won’t want me to stay after I tell you, Laura,” he warned.
She shook her head, tightening her hands on his. “Let me be the judge of that, Morgan. What happened in your past that still haunts you?”
Taking a deep breath, he let the pain-filled words flow from his conscience and heart. “In January of 1970 I was commanding a company of marines in the I Corps area of Vietnam. My assistant company commander, Lieutenant Stephen Cantrell, was my best friend. Both of us questioned the orders to put our company on Hill 164, which was deep within enemy territory. When I called Colonel Jack Armstrong, he told me the tactical plan had been approved by his superiors, right up the line. He promised we’d have air and artillery support just in case the NVA got aggressive and started testing our defenses.”
Morgan shut his eyes, reliving the nightmare. “We were up on that lousy hill for two days, getting the hell rocketed out of us. I was losing men fast. A lot of the time we couldn’t even get medevac in to take out the wounded, because the NVA had us pinned down. Every time I requested permission to withdraw, Armstrong insisted we stay.” His voice grew husky. “And then they hit us with at least a battalion of NVA. We fought all night. I called for air and artillery, but they weren’t available. By dawn there were fifteen of us left. Then came the final attack. It was hand-to-hand combat. The last thing I remember was Stephen getting shot and falling beside me. I saw an NVA officer charge me with his bayonet.” He pointed to the scar on his face. “I remember getting cut. And then I blanked out.”
“My God,” Laura said, her voice quavering, “I remember now…you’re Captain Morgan Trayhern.”
He studied her in silence, watching the myriad emotions play across her face. Morgan expected her to withdraw her hands from his. “Yeah, that’s me.”
Tears stung Laura’s eyes, and she sniffed. “But the press and Pentagon accused you of being a traitor, of leaving your post before your men died.” She lifted her hand, sliding it across his shoulder, seeing his eyes bleak with pain. “I can’t believe you ran, not after the way you’ve taken care of me. Morgan, you aren’t capable of that.”
A corner of his mouth lifted and he glanced over at her. “I didn’t run, Laura. It was all a fabrication.”
“How?”
He bowed his head, and his words were harsh. “Twenty-four hours later, according to Colonel Armstrong, they managed to get a relief column to Hill 164. They found two of us alive—me and Private Lenny Miles. The doctors sent me to Japan, to a hospital controlled by the CIA. The surgeons told Armstrong I was going to die. I had a fractured skull and two bayonet wounds in my chest.
Laura cringed. “Oh, Morgan…”
“That isn’t the worst of it,” he growled. “After all the surgery and a week in a coma, I survived. Armstrong flew over to Japan and paid me a visit. When I became conscious, I found I’d lost my memory. I didn’t know who I was, where I was or anything else. Because of the damage to my brain, the doctors felt I’d never regain my memory or my sense of smell. Armstrong knew it and fabricated a new identity and personal history for me. My name was Morgan Ramsey and I was a CIA operative. I had been wounded in Laos on assignment and was in Japan to recuperate. He said that my next assignment would be to join the French Foreign Legion and act as a mole in that outfit, giving the CIA information as they needed it. Before Armstrong left, he gave me a file covering my life history. I didn’t know any differently, so I swallowed my ‘past,’ never dreaming I’d been lied to.”
Horror engulfed Laura, and she placed a hand across her mouth. Morgan’s face mirrored his anguish. “What they’ve done is illegal,” she whispered angrily. “They’ve framed you! Your name and face were splashed across every major television network and newspaper for at least a month. Your
She shook her head, tightening her hands on his. “Let me be the judge of that, Morgan. What happened in your past that still haunts you?”
Taking a deep breath, he let the pain-filled words flow from his conscience and heart. “In January of 1970 I was commanding a company of marines in the I Corps area of Vietnam. My assistant company commander, Lieutenant Stephen Cantrell, was my best friend. Both of us questioned the orders to put our company on Hill 164, which was deep within enemy territory. When I called Colonel Jack Armstrong, he told me the tactical plan had been approved by his superiors, right up the line. He promised we’d have air and artillery support just in case the NVA got aggressive and started testing our defenses.”
Morgan shut his eyes, reliving the nightmare. “We were up on that lousy hill for two days, getting the hell rocketed out of us. I was losing men fast. A lot of the time we couldn’t even get medevac in to take out the wounded, because the NVA had us pinned down. Every time I requested permission to withdraw, Armstrong insisted we stay.” His voice grew husky. “And then they hit us with at least a battalion of NVA. We fought all night. I called for air and artillery, but they weren’t available. By dawn there were fifteen of us left. Then came the final attack. It was hand-to-hand combat. The last thing I remember was Stephen getting shot and falling beside me. I saw an NVA officer charge me with his bayonet.” He pointed to the scar on his face. “I remember getting cut. And then I blanked out.”
“My God,” Laura said, her voice quavering, “I remember now…you’re Captain Morgan Trayhern.”
He studied her in silence, watching the myriad emotions play across her face. Morgan expected her to withdraw her hands from his. “Yeah, that’s me.”
Tears stung Laura’s eyes, and she sniffed. “But the press and Pentagon accused you of being a traitor, of leaving your post before your men died.” She lifted her hand, sliding it across his shoulder, seeing his eyes bleak with pain. “I can’t believe you ran, not after the way you’ve taken care of me. Morgan, you aren’t capable of that.”
A corner of his mouth lifted and he glanced over at her. “I didn’t run, Laura. It was all a fabrication.”
“How?”
He bowed his head, and his words were harsh. “Twenty-four hours later, according to Colonel Armstrong, they managed to get a relief column to Hill 164. They found two of us alive—me and Private Lenny Miles. The doctors sent me to Japan, to a hospital controlled by the CIA. The surgeons told Armstrong I was going to die. I had a fractured skull and two bayonet wounds in my chest.
Laura cringed. “Oh, Morgan…”
“That isn’t the worst of it,” he growled. “After all the surgery and a week in a coma, I survived. Armstrong flew over to Japan and paid me a visit. When I became conscious, I found I’d lost my memory. I didn’t know who I was, where I was or anything else. Because of the damage to my brain, the doctors felt I’d never regain my memory or my sense of smell. Armstrong knew it and fabricated a new identity and personal history for me. My name was Morgan Ramsey and I was a CIA operative. I had been wounded in Laos on assignment and was in Japan to recuperate. He said that my next assignment would be to join the French Foreign Legion and act as a mole in that outfit, giving the CIA information as they needed it. Before Armstrong left, he gave me a file covering my life history. I didn’t know any differently, so I swallowed my ‘past,’ never dreaming I’d been lied to.”
Horror engulfed Laura, and she placed a hand across her mouth. Morgan’s face mirrored his anguish. “What they’ve done is illegal,” she whispered angrily. “They’ve framed you! Your name and face were splashed across every major television network and newspaper for at least a month. Your
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