“Same in Washington, Mr. Anh.”
“Well, but you make that a joke. Here, it is not a joke.”
“How many more years do you have here?”
“One.”
“Then what?”
“I don’t know. I may stay . . . things are changing for the better here . . .”
“I have an American friend who’s been here three years, and she can’t seem to leave.”
“Everyone has his or her own reasons for staying or for leaving. This is an interesting country, Mr. Brenner, a dynamic country in many ways, coming out of a long nightmare, filled with social and economic change. For many people, especially Americans, the transition is exciting, and offers many opportunities. An American expatriate once described Vietnam to me as being like the Wild West, a place where you leave your history behind, and where anything goes in pursuit of your fortune.”
“God help Vietnam.”
Mr. Anh smiled and added, “You could die of boredom in Japan, or Singapore, or Korea. Here, you won’t die of boredom.”
“That’s for sure.” I finished my Coke and looked at my watch.
Mr. Anh noticed and said to me, “The name of the village you seek is not Tam Ki, it is Ban Hin, in the province of Lai Chau.” He spelled it out for me and added, “It’s a difficult journey. The only air service is twice weekly from Hanoi, and you are not to go via Hanoi, according to what I have been told. In any case, the seats on the aircraft are usually booked weeks in advance. So you need to go by land. Unfortunately, there is no bus service from here, only from Hanoi. The roads, especially now with the rains, are treacherous, and you know by now that you are not allowed to rent a car yourself. You need a car and driver.”
“Maybe I’ll stay home.”
“That is your decision. But if it were me going, I would take a four-wheel drive and a good driver. The road distance from Hue to Dien Bien Phu is between nine hundred and a thousand kilometers, depending on your route.” He added, “Fortunately, the first five hundred kilometers will be on Highway One toward Hanoi. At some point south of Hanoi, you must choose a road to take you to Route 6, which will then take you northwest through the mountains to Dien Bien Phu.”
He found a map of northern Vietnam in the guidebook and pushed the book toward me. “Do you see Dien Bien Phu?”
I looked at the map and found it in the far northwestern part of the country, near Laos. I could also see Route 6, coming out of Hanoi and winding through the mountains to Dien Bien Phu. I asked, “How’s Route 6?”
“Not a good road at this time of year, or any time for that matter. The roads that lead you to Route 6 are worse.”
“Worse than New Jersey?”
He smiled and continued, “You will see on the map two or three roads leading from Highway One to Route 6 before you get to Hanoi. You must pick one, depending on weather conditions, the condition of the road, and perhaps other factors that only you can decide upon when the time comes for you to leave Highway One.” He looked at me.
I said, “I understand. Tell me what I should tell my driver about why I don’t want to go through Hanoi to get to Highway 6 to Dien Bien Phu?”
“Tell him you enjoy treacherous mountain roads in the rain.”
Not funny.
Mr. Anh said, “With luck, you can be in Dien Bien Phu in two days.”
I thought about this, and wondered what those idiots in Washington were thinking. I said, “Is it possible to hire a small plane from Hue”Phu Bai?”
“Not in this country, Mr. Brenner. Private flights are strictly forbidden.”
“How did the French get to Dien Bien Phu?”
He smiled. “They parachuted in.” He said, “There is an alternative route. You could fly from here to Vientiane, the capital of Laos, then fly to Luang Prabang in Laos, and you will be only about a hundred fifty kilometers from Dien Bien Phu. But you’ll first need a visa for Laos, and then you would have to cross the border back into Vietnam by road, and that could present a difficulty.”
“Well, thank you for the geography lesson, Professor. I’m sure I can get to Dien Bien Phu before my visa expires.”
He reiterated, “Hire a very good private driver with a good four-wheel drive. You should make it.” He added, “Do not go through Vidotour.”
“I know that.”
Mr. Anh played with his pile of broken peanut shells and said to me, “I have been told to pass on some instructions.”
I didn’t reply.
Mr. Anh said, “If you find this person you are looking for, you are to offer to buy all his war souvenirs. If he is dead, document his death, and make the same offer to his family. If he is alive, you are to photograph him, and establish his residence with maps and photographs. This person may be contacted at a later date for whatever purpose your government needs him for.”
Again, I didn’t reply.
Mr. Anh seemed a bit uncomfortable about something, and he was avoiding my eyes when he said, “Or you may wish to finalize the matter yourself, thereby saving the trouble of a further visit to this individual.”
I said to Mr. Anh, “I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”
He did, and I said to him, “I’m not quite sure I understand what that means. Do you?”
“No, I don’t, Mr. Brenner. They said you would understand.”
“Did they? What if I misunderstood and thought they meant I should kill him, when they meant something else?”
Mr. Anh did not reply to that directly but said, “After a long, bitter war, there are many grudges left to be settled.”
I didn’t think this had anything to do with an old grudge, or a payback for something that happened in the secret world of espionage or the Phoenix assassination program, or anything like that. Tran Van Vinh was a simple soldier who’d seen something he wasn’t supposed to see. But Mr. Anh assumed that it had to do with the dirty, back-alley war, which was a logical assumption; or that’s what he’d been told.
Mr. Anh concluded with, “In any case, your mission is then complete, and you are to go directly to your next destination with the items you have acquired. This message is verbatim, and I know nothing further.”
I didn’t reply.
Mr. Anh said, “You are to stay here tonight and tomorrow night, as you know, then make your way to Dien Bien Phu, and the village in question. I am to contact you at your hotel if there is a change in plans, or if I have any further information for you. I have a secure means of informing someone in Saigon that this meeting was successful, and you have the opportunity now to give me a message that I will pass on.”
I replied, “Just tell them that I understand my mission, and my duty, and that justice will be done.”
“Very well. Should I leave, or do you wish to go first?”
“I’ll go.” I took some peanuts and put them in my pocket. I said to Mr. Anh, “I’m leaving this guidebook with you. What I want you to do is to return it to my hotel on the morning I’m to depart for Dien Bien Phu, which is the same morning you are departing for Los Angeles. In that way, I’ll know you haven’t been arrested, and that my mission is not compromised. If I don’t receive the book, I reserve the right to leave the country. You can pass that on.”
He said, “I understand.”
I stood and took ten dollars out of my pocket and put it on the table. “Thank you for an interesting tour.”
He stood, and we shook hands. He said to me, “Have a safe journey, sir. Happy New Year.”
“Same to you.”
I left and made my way through the market, out onto the river walk, and I headed toward the bridge to the new city.
It was not yet four o’clock on New Year’s Day, the first day of the Year of the Ox. It might also be the last day of the year for the jackass, meaning me. How do I get myself involved in things like this? For a take-charge kind of guy, I keep falling into vats of shit: career-limiting homicide cases, dangerous assignments to hostile countries, and complicated love affairs.
&nb
sp; I got onto the pedestrian walk of the Trang Tien Bridge, and I stopped halfway. I cracked open some peanuts and dropped the shells into the river. I popped a few peanuts in my mouth and chewed.
The sky was a layer of clouds and a few raindrops fell. The air was damp and cool, and the Perfume River ran swiftly to the sea.
Well, I thought, I hadn’t misunderstood Mr. Conway at Dulles, or Mr. Anh in Hue. Washington wanted Tran Van Vinh dead, and they’d be happy if I killed him. And they didn’t even bother to give me a reason, beyond national security, which could mean anything and usually did.
The reason the geniuses didn’t tell me ahead of time why this guy needed to be whacked was because if he was already dead, then I would have information I didn’t need.
But for some reason, they seemed to think that if and when I met Mr. Tran Van Vinh, I’d know the reason, and I’d do what I had to do.
Whatever this poor bastard saw in the ruins of Quang Tri during Tet of 1968 was going to come back to haunt him, and to kill him. And that really wasn’t fair, if he had indeed survived the whole war and had grown old . . . well, about my age, which is not old, but mature.
I tried to bring all my considerable powers of deductive reasoning to this puzzle, and I was getting close to something, but it kept slipping away.
The thing that was easy to deduce was this: If what Mr. Vinh saw was going to get him killed, then what Mr. Vinh told me could also get me killed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
I sat in the cocktail lounge of the Century Riverside Hotel sipping a Scotch and soda while the little guy at the piano was playing “Strangers in the Night.”
It was ten after six, and the place was filled with Westerners chatting away while pretty cocktail waitresses in short skirts hurried around getting drink orders wrong.
I started wondering if Susan had gotten herself re-pissed and was going to stand me up. Women don’t care where they are when they’re pissed off at the guy they’re with. I’ve had women make scenes in Soviet Moscow, East Berlin, and other places where it’s not a good idea to attract attention, with no regard to their surroundings or the situation; when they’re pissed, they’re pissed.
Another possibility was that Susan had been picked up for questioning. After that little scene this morning at the police station, I wouldn’t be surprised if they decided to harass me through her. Despite our charade, they knew we were together.
A bigger anxiety, however, was the gun, and the possibility that someone had seen her burying it. But even if the cops had been alerted, they wouldn’t make a move until someone came to dig it up, which was why I intended to leave it there.
I ordered another Scotch. The three veterans were a few tables away, and they’d acquired some company in the form of three women in their mid-twenties, young enough to be their daughters. These guys may have once been officers, but they were not gentlemen; they were pigs.
The women looked and acted like Americans, but beyond that, I couldn’t tell much about them, except that they were tourists, not expats, and they liked middle-aged guys with bucks.
Anyway, it was 6:30, and I was getting a little concerned. This is why it’s better to travel alone, especially when you’re on an assignment that could get dicey. I have enough trouble watching my own ass without worrying about a civilian.
But maybe she wasn’t a civilian. This got me thinking about Mr. Anh, who, like Susan, was doing a little favor for Uncle Sam. This place was becoming the East Berlin of the post”Cold War world: shadowy people running around doing deals, doing favors, keeping their eyes and ears open. The CIA must feel re-energized now that they had a place where they could stir up the shit again.
The Americans, of course, don’t like losing, and they’d learned a good postwar lesson from the Germans and the Japanese; if you lose the war, buy the winner’s country.
Susan appeared at the door and looked around. She spotted me as I stood, and she smiled. You can always tell when someone is sincerely happy to see you by how they smile when they spot you in a crowd.
She walked over to the cocktail table, and I saw she was wearing black jeans, which I hadn’t seen before, and a white silk V-neck sweater, which I also hadn’t seen.
She gave me a big hug and kiss and said, “I knew you’d returned safely because I checked with the desk.”
“Safe and sound.”
She sat, and I sat across from her. She asked, almost excitedly, “So, how did it go? You had the rendezvous?”
“Yes. It went fine. What did you do today?”
“Shopping and sightseeing. So, who met you?”
“A Eurasian woman named Dep Throat.”
“Come on, Paul. This is exciting. Was it a guy? An American? A Viet?”
“A guy. And that is all I’m saying.”
“Do you know where you have to go next?”
I didn’t seem to be getting through to her. I said, “Yes, and that’s the end of the conversation.”
“Is it far from here?”
“What are you drinking?”
“San Miguel.”
I signaled the waitress and ordered a San Miguel beer.
Susan asked, “Where did you meet this guy? Where is Number 32? I’ll bet that refers to the map in the guidebook.”
“Did you sleep well?”
“I slept like a baby until noon. Did you go to the Immigration Police?”
“Yes.”
“Did it go all right?”
“Yes.” I added, “Actually, we had some words.”
“Good. When you’re nice to them, they think you’re up to something. When you mouth off, they figure you’re clean.”
“I know that. I was a cop.”
“I stayed away from the Citadel, as you asked, and now you have to tell me where you met this guy.”
“Obviously, I met him in the Citadel.”
“Do you think you were followed?”
“I wasn’t. I don’t know about him. Did you buy that outfit today?”
“Yes. You like it?”
“Very nice.”
“Thank you.”
Her beer came, and she poured it into a glass. We touched glasses, and she said, “Sorry about last night. You don’t need the hassle.”
“That’s okay. I did the same thing to you about Bill.”
“You did. I got rid of him.”
I didn’t reply.
I noticed the three vets again, and they were looking at Susan even though they already had three babes. What swine.
“What are you looking at?”
“Three Americans over there. Former army or marines. I saw them here yesterday and also at dinner. They’re eyeing you.”
“They’re cute.”
“They’re pigs.”
“The women seem to be having a good time.”
“They’re pigs, too.”
“I think you’re jealous.”
“No, I’m not. You’re the most beautiful woman in the room.”
“You’re so sweet.” She changed the subject back to business and asked, “So, do you know how to get to this place you’re supposed to go to?”
“I think so.”
There was a good deal of background noise in the lounge, so no one could overhear us, and the piano player was playing Tony Bennett’s “Once Upon a Time.” I decided that the time had come to get at the bottom of some things that could affect my health. I said to her, “Now, let me ask you a few questions. Look at me and keep eye contact.”
She put down her beer and sat up in her chair. She looked at me.
“Who are you working for?”
She replied, “I work for American-Asian Investment Corporation. Sometimes I do favors for the American consulate in Saigon, and the embassy in Hanoi.”
“Have you ever done favors for the resident CIA guy in Saigon or Hanoi?”
“Saigon. Just once.”
“You mean now.”
“Yes.”
“Do you get paid?”
“Expenses.”
“Did you have formal training?”
“Yes. A month at Langley.”
Which explained the trip to Washington. I asked, “Is American-Asian Investment a CIA front?”
“No. It’s a real investment company. But it is a vetted facility.”
“Anyone else at AAIC doing favors?”
“I can’t answer that.”
“What were your instructions regarding me?”
“Just meet and greet.”
“They didn’t tell you to pump me?”
“No. Why bother? Are you going to tell me anything about why you’re here?”
“No. Did they tell you to travel with me?”
“No. That was my idea.”
“Right now, Susan, are you on the job or off the job?”
“Off the job.”
“I’m believing everything you say. You understand that? If you say it, it’s the truth.”
“It is the truth.”
“Are you in love with me?”
“You know I am.” She smiled for the first time and said, “I did fake one orgasm.”
I tried not to smile and asked, “Do you know anything about my assignment that I don’t know?”
She didn’t reply.
“Tell me.”
“I can’t. I can’t lie to you, so I can’t say anything.”
“Let’s try again. What do you know about this?”
She took a sip of beer, cleared her throat, and said, “I don’t know what your purpose here is, but I think the CIA does. They certainly weren’t going to tell me. I think everyone has little pieces of this, and no one is telling anyone else what they know.”
That was probably true. I wondered if even Karl had the whole picture. I said to Susan, “Meet and greet doesn’t quite cut it.”
“Well, obviously there was more to it. I was asked to brief you about the country without it sounding like I was briefing you. More like acclimating you and making sure you were good to go.” She added, “You figured that out.”
“Okay, aside from the resident CIA guy in Saigon, did you speak to anyone from the American embassy in Hanoi?”