The Vulcan Disaster

There was another burst of fire again outside. Closer this time. M-16 fire. The dregs of the ARVN were still down there in the streets, and I’d have a hell of a time getting past them by myself, particularly with the built-in gimp those busted ribs had given me. Trying to make it with a girl beside me — and one who’d be instantly pegged as a pro-American (or pro-European) collaborator would be... well, I thought, it might take a little doing.

I could hear voices in the east stairwell. Boots were pounding. They’d spotted what was left of Corbin. A door opened and slammed one flight down. I looked down the hall in the opposite direction. There was another door marked EXIT past Meyer’s room. I sighed. Then I nodded to her. “Come along,” I said.

I went down the first flight on tiptoe. She was still barefoot and I could hardly tell whether she was behind me or not. As we passed the second-story door I paused and listened for a moment to the loud voices. Nobody seemed to be coming our way. There were two guys in the hall, and they were arguing about something. “Hey,” I said to her in a soft whisper, close to her ear, “What are they saying?”

“Oh,” she said. “I... one of them... one of them wants to set the place on fire. The other... he is saying they should search the rooms first... ah, to see if anyone left any valuables behind...”

Great, I thought. In a matter of hours they’d have a hell of a time finding a fence for stolen goods. Everything would belong to Uncle Ho’s boys all of a sudden, and heaven help anybody who had other ideas about the redistribution of wealth. “Come on,” I said and she grabbed my hand in that eager little kid’s grip of hers. I shook her loose, slipping her a reassuring wink; I’d need both hands if any trouble turned up...

Saigon wasn’t a place I knew well — not the way I knew Washington, or Amsterdam, or Rome, or Tel Aviv. This was a quarter I’d never spent much time in before. But I didn’t need to know much: only the way to the Embassy. And that way cut across the grid of streets in an irregular pattern.

“Where are we going, Mr. Carter?” she said. The voice was small, but it was firm again.

“The Embassy,” I said. “If it hasn’t been burned down by t our loyal allies yet. Why? What do you...”

“This way,” she said. “There are a couple of places where we can cut through buildings and save ourselves a block or so along the way. I...” But then she stopped. Her eyes were full of fear again. They focused on something past my right shoulder. I whirled. There was a kid in an ARVN jacket pointing an M-16 at me. My hand twitched once; I wanted to reach for Wilhelmina, but the kid’s face was dark and earnest and his eyes were full of icy glints. He said something I couldn’t make out. His finger was nervously flexing and unflexing on that damned hair trigger.

The girl said something. Loud.

His eyes widened; he turned to aim as she raced across the street. The gunsight went to his eye. His right hand tightened on the grip...

I shot him down without a qualm. The slug caught him in the temple; if he felt anything at all it wasn’t for long. He fell like a rag doll. “Phuong!” I shouted. But she’d stopped, hand over her mouth again, watching me, holding out her hand. We set out down the street again, my ribs hurting like hell no matter how gently I moved. I started to chew her out once when she jerked my arm hard and pulled me suddenly into an alley; then the weapons carrier went past, full of hard-faced teen-agers armed to the teeth and looking for fun, and I gave her hand a grateful squeeze.

The alley, it appeared, was part of her short cut. We set out down it at something like a drunkard’s jog. I kept Wilhelmina out; it was, by now, highly unlikely that anyone we ran into would have our best interests at heart. I didn’t want to answer any questions for anybody. I just wanted to get the hell out of there, in virtually any direction but due north.

The cobbles underfoot were slick and greasy. I tripped and fell full-length, and the pain took my breath away. She helped me up — to my knees, anyhow — and was trying to get me to rise when I spotted it: a big black Rolls-Royce, bearing down on us from the other end of the block.

“Mr. Carter!” she said. “Get up, please!” She pulled harder at my arm. Shooting pains went through my chest I tried to rise, watching the black car gain speed and bear down on me. I was in the middle of the alley. He could hardly miss me. I got up to one knee, gasping; then the knee buckled and I fell forward, landing on my hands. Wilhelmina went flying into a puddle. My head was dizzy; someone was pulling at me, and it hurt worse every time they did it; someone called my name, in a loud clear high-pitched voice. Then I heard a screeching sound and that was it.