"Ahhh, there is some problem with the tour?" asked the guide.
"No, no, everything's great," said Justin and glanced back at the other two. He sat down and leaned toward the Vietnamese. His voice was a hoarse whisper. "We ... Ah ... we wanted a little more than the regular tour."
"Oh?" The guide blinked. His mouth was not quite curled in a smile.
"Yeah," said Justin, "You know. Something extra."
'Extra?" said the guide.
Roger Sayers stepped forward. "We want some special action," he said.
"Ahhh," said the guide and finished his drink.
Justin leaned forward again. "Nat Pendrake told us it was OK," he whispered loudly. "He said he ... uh ... arranged it through Mr. Tho."
"Mr. Tho?" the guide said blankly. But the smile was there now.
"Yeah. Nat said that ... uh ... a special action would be about a thousand."
"Two thousand," the guide said softly. "Each."
"Hey," interjected Sayers, "Nat was here just a few months ago and . . ."
"Quiet," said Justin. "All right. That's fine. Here." He slid his universal card across the table.
The Vietnamese smiled and pushed Jeffries's card back. "Cash, please. Each of you will have it tonight. American dollars."
"I don't know about ..." began Sayers.
"Where?" asked Justin.
"The frontage road beyond the hotel maintenance buildings," said the guide. "Twenty-three hundred hours."
"Right," said Justin as the guide stood up. "See you then."
"Have a nice day," said the guide and was gone.
The trucks transported them to a point in the jungle where the road ended and a trail began. The five men jumped down and followed the guide through the darkness. The trail was muddy from the evening rains and wet fronds brushed at their cork-smudged faces. Justin Jeffries and Tom Newton kept close to the guide. Behind them, stumbling occasionally in the dark, came Sayers and Reverend Dewitt. Lieutenant Naguchi brought up the rear. Each man was in uniform. Each carried an M-16.
"Shit," hissed Sayers as a branch caught him in the face.
"Shut up," whispered Justin. The guide motioned them to a stop and the Americans pressed close to peer at a clearing visible through a gap in the dense foliage. A few kerosene lanterns throw cold light from the doorways of a dozen huts of the village.
"Vietcong sympathizers," whispered the guide. 'They can tell you where the cadre headquarters is. Everyone in the village knows the VC."
"Huh," said Sayers. "So our job is to get the information, right?"
"Yes."
