璇玑之心刃·冷血悍将-第98部分

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on　that。　He　shouldn‘t　sit　still　so　much。　His　dark…accustomed　eyes　watched　the　stairs　as　he　descended；　as　quietly　as　he　could；　for　there　was　activity　in　the　house　next　door。　Fortunately；　the　rats　were　gone；　too。　Kelly　looked　out　the　back　door；　and　finding　the　alley　empty；　walked　away　from　the　house；　keeping　his　pace　to　that　of　a　drunk。　Ten　minutes　later　his　car　was　in　sight。　Fifty　yards　away；　Kelly　realized　that　he‘d　unthinkingly　parked　the　car　close　to　a　street…light。　That　was　a　mistake　not　to　be　repeated；　he　reproached　himself；　approaching　slowly　and　drunkenly　until　he　was　within　a　car　length。　Then；　first　checking　up　and　down　the　now…vacant　street；　he　got　in　quickly；　started　the　engine；　and　pulled　away。　He　didn‘t　flip　on　the　headlights　until　he　was　two　blocks　away；　turning　left　and　reentering　the　wide　vacant　corridor；　leaving　the　not…so…imaginary　jungle　and　heading　north　towards　his　apartment。
In　the　renewed　fort　and　safety　of　his　car　he　went　over　everything　he‘d　seen　in　the　past　nine　hours。　The　dealers　were　all　smokers；　igniting　their　cigarettes　with　what　seemed　to　be　Zippo　lighters　whose　bright　flames　would　injure　their　night　vision。　The　longer　the　night　got；　the　less　business　there　was　and　the　sloppier　they　seemed　to　bee。　They　were　human。　They　got　tired。　Some　stayed　out　longer　than　others。　Everything　he‘d　seen　was　useful　and　important。　In　their　operating　characteristics；　and　especially　in　their　differences；　were　their　vulnerabilities。
It　had　been　a　fine　night；　Kelly　thought；　passing　the　city‘s　baseball　stadium　and　turning　left　onto　Loch　Raven　Boulevard；　relaxing　finally。　He　even　considered　a　sip　of　the　wine；　but　this　wasn‘t　the　time　to　indulge　in　any　bad　habits。　He　removed　his　wig；　wiping　away　the　sweat　it　had　caused。　Jesus；　he　was　thirsty。
He　addressed　that　need　ten　minutes　later；　having　parked　his　car　in　the　proper　place　and　made　his　way　quietly　into　the　apartment。　He　looked　longingly　at　the　shower；　needing　the　clean　feeling　after　being　surrounded　by　dust　and　squalor　and　。。。　rats。　That　final　thought　made　him　shudder。　Fucking　rats；　he　thought；　filling　a　large　glass　with　ice；　then　adding　tap　water。　He　followed　it　with　several　more；　using　his　free　hand　to　strip　off　his　clothing。　The　air　conditioning　felt　wonderful；　and　he　stood　in　front　of　the　wall　unit；　letting　the　chilled　air　wash　over　his　body。　All　this　time；　and　he　didn‘t　need　to　urinate。　Had　to　take　water　with　him　from　now　on。　Kelly　took　a　package　of　lunch　meat　from　the　refrigerator　and　made　two　thick　sandwiches；　chased　down　by　another　pint　of　ice　water。
Need　a　shower　bad；　he　told　himself。　But　he　couldn‘t　allow　himself　one。　He‘d　have　to　get　used　to　the　feeling　of　a　sticky；　plasticlike　coating　all　over　his　body。　He‘d　have　to　like　it；　cultivate　it；　for　in　that　was　a　part　of　his　personal　safety。　His　grime　and　odor　were　part　of　his　disguise。　His　looks　and　smell　had　to　make　people　look　away　from　him；　to　avoid　ing　too　close。　He　couldn‘t　be　a　person　now。　He　had　to　be　a　street　creature；　shunned。　Invisible。　The　beard　was　even　darker　now；　he　saw　in　the　mirror　before　heading　to　the　bedroom；　and　his　last　decision　of　the　day　was　to　sleep　on　the　floor。　He　couldn‘t　dirty　up　new　sheets。
C15
　　　　CHAPTER　15
Lessons　Applied
Hell　began　promptly　at　eleven　that　morning；　though　Colonel　Zacharias　had　no　way　of　knowing　the　time。　The　tropical　sun　seemed　always　to　be　overhead；　beating　mercilessly　down。　Even　in　his　windowless　cell　there　was　no　escaping　it；　any　more　than　he　could　escape　the　insects　that　seemed　to　thrive　on　the　heat。　He　wondered　how　anything　could　thrive　here；　but　everything　that　did　seemed　to　be　something　that　hurt　or　offended　him；　and　that　was　as　concise　a　definition　of　hell　as　anything　he‘d　learned　in　the　temples　of　his　youth。　Zacharias　had　been　trained　for　possible　capture。　He‘d　been　through　the　survival；　evasion；　resistance；　and　escape　course；　called　SERE　School。　It　was　something　you　had　to　do　if　you　flew　airplanes　for　a　living；　and　it　was　purposefully　the　most　hated　thing　in　the　military　because　it　did　things　to　otherwise　pampered　Air　Force　and　Navy　officers　that　Marine　drill　instructors　would　have　quailed　at　…　things　which　were；　in　any　other　context；　deeds　worthy　of　a　general　court…martial　followed　by　a　lengthy　term　at　Leavenworth　or　Portsmouth。　The　experience　for　Zacharias；　as　for　most　others；　had　been　one　he　would　never　willingly　repeat。　But　his　current　situation　was　not　of　his　own　volition　either；　was　it？　And　he　was　repeating　SERE　School。
He‘d　considered　capture　in　a　distant　sort　of　way。　It　wasn‘t　the　sort　of　thing　you　could　really　ignore　once　you‘d　heard　the　awful；　despairing　electronic　raww　of　the　emergency　radios；　and　seen　the　‘chutes；　and　tried　to　organize　a　RESCAP；　hoping　the　Jolly　Green　Giant　helicopter　could　swoop　in　from　its　base　in　Laos　or　maybe　a　Navy　‘Big　Mutha‘　…　as　the　squids　called　the　rescue　birds　…　would　race　in　from　the　sea。　Zacharias　had　seen　that　work；　but　more　often　he‘d　seen　it　fail。　He‘d　heard　the　panicked　and　tragically　unmanly　cries　of　airmen　about　to　be　captured：　‘Get　me　out　of　here；‘　one　major　had　screamed　before　another　voice　had　e　on　the　radio；　speaking　spiteful　words　none　of　them　could　understand；　but　which　they　had　understood　even　so；　with　bitterness　and　killing　rage。　The　Jolly　crews　and　their　Navy　counterparts　did　their　best；　and　though　Zacharias　was　a　Mormon　and　had　never　touched　alcohol　in　his　life；　he　had　bought　those　chopper　crews　enough　drinks　to　lay　low　a　squad　of　Marines；　in　gratitude　and　awe　at　their　bravery；　for　that　was　how　yon　expressed　your　admiration　within　the　munity　of　warriors。
But　like　every　other　member　of　that　munity；　he‘d　never　really　thought　capture　would　happen　to　him。　Death；　that　was　the　chance　and　the　likelihood　he‘d　thought　about。　Zacharias　had　been　King　Weasel。　He‘d　helped　invent　that　branch　of　his　profession。　With　his　intellect　and　superb　flying　skills　he‘d　created　the　doctrine　and　validated　it　in　the　air。　He‘d　driven　his　F…105　into　the　most　concentrated　antiair　work　anyone　had　yet　built；　actually　seeking　out　the　most　dangerous　weapons　for　his　special　attention；　and　using　his　training　and　intelligence　to　duel　with　them；　matching　tactic　for　tactic；　skill　for　skill；　teasing　them；　defying　them；　baiting　them　in　what　had　bee　the　most　exhilarating　contest　any　man　had　ever　experienced；　a　chess　game　played　in　three　dimensions　over　and　under　Mach…1；　with　him　driving　his　two…seater　Thud　and　with　them　manning　Russian…built　radars　and　missile　launchers。　Like　mongoose　and　cobra；　theirs　was　a　very　private　vendetta　played　for　keeps　every　day；　and　in　his　pride　and　his　skill；　he‘d　thought　he　would　win；　or；　at　worst；　meet　his　end　in　the　form　of　a　yellow…black　cloud　that　would　mark　a　proper　airman‘s　death：　immediate；　dramatic；　and　ethereal。
He‘d　never　thought　himself　a　particularly　brave　man。　He　had　his　faith。　Were　he　to　meet　death　in　the　air；　then　he　could　look　forward　to　staring　God　in　the　face；　standing　with　humility　at　his　lowly　station　and　pride　at　the　lifе　he　had　lived；　for　Robin　Zacharias　was　a　righteous　man；　hardly　ever　straying　from　the　path　of　virtue。　He　was　a　good　friend　to　his　rades；　a　conscientious　leader　mindful　of　his　men‘s　needs；　an　upright　family　man　with　strong；　bright；　proud　children；　most　of　all；　he　was　an　Elder　in　his　church　who　tithed　his　Air　Force　salary；　as　his　station　in　the　Church　of　Jesus　Christ　of　Latter…Day　Saints　required。　For　all　of　those　reasons　he　had　never　feared　death。　What　lay　beyond　the　grave　was　something　whose　reality　he　viewed　with　confidence。　It　was　life　that　was　uncertain；　and　his　current　life　was　the　most　uncertain　of　all；　and　faith　even　as　strong　as　his　had　limits　imposed　by　the　body　which　contained　it。　That　was　a　fact　he　either　did　not　fully　understand　or　somehow　did　not　believe。　His　faith；　the　Colonel　told　himself；　should　be　enough　to　sustain　him　through　anything。　Was。　Should　be。　Was；　he‘d　learned　as　a　child　from　his　teachers。　But　those　lessons　had　been　taught　in　fortable　classrooms　in　sight　of　the　Wasatch　Mountains；　by　teachers　in　clean　white　shirts　and　ties；　holding　their　lesson　books；　speaking　with　confidence　imparted　by　the　history　of　their　church　and　its　members。
It‘s　different　here。　Zacharias　heard　the　little　voice　that　said　so；　trying　to　ignore　it；　trying　his　best　not　to　believe　it；　for　believing　it　was　a　contradiction　with　his　faith；　and　that　contradiction　was　the　single　thing　his　mind　could　not　allow。　Joseph　Smith　had　died　for　his　faith；　murdered　in　Illinois。　Others　had　done　the　same。　The　history　of　Judaism　and　Christianity　was　replete　with　the　names　of　martyrs　…　heroes　to　Robin　Zacharias；　because　that　was　the　word　used　by　his　professional　munity　…　who　had　sustained　torture　at　Roman　or　other　hands　and　had　died　with　God‘s　name　on　their　lips。
But　they　didn‘t　suffer　as　long　as　you；　the　voice　pointed　out。　A　few　hours。　The　brief　hellish　minutes　burning　at　the　stake；　a　day　or　two；　perhaps；　nailed　to　the　cross。　That　was　one　thing；　you　could　see　the　end　of　it；　and　if　you　knew　what　lay　beyond　the　end；　then　you　could　concentrate　on　that。　But　to　see　beyond　the　end；　you　had　to　know　where　the　end　was。
Robin　Zacharias　was　alone。　There　were　others　here。　He‘d　caught　glimpses；　but　there　was　no　munication。　He‘d　tried　the　tap　code；　but　no　one　ever　answered。　Wherever　they　were；　they　were　too　distant；　or　the　building‘s　arrangements　didn‘t　allow　it；　or　perhaps　his　hearing　was　off。　He　could　not　share　thoughts　with　anyone；　and　even　prayers　had　limits　to　a　mind　as　intelligent　as　his。　He　was　afraid　to　pray　for　deliverance　…　a　thought　he　was　unable　even　to　admit；　for　it　would　be　an　internal　admission　that　his　faith　had　somehow　been　shaken；　and　that　was　something　he　could　not　allow；　but　part　of　him　knew　that　in　not　praying　for　deliverance；　he　was　admitting　something　by　omission；　that　if　he　prayed；　and　after　a　time　deliverance　didn‘t　e；　then　his　faith　might　start　to　die；　and　with　that　his　soul。　For　Robin　Zacharias；　that　was　how　despair　began；　not　with　a　thought；　but　with　the　unwillingness　to　entreat　his　God　for　something　that　might　not　e。
He　couldn‘t　know　the　rest。　His　dietary　deprivation；　the　isolation　so　especially　painful　to　a　man　of　his　intelligence；　and　the　gnawing　fear　of　pain；　for　even　faith　could　not　take　pain　away；　and　all　men　know　fear　of　that。　Like　carrying　a　heavy　load；　however　strong　a　man　might　be；　his　strength　was　finite　and　gravity　was　not。　Strength　of　body　was　easily　understood；　but　in　the　pride　and　righteousness　that　came　from　his　faith；　he　had　failed　to　consider　that　the　physical　acted　upon　the　psychological；　just　as　surely　as　gravity　but　far　more　insidiously。　He　interpreted　the　crushing　mental　fatigue　as　a　weakness　assignable　to　something　not　supposed　to　break；　and　he　faulted　himself　for　nothing　more　than　being　human。　Consultation　with　another　Elder　would　have　righted　everything；　but　that　wasn‘t　possible；　and　in　denying　himself　the　escape　hatch　of　merely　admitting　his　human　frailty；　Zacharias　forced　himself　further　and　further　into　a　trap　of　his　own　creation；　aided　and　abetted　by　people　who　wanted　to　destroy　him；　body　and　soul。
It　was　then　that　things　became　worse。　The　door　to　his　cell　opened。　Two　Vietnamese　wearing　khaki　uniforms　looked　at　him　as　though　he　were　a　stain　on　the　air　of　their　country。　Zacharias　knew　what　they　were　here　for。　He　tried　to　meet　them　with　courage。　They　took　him；　one　man　on　each　arm；　and　a　third　following　behind　with　a　rifle；　to　a　larger　room　…　but　even　before　he　passed　through　the　doorway；　the　muzzle　of　the　rifle　stabbed　hard　into　his　back；　right　at　the　spot　that　still　hurt；　fully　nine　months　after　his　painful　ejection；　and　he　gasped　in　pain。　The　Vietnamese　didn‘t　even　show　pleasure　at　his　disfort。　They　didn‘t　ask　questions。　There　wasn‘t　even　a　plan　to　their　abuse　that　he　could　recognize；　just　the　physical　attacks　of　five　men　operating　all　at　once；　and　Zacharias　knew　that　resistance　was　death；　and　while　he　wished　for　his　captivity　to　end；　to　seek　death　in　that　way　might　actually　be　suicide；　and　he　couldn‘t　do　that。
It　didn‘t　matter。　In　a　brief　span　of　seconds　his　ability　to　do　anything　at　all　was　taken　away；　and　he　merely　collapsed　on　the　rough　concrete　floor；　feeling　the　blows　and　kicks　and　pain　add　up　like　numbers　on　a　ledger　sheet；　his　muscles　paralyzed　by　agony；　unable　to　move　any　of　his　limbs　more　than　an　inch　or　two；　wishing　it　would　stop；　knowing　that　it　never　would。　Above　it　all　he　heard　the　cackling　of　their　voices　now；　like　jackals；　devils　tormenting　him　because　he　was　one　of　the　righteous　and　they‘d　gotten　their　hands　on　him　anyway；　and　it　went　on；　and　on；　and　on　…
A　screaming　voice　blasted　its　way　past　his　catatonia。　One　more　desultory　half…strength　kick　connected　with　his　chest；　and　then　he　saw　their　boots　draw　back。　His　peripheral　vision　saw　their　faces　cringe；　all　looking　toward　the　door　at　the　source　of　the　noise。　A　final　bellow　and　they　hastily　made　their　way　out。　The　voice　changed。　It　was　a　。。。　white　voice？　How　did　he　know　that？　Strong　hands　lifted　him；　sitting　him　up　against　the　wall；　and　the　face　came　into　view。　It　was　Grishanov。
‘My　God；‘　the　Russian　said；　his　pale　cheeks　glowing　red　with　anger。　He　turned　and　screamed　something　else　in　oddly　accented　Vietnamese。　Instantly　a　canteen　appeared；　and　he　poured　the　contents　over　the　American‘s　face。　Then　he　screamed　something　else　and　Zacharias　heard　the　door　close。
‘Drink；　Robin；　drink　this。‘　He　held　a　small　metal　flask　to　the　American‘s　lips；　lifting　it。
Zacharias　took　a　swallow　so　quickly　that　the　liquid　was　in　his　stomach　before　he　noted　the　acidic　taste　of　vodka。　Shocked；　he　lifted　his　hand　and　tried　to　push　it　away。
‘I　can‘t；‘　the　American　gasped；　‘。。。　can‘t　drink；　can‘t。　。　。‘
‘Robin；　it　is　medicine。　This　is　not　entertainment。　Your　religion　has　no　rule　against　this。　Please；　my　friend；　you　need　this。　It‘s　the　best　I　can　do　for　you；‘　Grishanov　added　in　a　voice　that　shuddered　with　frustration。　‘You　must；　Robin。‘
Maybe　it　is　medicine；　Zacharias　thought。　Some　medicines　used　an　alcohol　base　as　a　preservative；　and　the　Church　permitted　that；　didn‘t　it？　He　couldn‘t　remember；　and　in　not　knowing　he　took　another　swallow。　Nor　did　he　know　that　as　the　adrenaline　that　the　beating　had　flooded　into　his　system　dissipated；　the　natural　relaxation　of　his　body　would　only　be　accentuated　by　the　drink。
‘Not　too　much；　Robin。‘　Grishanov　removed　the　flask；　then　started　tending　to　his　injuries；　straightening　out　his　legs；　using　moistened　cloth　to　clean　up　the　man‘s　face。
‘Savages！‘　the　Russian　snarled。　‘Bloody　stinking　savages。　I‘ll　throttle　Major　Vinh　for　this；　break　his　skinny　little　monkey　neck。‘　The　Russian　colonel　sat　down　on　the　floor　next　to　his　American　colleague　and　spoke　from　the　heart。　‘Robin；　we　are　enemies；　but　we　are　men　also；　and　even　war　has　rules。　You　serve　your　country。　I　serve　mine。　These　。。。　these　people　do　not　understand　that　without　honor　there　is　no　true　service；　only　barbarism。‘　He　held　up　the　flask　again。　‘Here。　I　cannot　get　anything　else　for　the　pain。　I‘m　sorry；　my　friend；　but　I　can‘t。‘　。
And　Zacharias　took　another　swallow；　still　numb；　still　disoriented；　and　even　more　confused　than　ever。
‘Good　man；‘　Grishanov　said。　‘I　have　never　said　this；　but　you　are　a　courageous　man；　my　friend；　to　resist　these　little　animals　as　you　have。‘
‘Have　to；‘　Zacharias　gasped。
‘Of　course　you　do；‘　Grishanov　said；　wiping　the　man‘s　face