car
in front of it. Harvey goosed his engine again, this time all the way, and hit the Dodge a fender-crushing blow in the left
rear. He followed through on the punch, the Buick’s engine power surging and pushing the Dart into the car in front and toward
the wall at the same time. The Russian hit both and, with one final push from Harvey, the Dodge flipped, stood on its right
front wheel for a moment like a ballet dancer, and was gone over the wall.
The slow car in front veered out into the center lane, and Harvey couldn’t avoid sideswiping it. As he passed and fought with
his steering wheel to steady the Buick, he saw the car bounce off the retaining wall and do a complete 360-degree spin before
coming to a stop in the middle of the roadway. Sure stopped anyone from getting his plate numbers.
Harvey took the next exit off, stopped at a traffic light, and glanced at the newspaper on the seat beside him. He had used
up every lead he had gained from the group—killed every fucking traitor and spy he had come across. More even than the group
knew about. He really hoped now that the FBI caught up with those cowardly assholes and they had to answer for his deeds.
Meanwhile, hemight check out that ad in the paper for combat-hardened veterans.
Harvey carefully signaled his turn and drove courteously.
Chapter 8
K ATIE Nelson was flirting with the vice-president in charge of the newscast division of the network. She knew he had the hots for
her, but had heard he was very cozily married and had never been known to step outside of the bonds of wedlock. Katie enjoyed
the feeling that she might be putting some thoughts like this into his head. She didn’t care if nothing came of it—he wasn’t
her type really, but she sure as hell enjoyed seeing him twist and turn in his indecision. And she did everything she could—as
long as it required no special effort—to keep the flames high under him, with a glimpse of thigh or breast, a touch of her
fingertips, a hug and a little-girl snuggle which made him sit down because of his hard-on.
However, today the VP did not have his usual calf eyes for her—in fact, there was a gleam of amusement in them.
“We finally got back that video camera and sound equipment you lost in Vietnam,” he said. “Came back to us via Switzerland.”
“How about the tapes?” she asked, not too hopefully.
“Not one, and the camera is empty.”
“I thought so.”
“I hear you may be taking the equipment on a trip thereagain,” he said. “Maybe we should have asked them to hold it for you.”
Katie’s producer came by at that moment, and the VP said to him, “I hear you’re sending Katie off to Vietnam again.”
The producer said, “Hah! Me sending her? She’s going whether I want her to or not! Right, Katie?”
Katie shrugged. “When I suggested a return visit, the Vietnamese okayed it. So did you two.”
The producer picked up a photo torn from
The New York Times
that lay on Katie’s desk. He read the caption and commented, “Seventy-nine kids of mixed Vietnamese-American parentage and
sixty-seven of their relatives allowed to leave Vietnam. Says here it’s the largest group ever allowed to leave. You going
back to find that kid of yours, Katie?”
Again Katie noticed the amused look come into the once-adoring eyes of the VP.
“I can’t think of a better news story,” she snapped, “unless Eric were a Rockefeller or a DuPont instead of a Vanderhoven.”
The producer backed off. “I agree. I agree. Listen, this is a big story. We don’t want to breathe a word about it outside
this room, or we’ll be beaten to it by someone else. No one’s knocking that story. It’s just that it’s become … well, kind
of an obsession with you.”
“In what way?” Katie’s voice was ice cold.
At this point the VP jumped in. “Well, Katie, you’re pretty, and I’m sure you lead a very full romantic life and all, but
you’re also single,
in front of it. Harvey goosed his engine again, this time all the way, and hit the Dodge a fender-crushing blow in the left
rear. He followed through on the punch, the Buick’s engine power surging and pushing the Dart into the car in front and toward
the wall at the same time. The Russian hit both and, with one final push from Harvey, the Dodge flipped, stood on its right
front wheel for a moment like a ballet dancer, and was gone over the wall.
The slow car in front veered out into the center lane, and Harvey couldn’t avoid sideswiping it. As he passed and fought with
his steering wheel to steady the Buick, he saw the car bounce off the retaining wall and do a complete 360-degree spin before
coming to a stop in the middle of the roadway. Sure stopped anyone from getting his plate numbers.
Harvey took the next exit off, stopped at a traffic light, and glanced at the newspaper on the seat beside him. He had used
up every lead he had gained from the group—killed every fucking traitor and spy he had come across. More even than the group
knew about. He really hoped now that the FBI caught up with those cowardly assholes and they had to answer for his deeds.
Meanwhile, hemight check out that ad in the paper for combat-hardened veterans.
Harvey carefully signaled his turn and drove courteously.
Chapter 8
K ATIE Nelson was flirting with the vice-president in charge of the newscast division of the network. She knew he had the hots for
her, but had heard he was very cozily married and had never been known to step outside of the bonds of wedlock. Katie enjoyed
the feeling that she might be putting some thoughts like this into his head. She didn’t care if nothing came of it—he wasn’t
her type really, but she sure as hell enjoyed seeing him twist and turn in his indecision. And she did everything she could—as
long as it required no special effort—to keep the flames high under him, with a glimpse of thigh or breast, a touch of her
fingertips, a hug and a little-girl snuggle which made him sit down because of his hard-on.
However, today the VP did not have his usual calf eyes for her—in fact, there was a gleam of amusement in them.
“We finally got back that video camera and sound equipment you lost in Vietnam,” he said. “Came back to us via Switzerland.”
“How about the tapes?” she asked, not too hopefully.
“Not one, and the camera is empty.”
“I thought so.”
“I hear you may be taking the equipment on a trip thereagain,” he said. “Maybe we should have asked them to hold it for you.”
Katie’s producer came by at that moment, and the VP said to him, “I hear you’re sending Katie off to Vietnam again.”
The producer said, “Hah! Me sending her? She’s going whether I want her to or not! Right, Katie?”
Katie shrugged. “When I suggested a return visit, the Vietnamese okayed it. So did you two.”
The producer picked up a photo torn from
The New York Times
that lay on Katie’s desk. He read the caption and commented, “Seventy-nine kids of mixed Vietnamese-American parentage and
sixty-seven of their relatives allowed to leave Vietnam. Says here it’s the largest group ever allowed to leave. You going
back to find that kid of yours, Katie?”
Again Katie noticed the amused look come into the once-adoring eyes of the VP.
“I can’t think of a better news story,” she snapped, “unless Eric were a Rockefeller or a DuPont instead of a Vanderhoven.”
The producer backed off. “I agree. I agree. Listen, this is a big story. We don’t want to breathe a word about it outside
this room, or we’ll be beaten to it by someone else. No one’s knocking that story. It’s just that it’s become … well, kind
of an obsession with you.”
“In what way?” Katie’s voice was ice cold.
At this point the VP jumped in. “Well, Katie, you’re pretty, and I’m sure you lead a very full romantic life and all, but
you’re also single,
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