Read Online The Vets (Stephen Leather Thrillers) by Stephen Leather - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Stephen Leather
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good the deficit. Lehman always preferred to talk his way out of trouble whenever possible. He’d seen more than enough violence in Vietnam to last him a lifetime and knew that it rarely solved anything. But Cilento had given him no room for manoeuvre and he hadn’t been prepared to take a punch in the mouth just to keep his job. Lehman wasn’t a man given to losing his temper, but he wasn’t the type to back away from a fight, either. And besides, it had sure felt good when his knee had connected with Cilento’s private parts. “Thanks for the advice, Gordon.”
Cilento groaned on the floor but his eyes were still closed tight. Lehman stepped over him and began sorting through the unopened envelopes on Cilento’s desk. He found one postmarked Albany and tore it open. Inside was Rob Komer’s cheque for 125,000 dollars. Lehman tore it up into small pieces and dropped them over Cilento’s head. He could see that Dillman was dying to ask what he was doing but Lehman just shook his hand and left the office without saying another word. One or two of the slammers looked up as he picked up his Rolodex and the few personal possessions he had in his desk drawer, but they were all too busy on the phone to say anything to him.
In the underground car park far below the boiler room, Lehman threw his Rolodex on to the back seat of his Porsche and drove out into the bright LA sunshine. He took a pair of Ray-Bans from his glove compartment and slipped them on. He reckoned he had about fifteen minutes until Cilento had recovered enough to call his brother, and maybe half an hour after that before they’d be able to get some heavies around to his apartment. Lehman looked at the Mickey Mouse watch on his wrist. The roads were relatively clear and he’d be able to get home within ten minutes, giving him just enough time to throw a few clothes into a suitcase and grab the cash hidden under the bedroom carpet. The apartment, like the furniture, the electrical equipment and the car, were all leased. He dismissed the idea of driving out to the airport because he was sure that Cilento would have that covered. He’d drop off the car, hire something less conspicuous from Hertz, and drive to San Francisco. From there he’d catch a Greyhound and head east, to Chicago maybe. And in a couple of days he’d catch a plane out to Asia. He’d been thinking of taking a trip to the Far East for some time, ever since he saw a newspaper advert that had intrigued him. A travel agency based in Chicago was offering to take Vietnam War veterans back to Vietnam, partly as a holiday and partly to help them come to terms with what had happened out there.
The idea appealed to Lehman: Vietnam had long been an itch that he’d felt incapable of scratching, a source of memories and ghosts that kept coming back to haunt him more than twenty years after he’d taken the Freedom Bird back to the world. Now was the perfect time to go back. As he waited at a red light the irony of it suddenly made him smile. The way things were going, Vietnam was just about the safest place on Earth he could be just then.
The mission was straightforward. The team of hand-picked mercenaries had to fight their way through tough jungle terrain, seize a powerful speedboat and fight their way upriver to a canyon held by rebel forces. Once they’d reached the canyon they were to dump the boat and shoot it out on foot until they arrived at an enemy camp where five hostages were being held in a fortified three-storey block. The mercenaries were to release all the hostages, shoot their way out of the camp and seize a plane at the nearby airport which they would fly to safety. It was straightforward, but if they were to succeed they would need a hell of a lot of luck. Luck, and skill, and quarters.
Jonathan Pimlott had yet to see anyone get through the entire video game for less than three dollars and it usually took him about four, but he was getting better, no doubt about it. The
Cilento groaned on the floor but his eyes were still closed tight. Lehman stepped over him and began sorting through the unopened envelopes on Cilento’s desk. He found one postmarked Albany and tore it open. Inside was Rob Komer’s cheque for 125,000 dollars. Lehman tore it up into small pieces and dropped them over Cilento’s head. He could see that Dillman was dying to ask what he was doing but Lehman just shook his hand and left the office without saying another word. One or two of the slammers looked up as he picked up his Rolodex and the few personal possessions he had in his desk drawer, but they were all too busy on the phone to say anything to him.
In the underground car park far below the boiler room, Lehman threw his Rolodex on to the back seat of his Porsche and drove out into the bright LA sunshine. He took a pair of Ray-Bans from his glove compartment and slipped them on. He reckoned he had about fifteen minutes until Cilento had recovered enough to call his brother, and maybe half an hour after that before they’d be able to get some heavies around to his apartment. Lehman looked at the Mickey Mouse watch on his wrist. The roads were relatively clear and he’d be able to get home within ten minutes, giving him just enough time to throw a few clothes into a suitcase and grab the cash hidden under the bedroom carpet. The apartment, like the furniture, the electrical equipment and the car, were all leased. He dismissed the idea of driving out to the airport because he was sure that Cilento would have that covered. He’d drop off the car, hire something less conspicuous from Hertz, and drive to San Francisco. From there he’d catch a Greyhound and head east, to Chicago maybe. And in a couple of days he’d catch a plane out to Asia. He’d been thinking of taking a trip to the Far East for some time, ever since he saw a newspaper advert that had intrigued him. A travel agency based in Chicago was offering to take Vietnam War veterans back to Vietnam, partly as a holiday and partly to help them come to terms with what had happened out there.
The idea appealed to Lehman: Vietnam had long been an itch that he’d felt incapable of scratching, a source of memories and ghosts that kept coming back to haunt him more than twenty years after he’d taken the Freedom Bird back to the world. Now was the perfect time to go back. As he waited at a red light the irony of it suddenly made him smile. The way things were going, Vietnam was just about the safest place on Earth he could be just then.
The mission was straightforward. The team of hand-picked mercenaries had to fight their way through tough jungle terrain, seize a powerful speedboat and fight their way upriver to a canyon held by rebel forces. Once they’d reached the canyon they were to dump the boat and shoot it out on foot until they arrived at an enemy camp where five hostages were being held in a fortified three-storey block. The mercenaries were to release all the hostages, shoot their way out of the camp and seize a plane at the nearby airport which they would fly to safety. It was straightforward, but if they were to succeed they would need a hell of a lot of luck. Luck, and skill, and quarters.
Jonathan Pimlott had yet to see anyone get through the entire video game for less than three dollars and it usually took him about four, but he was getting better, no doubt about it. The
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