Plan B, OR: Back to the Drawing Board
Heeding Link’s warning, Baker left it to me to break the news to our little syndicate. I had just finished when Wu stepped into the editorial trailer. “How’d your meeting go last night?” he asked.
“What meeting?” I answered.
“Your meeting about the blue movie from Tan Son Nhut.”
Perez, Shahbazian, Washington and Zelinsky glanced at each other uncomfortably. “You mean the Top Secret stuff addressed to Link?” asked Wheeler.
Wu smiled. “Just a little word to the wise—I wouldn’t mess with Link if I were you. He’s been planning his movie deal with Indian Joe for weeks. A month back, he asked me to partner up with him—making prints here at the lab. He doesn’t want any competition.”
Wheeler decided to come clean. “We might have been thinking about it, but there’s no way we can match his price.”
Wu’s face lit up. “That’s great, believe it or not. Because I heard some interesting news this morning. If true, this could turn out to be a very propitious time to be putting on a bicycle race.”
We were all tired, hung over and skeptical. “How’s that?” asked Zelinsky.
“Because this war has got to be about over. It’s all very hush-hush, but I got word at breakfast that Nixon and Kissinger are supposed to be going to Peking in January or February.”
I caught Jack’s drift immediately. “And while they’re wining and dining at the diplomatic level, we can be doing do our part at the community-relations level—putting on a bicycle race! Give our bosses here one last chance to put a feather in their caps before they have to go back to the States and sit around waiting for another war.”
“The weekend before the President arrives in China!” smiled Wu.
“Our little intersquadron wager is interesting,” said Zelinsky, “but isn’t there a way to make this bigger?”
Washington was loafing over in the corner. “Did I hear wager?”
“On a bicycle race out to Big Buddha,” Zelinsky answered.
“An intersquadron race between us and Spectre,” Wu added. “We’re taking a Special Services excursion out there in a couple weeks so we can scope out the route.”
“’Cept if you open this up to the whole base and maybe charge a ten-dollar entrance fee,” said Washington, “with six thousand guys on this base, plus whatever Thais from the host country want to join in—now you’re talkin’ serious money.”
“Which is why I think you’ve just made yourself a full member of the Big Buddha Syndicate,” I said.
“He can have my spot,” said Perez as he headed back to the lab. “This is looking like a lot more than a day’s work.”
The door opened. “How do our dailies look today, Sergeant Zelinsky?” asked Colonel Strbik as he and Major Horney stepped inside the trailer.
“Haven’t gotten them out of the lab yet, sir. But we do have something to discuss with you while we’re waiting. Any interest in the little wager we talked about yesterday?”
“I was surprised,” Strbik said, “but there just might be. There’s buzz around Spectre that the war could start winding down in the next few months. Rumor has it that Nixon and Kissinger are going to go over Ho Chi Minh’s head and start negotiating directly with Mao and Zhou Enlai. Our boys might need a little diversion to keep up unit morale if Seventh Air Force starts cutting back on our flying time.”
“And they might need a big diversion,” added Horney, “if this fucked-up war turns into a never-ending stalemate like Korea.”
Personally, it was just the kind of diversion I needed—a chance to have some fun I could actually write home about while at the same time making some fast, easy money. “Sergeant Washington suggested opening it up to every unit at Ubon. Our little group can put out some feelers to get things going,” I said, “but eventually we’d need to get the whole base involved. We’d need everything from porta-potties and first aid to a place for the pit crews to hang—”
“Not to mention security,” Wu added helpfully.
“Sooner or later,” I said, “we’d need to get the base commander on board.”
Strbik and Horney agreed.
“Now if the war’s really winding down, that pretty much pulls the rug out from under any chance he has of making a mark for himself in combat operations, right?”
Strbik and Horney agreed again.
“Well, here’s another way for Colonel Grimsley to get a spread in Life magazine or at least the Pacific Stars and Stripes—a feature about the colonel’s ‘New Innovation in Community Action.’ Describing how lovable Americans are riding their bicycles through the Thai countryside to win Thai hearts and minds.”
“We’ll feel him out next time we bump into him over at the O Club,” said Horney. “What do you think, Russ?”
“I think this might be doable,” Strbik replied. Even in person his deep, whiskey-scarred voice sounded like it was coming over an intercom. “Maybe it’s all turned out for the best, Bill, being grounded for the next two weeks.”
His partner writhed. Perez brought in the transfers and handed them to Zelinsky.
“You’ll be able to work full-time with Wu and Leary here cutting through any red tape that comes up.”
“Did you get hurt on a mission?” asked Wu in his usual friendly manner.
“Depends on what kind of a mission you’re talking about.” Strbik replied cryptically.
“I’m taking medication for the goddamn flu,” Horney insisted.
“Which is why my sidekick isn’t allowed to drink or go downtown while he’s rehabilitating,” Strbik added drolly.
“I didn’t know they had medication for the flu,” said Zelinsky as he threaded up the film.
“Can we run the goddamn dailies?” grumbled Horney.