Casca 12: The African Mercenary Read online

  Beidemann grumbled a bit when Casey told him to get his and Yousef's gear together and do as he was told. He finished his packing and, with one last wounded look before he left, asked, "Are you sure that we can't help?" He knew that their being sent on ahead had something to do with what had happened in Cambodia.

  Van interjected with a terse, "No! This is our debt to pay! You were not there. This must be handled by us. It is a matter of honor." Accepting Van's statement, Beidemann bade them farewell and, with Yousef in tow, left the apartment for the streets below. He was attempting to hail a taxi when a voice called out his name.

  George was getting out of a rickshaw. He had taken the morning shuttle from Kuala Lumpur. He had only met Beidemann once before, but that was enough; the giant was not easily forgotten. To Beidemann, the small Montagnard did not look all that well. He'd been wounded pretty badly during the Cambodian excursion with Casey, and it had taken months to get his strength back and to get used to his new artificial eye. Beidemann thought the effect of having one green eye and one brown quite striking, though he could see how it might be a bit disconcerting to the less sophisticated. Nevertheless, he thought it gave George a certain elan that went quite well with the gold teeth set with green plastic hearts in the centers.

  Beidemann explained to George that he and Yousef were on their way to the plantation to get things ready. He promised him that when they got together again they would have a proper party.

  A taxi responded to Beidemann's hand signal and pulled over to the curb. The shocks groaned on the old Citroen as the huge man lowered himself into the back seat. George waved good bye to him and the still pale Yousef. The Moroccan said nothing, merely looked pathetic and gave a weak grin as the taxi pulled out into the throng of carts, trucks, cars, bicycles, and people from a dozen bloodlines and cultures.

  Van answered George's knock on the door, letting in the bandy legged Montagnard. George was a near perfect example of the rugged men of the hill tribes of Vietnam. A little taller and stockier than most Vietnamese, his teeth had been filed down during puberty rites. Those in the front were the ones that had been replaced with gleaming gold caps. He had fought with Van and Casey in Vietnam, and before that during the days of the Viet Minh and the French. He hated all communists no matter what their nationality. To him they were all either Cong or Viet Minh.

  The old friends greeted each other. Casey felt a swelling of emotion at the sight of the tough little warrior, all one hundred and thirty pounds of him. George smiled, showing his oral gold mine. To foreigners, it seemed strange that gold teeth should have inlaid decorations such as hearts or diamonds of colored plastic, but it was a common practice in parts of Southeast Asia.

  George and Van wasted no time. Looking at Casey, Van said quietly but with deep feeling, "It is time we visit Ling K'ai and pay our bill. It has been too long." Casey knew he was right. Only the honorable Ling K'ai, pimp, dope dealer, and smuggler had known of their mission into Cambodia. It was he who had contacted the Kamserai rebels who aided them in their mission. K'ai was the only one who had a big enough ax to grind, and now it was time to balance accounts. He had been warned not to interfere, so what happened was now on his head. Casey had wanted to go with them to settle with Ling K'ai, but when they were on the run and holed up in the old temple in the swamp, he had given K'ai to George and Van. A deal was a deal.

  From one of the rear bedrooms Van brought out a U.S. Army duffel bag. From the canvas sack he withdrew a custom built, ten round, twelve gauge automatic shotgun. The barrel was sawed off to fourteen inches, with a collapsible wire stock and pistol grip. This was for George. Van selected his own favorite, a 9mm Walther P 38. Each man checked the clips, put extra ones in his pockets, and stood ready. They looked long and hard at Casey, knowing he wanted to go with them. They went silently to the door, moving as if they were embarrassed at not taking him with them. But they knew it would be best for him to remain behind while they took care of business their way. Singapore was not a place for Caucasians to be involved in murder.

  Casey had a strange sense of being very much alone when they had gone. He knew that for some months after they'd returned from Cambodia, Ling K'ai had men watching them. He didn't know if that was still the case, but in any event, there was little hope that George and Van would catch him by surprise. Goddammit! he thought. Why the hell did I agree to this thing? They'll probably walk right into a trap!

  Van and George walked out into the brilliant daylight, taking their time. They were in no rush. Each savored the day in his own way, each preparing himself for the confrontation that had been so long delayed. From Sou Phoung, the Kamserai chieftain, they had found out the truth of what they had already suspected. On their behalf, Sou Phoung had questioned a half caste Portogee Chinese who worked for Ling K'ai. The Portogee had, on K'ai's orders, informed the Khmer Rouge of their mission, and was responsible for the deaths of several Kamserai men and Yu Li's father.

  Sou Phoung paid part of the debt by staking out the half caste over a bed of freshly cut, green bamboo and leaving him there. In the tropics bamboo thrives and can grow a foot or more a day. By the third day the half caste was raised six inches off the ground with several long green shoots of bamboo extending from his chest and abdomen. The half caste's screaming had stopped sometime during the second night, when one of the shoots of thrusting bamboo inserted itself into his lungs. He'd drowned in his own blood. At least it had ended the unbearable agony of the green blades of death pushing their way through his stomach and intestines.

  Sou Phoung played the game the way the jungle demanded it be played. Compassion for an enemy was an unknown commodity, completely alien to his thought processes.

  George understood him perfectly, Van less so but with perhaps more sophistication. His hatred was on a more intellectual level and because of that, perhaps even more deadly.

  The Golden Lotus Club sat on piles over the brown, murky waters of the basin in front of them. It was Ling K'ai's restaurant, and the headquarters of his drug and prostitution ring. It was here that Casey had killed K'ai's number one boy earlier in the year. Today they would kill the master, not the dog.

  Entering through the front doors, Van and George made their way into the dark, silent interior, stopping for a moment to give their eyes a chance to adjust from the glare outside. Only the bartender was visible as he cleaned the bar and made preparations for the evening crowd. The Golden Lotus Club was open only for dinner and the late night trade. They headed for the rear of the restaurant where K'ai's office was, the sound of their heels loud on the polished tiles.

  Out of the shadows, just in front of the office door, a new presence made itself known. "What is it you wish here?" The voice was soft, almost feminine. "What do you want here?" it asked once more.

  Van spoke his answer nearly as softly. "We come for your master. Go away and don't involve yourself in that which is none of your concern."

  The voice laughed quietly, easily, and the figure made itself visible. A pleasant looking young man in loose, black peasant clothes bowed to them. "I am Sung II Kim "

  The light from an open doorway behind them showed the smiling face of a well-built man, one supremely confident of himself. "I know who you are, Van Tran Tich, and you I have also heard of, savage," he said, speaking to George. "We have been watching you. I knew when you left your rooms. Know this: In me you see your deaths." The words were spoken without bravado, almost absentmindedly. "Are you prepared for your deaths?" Not waiting for an answer, Kim motioned to a couple of vague forms concealed in the shadows. Only their pistols were visible, pointing at the two intruders. Kim walked forward a step closer. "Drop your weapons or die now," he ordered. Van and George did as Kim instructed, the pistol and shotgun clattering to the tile floor.

  Kim stepped in front of them and bowed, straightening himself into the ap chak ay preparatory position. Obviously enjoying himself, the young man made several leaping passes and fake strikes at his stationary targets, his movements p
roclaiming him a master of Tae Kwan Do, the Korean style of the martial arts. When he finished his demonstration, he stood still in front of his victims while the men with the guns watched silently.

  Holding his hands clenched, the knuckles touching at the center of his solar plexus, he bowed once more, saying, "It is time for you to die." Drawing into his abdomen a long, deep breath, he began a rasping exhalation, pumping adrenaline into his system. Kim prepared to strike.

  Before he could move, he hit the ground with a scream. At what seemed to be the same instant, a double echo reverberated through the club. Both of Kim's kneecaps were shattered, and his legs bent back under him at impossible angles.

  The two figures in the shadows detached themselves from the darkness. One stepped forward. "Ach! Meinen Freunden." A wisp of smoke came from the action of Beidemann's Mauser HSc .380 automatic.

  "Ali and I couldn't find the pilot we were supposed to find, and we got back to the hotel just as you were leaving. I saw men watching you, so we talked to Casey, found out where you were going, and got here in time to take care of the two men the young karate expert thought would be backing him up. Right now they are practicing to see how long they can hold their breath underwater. By now I believe they have set a new world record. They have been down at least fifteen minutes."

  Sung Il Kim continued to moan in pain and shock, realizing what had happened all too clearly.

  George walked over to the Korean. Bending over, he said softly, "Foolish one. Do you not know that everyone does not play the game by the same rules? If the big nosed one here had not stopped you, we would have." George showed him the Colt .32 automatic he had hidden in a sleeve holster.

  The young Korean looked up with pleading eyes. George stepped over him and picked up his shotgun as Van retrieved his P 38. The two Asians entered Ling K'ai's office, closing the door behind them.

  Beidemann turned to Yousef. "Might as well get rid of this one too, yes? It is not wise to leave enemies behind when you can avoid it," he said, giving a nod to Yousef. The Moroccan slit the Korean's throat, then dragged the body back to the kitchen and tossed it out the rear door, where it sank into the filthy waters to join the two others already in residence.

  Inside, Van and George were taking care of business with Ling K'ai, who had just awakened from an opium induced sleep. That was why the shots outside had not disturbed his dreams. Neither had he been warned of the coming of Van and George. Kim had not wished to disturb him over something that could be dealt with so easily.

  George grabbed the young Thai girl lying beside K'ai and threw her out the door, then closed and locked it. There would be no further interruptions. Van stood over K'ai and smiled, his soft, almost girlish features looking entirely too gentle for what was about to take place. George pulled his knife from its sheath at the base of his spine and stepped forward, humming softly to himself.

  Outside, the big German and Yousef heard a hideous scream begin and last for what seemed an impossible length of time. It repeated itself over and over, each time becoming a little shorter in duration as if beginning to run down like a broken toy.

  The door finally opened, and George and Van came out. Beidemann got one quick look at what remained of Ling K'ai, his head pinned to his mahogany desk by some shining object. After Van and George had performed some minor and some not so minor surgery, George had found a rifle cleaning rod in K'ai's office, and in exchange for what K'ai had put into the ears of the Khmer Rouge, they had hammered the rod through his own ears and into his desk. The amount of time K'ai would continue to live was left entirely up to him. George had left his knife where K'ai could reach it. When the pain was too great, all the man had to do was cut his own throat with the one hand they had left him.

  They had not yet reached the street outside the club when K'ai screamed again, took the knife, and with a trembling hand forced the blade into his neck. Twisting and ripping in his pain, he botched the job and had to hack at his own throat clumsily until at last he reached the jugular vein and bled to death.

  George went back for a look, then returned to his friends and said simply, "It is best that it is over for him. He would never have been much good for a woman again anyway."

  The debt had been paid. Now they were free to concentrate on their new contract across the sea in Africa.

  They rejoined Casey, no one saying anything about the day's activities. Casey packed his belongings, and they all left together to find the Englishman. Before nightfall, they were in his plane and on their way to Malaya, where Harrison did a quick turn around after letting his strangely silent passengers off at the private hangars. They loaded the Land Rover for the ride from the hot, humid lands by the muddy river to the cooler heights of the mountains. Before dawn, they were on the red clay road leading up to Casey's plantation. The altitude was beginning to make itself known by the cooling of the morning air. They were almost home.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Yu Li was waiting for them when they drove into the circular driveway in front of the main house, a large, rambling, white structure that spoke of colonial times and a memory of things gone but not completely forgotten.

  Beidemann was impressed by the subtle security that had manifested itself on their approach to the compound where Yu Li was waiting. His instincts told him that they were under observation from the moment they entered the boundaries of Casey's domain. Even in the half light of dawn he could make out the shapes of armed men set at ambush sites near the road. As they drove on, he noticed several claymore mines set along the sides of the road leading up the mountain. Where there were claymores, there had to be someone to activate them or else they would have gone off when the Land Rover passed them.

  Yu Li was standing on the porch, wearing a turquoise cheongsam, her hair piled high on her head. She had breakfast waiting for them on the veranda, where they could eat in the cool morning air, surrounded by the bright reds and purples of bougainvillea and other tropical shrubs. After seeing to their needs and assigning rooms, she left with Casey to the comfort of their own rooms. She had some needs of her own to take care of.

  It was nearly three in the afternoon before all the guests were awake and moving. Yu Li always made it a point to try and get to know those with whom her man was going to do business. His life, and in a way hers, depended on them.

  She was friendly but slightly formal to the big German, as if unsure of him and somewhat intimidated by his size. She knew that he and her man went back a long way together. Just how far back, she wasn't sure. Beidemann had to be pushing sixty, though he looked to be in his mid-forties and was as strong as a Celebes ox. Several times, when he and Casey were alone, they would speak German. When anyone came near, they would switch to English, and Yu Li guessed they were discussing something else. She had the feeling that there were some things concerning her man that Beidemann would never mention to her or to anyone else.

  Casey wanted her to like his oldest surviving friend. He was the last of his kind. When the two men were alone he had asked Beidemann not to mention his being in the German army. He gave no reason, but he knew it wasn't necessary. Beidemann would do as he was asked, even if he didn't understand the reasons. Casey had almost not called Beidemann in for this mission, but he'd had the feeling that if he didn't, he'd never see the monster alive again. He was nearly as fascinated by the big man as Beidemann was with him. The German had an almost timeless quality to him that was more of the spirit than of age. The only change that time had made in Beidemann, other than making him a bit grayer and adding a few more lines to his face, was that he'd become a bit more mellow and sometimes chose to play a more fatherly or sophisticated role. He had fine manners when he chose to use them, and his natural good spirits were infectious. It didn't take long before he had Yu Li sitting on his knee like a child. Uncle Gus told her stories she found impossible to believe, but they were related with just enough feeling for truth that she was never quite sure. Beidemann was like something out of a legend to her, and she n
ever quite believed he was a real person.

  Ali ben Yousef, on the other hand, was easier for her to understand; his attitudes were less Western. That, and his quiet manner, made him more like one of her own people than Beidemann could ever be.

  After a dinner of roast wild boar served on fine Austrian porcelain Yu Li had bought in Hong Kong, Casey escorted Beidemann and Yousef around the house. Van had chosen to stay by himself for a time. As with many Asians, he often had a need for the company of his own soul more than that of men. He and George shared a bungalow where they had recreated a small corner of Vietnam for themselves to enjoy.

  Later that afternoon, Beidemann was startled when two small figures attacked Casey. Leaping out from a cluster of palmetto fronds, Casey's legs were quickly trapped in the arms of two children, a boy and girl. Picking them up, one under each arm, Casey held them where they could do the least damage. He gave each a shake and kissed them, then set them down and patted each one on the rump, sending them off to find Yu Li.

  Noting Beidemann's expression, Casey explained a bit self-consciously. "That's Nuyen and Quang, brother and sister. They were the only children on a boat overloaded with refugees from Vietnam. Their small wooden boat had been raked over by a Viet gunboat, killing the children's mother and father, who were friends of Van's family. In the parents' personal effects was a letter by, which Van was contacted when the survivors reached Malaya and were taken into custody. Between the three of us me, Yu Li, and Van we took care of the necessary paperwork, saw that squeeze was paid to the right people and that the kids were given to us. They were too young to know their birthdays, so we gave them the same one the day Yu Li brought them here to the mountain." Beidemann noticed something in Casey's eyes that he had never seen before, a strange look of... was it guilt? Sadness? He couldn't tell which.