Bamboo Battleground Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Acknowledgements

  Epigraph

  Chapter 1 - HARDCORE

  Chapter 2 - LEFT COAST

  Chapter 3 - JUNGLE SECRETS

  Chapter 4 - DELTA CHARLIE

  Chapter 5 - WEST BANK

  Chapter 6 - LIFE OF A WARRIOR

  Chapter 7 - BACK IN DELTA CHARLIE

  Chapter 8 - JADE SECRETS

  Chapter 9 - BACK TO THE OFFICE

  Chapter 10 - PRESIDENTIAL POWER

  Chapter 11 - THAILAND

  Chapter 12 - THE BODY POLITIC

  Chapter 13 - BACK TO MANILA

  About the Author

  SLEEPING WITH THE ENEMY

  Senator Weatherford looked around the restaurant, pulling two envelopes out of his briefcase. He handed one to Muhammad and one to Tran. They opened them and saw glossy photographs of Major Bobby Samuels and Captain Bo Devore.

  Muhammad said, “My people know who they are.”

  Weatherford leaned forward, whispering, “Some of my best contacts inside the military, especially in the army, are afraid of what these two could do to any or all of us. I have to quietly do everything I can to get them out of the way.”

  Tran grinned, saying, “They would not be wise to come to Vietnam or even close.”

  Muhammad also grinned. “I do not care where they go. If we must rid ourselves of them, then we will rid ourselves of them. You look troubled, my friend.”

  James did look pale. “It’s not like I want you to kill two American army officers.”

  Muhammad grinned, “Yes, you do. You just do not wish to hear about it. My people have a saying, ‘The sinning is the best part of repentance.’ Think about that, Senator.”

  TITLES BY DON BENDELL

  Criminal Investigation Detachment

  Criminal Investigation Detachment: Broken Borders

  Criminal Investigation Detachment:

  Bamboo Battleground

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  CRIMINAL INVESTIGATION DETACHMENT: BAMBOO BATTLEGROUND

  A Berkley Book / published by arrangement with the author

  PRINTING HISTORY

  Berkley edition / October 2007

  Copyright © 2007 by Don Bendell.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  eISBN : 978-1-4406-1931-1

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  Berkley Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

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  BERKLEY® is a registered trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

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  This is my twenty-fourth book, and I have dedicated previous books to my wife, family members, friends, the U.S. Army Special Forces, and even my horse. I told my wife this one needs to be very special, so I dedicate this book to all my fellow Vietnam veterans; army, navy, air force, marines, Coast Guard, reserves, National Guard, Air National Guard. This book is dedicated to all the grunts, jarheads, swabbies, privates, corporals, specialists, sergeants, warrant officers, and officers. It is dedicated to those who repaired helicopters as well as the crews. And dedicated to truck mechanics, drivers, clerk-typists, nurses, doctors, medics, supply clerks, MPs, finance personnel, dog handlers, FACs, pilots, forward observers, S1s, S2s, S3s, S4s, S5s, CSMs, first sergeants, cargo handlers, dental techs, radio operators, civilians, and the myriad of personnel, each an integral part, no matter what their job, who helped to make that one giant machine work. Most important, to all the wives, sons, daughters, and those loved ones left behind, and even more so, the widows and orphans. You are all the unsung heroes of the twentieth century. Thank you for your service risking your life to simply do what you believed in, whether drafted or enlisted. You did not run. You did not hide, and you risked your very life for your beliefs. We won all the battles, every single one, but somebody in a suit told us we lost the war. We did not lose the war. America lost its innocence, but we all did indeed win the war. If we lost, why does Vietnam beg us to do trade with them? More important, the groundwork you laid, the lessons learned have saved the lives of thousands of our brave, young fighting men and women now fighting in the War on Terrorism. For all Americans, even the ones who do not know any better, I say, “Thank you and welcome home.”

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I want to acknowledge three very special people in particular:

  Actress and superstar Bo Derek, without seeking publicity, but just being a good person, and on her own, started visiting wounded soldiers from Afghanistan and then Iraq, and especially the men of the U.S. Army Special Forces and family members of those killed in action. In 2002, at the Special Forces Association National Convention at Fort Bragg, North Carolina, we made Bo an honorary Green Beret. In tribute to Bo, and to my wife, Shirley, who I love more than life itself, I patterned the character Bo Devore as a cross between the two of them.

  Second, I know he will try to take it out, but I will insist this gets left in, as I would like to publicly thank my editor, Tom Colgan, executive editor at Berkley. Tom has worked with authors, such as Tom Clancy, W.E.B. Griffin, Jack Higgins, and Ed McBain, and I am humbled to have him work with me, too. He is a proud father and loving husband, and has worked at Berkley since 1985, except for a short time at Avon/Morrow. A native New Yorker and a gentleman, Tom always makes me do my best and nothing less. Thank you very much, Tom.

  Further, because of the extensive technical nature of this work, I referred to Wikipedia.org in many cases as well as government technical publications and wish to acknowledge such input.

  Blessings,

  Don Bendell

  Notice that the stiffest tree is most easily cracked, whil
e the bamboo or willow survives by bending with the wind.

  —BRUCE LEE, 1973

  1

  HARDCORE

  The woman could have been in her late twenties or early thirties and was a ravishing beauty. She was wearing a gray sweatshirt with the black letters “Army” and the shirt was too large for her. Nonetheless, her curves under it were obvious, and she had a natural sexiness and beauty that always revealed itself like a peacock trying to go incognito in a chicken yard. She wore black jogging pants and tennis shoes. Her eyes made her look like she might be a raccoon, as her mascara was smeared from crying, and her naturally curly long auburn hair always looked tussled, but perfectly fitting as a flame-like frame for the beautiful face. Holding a damp Kleenex, she sat cross-legged in the soft leather high-backed easy chair and appreciated its comfort.

  “I was so innocent back then,” she said, angry and weeping again. “How could that son of a bitch do that to me? He was my uncle.”

  The man in the other chair wore a U.S. Army class A uniform. On the collar was the brass indicating the Medical Service Corps and the distinctive gold oak leaf of a major. Dr. William Tewell was a good, caring psychiatrist with a very successful practice in Philadelphia, but he felt unfulfilled. It was the first anniversary of September 11, 2001, and he saw a special on television about the sneak attacks on the United States. Dr. Tewell wept. And as clearly as that, he understood why he felt unfulfilled. His father had been an ROTC graduate platoon leader with the Big Red One, the First Infantry Division in Vietnam. He had suffered an AK-47 wound in the right shin and received a Purple Heart, a Bronze Star with V device for valor, and a Bronze Star for meritorious service in Vietnam. He came back and never spoke about the war.

  Bill Tewell’s grandfather, his father’s father, had been a gunnery sergeant with the U.S. Marine Corps in the second war to end all wars and served honorably at Bougainville. He never spoke about the experience, either.

  Dr. Tewell always seemed to notice that his father and paternal grandfather both enjoyed tremendous respect among their peers. He wanted that for himself.

  Now, on the anniversary of the attack on the Pentagon and World Trade Center, he knew that he felt a need to serve in the military and make a contribution in his own way. Because he was a shrink, the army inducted him as a major, instead of captain like they did with medical doctors and dentists.

  From her soft leather perch, Bo Devore went on. “I can still see the image of him panting over me and even feel the pain of him tearing my vagina, Dr. Tewell. How can men do that?”

  Bill Tewell said, “What is more important is how you feel about it.”

  Bo said, “I’m pissed! I wish he was alive, so I could cut his balls off!”

  The doctor said, “Is he the only one you are angry at?”

  She thought for a minute and started crying harder, sobbing into her hands.

  Bill Tewell waited patiently, smiling softly.

  Finally, she raised her head, sniffling while she talked. “I loved my mom and dad. Dad was one of the most respected generals in the air force. He was a good man, but dammit! Dammit! Dammit all! Why did they let his older brother be alone with me? I was a teenaged girl, but my breasts had developed and boys were always staring. I know he fondled my mother one time when I was a girl! I want to know why, Doctor?”

  Dr. Tewell said, “Captain Devore. Bo, I don’t know why men do such things or why women do them, too. It is an insidious sickness, but it is very important for you to know that you did absolutely nothing to deserve it. Nothing! You were simply a young defenseless girl. But I do want you to look at something important that came out of this. How many captains are there in the entire U.S. Army who are CID agents?”

  “Just me, and one major, my partner, Major Bobby Samuels. All other CID agents are enlisted men or warrant officers, but we are a special unit created after 9/11,” she said, realizing what he was getting at.

  He said, “Bo, what made you decide to join the army and what made you decide to become a detective?”

  She thought for a minute and smiled. “My uncle raping me, although I did not even realize that was why until recently. I told you about it.”

  He said, “Think about the lives you have saved, the pages you have written in U.S. and world history, because you took a horrible, selfish act and turned it into a triumph. You are indeed a survivor.”

  Bo felt uplifted and much better.

  She smiled, a tear forming in her right eye, saying, “Thank you, Doctor, for putting it that way, but why do I feel such a need to cry now and I feel so sad? Please don’t ask how I feel, tell me.”

  The doctor smiled softly again, saying, “You are grieving.”

  “Grieving?” she asked. “Grieving for who?”

  He said, “Grieving for that little girl who lost most of her childhood innocence and you kept hidden away for so many years inside your safe, little protective cocoon you wove for her.”

  “Why did she come out now after all these years?”

  The doctor said, “Because you have so much strength, spiritually and emotionally, that you finally, subconsciously, felt it was safe to bring her out. You cry for the little girl whenever you feel like it, but keep on doing what you are doing. And don’t ever stop being a survivor.”

  Bo said, “Don’t worry. I will always be a survivor.”

  2

  LEFT COAST

  Her father was born in Paris, and her mother was the only daughter of two Chinese immigrants. Her hair was all the way down well below her waist and was very shiny jet black. Her television series had been at the top of the Nielsens for three years running, which was the major enabling factor when she beat out an Oscar-winning actress for the lead role in the biggest box-office blockbuster of the previous year. The superstar was “the” fantasy woman for literally millions upon millions of men around the world.

  Even with his loose-fitting, oversized white shirt, she was aware of the muscles rippling underneath. He was so tall and handsome, he could easily play a leading man in any of the films or TV shows she appeared in. What really impressed Pacific Cartier, though, were his honest talks, his sensitivity, and the passion with which he had loved his late wife.

  Pacific had never seen him at any functions and everybody had been trying to get him to talk about his work, but he had never mentioned it or anything professionally that he did. She figured he must be a model, as she simply could not think of any time she had seen him at the Emmys, Oscars, or at any of the L.A. hot spots.

  Pacific had always had any boy, and then any man, she wanted and decided she had to make a move now. She walked over and sat down next to him.

  She stared into his eyes, as he smiled at her and nodded.

  She said, “Hi, Bobby.”

  Bobby replied, “How are you today, Pacific?”

  “Lonely.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “We can talk if you want.”

  Pacific did a fake pout, saying, “Just talk? Why don’t we go to my room and share a deep conversation?”

  He said, “Oh, I am enjoying the sunshine right now and relaxing out here on the grass.”

  She said, “Oh, I’m sorry. You’re not gay, are you?”

  He chuckled, saying, “I don’t think so. Do I look gay?”

  “No.” She laughed. “You look fabulous! You have never spoken of women or about your job. Are you a model?”

  Bobby said, “Yes, I am. I’m a 1963 split-window Corvette model with a complete engine.”

  He chuckled at his own joke, which took her a couple of seconds to understand. Then she laughed.

  Bobby said seriously, “First of all, thanks for the compliment. You are extremely beautiful yourself, but just because I don’t speak about women does not make me gay, Pacific, and I am not a model. You have heard me talk about my late wife.”

  “Well, gee, Bobby,” she said, “you are such a man of mystery. What kind of work do you do?”

  Bobby said, “It would probably bor
e you. I just poke into things a lot. Look up records. Ask questions. Things like that.”

  Pacific got upset, saying, “I should have known. I knew you were too good to be true. You are an investigative reporter, aren’t you, just looking for a celebrity-trashing story?”

  Bobby fell over backward laughing.

  As if it was scripted, two psychologists walked by and one spotted Bobby and kept staring. He broke into a big smile and said something to the other one.

  They walked over and Pacific said, “Busted. I was hoping people would not spot me here.”

  She and Bobby stood. The smiling doctor nodded at Pacific as he stepped past her, his hand extended to shake with Bobby, and the other doctor followed suit. Only then did they acknowledge Pacific and even commented on her acting and awards. Now, she was really puzzled.

  The smiling doctor said, “My God, I am so honored to meet you. I read all about you in Newsweek, Time, and in Army Times. My name is Gunther Swenson, Dr. Gunther Swenson. I had no idea you were staying here. May I come back and get my picture taken with you?”

  Bobby said, “Sure, Doctor, if it is only for your personal use. I do not want my picture in the news, at all.”

  Swenson said, “I’ll be right back,” and he headed for his office.

  The other man said, “I’m a doctor here also. We’re both shrinks. My name is Albert Finnegan. Can I get your autograph for my son?”

  Bobby said, “Sure, Doctor. Pleased to meet you, but I do not know why you would want my autograph.”

  He signed, and then the doctor turned to Pacific and asked, “May I get yours, too? We are all big fans of yours.”

  She was feeling some flames of jealousy. This just never happened to her except once when she was at the Oscars and Lauren Bacall came backstage and people just flocked around her.