Page 50 of Cry Havoc (Tom Reece #1)

Saigon, Vietnam

His tranquility was interrupted by a ringing phone. It was Ella. She was calling from the lobby.

Tom slipped into his only other pair of pants—light khakis—and Top-Siders.

His black polo shirt barely covered the Browning but would have to do.

He lifted his arm and smelled his armpit.

Not great. He removed the shirt and went to the bathroom, running the water in the sink and splashing it under his arms, on his face, and through his hair.

Better. He needed to do a wash or go shopping for additional clothes, probably both.

He then put the polo back on, slipped the Finnish butterfly knife into his pocket, and grabbed his Wayfarers and cigarettes before making his way to the lobby.

He caught sight of Ella from the stairs.

She wore a turquoise sundress that stopped well above her knees.

A tan belt with a round gold clasp was tightened around her slim waist. Two bracelets were on her left wrist, one of leather and the other of small seashells.

A beige ribbon was in her black hair, which was let down and fell just below her bare shoulders.

The same green amulet hung from her neck. She took his breath away.

“I hope you don’t mind. I’m an early riser,” she said in French.

“I’ve been up for hours,” Tom replied.

“I can see that,” she said with a laugh. She reached up to indicate he had something in the corner of his eye.

Tom brushed away the morning crust and smiled.

“Did I say hours? I meant minutes. Are you hungry?”

“I ate earlier, but I will join you for tea. They do a wonderful breakfast here.”

They were escorted to a table in the courtyard respectfully distanced from their neighbors. Tom ordered a tea for Ella and a coffee for himself. Warm freshly baked French bread was brought to the table along with an assortment of pastries. Tom’s coffee tasted like mud.

“Well, what did you think of our dinner?” Ella asked, bringing the hot tea to her lips.

“The meal was incredible. The company even better.”

“I agree. I’ve always had a thing for Nick.”

Tom’s mouth dropped open.

“Just kidding. Got you.”

Tom laughed. Relieved.

“What are you doing here, Tom? And I don’t believe your last name is Smith. After the rooftop rescue and our dinner, I am fairly certain I know what Nick Serrano does. I am not a fool.”

Tom decided on the honest approach.

“It’s Reece. Tom Reece. To tell you the truth, I don’t fully know what I’m doing here. I work up north, attached to a military unit up there. Happened to be in Saigon during Tet. Your father asked me to dinner through Serrano so here we are.”

She studied him intently. He sensed that she decided he was telling enough of the truth.

“That will do for now. I won’t press you.”

She reached into her purse, pulled out a pack of Virginia Slims, and smoothly extracted a long, thin cigarette. Tom leaned across the table, offering the flame of his Zippo. She lit her cigarette. Tom did the same with his Marlboro.

“So, are you a Tom, or a Thomas?”

“My dad goes by Thomas, so I went with Tom.”

“Not ‘Tommy’?”

“Not since grade school.”

“Are you a ‘junior’?”

“I’m the third.”

“Very regal. And will your son be the fourth?”

“I think that’s getting to be a little much.”

She laughed. “What about a middle name, Tom, short for Thomas, Reece?”

“Sullivan.”

“Where does that come from?”

“Family name. How about you? What’s it like to be stepping into your father’s shoes?”

“You mean, what is it like for a woman to be taking over a multinational import/export business?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s all I know. I guess you could say I was born into it. And you? Were you born to do what you are doing up north?”

“You could say that. My father was in World War Two. Just doing my duty.”

“I see. Saving the poor Vietnamese from the communists?”

“I don’t really know. It feels like we are doing more harm than good.”

“It certainly seems so.”

“If South Vietnam falls, wouldn’t it be hard to leave everything you have built here?”

“My father taught me to be pragmatic. Moving all operations to Thailand would simply be a matter of adaptation.”

“Do you like it?”

“Thailand?”

“Your work.”

“That’s a very American question, but yes, it’s fulfilling.”

“Does it leave much time for a social life?”

“Are you asking me if I have a boyfriend?”

“Yes.”

“I do not. I had a serious boyfriend in Paris. He was older.”

“How old are you?”

“I don’t think you are supposed to ask that of a lady.”

“Sorry.”

She laughed.

“I’m twenty-four. And you?”

“Twenty-five.”

“Ah, an elder.”

She laughed again.

“Maybe had I stayed in France it would have been different, but my father needed me here. Familial responsibilities are everything, Tom. Now, the work is my life. My father is old and my mother is no longer with us.”

“I’m sorry. What happened?”

Ella ignored the question.

“And you?” she asked.

“And me what?”

“Are you married? Do you have a girl waiting on you at home?”

“No.”

“Would you tell me if you did?”

Tom paused.

“I can’t answer that, since I’m not in that position. I’d like to think so.”

“Honesty. That’s attractive.”

Her eyes bore into his, and for a moment he did not know what to say.

He was saved by an interruption from a waiter asking if they would like more coffee or tea. Ella answered for them.

“We were just leaving.”

“L’addition, s’il vous plait,” Tom said without taking his eyes off Ella’s.

The check arrived, and Tom signed it to his room.

“Where are we going?”

“You asked about my mother.”