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Back The Preserve
Chapters (56)
  1. Front Cover
  2. Half-Title Page
  3. Title Page
  4. Copyright Page
  5. AUTHOR’S NOTE
  6. 1.
  7. 2.
  8. 3.
  9. 4.
  10. 5.
  11. 6.
  12. 7.
  13. 8.
  14. 9.
  15. 10.
  16. 11.
  17. 12.
  18. 13.
  19. 14.
  20. 15.
  21. 16.
  22. 17.
  23. 18.
  24. 19.
  25. 20.
  26. 21.
  27. 22.
  28. 23.
  29. 24.
  30. 25.
  31. 26.
  32. 27.
  33. 28.
  34. 29.
  35. 30.
  36. 31.
  37. 32.
  38. 33.
  39. 34.
  40. 35.
  41. 36.
  42. 37.
  43. 38.
  44. 39.
  45. 40.
  46. 41.
  47. 42.
  48. 43.
  49. 44.
  50. 45.
  51. 46.
  52. 47.
  53. 48.
  54. EPILOGUE
  55. AFTERWORD
  56. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

“Indeed. Deeper, anyway. Some of it’s surely out of DC. And Lansdale knows just the right angle. It’s the American Way: enterprise, capitalism wrapped in the flag, all that business.” Selfer spoke rapidly, gasping words, flinging his arms around in the darkness. “Now Lansdale’s spewing this and that about America’s great mission to reform Asia, all richly frosted with his hokey homilies. I’m sure he was a big hit in his secret meetings back home. They don’t know from Asia. Only Lansdale knows. Lansdale! He can do whatever he wants.” He let his arms drop.

“People get secret money, people can do secret deeds,” Kanani said.

“That’s right.” Selfer snorted, then went quiet again. Eventually he said, “You know that novel It Can’t Happen Here?”

Kanani shook her head.

“Ever hear of a Marine General Smedley Butler?”

“Don’t know him, either.”

“Well, he wrote a book, a pamphlet really, titled War Is a Racket . . . You know something? Forget about it.” Selfer came over and sat next to Kanani on the edge of the bed, lit a Camel, and offered one to her.

He smoked and sneered at her. “So, how did you like my office?”

“Your office is boring.” Except for a certain mimeographed map, which she wasn’t telling him about.

“That’s because I’m just a manager. I take and give the most common of orders. That’s it.”

“You feel like you’re missing out,” Kanani said. “I know the feeling.”

Selfer held out his hands as if ready to catch something heavy. “They have their great cause now. Their crusade. It’s the war against Communism. Not just in Asia, but worldwide. Some actually believe in it. They actually believe Lansdale.”

“We don’t,” Kanani said.

Selfer stared back, holding up his cigarette between thumb and forefinger. “No. But the problem for us is, they now have Frankie Baptiste, too.”

25.

Lett returned in the middle of the night, the boat dropping him off in a snug little cove. A jeep was waiting in the dark, the headlights blinding him. Lett climbed in back. “Where are we?” was all he said.

“Place of Refuge,” the driver said and shifted and sped off, driving fast inland up the hills. Lett slumped dead tired in the backseat, his head bobbing. Then he noticed the driver, a big man.

Frankie. Francisco Baptiste. Lett hadn’t seen his tattooed hands in the dark. He wore coveralls like the men in The Preserve tunnels wore, and a holster. Lett sat up and grabbed at handles for the rest of the ride.