “I’ll be speaking to the Grand Dragon about you, also, Corporal Holloway. I wonder if you shouldn’t spend some time in the Box yourself.”

Holloway didn’t respond, but the terrified expression on his face spoke volumes.

“Come on, Ben.” Banner clamped his thick arm around Ben’s shoulders. “I hope you can forget what happened here. This was inexcusable. You’re a VIP—a Very Important Person—to the members of ASP. From now on I guarantee you’ll be given the respect you deserve.”

Ben wasn’t sure which sickened him more—the way Holloway treated him, or the way Banner did.

B
EN WAS ESCORTED INTO
the smallest of the ASP buildings. It appeared to be their strategic command post. The outer room was filled with charts and maps, many with colored pins stuck in the various places. Ben might be geographically challenged, but he could still tell the maps were of the surrounding countryside, including Coi Than Tien.

Banner let Ben wait in the outer room with the two privates while he stepped inside. Ben scanned the papers on the desks and table and glanced nonchalantly into the file cabinets. The immensity of the paperwork astounded him. He doubted if the volume of reporting and memo writing could be much greater at the Pentagon. That in itself was sobering—what were these people planning in such minute detail? He would love a chance to sort through these files at his leisure, but since the privates were standing nearby, desperate for a chance to redeem themselves, he decided to keep his curiosity in check.

In a side room, Ben found a printing press that was furiously spitting out paper. He picked up two fliers bundled on the floor. One announced that
SCIENTISTS SAY GOOKS STILL IN APE STAGE.
The front of the other displayed a comic-book drawing of an Asian male with a leering, malevolent expression on his face. The headline read:
THE ONLY GOOD GOOK IS A DEAD GOOK.

Ben opened the flier. “A yellow thieving baboon,” the interior text read. “He will steal your job, your wife, your daughter. He will live on welfare while taking everything you have. He is the enemy.”

“The Grand Dragon will see you now,” Banner announced.

Ben dropped the flier on the floor with the others. As they crossed the hall Banner whispered, “You don’t know how lucky you are. The Grand Dragon is a very busy man.”

“He certainly generates a tremendous amount of paperwork.”

“Big plans in the works,” Banner said ominously. “Big plans. The Grand Dragon hasn’t taken a visitor in weeks. Totally blew off that DA schmuck the other day. But when I told him you were here, he put down what he was doing and told me to bring you in immediately.”

“I’m honored.”

They entered an inner office in the back of the barracks, with the two privates close behind. “Ben, this is Grand Dragon Dunagan.”

Dunagan rose from his chair, removed his glasses, and approached Ben, arm outstretched. He was a short man, balding, with the last remnants of his red hair clinging to either side of his bald head. He had a generally healthy, ruddy appearance, although his beltline showed some middle-aged spread. No more so than usual for a man Ben judged to be in his early fifties.

Ben had expected the physical incarnation of evil, and instead he found himself greeted by a man who could only be described as perfectly ordinary.

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Kincaid.” Dunagan had the vigorous handshake of a Baptist preacher. “This is a great task you’ve taken on. A noble deed.”

“Call me Ben. I didn’t have much choice, to be honest.”

“Don’t soft soap me, Ben. You’re a brave man to accept this challenge when the forces of Satan gather all around us. Banner and the other boys told me about the beating you took at the jailhouse from that gook-loving deputy. Around here you’re a hero.”

“It was nothing. Really. All I did was lie on the floor and try not to bleed too much.”

Dunagan shook his head. “It’s a shame, you know, how those gooks have got everyone in this town on edge.”

“You blame the civil unrest on the Vietnamese?”

“Damn right. They were the ones who invaded this peaceful country. They slashed their prices and agreed to work for the big chicken-processing outfits for next to nothing. Made it damn near impossible for the white man to compete.”

“Sounds like they’re guilty of being shrewd businessmen.”

“It isn’t just that. They’ve been stirring up trouble since we arrived. Did you see that scorching on the barracks where we store our weapons?”

Ben nodded.

“Firebomb. In the middle of the night. We put it out before it caused much damage, but what if we hadn’t? That whole building would’ve gone up in an explosion you’d hear from here to Branson.” Dunagan folded his arms across his chest. “You tell me who did that, if not the Vietnamese.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know,” Ben said. “This is the first I’ve heard of it.”

“Hell. I’m sorry to get on my soapbox like that. You didn’t come all the way out here to listen to my problems.” Dunagan pulled a chair out from under a table and gestured for Ben to sit. “What can I do for you?”

Ben settled himself in the chair. “For starters, I’d like as much background information as I can get about Donald Vick. I’ve spoken to Donald, but he hasn’t been very communicative.”

“Hmmm.” Something seemed to be bothering Dunagan, but he didn’t say what it was. “Well, you’ve come to the right place. I’ve known Donny for years.”

“He’s been a member of your … organization for some time, then?”

“Donny? No, he’s only twenty-one. We don’t take them much younger than that. But his father was a lifetime member, just like his father before him.”

“Runs in the family.”

“Exactly. Back in Alabama, people have strongly held beliefs, and they tend to pass those beliefs from one generation to the next. Hell, in today’s world, when children are bombarded with all kinds of crap by television and movies and the left-wing press, a father has to do whatever he can to set his kids straight. Otherwise the poor bastards become totally screwed up.”

The Grand Dragon as Dr. Spock. Interesting. “So Vick’s father brought him into the organization.”

“Hell, yes. Like father, like son. Frankly we don’t care much for people who stand off to the side and let others do what needs to be done. You’re either with us, or against us. That’s how I look at it.”