Seth glanced at the drawer in the table next to the bed where he’d left his handgun. The drawer was open.
“I have your weapon,” an Asian man’s voice came from near the bathroom behind him. Seth put his hand on the chair. “You can hit me with the chair, but I think you’d rather hear me out.”
Seth glanced at the window for a way out. The room was sealed. If he broke the window with his elbow, he might survive a jump from the fifth floor.
“If you jump, you’ll never hear what I have to say,” Chiến said. “I will disappear, and you will always wonder why I was here.”
“Why are you here?” Seth asked.
“You will have to turn around to find out,” Chiến said.
Seth didn’t move.
“I’ll tell you what,” Chiến said. “I’ll give you back your handgun and your clip. I’ll set it on the desk.”
The handgun and clip appeared on the table next to Seth.
“If you can get to the gun and put the clip in before I disappear, you can shoot me,” Chiến said.
“You’re a shadow walker,” Seth said in reference to Viet Cong members who seemed to appear out of nowhere.
“That I am,” Chiến said. “I’m so glad I made such an impression on you.”
“Mitch,” Seth said. “He knew everything there was to know about you.”
“Mitch Delgado,” Chiến chuckled. “I always thought that, if he and I had met under different circumstances, we could have been friends. I liked the man, respected him, even though he caused me so much trouble.”
Seth felt him near him. Chiến touched his arm.
“Turn around so you can see me,” Chiến said. “We will talk, face to face, like the old warriors we are.”
Seth turned around. Chiến nodded and backed away from him. He was five inches shorter than Seth. His hair had turned to grey, but his body was fit and powerful. Seth had no doubt that, when this man wanted to kill him, he would be dead. A noise came from the bathroom.
“I made tea while I waited,” he said. “Will you share tea with me, chiến binh cũ?”
“Old warrior.” Seth translated the Vietnamese in his head, before giving the man a slight nod. Chiến gave him a bright smile and retreated. The man hadn’t taken Seth’s cellphone, nor had he kept Seth from the hotel phone. Seth glanced at the wall. The hotel phone was still plugged in. Seth fingered the cellphone in his pocket.
“I brought some banh tieu,” Chiến said from the bathroom. “Vietnamese Donuts. You’ll like them.”
He came out of the bathroom holding a teapot and two cups. He set them down on the little table near the sofa. Seth moved to the table to check the tea. He was unable to distinguish by smell if the tea had been drugged in any way.
“It’s not drugged or fouled,” Chiến said. “Surely Magic O’Malley knows that I could have killed you at any point in our long relationship.”
“But not sliced me up to your sick satisfaction,” Seth said.
“Yes,” Chiến said.
Chiến gestured to a seat at the table and then sat down himself. He poured the tea into two small cups and looked up. Chiến gestured again for Seth to sit down, which he did.
“I have gone to much trouble to arrange our visit,” Chiến said. He took the golden globes of gloriously fried dough, quaintly called “donuts,” out of a bag.
“Why?”
“I took my wife to your concert last week,” Chiến said. “I was sitting there in the dark of Royal Albert Hall, and I thought, ‘Any man who can make this glorious music will be able to listen to what I have to say.’”
“Listen, sure,” Seth said. “No guarantees what happens next.”
“Fair enough,” Chiến said. “Donut?”
Seth took one but waited for the man to take a bite before he did.
“Wow,” Seth said.
“Now, I knew you’d say that,” Chiến smiled. “See—we could be friends.”
“Over the years, I’ve resisted the urge to make friends with sadistic killers,” Seth said.
Liễu Chiến gave him a long look. He opened his mouth to speak, but Seth said it first.
“Outside of the US military, that is,” Seth said.
Chiến laughed and took a drink of his tea. Seth put the teacup to his lips. The tea smelled of jasmine, citrus, and something fabulous that he couldn’t place. He took a sip.
“Good, isn’t it?” Chiến asked. “If you asked me, O’Malley, I would leave you some. No one outside my immediate family has this blend of tea.”
“Thank you for sharing,” Seth grudgingly said.
“That was hard,” Chiến grinned at him.
Seth nodded.
“Let’s say it first, and then we can get down to business,” Chiến said.
“Say what?”
“Thank you, Seth O’Malley and Mitchell Delgado, wherever you are, for not killing me in Vietnam,” Chiến said. “I have been grateful for your generosity every time I think of it.”
Chiến smiled, and Seth nodded in acquiescence.
“Thank you, Liễu Chiến, for not killing me when you had a chance in Vietnam,” Seth said.
Chiến gave him a bow.
“You may ask your questions now,” Chiến said.
“Why are you killing people?” Seth asked.
“I’m not,” Chiến said. “I retired my warrior the day I saw you on that path. I haven’t intentionally injured a soul since that day. I’m even a vegetarian.”
Seth blinked.
“I was infected with Chiến Tránh Quỷ when I was Liễu Chiến,” he said. “The war devil made me full of rage and anger. He gave me an insatiable lust for blood. I heard you and Mitch long before we met on the path. You were singing . . .”
He hummed a few bars of music.
“‘A Melody for Amelie,’” Seth said. “We used to sing it in the tunnels.”
“I learned that when you were on the Today Show a few years ago,” Chiến said. “At that time, it was the sound of my enemy singing in the forest. I saw you on the path. You looked like children covered in mud and blood. Easy kill. I moved to kill you, but my weapon jammed. I had my hand on my knife when you smiled at me and said, ‘Mỗi buổi sang.’”
“Good morning,” Seth said. “I did?”
“I don’t think you meant to,” Chiến said. “I think it just came out when I was close. My hand didn’t move to slice your throats. At the edge of the clearing, Chiến Tránh Quỷ slipped away. The devil let me go. Right there in that clearing, the devil let go of me.”
Chiến smiled.
“I felt peace for the first time . . . my entire life,” Chiến said. “Chiến Tránh Quỷ had a hold on me every moment of every day, all of my life. ‘You were born possessed by Chiến Tránh Quỷ,’ my mother used to say. I was mad with the French. Enraged with the Americans. Furious with the whole world. Then I see you and Delgado, and poof. Chiến Tránh Quỷ let go, and I was free.”
“Did you slice up another platoon to celebrate?”
“No, the devil was gone,” Chiến said. “I went to the Buddhists and gave them my life. I thought I’d never see another American, but life had other plans for me. Some years later, I was translating for my elders. American businessmen wanted to make deals. The businessmen brought me back to America with them, and I moved to Arizona to teach school. The rest, I’m sure you know.”
“Why did you start cutting again?” Seth asked.
“I didn’t,” Chiến said. “Never again. Chiến Tránh Quỷ infected someone else.”
“There were scores of mutilations after that day,” Seth said.
“I was not the only one infected with Chiến Tránh Quỷ,” Chiến said.
“Why should I believe you?” Seth asked.
“Because you know the truth when you hear it,” Chiến said. “It’s part of your magic.”
“You want me to believe that you didn’t kill the platoon of Rangers,” Seth said.
“No,” Chiến said. “I killed those soldiers and many, many others like them before that day. I didn’t kill those people in the desert or O’Shaughnessy or Lopez or Cavetti, or threaten Martha Jessep. And I’ve never been to Maine. I’d like to go someday, but it seems cold. Frankly, I’m not fond of the cold. I did not force Eliot to retire. It wasn’t me.”
“Then, who?” Seth asked.