The Howling Cliffs Read online

  With the constant rains and water previously washing over the ground, soil could have built up over what it was Laka detected. They wouldn't leave the area till they found it. Clearing away a wider patch of top soil allowed Huxley to dig deeper in the center where Laka indicated. He worked feverishly, perspiration already dripping from his forehead. Huxley threw another shovel load onto a screened tray to be examined. Esmerelda and one of the Hmong gladly accepted it and sat on nearby rocks to examine it.

  Just as Huxley was about to scoop out another shovelful, he paused, his foot never coming down on the shovel edge. Instead he threw the shovel aside. When Sara eagerly leaned forward to see, so did everyone else. Huxley reached into the hole and brought up a tiny piece of metal. It was the end of a dog tag!

  Esmerelda asked to see it. With tears in her eyes, she picked up a tiny brush and lovingly swept away the dirt. “These fragments belonged to one of our people.” She had a way of touching things, holding things, like her valuable antiques, that told you how she felt about them. As with the gold links, everyone knew she was hoping the tag had belonged to her daughter, but gold on a military issue G.I. was implausible. The gold and the dog tag were most likely from two different people; the dog tag definitely from a service person.

  Huxley dug further, searched a wider area and called Laka back again. With a piece of one dog tag found, they might find the accompanying piece or the other tag since all soldiers wore two. Nothing more was found. The sole fragment was so badly scratched and dented, what little remained of one or two original markings that would have started on the missing end were indecipherable. The partial tag represented one GI's remains. It and the gold links were all they had to go on, but somehow, they would figure out to whom the precious remnants belonged.

  Huxley, Thanh and a couple of the other Vets continued to dig around the area while being filmed. Both dogs were brought back to again test the turned soil and give the entire area another sweep. Neither gave further reactions. After the findings were packaged and safely stowed, rest was in order.

  A reverential hush had fallen over the group as each set about handling chores. It was late in the day and the cooks needed to start the evening meal. The Yards helped with setting up tube tents and pumping up air mattresses. The thick rubber tubes prevented mattresses from being placed directly on bare ground. The tent bottoms and the mattresses would absorb the effect of the rocks and pebbles beneath.

  No other place to bed down existed unless some wished to sleep on beds of decaying leaves and twigs pungent with the musty smell of the forest floor; soft cushiony pads where snakes and other pests spent their nights.

  As Sara concentrated on making herself as useful as possible, she couldn't help wondering how much Agent Orange might remain in the soil and even in the air they breathed. In any case, most in the group would die for their purpose. Sleeping on an air mattress above tainted ground remained only a passing thought at best. For safety, all tents were placed as close together as possible.

  Through a break in the drifts of fog and clouds overhead, an almost full moon hung low in the sky. The tops of the trees rustled occasionally in the gentle wind, but not much breeze made it to the jungle floor.

  The campfire was lit. The glowing light showed just how many insects and pests floated around them daily, and evidently into the night as well. Spotters would rotate watch while others slept, in case the fire might draw any large animals, even though it was said that only a few had returned to the area. This was a testament to the fact that animals knew the ground and foliage remained contaminated. With no animals to hunt for food, and few edibles any longer growing on trees and vines, any remaining Hmong had sought refuge in distant lands.

  Around the fire, Palmer led a prayer of thankfulness for the finding of remains. Strong moonlight through the rustling branches and leaves cast flickering forest shadows across their faces. Thanh jumped up quickly and moved aside when the smoke suddenly shifted in his direction. For just a second, Sara caught a glimmer of fear in his expression when smoke enveloped him.

  Ever since Huxley saw the first piece of gold his demeanor had changed. Sara and Huxley knew each other well. She had given her heart to him and he had promised his to her. Now she sensed that he knew something about the discovery but wasn't about to speak it to anyone until he had concrete evidence. That was his way and she deeply respected him for it.

  Esmerelda leaned closer, as if to tell a secret. “Huxley told you about the key, didn't he?”

  Sara smiled warmly, remembering. “Yes, during the first trip I made to his home in Oregon. It was the key to Rockford's girlfriend's apartment in San Francisco. She gave it to him when he shipped out. It was like a symbol of coming home again. He promised her he'd always keep it taped inside his shirt pocket next to his heart.” Sara stared at the ground. “Hux believes when remains with the key are found, or even just the key, they will have found where his brother died.”

  Chapter 5

  Sara and Esmerelda sat quietly, both staring at the ground but not seeing it. Lanterns were lit as night closed in. Palmer came to sit beside Sara on a boulder near one of the lanterns during the meal. Thanh joined them. The others sat within hearing range in the small clearing.

  Esmerelda had been quiet for a long time before she spoke again. “Betty was among the first to fall, maybe the second.” That feisty woman would again speak of the tragic events of her daughter's demise. In fact, she expressly admitted needing to relive her daughter's last hours. But how many times? Maybe the repetition of it eased the pain in increments.

  No one had told Esmerelda the truth about the women prisoners and how they were repeatedly raped and sodomized. The captors had lined them up, taking a turn with each of the women at will, relieving themselves. Their jovial actions said they had enjoyed it all and bragged about it, slapping each other on the back. Every time Esmerelda talked about her daughter, Sara had to constantly remind herself not to let that bit of information slip. Knowing how much her daughter really suffered would kill Esmerelda.

  Palmer had witnessed it all. It had made him puke with dry heaves from having no food. He had said he could only turn away and try to contain his anger and tears as best he could. To show weakness or rebellion was to invite being killed. He felt utterly helpless but knew he had to stay alive to help the others any chance he found. He admitted having a lot of guilt about not trying to help the women, guilt that had stayed with him all the years since. He thought he should have died trying to save them. The thought that his death would have proved nothing was no consolation.

  Palmer had always stayed close to their group, away from the others as they mingled, possibly feeling closer to Huxley, having been through the prisoner experience with Rockford. “Maybe, Esmerelda. One GI's remains were found back there.” He thrust a thumb indicating back on the trail where that one GI's dog tags and wedding ring were found several years earlier. “Don't know how many went before I was forced out.”

  “How many were left after you?” Wise old Esmerelda could put the facts together as fast as anyone else if she were given enough information.

  “No way to know. I was hiding in the bush, barely conscious. The group was strung out with some lagging behind, like your Betty. She was in awful shape and weak.” He took a bite of food and shook his head slowly as he chewed. “We're on the right trail now though. Farther up, maybe a mile or more, was where I was forced out. After I hid, I passed out… don't know how long. When I came to, I saw the rear guards pass and Betty wasn't with them.”

  Esmerelda's expression hadn't changed as she listened. Yet, determination alone wouldn't bring her satisfaction. “I just want to take my daughter home.”

  Huxley scooted closer. “The first K9 we used back then found those first remains. With the help of canines, we're going to find everyone.”

  Dogs had become an integral part of Sara's life. She remembered the two pit bulls she and Esmerelda took turns caring for in the Sacramento River Delta. Named for
their coat colors, Choco and Latte were donated for training in forensics. Sara loved those two spirited pups and knew they had a good life. Still, she missed them terribly.

  Sara had recently purchased a second home in the Wailua Homesteads on the island of Kauai in Hawaii. Her neighbor owned a German Shepherd forensics dog.

  Ka'imi was retired from police work at a young five years of age when hip dysplasia became painfully complicated with arthritis. Ka'imi responded to shrill whistles, especially when it was time to eat. That was how Sara learned to whistle like she did earlier. Ka'imi had served the Police Department well, having a good nose in her cases. Many people wandered off hiking trails without realizing the density of overgrown areas in Hawaii. Twice Ka'imi located their remains, and later those of a kidnapped woman.

  The neighbor, Birdie Crew, wanted a watch dog at her home and decided a young retired police dog was just the ticket. A rash of frightening house break-ins had happened over the last year or so, both in the Wailua Homesteads at the higher elevation and in the Houselots down the highway near Kinipopo and the beach area. The thieves focused on taking jewelry and small electronics and had yet to be caught. Ka'imi had a lot of good years remaining, though requiring pain medication regularly.

  Birdie was known all over the Wailua Homesteads for her chatter and neighborhood gossip. She was a master gardener. That was her hobby. She was the widow of a Naval Commander and, after a life of travel, decided Kauai was about as close to heaven as she could get while still living. Sara frequently found her bent over flower beds wearing knee pads and gloves, a wide-brimmed sun hat, her face coated white with sunscreen and her clothing full of grit and grime. She was amazed how scrawny Birdie Crew could muster enough energy to manage the entire yard while keeping up with happenings in the neighborhood.

  Esmerelda gently tapped her arm. “Hey, girl, you with us?”

  Sara had drifted. “Oh, sorry. How do you think Choco and Latte might be doing in forensics?”

  “We'll have to find out.” Esmerelda showed little or no emotion while in Vietnam. She neither laughed much nor discussed feelings. She was a rock.

  “So the remains we just found—a couple pieces of a gold chain about four feet part and a piece of a dog tag—what exactly might that mean?” Sara felt sure something tore that chain apart and wondered if it could have been an animal. According to the reactions of the canines, the remains of the person who wore it were nowhere near. She could only wonder what had happened to the body.

  Sara wanted to discuss, speculate, and examine every remote possibility. That was the way she managed the cold cases she and Huxley investigated, scrutinizing any possibility no matter how vague. Yet, at times like the present, the intense degree of curiosity she developed in mid-life had to be tempered. When the others failed to speculate, she turned to Palmer. “Tell us more about what you know of these MIAs, please.”

  The vets, too, knew talking about the past was cathartic. That was why they never complained about Esmerelda talking about her daughter.

  Palmer took a sip of water and cleared his throat. He stretched out his long legs and rubbed his arthritic knees. “They took me by mistake. With little chance to talk along the trail, some of us speculated that the Viet Cong wanted the nurses for their own hospitals. Maybe.” He shrugged. “Why else would they choose the medical facility shower area and grab the medical staff? We couldn't understand their guards when they spoke.”

  “You mean they knew?” Esmerelda may not have heard that much. “They waited for the shift nurses to congregate for a shower?”

  “Something like that. One group shanghaied the men, another at the ladies' shower. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  Quiet-spoken Thanh had finished his meal and listened intently, though he, like everyone else, knew the details. “They had no need of you.”

  “The nurses were Navy. I was a Marine, just passing the area when I saw a Vietnamese civilian strike a nurse wearing bloodied scrubs and leaving surgery. I knew many Vietnamese were not on our side and he knew that I knew. They had to take me or kill me.”

  “You didn't scream out?” Esmerelda seemed appalled but leaned forward to hear more.

  “Someone hit me over the back of the head, knew I saw and took me along to keep me quiet.” He took another bite of food while the others waited. No reason for rushing existed. “I was fairly certain they intended to put the nurses to work. Why else?”

  Huxley had been sitting cross-legged but now also stretched his legs out straight and crossed his ankles. “Then you got sick?”

  “We had no food. From the way the guards argued among themselves, pointing in different directions, they were lost. They shared their water with some of us. It must have been tainted. Their stomachs may have been able to deal with it, but it was contaminated to us.”

  “So Betty and you got dysentery.”

  “Others did too. The tougher lasted longer.” Palmer looked at Huxley and shook his head slowly with the memory. “Your brother… Rocky was big and strong like you, carried me on his back for two days. Didn't care that dysentery was running down my pant legs and all over him. When I started coughing up blood, that's when the VC forced me out.”

  Groans of sympathy came from several in the group. Esmerelda leaned toward Palmer and touched his arm. “And then what?”

  Tears leaped from Palmer's eyes. He wiped them without looking away, knowing he needn't be embarrassed. “Two guys poked at Rocky with guns to make him stay up front to keep an eye on him. He was strong enough to make a break for it. He didn't get sick that I know of. He'd have been the last one left.”

  Huxley listened intently with brows pinched together, holding back emotion. “They must have had vehicles waiting somewhere. The Ho Chi Minh is clear out across some rugged terrain.

  Rockford might have been the last to survive or, perhaps, no one did since it wasn't known how far the group made it through the jungle. Anyone left might have met up with vehicles, or made it to the Ho Chi Minh Highway. So Rockford and whoever was left could have been jailed, tortured, or forced to use their expertise in the North Vietnam hospitals. Too, some might to this day be in prison camps or have died there. No way existed to know if the North Vietnamese failed to disclose all detainee locations.

  Sara felt bottled up emotionally. She had a great life to go back to. Her nondescript existence as a tour guide a few years ago in Puerto Rico had metamorphosed when she discovered an amazing ability at using a computer. Though she never flaunted it, the game sales were bringing her millions. These men had lived through hell, leaving them with broken lives. Now they lived to search and hope for closure for the missing and their families. She bowed her head and gave thanks for having met a wonderful group of friends in the Sacramento Delta, for her relationship with Huxley, and for her and Esmerelda being allowed to accompany these men on the most important missions of their lives. She wished she and her money could do more. Somehow, as in the past, a charitable way would present itself, but for now, in spite of her wealth, she felt utterly frustrated by the near-fruitless searches.

  When Sara opened her eyes and looked up again, Huxley and Palmer stood hunched together beside the Humvee examining the chain and dog tag piece in the lantern light. Both leaned in close, each taking a turn at studying the items. The fragment of a dog tag almost certainly meant the person wearing it died on the trail where it was found. The metal fragment and bits of gold in two locations had been covered with soil for a long time and just about as deep as the dog tag, as Sara suddenly remember. What could have broken the links of that chain? Even more interesting, what could have hacked the dog tag into pieces?

  She hurried to join Huxley and Palmer. “Can you make out anything?”

  Palmer pointed with a pinkie across the tag. “We make out a 3, a 4 and a 7… maybe.”

  “In this location on the tag, that would be the end of the Social Security number.” Huxley turned the piece so she could examine it. “Soon as these numbers ar
e verified, it'll tell us who died here.”

  “Look there.” Sara pointed and leaned in for a closer look in the dim light. “There's something below that. Looks like a dash.” She ran a fingertip over the edge. “The cut is sharp. This piece of metal was severed by something other than an animal's bite.”

  Esmerelda had returned to the dig area. She was on hands and knees, with a lantern by her side, scraping where the gold fragments were found. She used one of the sifters again, shaking dirt through it, surely hoping to find anything missed. It was an act of quiet desperation. Once they left the area and pushed onward, no further chance of finding anything existed at that location. Iwi lay by her side and showed no interest. Esmerelda finally patted Iwi's head and then moved to sit on a low rock nearby and tilted her face toward the moonlight.

  Chapter 6

  A shriveled white-haired woman tended her garden with the skill of a professional horticulturalist. The lines on Birdie Crew's face told a thousand stories, mostly about the price for being a sun worshipper for most of her well-traveled life. Her face resembled crepe paper pressed into place to simulate features. If she didn't open her mouth, it was difficult to tell she had lips. Yet, her toothy smile was complimented by the twinkle in her bright blue eyes. Her appearance played on the soul, and her satirical nature and antics reminded how the old face and body harbored a wealth of joy and vitality.

  Everything Sara presently knew of The Islands, its people and culture, she learned from Birdie in the two months prior to leaving for Vietnam. Birdie chatted an endless source of knowledge.

  Both Sara's and Birdie's homes backed up to the steep cliff overlooking the upper Wailua River, located on the east side of Hawaii's northern-most island of Kauai. The area was called The Rim; choice properties at the top of the rise, up Kuamo'o Road from the Wailua beach area, a subdivision known as the Wailua Homesteads.