Keeper of the Secrets

By Dave Case

All Marine Staff Sergeant Moses Running Deer, (Chief), wanted was to earn a few dollars to help his Grandmother. The job sounded like a piece of cake; a forward lookout on a mountaintop outpost in Laos; working for a civilian company that had the power to get him released from the Marine Corp. The pay was excellent and the contract was for two years. What could go wrong?
Receiving a wound when the Communists overran the station; a village ruler held him for ransom. He became M.I.A, (Missing In Action). Earning the trust of the elder, Chief became their medicine-man, taking May as his Laotian wife. Amy was born; raising her kept Chief sane while waiting for America to pay the ransom that would release him. He learned of others being held like him for the big paycheck that never arrived. Those in American government preferred to wring their hands and cry about MIAs rather than open the Pandora’s Box of drug smuggling, fighting an undeclared war, and generally admitting to massive liability that could run into billions of dollars.
After her father died, Amy was selected for a United Nations scholarship in health care. Unbeknownst to her she carried a secret, one that could cost her life. Keeper of the Secrets tells the tale with action, adventure, intrigue, and romance; all the things that make the reader want to turn the page and wonder, could it be true?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dave Case
• Release date: Mar 25, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301184811

Dave Case

I learned to sail on Alamitos Bay at eight years. It wasn't until I reached age sixteen that I solo's in an airplane. My family was rich in culture, poor in money; no matter, Mother said I could be anything - do anything - I wanted. That gave a lot of confidence to a sickly kid with asthma. As a result I flew for forty-four years; everything from biplanes to the huge DC-10 that carried 350 passengers. There were revolutions in the Congo, wars in Laos, Vietnam, and Desert Storm I participated in as a pilot. Good times - bad times - it has all been the stuff of legend. Sometimes scared out of my wits; other times having more fun than the law allowed - seldom bored. Then there was the sailing. Little boats, big boats, around the bay, across the ocean with the same sense of excitement and adventure that I experienced with flying. Amazingly my China-born wife was at my side as we crossed to Tahiti in Quark, the 29' boat I built. (Something worked; we've been married forty-four years this June.) With the airlines a pilot must retire at age sixty. Since I quaified for a marine captain's license, I changed hats and began a whole new career delivering yachts up and down the Coast between Canada and Mexico. This continued for ten years until the writing bug insisted I put down some of my experiences for others to share. And that, ladies and gentlemen is how I've come to write Sailin' South, Maverick Pilot, volumes I, II, & III, and soon to be finished, my first fiction novel, Keeper of the Secrets - an MIA Laos yarn.

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Keeper of the Secrets

Dave R. Case

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Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2013 Dave Case

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

PREFACE

INTRODUCTION

CHIEF

ALTERNATE

HIPPY JOHN

MUONG LA

WASHINGTON

MUONG LA

ESCAPE

BERKELEY

CHANCE ENCOUNTERS

HUNTING SEASON

GETAWAY

OPENING THE DOOR

A RUN FOR IT

SANCTUARY

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

Thank you Maggie.

PREFACE

This is a work of fiction - an entertainment - nothing more. If you like it, I've done my job.

INTRODUCTION

Laos has come to be known as, The Secret War. Millions of dollars were spent and many lives lost fighting in a war that never existed. Parts of the Ho Chi Minh Trail wound through the country; opium was a cash crop; smuggling thrived. It was also a land of haunting mystery and beauty - a modern-day Changri La. Many a fighter went MIA, (Missing In Action), gone forever from the outside World. It was a natural backdrop for Keeper of the Secrets. Having spent most of my life traveling the World, it was easy to imagine the rest of the locales and the characters.

I do hope you enjoy the read,

Dave R. Case

CHIEF

Marine Staff Sergeant Moses Running Deer - Chief - as he was known to all arose at his normal wake-up time; zero-five-hundred hours. Ban Na (Lima Site 86 on the map the Americans used) was still in darkness. Not even the rooster had started to crow as Chief brushed his teeth. Using a plastic cup to hold the water drawn from a five-gallon bottle, he spat the foamy fluid on the dirt outside the tent. It was cold. His big, two hundred thirty-pound build gave a shiver. The air reminded him of Fall at the Sioux Reservation in South Dakota where thirty years ago, he'd come screaming into this world. He went back inside to pluck a few sparse hairs from his chin; Indians seldom needed to shave.

He purposely went over to a calendar hanging on the wall and marked off another day. Sixty-seven more and he would be airlifted off this God-forsaken outpost and back to civilization. The past twenty months seemed like forever. Lima Site 86 was a remote forward listening post perched on top of a hill attached to a tiny Laotian settlement.

It was a lonely job. He never could understand why they did not just use aerial photos to accomplish the same thing. If the Chinese were going to invade Laos, one would think there would be more sophisticated ways to gather the intelligence than putting a man on top of a hill in the middle of nowhere. Surely, the powers-that-be could have used high altitude reconnaissance aircraft to record any activity.

On the other hand if they had decided to use aircraft, they would not have recruited him and offered him far more money than he could ever earn as a Marine. He'd have a nice little nest egg when he got to the States. His Grandma would like that. She would have a girl from the tribe all picked out and ready for him to marry. Except, he was not sure he wanted to marry an Indian. Images of his mother and father, falling down drunk, flashed through his head. He blinked and forced himself to think of other things.

The part he did not like about the contract was, giving up his rank in the Corps to become a civilian, even if it was only a temporary thing. However, his was not to reason why...

Outside the tent the air was still. Patches of fog in the valley below would burn off later in the morning. It was going to be another beautiful day; except for the occasional pop - pop of small arms that drifted up from the lowlands below. He was glad he had a platoon of Lao Hmong Special Forces to guard the site. Even if they did insist on bringing along their women, children, cats, dogs and chickens.

The Hmong were hill people. The males were raised to fight - females to have babies. A girl was normally married at thirteen and by twenty had birthed half a dozen children. It was said they were farmers at one time; that must have been a long time ago Chief thought. He'd never seen them farm - only fight. Probably it was why the Customer used them in their struggle against the communist Pathet Lao. Chief wasn't worried about the PL as they'd proven to be a raggle-taggle fighting group that shot their guns in the air as much as at somebody. It was the North Vietnamese who advised the PL that concerned him. They were the dedicated fanatics; the killers. They were the ones who could hurt you.

The Customer - how in Hell had they come up with such a handle? What a funny name for the CIA, Chief thought while checking his listening equipment for any tape-recorded activity during the night. Maybe it was the pilots who flew for Air America that gave the Spooks the name. The pilots were civilians, just like him. Yeah, they probably coined it. Never mind.

Hank Brown should be dropping in with his new right-out-of-the-factory Huey helicopter this morning. Hank was an Air America pilot. An Army captain in another life. After the STOL plane fell off the minuscule runway, it was Hank's Helicopter that brought supplies and pay for the Lao troops. Chief hoped he would bring that book on chess he'd requested. The hippy had whipped him again and he wanted some more ammunition to chase his anemic ass all over the chessboard before checkmating him really good the next time he came up the mountain to visit.

That was another weird thing about this war: With fighting going on all around the place, a dope smoking California hippy, with long hair, wearing a tee shirt and Levi's could walk through the lines - or anywhere else - because he was a non-combatant. He worked for some farm-aid program.

We bomb 'em, we shoot 'em. They shoot us. We give them farm aid. They raise opium. It was all Alice-In-Wonderland. He would be glad when his sixty-seventh day arrived. The rooster started to crow. A dog barked. It was time to start the day. He put some water on to boil for coffee.

Lieutenant Vang Dong walked over carrying a steaming mug of tea. Hey, Chief, how did you sleep? Lieutenant Vang commanded the Hmong grunts after attending Special Forces training at Fort Bliss, in North Carolina. Born into one of the better families in Vientiane, he had some college and considered himself an Anglophile. His parents wanted him to migrate to France, but Vang liked the excitement. Besides, he liked the Americans more than the French.

Okay I guess, why.

Some of my guys thought they heard some noises last night. I wondered if you heard anything too? Lieutenant Vang surveyed the small, two-acre clearing. There was not much to see. A cleared helicopter pad, a dozen shacks for his troops and some of their families, some chicken coops and clotheslines.

No just the normal stuff; chickens scratching, dogs barking. I did hear what sounded like a big animal moving around. But I figured it to be an elephant or something.

Word has it the PL may be getting ready to make a big push. Would you please include in your message to Alternate that we may need some more fire power? I'm thinking maybe some BAR's and more ammunition - and grenades. We need another dozen cases of grenades. Oh, and don't forget to order a hundred Claymore mines.

What are you expecting world war three?

No, but some of the women hear things when they go gathering. I don't want to be caught as you Americans say; with my pants down.

Okay. I'll forward your request. That was another thing. The real intelligence comes from the women, the wives. They talk to the wives from the other side. They know more than I do with ten thousand dollars worth of the latest technology. What a war Chief thought as he went inside to relay Lieutenant Vang's Wish List. With luck, Hank could include some of it when he made today's delivery.

Chief did not want to be caught with his pants down either. Lima Site 86 was virtually indefensible should the PL really want to take it. What could a couple of dozen Hmongs and a Marine Staff Sergeant with an M-16 do against a couple of hundred Pathet Lao led by gung-ho North Viet Cong professionals? Claymores, grenades, and BARs, (Browning Automatic Rifles), wouldn't mean shit against a really serious invading force. The only thing Lima Site 86 had going for it was it was on the absolute top of a very steep mountain and he could always call in an air strike if things got serious.

Chief picked up his microphone and dialed in the frequency on his radio for Site Twenty; called Alternate, the CIA's super secret base in Laos. Alternate, Alternate, this is Lima Site eight-six, over.

There was a pause, then: Lima Site eight-six, this is site twenty. Good morning Chief.

"Yeah, what time is Hank expected to get here today?

Stand-by, let me check the schedule. I'll get back to you.

Rog. Chief put the mike down. He wished he had not given up smoking. There was so much time when there was nothing to do but wait.

Site eight-six, this is site twenty, over.

Twenty, this is fifteen. Go.

Yeah, Chief it looks like Hank won't be along until after lunch. He's got an up-country delivery.

Lieutenant Vang is requesting some hard rice, (weaponry), Claymores, and stuff. Will Hank be able to deliver any of it today? Over.

Sorry Chief; everything is already scheduled. Are you experiencing any bad guy problems? Over.

That's a negative; but there have been some rumors things may start to get hot shortly. Over.

We should be able to get you what you want day after to-morrow. Give me your list. Over.

Chief spelled out everything Lieutenant Vang was asking for and then threw in a request for another five hundred rounds of M-16 ammunition - just in case.

Okay, I think I've got it all. I'm not sure we can make it all with one trip. How about day after tomorrow for the Claymores and some BARs? The rest we'll deliver the next day. Over.

Sounds good to me; did you get my Fastrans message on the last twelve hours? Over. Fastrans was the high-speed transmission Chief used to relay all the information his listening devices had picked up in the last twelve hours. It was sent to Alternate, then on to Washington, where intelligence people pored over the data trying to make sense of it.

Yeah. It sounded quiet. I don't know why you want all that hardware up on the mountain. Over.

Me neither; it was Lieutenant Vang's idea and he's got his sources. Over

If you're finished, this is Site Twenty signing off. Over

Rog, have a nice day. Site Eighty-six clear.

That is it for the day, until Hank shows up, Chief thought. After detailing his quarters he walked outside with a Louis L'Amour western novel. Damn, that guy could write, Chief thought as he settled in to read for the couple of hours before lunch.

He was deeply engrossed with Shane getting ready to shoot the villain when there was a loud whump, right by his head. And something - a football - bounced off the plywood board he was leaning against surprising him. Looking up, there was the traveling hippy from California advancing toward him with a big grin on his face.

Hey, Chief! Whatcha doin'? Look what I got. Hippy John was a wiry skinny medium-built young man of twenty-one. He had long blond hair in a ponytail and friendly blue eyes. A wispy bit of a beard was sprouting around his chin. There was a big round peace symbol on the front of his dirty white tee shirt. He carried a beat-up old knapsack over his shoulder and was wearing patched Levi's and a pair of scruffy tennis shoes.

Jesus Christ! You scared the hell out of me. I was reading and you liked to knocked my head off with that foot . . . Hey, where did you get a football?

Never mind; one of the Tom Dooley types over in Chiang Mai got it in the mail; only he doesn't like football. So, through strange and devious means it found its way into my backpack. Want to play some catch? Hippy John always had strange and devious ways of accomplishing things. Next to chess, he knew Chief loved football.

There was no question the guy was eccentric; but he was nice eccentric. He was the exact opposite of everything Chief stood for and believed in. Still he was a nice guy and harmless - and he could play chess. Let's see if you can handle a football as well as you can play chess. Chief replied.

After a little back & forth catch, it wasn't long before some of the Hmong soldiers watching the two Americans playing, were invited into a loosely organized game of tag football. Chief and Hippy John each picked six soldiers for their team. Some brief instruction was given on how the game of football was played in America. It was decided that the center would just throw the ball to the quarterback, rather than hike it between his legs. (The Hmong did not like the idea of someone coming up behind them while they were bending over.) Chief and Hippy John were opposing each other as quarterbacks. Chief won the flip of the coin. Instead of a kick-off, they elected to start at mid field with Chief's team controlling the ball.

The plan was for the center to toss the ball to Chief. The two ends would run down field, and Chief would pass the ball to one of them. The rest of the players would block the charging defenders; it didn't quite work out that way.

The center threw the ball high in the air to Chief, who had to fall back to catch the pigskin. All the Hmongs came charging after the ball. There was nobody down field to catch the pass. Chief saw one of his guys over on the side. He passed to him. The soldier had a surprised look as it bounced off his chest.

Both teams charged after the loose ball.

It was outrageous! The Hmongs could not pass. They were not much at catching, but once they got the ball and understood they had to run it to the goal, they were dedicated. The two sides would pile on each other and the ball would squirt out the bottom of the pile where another player would start running for the goal. Then they'd all chase after him and pile on him. There were no ten yards and four downs. There were no downs, just pile-on and escape and pile-on and escape. The soldiers were all laughing. A few were bloody. One or two had some loose teeth.

Everybody was filthy from rolling around in the dirt when the lunch bell rang. The soldiers stopped, dusted themselves off and headed over to the makeshift chow hall/tent. Nobody bothered to wash up.

Chief and Hippy John recovered a slightly flattened football, looked at each other and shrugged. Let's wash up and I'll whip your ass in chess after lunch. Chief said.

Good idea, except after lunch I've got to be boogying. I'm supposed to be down in the valley teaching some farmers how to rotate their crops to get a better yield. Christ, all they know is slash & burn, it's really wasteful.

Rotate what crops? All they grow around here is opium. You don't need to teach them how to grow that.

Yeah; but some of them are into corn and rice and taro. I like to help them.

Over lunch Chief asked Hippy John if he had noticed anything unusual on his way up the mountain.

Yeah; a lot of the people were packing up like they were getting ready to move out. Some of them told me to tell you that they were getting ready to pay you a visit. Then they'd look at me and laugh. I didn't know whether or not to take them seriously. They are always joking you know.

Yeah.

After lunch, they returned to Chief's tent for a game. Hippy John whipped Chief two out of three. Chief you've got to plan ahead. You react to my attack. The game becomes more like a checkers game. Work up a plan that will allow you to capture my queen, without me getting yours first.

That's easy for you to say. You went to college. I'm just a Marine grunt.

Oh, bullshit; you've got a good head on your shoulders. You just need some instruction.

Yeah; I ordered a book on chess by that guy who whipped all those Russians. You know the one I mean. Anyway, Hank's supposed to deliver it with the groceries. When I get that I'll kick your dope smoking ass. They both laughed at the humor.

You probably will. I admit I use a little ganja, but none of that hard stuff. That'll fry your brains. You ever seen any of those opium dens in Vientiane?

No. I just transited through Vientiane. I didn't even have a beer there. They really got opium dens there?

The worst; old men and old women lying on filthy mats all gooned out of their minds wearing a blank stare with sweet smoke drifting out of their pipes. It was something out of a horror movie. It sent tingles up my spine when one of my fellow Aid buddies asked me if I wanted to see some real shit.

Yet you do marijuana.

That's different Chief. It is not addictive and unless you really O.D. on it, it's a nice feel-good high. You ought to try it some time.

No way; that shit's just a stepping stone...

That's bullshit all the Straights preach - first marijuana then needles in your arm. Can that happen? Yeah. Does it happen? Not very often. A little ganja is good for the soul. Hell, didn't the Indians use it in their peace pipes?

"Yeah I guess, but it was for ceremonies, not recreation,'

That's what I mean; controlled use of marijuana is good for you. Just like a beer is good for you, while a case is bad, it is the same with ganja.

I guess, but I'll stick to the beer. How's that little girl you're sparking up-country?

You mean Tuan? She's my main squeeze. I just might get serious about her when our contracts are over. She's got another year to go, teaching hygiene to the locals.

She's Thai isn't she? Is it true what they say about the Thais?

What's that?

If they like you, they'll die for you. If they don't like you, they'll slit your throat.

I don't know about that. I do know that Tuan is one in a million. She's smart. She's beautiful. She's funny. She's the best thing that ever happened to me.

She sounds like a wonderful girl - what's she see in you? Chief kidded.

Up yours; hey, you want to play two out of three for that thing you wear on the chain around your neck?

Chief fingered his good-luck-charm. No way Jose; like I told you before, the only way that's coming off my neck is if I'm dead - my grandmother gave it to me...

I know you superstitious old fart. I've heard the story before. Hey, what time is it? John looked at his watch, Oh shit, I gotta go. I want to get down the mountain before the sun sets. There's a little fox down in the valley that needs her crops rotated.

You are outrageous, John. Chief said with a chuckle as he stood up to shake hands and bid his companion goodbye. Be careful with those locals. They spook me.

Oh, they're alright - at least most of them. You take care. I worry more about you up here workin' for the Spooks. They worry me!

Bye, John.

Bye, Chief.

Hippy John threw his knapsack over his shoulder, waved to the Hmongs and started off down the mountain.

Chief checked his watch. Christ, he thought, it's half past two. Where the hell is Hank with the supplies?

.

Hank was running late.