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Victor Ortega picked up the pocket recorder from the windowsill and turned it off. He leaned against the wall and stared at the abandoned rubber plantation that spanned thousands of acres across hills where the jungle was still reclaiming the land. Raindrops from the swollen clouds pelted him. It was time to leave with his evidence.
A smile split his tanned, leathery face. Langley would not approve of him using his CIA skills to frame an innocent man. Ortega's part-time business—the selling of weapons and information to the North Vietnamese Communists—had put Army intelligence on his trail. He needed a goat and Ethan and Tuyen fit the bill.
Ethan Card didn't know it yet, but he was going to take the fall for Ortega's illegal operations. Ortega had been watching several armorers, and because he had discovered Ethan fucking Tuyen, that link made him the perfect patsy. Card was having an affair with a member of the NLF who had a North Vietnamese Communist cadre leader for a brother. Who wouldn't believe Card was guilty?
Using a miniature, silent camera, Ortega leaned into the window and took half a dozen pictures of the nude couple copulating for the third time.
Perfect! These photos would be the clincher. One shot had caught Ethan's full profile and her face with eyes closed.
It was time for him to leave, and he had to be careful. Ethan was a recon Marine with a tiger's senses. Ortega took a cautious step on the blue, rain-slick tiles of the veranda's roof. He shifted his weight gently from one foot to the other. Then a crack sounded from one of the veranda's tiles.
Oh, shit!
Icy fear shot through him galvanizing him into action. Moving quickly, he lay against the house below the window opening where the roof met the second-story wall. Holding his breath, he waited.
***
Ethan couldn't dismiss the noise this time. He slipped from Tuyen's embrace, rolled away from her across the floor and grabbed his forty-five caliber M3A1 submachine gun that he lovingly called his Greaser, because it fired four-hundred-fifty rounds a minute.
He waited until Tuyen had finished rolling the other way, picked up her AK-47 assault rifle and pointed it toward the offending window the sound had come from.
She nodded, and he darted toward the window to flatten himself against the wall next to it— his heart hammering from the rush of adrenaline.
Moving fast, he spun and aimed the Greaser out the window until he was flat against the wall on the other side. He stared at her and shook his head.
"We go," she said, and gathered her clothing.
He watched her long, naked legs slide into black pants. "I can be here early tomorrow morning," he said.
"Giap back. I no make it." She slipped the black blouse over her head.
He was disappointed at losing sight of her naked body.
"We together in three days," she said. "He gone again."
He finished dressing, went to her, and placed a hand on each of her shoulders. They kissed.
They should have met in another time, another place where there was no war. He worried that someday what he had with her might end. That day would be a clusterfuck! There must be some way he could keep what he had with this lusty beauty.
***
Ortega, drenched from the rain and sweat dripping from his face, rolled down the veranda's roof. He dropped easily over the side, twisted his body like a gymnast, and reached out to grab the edge of the roof above him. His brief grip with tiles slowed his momentum, and he landed easily on his feet. Turning right, he ran close to the house and sprinted for the trees.3. Running with the Enemy - Chapter One, Episode 3 of 26
Victor Ortega picked up the pocket recorder from the windowsill and turned it off. He leaned against the wall and stared at the abandoned rubber plantation that spanned thousands of acres across hills where the jungle was still reclaiming the land. Raindrops from the swollen clouds pelted him. It was time to leave with his evidence.
A smile split his tanned, leathery face. Langley would not approve of him using his CIA skills to frame an innocent man. Ortega's part-time business—the selling of weapons and information to the North Vietnamese Communists—had put Army intelligence on his trail. He needed a goat and Ethan and Tuyen fit the bill.
Ethan Card didn't know it yet, but he was going to take the fall for Ortega's illegal operations. Ortega had been watching several armorers, and because he had discovered Ethan fucking Tuyen, that link made him the perfect patsy. Card was having an affair with a member of the NLF who had a North Vietnamese Communist cadre leader for a brother. Who wouldn't believe Card was guilty?
Using a miniature, silent camera, Ortega leaned into the window and took half a dozen pictures of the nude couple copulating for the third time.
Perfect! These photos would be the clincher. One shot had caught Ethan's full profile and her face with eyes closed.
It was time for him to leave, and he had to be careful. Ethan was a recon Marine with a tiger's senses. Ortega took a cautious step on the blue, rain-slick tiles of the veranda's roof. He shifted his weight gently from one foot to the other. Then a crack sounded from one of the veranda's tiles.
Oh, shit!
Icy fear shot through him galvanizing him into action. Moving quickly, he lay against the house below the window opening where the roof met the second-story wall. Holding his breath, he waited.
***
Ethan couldn't dismiss the noise this time. He slipped from Tuyen's embrace, rolled away from her across the floor and grabbed his forty-five caliber M3A1 submachine gun that he lovingly called his Greaser, because it fired four-hundred-fifty rounds a minute.
He waited until Tuyen had finished rolling the other way, picked up her AK-47 assault rifle and pointed it toward the offending window the sound had come from.
She nodded, and he darted toward the window to flatten himself against the wall next to it— his heart hammering from the rush of adrenaline.
Moving fast, he spun and aimed the Greaser out the window until he was flat against the wall on the other side. He stared at her and shook his head.
"We go," she said, and gathered her clothing.
He watched her long, naked legs slide into black pants. "I can be here early tomorrow morning," he said.
"Giap back. I no make it." She slipped the black blouse over her head.
He was disappointed at losing sight of her naked body.
"We together in three days," she said. "He gone again."
He finished dressing, went to her, and placed a hand on each of her shoulders. They kissed.
They should have met in another time, another place where there was no war. He worried that someday what he had with her might end. That day would be a clusterfuck! There must be some way he could keep what he had with this lusty beauty.
***
Ortega, drenched from the rain and sweat dripping from his face, rolled down the veranda's roof. He dropped easily over the side, twisted his body like a gymnast, and reached out to grab the edge of the roof above him. His brief grip with tiles slowed his momentum, and he landed easily on his feet. Turning right, he ran close to the house and sprinted for the trees.
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