Loose Cannon: The Tom Kelly Novels by David Drake Read Free Book Online Page B

stay flat if there was any report of movement to the front. It had been on the man’s conscience ever since.”
    “Give me that file,” said General Pedler, reaching across the desk with a scowl. He scanned the report, a Xerox copy of a fussy carbon. “hell, this report wasn’t filed till three years later,” he said brusquely. “I wouldn’t hang a dog on evidence like that.”
    “Nobody did hang Mr. Kelly,” Laidlaw pointed out. “I just think you ought to know about it. Since there may still be time to . . . bring the matter to the attention of the Pentagon.”
    “Well, for God’s sake, it’s the Pentagon who sent us the file, isn’t it?” the general snapped. He was continuing to read, however. His anger was the more real for being directed against a subordinate who was, after all, right. “For God’s sake!” Pedler slapped the file closed. “It says Schaydin had gotten three men killed by a friendly mine when he took his platoon through an area before checking whether it’d been cleared.” He thrust the folder back at Laidlaw. “Well?”
    The captain stood up. “I’ll return this material to the vault if you have no further need for it, then, General,” he said. He walked toward the door.
    “He wouldn’t be much use on an operation like this if he weren’t willing to kill! Would he, Laidlaw?” Pedler demanded.
    The Naval Attaché turned. “Personally,” he said, “I don’t believe anything would be much use to an operation which depends on a known drunk and probable murderer,” he said. “But I’ll continue to carry out the orders of my superiors to the best of my ability. If you’ll excuse me, sir.”
    He slammed the door behind him.

III

    “Our contact agent is a Vietnamese national named Hoang Tanh,” said the major with the toothbrush moustache. The patch on his right sleeve was the sword-and-lightnings insignia of the Special Forces. The silver and blue Combat Infantry badge glittered over the left breast pocket of his uniform. Kelly had disliked Major Nassif on sight. “He’s a physicist, was involved with the Dalat Nuclear Facility before the Communist takeover. The Defense Attaché’s Office recruited Tanh as a stay-behind agent.”
    “Hoang,” the civilian said.
    “What?” asked the major.
    “His family name would be Hoang, the first name in the series, not the last,” Kelly explained. “Same with most Oriental languages.”
    “To return to something significant,” the soldier snapped, “this slopehead became of some importance during the past year when the Vietnamese government began to explore reactivation of the Dalat facility—it was disabled in 1975, of course—as a counterweight to Chinese pressure. Even if they couldn’t build bombs, the option of sowing the border between the two countries with radioactive material might deter another incursion by the Chinks.” The major fixed Kelly with what they probably said at West Point was a look of command. Maybe at West Point it was a look of command. “The Russians are always looking for chances to stab their former comrades in the back, of course. It’s not surprising that they provided fuel and technical support to the gooks. And that’s where our man made contact with”—he looked down at the briefing file— “this Professor Evgeny Vlasov. The target.” Nassif paused. “Code named Mackerel.”
    “Christ on a crutch,” said Kelly as he stood up. “What’s my code name? Turkey?” He paced sullenly toward one of the spotless desks. Not everybody followed the Defense Attaché’s own sloppy security practices. Though—having met General Pedler, Kelly was willing to believe that he dumped the clutter from his desk by armloads into his Mosler safe every day before he left for home. “What’s the hold we’ve got on Hoang?” Kelly asked abruptly.
    “Sergeant, if you’ll sit your ass down where it belongs,” said Major Nassif, “we’ll get through this a lot quicker.” He rapped the desk