Page 54 of Cry Havoc (Tom Reece #1)
Grand Métropole Hotel
Hanoi, North Vietnam
He waved his hand over his empty bowl to ward off a swarm of bugs.
Fucking mosquitos!
Get me back to Paris.
The nearby S?ng Cái River transported silt downstream from its headwaters in the Yunnan province in southwestern China, giving it a reddish-brown hue.
The river, lake, and deltas made Hanoi a breeding ground for mosquitoes and the malaria they carried.
Dvornikov had avoided the disease thus far, but knew it was only a matter of time.
Perhaps he could get out of Indochina before he contracted it?
The whole city was a disorganized mess of interconnected streets and alleys with French colonials, apartments, and office buildings interspersed with shanties and Buddhist, Confucian, and Taoist temples and pagodas. If Dvornikov never saw another temple or pagoda it would be too soon.
Their hotel was a short walk to the Hanoi Opera House on Ba Dinh Square, built by the French a half-century earlier.
Its design was modeled on the Palais Garnier in Paris, where Dvornikov had been many times, though this facsimile in Hanoi was built on a much smaller scale.
He would walk from the Grand Métropole to the opera house and on to the S?ng Cái River each morning to clear his head.
It was time to move a piece on the board.
A waiter appeared.
“May I get you anything else, monsieur?” he asked, directing his question at Dvornikov even as he set a scuffed glass Coca-Cola bottle and new glass with ice in front of Voronin.
Coke was difficult to come by in Hanoi due to the embargo, but that was one of the many benefits of staying at the Grand Métropole. They had their ways.
“Yes, I’m going to switch it up—a bottle of 1959 Chateau D’Yquem,” the major answered.
“Good choice, monsieur.”
“It’s a little young, but I know you don’t have the ’37, so it will have to do.”
“Very well, monsieur,” the waiter said, removing both bowls and disappearing inside.
They had been sitting in silence for the better part of an hour. Dvornikov needed to think.
He could tell Sergeant Voronin was about to snap. The heat and mosquitos were wearing on him. It was only a matter of time before he went off the reservation again. The major suspected that Voronin was only holding it together because he knew he owed Dvornikov his life.
Two plates of foie gras arrived next. Voronin devoured his much faster than one should.
“Do you know the joke about vodka in Moscow?” Dvornikov asked his companion, breaking their self-imposed silence.
“There are many.”
“This is the one about the man standing in a kilometer-long line waiting to buy a bottle.”
Voronin shook his head and took a sip of his Coke.
“I don’t think I have heard this.”
“He tells his friend who is also in line that he has had enough of the wait, that it’s driving him mad, so he’s going to walk to the Kremlin and kill Brezhnev.
About two hours later he returns and gets back in line with his friend who asks him, ‘Did you kill him?’ ‘Kill him?’ ” the man says. ‘That line was longer than this one.’ ”
Voronin let out a rare laugh.
“You should be careful, Major. If the wrong officer hears you say that, you will be sent east to the gulag.”
Dvornikov waved his hand in dismissal and took another sip of chilled wine.
“Then I should stay out of Moscow. If we are successful here in Vietnam, I may get my choice of assignments, and I’ll request something as far away from Moscow as I can. And you, Sergeant? Where would you like to go? I can’t imagine you want to stay here.”
“I have had enough of the heat. Somewhere cold where I can have a cabin but still be close to a city, a port city.”
“Well, if we can accomplish our mission here, I will do what I can for you.”
“Thank you, Major.”
“To that end, I need you to go to Saigon.”
“Saigon?”
“Yes. You will travel through Bangkok. The Rezidentura there will have your legend and necessary papers.”
“What do you need me to do?”
“There is a man there who needs to be killed, a businessman who runs an import/export business. He has been playing both sides of the fence for too long, and has recently fallen in with the Americans. While useful in the past, he can no longer be trusted.”
“Do you want me to kill him myself?”
“No. You will use local assets. It will be blamed on the VC. I need you to make sure they don’t screw it up. Never underestimate the ability of the VC to fuck up an operation. Look at Tet. They couldn’t even get the time zone right. They were slaughtered.”
“Why does this man need to die?”
Dvornikov took a bite of foie gras and washed it down with wine.
“Are you in the habit of needing to know why?”
“No, but the more I know about the target, the more I can be aware of his security protocols.”
“Details will be in the package in Bangkok. He may have a driver or bodyguard with him, but not a full security detail. The package will have contacts for local assets. Make sure they do it right. When you get back, we will know more about decrypting MACV-SOG communications. Expect to be in Laos for most of the coming year.”
Voronin finished his Coke. It was quickly replaced by a third.
“Of course, Major. Then we will get you to Paris and me to a city by the sea.”