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MI, they called him, The Ghost. Nash could have forced
Amai's knowledge of The Ghost's whereabouts under torture, but following her
would net the results without compromising the element of surprise; and for
this guy, surprise was critical - The Ghost was elusive. Nash believed the Viet
Cong to be planning something big; a major attack - in Saigon itself. Everything pointed to it. Nash's superiors disagreed.
    Idiots. Nash shook his head. Why can't they see it?
    But Nash wasn't
about to let incompetent superiors stop him. The situation presented the perfect
opportunity to shatter the Viet Cong plot, expose the incompetence of his
commanders, and confirm his own superiority.
    They'll be
forced to promote me - again, he thought. He
smirked.
    Nash had been
promoted to Captain only eight weeks ago, but he wanted to rise quickly through
the ranks, and this war was the perfect opportunity to do so.
    Nash tensed.
Amai was on her rooftop.
    So that's how
she been doing it.
    She walked to
the front edge and looked down into Thong Nhut
Boulevard . Then she went to the rear parapet. Nash
adjusted the binoculars' focus wheel, and Amai's image sharpened.
    Wow. Nash felt a buzz. Before seeing Amai, he had had hourly fantasies
involving doggy-style sex with Audrey Hepburn. But now he only fantasized about
Amai. Amai was sexier. She oozed sensuality. Nash stroked his thickening penis
through his uniform trousers.
    Stay on task, he cautioned himself.
    His
vantage-point let him see most of her clever evasion technique. Her agility
surprised him. Her body was full and supple and her firm breasts bounced
rapidly as she ran over the tarred roof. He could see why the reporter had
fallen for her scam. Danny was a suave looking cat, but Nash had detected a
lack of confidence: during their conversation at the Grand, Danny had repetitively
touched his nose, and constantly broke-off eye contact to look at the ground.
He was obviously a determined journalist, prepared to go to extraordinary
lengths to get his story, but there was also some underlying flaw - something
broken in his psyche that made him vulnerable. It was that vulnerability that
an agent like Amai would exploit.
    Nash prided
himself on confidence. He always maintained a macho posture. Self-belief was
the name of the game in the Intelligence business; without it you would quickly
become prey in a carnivorous world.
    Nash watched
Amai drop over the rear parapet. She's confident, he thought. Too
confident.
    Vietnamese
females were deferential: quiet, shy, averting their eyes, squatting rather
than standing, covering faces with scarves; but not Amai. She strode
self-assuredly, she never squatted, and even through binoculars, he could see
that the centers of her oval eyes burned with a purpose.
    Nash believed
the Viet Cong to be a far more formidable enemy than his superiors. Among the
obvious signs of insurrection, Nash had detected the existence of an all female
spy network. Nash believed Amai to be one of them. These female spies obtained
highly classified information, such as battle-plans and targets, with ease. As
a result, when US attacks were
launched, the forewarned enemy was gone, leaving a waiting ambush. The disaster
at Ap Bac had been the start of it, and Nash was sure that Amai's network had
been involved; possibly even Amai herself. Since then, things had gotten much
worse.
    I'll smash
this little spy ring to pieces , Nash thought.
    But the
Commander, The Ghost, eluded him. Nash had no idea who he was, or even what he
looked like. Locations revealed by tortured spies had always been abandoned
hours or minutes before Nash's teams arrived to make the arrest.
    But now that
Nash had Amai to follow, he would find The Ghost.
    In preparation
for an attack the size that Nash suspected, the VC would have stockpiled
weapons, ammunition, battle-plans, and orders. He would rub these in the face
of his immediate superior, Colonel Hitchcock.
    All he needed
was The Ghost.
    Amai was