< previous page page_182 next page >

Page 182
He thrust his arms into an antique B-2 leather jacket. There was an Air America patch, much the worse for wear, on the jacket's left breast. Meo tribesmen, Hmong, the CIA and their illegal, immoral arming of the tribes in the mountainsAnna thought of them all instantly. She could hear her father speaking, thundering against the war in Vietnam and the innocents harmed thereby. How horrified he would be to see her here among the enemy.
"Stand by," Ave said, on his way out the door. "We'll be gone straightaway. Stay under cover."
Morgan had been mulling over their encounter of the afternoon, and he was simmering with anger. He went to a cabinet and took out a bottle of Ave's brandy. He found a chipped glass on the sink, poured brandy into it, and downed it like medicine. He said to Anna, "Forget about the casualties last night. It happens. Sometimes it happens to the good guys. You can't handle situations like that with sanctions or demonstrations."
She looked away, her face flushed. He persisted. "We're realistic. We've tried the peaceful approach and gotten clobbered for our pains, every time, everywhere. Extreme remedies are all that will do in certain circumstances." He poured another brandy. "I belong to a class of people you were raised to despise. Policemen, soldiers; garbagemen. The jobs we do disgust you and your friends. But someone has to take out the trash. Someone has to make your world safe so you can march around anywhere you please, carrying signs about the fate of the earth."
He slammed down the emptied glass, making Anna jump. "In the seventies, when I was growing up in California, I used to see your father's disciples carrying Vietcong flags, while my father was in Southeast Asia being shot at and crawling through minefields. At school I was told by the teachers that my father was a murderer."
"Your father was a Marine?"
She sounds as though she didn't realize I had a father, Mor-

 
< previous page page_182 next page >