Up Country

  So far, Mr. Uyen was safe, Slicky Boy’s greed had gotten him in trouble, and Mr. Cam was dead or missing. That left Mr. Anh, who I hoped was having a pleasant family reunion in Los Angeles.

  Mang asked me, “Where did you stop during your two-day motorcycle trip to Dien Bien Phu?”

  “We slept in the woods.”

  “Is it possible that you slept in a Montagnard village?”

  We were back to Montagnards again. I said, “I think I would have remembered.”

  He looked at me closely and said, “Two soldiers were murdered near the Laotian border on Route 214. One had a .45 caliber bullet lodged in his chest, the ammunition used in a United States Army Colt automatic pistol.” He stared at me, as if he thought I might know something about that. “You would have been in that vicinity at about that time.”

  I kept eye contact with him and replied, “I don’t know where Route 214 is, but I took Highway One to Route 6 to Dien Bien Phu. Now you tell me I was on Route 214 and you accuse me of murdering two soldiers. I can’t even respond to such an absurd accusation.”

  He kept staring at me.

  I reminded him, “As it stands now, we accompanied you voluntarily to answer some questions. A very short time from now, we will consider that we’ve been detained against our will, and you, Colonel, whose name is known to my embassy, will need to account for our absence.” Sounded good to me, but not, I think, to Colonel Mang.

  He smiled and said, “You were not listening to me, Mr. Brenner. I do not care about your embassy or your government. In fact, I welcome a confrontation.”

  “Well, Colonel, you’re about to have one.”

  “You are wasting my time.” He looked at Susan and said, “I realize I have been ignoring you.”

  “Actually, I’m ignoring you.”

  He laughed. “I think you do not like me.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Why? Because of those photographs? Or because you have a racially superior attitude toward the Vietnamese, like so many of your countrymen?”

  I said, “Hold on. This line of questioning is—”

  “I am not speaking to you, Mr. Brenner.” He added, “But if I were, I would ask you how many times you used the racial expressions gook, slope, zipperhead, and slant-eyes. How many times?”

  “Probably too many times. But not in the last twenty-five years. Get off this subject.”

  “This subject interests me.” He looked at Susan. “Why are you in my country?”

  “I like it here.”

  “I do not believe that.”

  She said to him, “I don’t care if you believe it or not, but I love the people of this country, and the culture, and the traditions.”

  He said, “You forgot to mention the money.”

  “But I don’t like your government, and, no, the government and the people are not the same.” She added, “If you were an American, I’d still find you disgusting and detestable.”

  I figured we’d be on the elevator to the basement in about three seconds, but Colonel Mang just stared off into space. Finally he said, “The problem is still the foreigners.” He added, “There are too many tourists here and too many businesspeople. Soon, there will be two less.”

  Again, I was fairly sure he was referring to us.

  Susan advised him, “Look closer to home for the cause of your problems. Start here in this building.”

  Colonel Mang said to her, “We do not need you or any foreigners to tell us how to run our own country. Those days are over, Miss Weber. My generation and my father’s generation paid in blood to liberate this country from the West. And if we need another war to get rid of the capitalists and the Westerners, then we are prepared to make the sacrifice once again.”

  Susan said, “You know that’s not true. Those days are also over.”

  Colonel Mang changed the subject back to getting Susan and me in front of a firing squad where he felt more confident. He turned his attention to me and said, “You left Hue by motorcycle early Tuesday morning and arrived in Dien Bien Phu very late on Wednesday evening where you registered at the Dien Bien Phu Motel.”

  “Correct.”

  “And on Thursday morning you visited the battlefields, and told the guide you were Canadian historians, and I believe botanists.”

  “I said Connecticut historians.”

  “What is that?”

  “Connecticut. Part of the United States.”

  He seemed a little confused, so I added, “Nutmeg State.”

  He let that go and continued, “Later that day, you both arrived by motorcycle in the village of Ban Hin, again posing as . . . historians.”

  I didn’t reply.

  “Miss Weber very specifically told a man in the village market square that you were Canadians. Why did you pose as Canadians?”

  “Some people don’t like Americans. Everyone likes Canadians.”

  “I do not like Canadians.”

  “How many Canadians do you know?”

  He saw I was getting him off the subject, and he also saw I was stalling for time. In truth, if we had any chance of getting out of here, it had to do with whether or not he intended to keep us beyond the time we might be missed. But I wondered if anyone in Washington, Saigon, or the embassy here would really be concerned at this point. Tomorrow, yes, tonight, maybe not. The Ambassador’s reception sounded like an optional attendance, and we might not be missed. Certainly I wouldn’t be missed if I was supposed to be floating in the Na River next to Mr. Vinh. I considered playing my little ace, but my instincts said Colonel Mang wasn’t ready for it.

  He asked me, “Why did you go to Ban Hin?”

  “You know why.”

  “I do. But to be quite honest, I cannot make much sense of your visit to Tran Van Vinh. So, you can explain it to me.”

  There were five names I didn’t want to hear from Colonel Mang tonight, or ever: Mr. Thuc, Mr. Cam, Mr. Anh, Mr. Uyen, and Tran Van Vinh. He’d already used three of them. As for Tran Van Vinh, loyal comrade that he was, he’d been fully cooperative with Colonel Mang, but not totally enlightening. I was more concerned about Mr. Anh and Mr. Uyen, who’d made the mistake of sticking out their necks for the Americans, just as twenty million other South Viets had done during the war. You’d think these people would learn. In any case, those two names hadn’t yet come up, but I understood Colonel Mang’s interrogation techniques by now, and I knew that he skipped around, and saved the best for last.

  He was getting impatient with my silence and asked again, “Perhaps you can explain to me the purpose of your visit to Mr. Vinh.”

  I replied, “I’m sure Mr. Vinh told you the purpose of my visit.”

  “He told me of your visit by telephone, but I have not had a chance to speak to him in person.” Colonel Mang looked at his watch and said, “He should be arriving shortly by plane, then I will discuss this with him further. In the meantime, you should tell me why you paid him a visit.”

  “All right, I will.” Sticking close to the truth, I gave Colonel Mang the same story I gave to Tran Van Vinh about the letter, the Vietnam Veterans of America, the family of Lieutenant William Hines, the apparent murder of the lieutenant by an unknown captain—no use mentioning the vice president of the United States—and that while I was in Vietnam on a nostalgia trip, I had promised I’d look into this matter for the Hines family.

  I finished my story, and I could see that Colonel Mang was deep in thought. He’d already heard this from Tran Van Vinh, and this story was sort of a curveball and didn’t fit into anything he suspected or knew. Of course, this turn of events raised more questions than it answered for Colonel Mang, and I could see he was perplexed. Next, he’d want to see the war souvenirs in Susan’s backpack. I had the feeling we’d be here a long time. Like maybe forever.

  Colonel Mang looked at Susan and asked her, “Do you agree with this story?”

  She replied, “I’m just the slut along for the ride.”

  He looked at her and in
quired, “What is a slut?”

  She replied in Vietnamese and he nodded, like this was the first thing he’d believed from either of us so far. He did say, however, “But you have this connection to Mr. Stanley that makes me suspicious.”

  She replied, “I’ve slept with half the Western men in Saigon, Colonel. You shouldn’t attach any meaning to my relationship with Bill Stanley.”

  Sometimes, as they say in my profession, naked is the best disguise. Colonel Mang seemed genuinely pleased to have his opinion of Susan confirmed by the slut herself, even though that made the Bill Stanley liaison not so incriminating.

  Also, of course, Colonel Mang was now wondering about my attachment to Susan Weber, and if he could get to me through her. In truth, I’ve been very loyal to sluts in the past, but Colonel Mang didn’t know that, so I gave Susan a glance of annoyance, and turned my body away from her.

  Colonel Mang seemed to notice, and he said to Susan, “You are no better than the prostitutes on the streets of Saigon.”

  She replied, “I don’t charge.”

  “You would be more honest if you did.”

  So, having put Susan in her place, he turned his attention back to me and said, “Tran Van Vinh describes an argument between you and Miss Weber. He said she left his house without you, then you left some minutes later. Correct?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Why?”

  “We disagreed on many things during the journey, and finally disagreed on how best to get to Hanoi.”

  He thought about that, then said, “And you both decided to take the train from Lao Cai.”

  “I guess so, if we arrived together at Long Bien Station.”

  “I knew where you were, and I knew you were going to Hanoi. You were not listed as an airline passenger, so I had the Long Bien Station watched as well as the bus terminal, and of course the Metropole Hotel and the American embassy in the event you took a car or your motorcycle to Hanoi.”

  “How did you know we were on the tour bus?”

  “Ah. The policeman who boarded the bus observed that the tour guide seemed nervous, but he did not want to cause a problem in front of your compatriots, so we waited.” Colonel Mang informed us, “You may meet the tour guide later in another part of this building.” He smiled and said, “I told you we would meet again in Hanoi.”

  “What if we had gone to Ho Chi Minh City instead?”

  He seemed happy to answer questions about how good he was at his job, and he replied, “If we were not sitting here, we would be in the same ministry in Ho Chi Minh City. Very little escapes our attention, Mr. Brenner.”

  I should have left that alone, but I said, “You have no idea what escapes your attention.”

  He smiled again. “You and Miss Weber did not escape my attention. Here you are.”

  “You make a point.” I said to him, “The Immigration Police in this country are very relentless, Colonel. We could use such Immigration Police in America.”

  He smiled again and replied, “Itinerary violations, illegal means of travel, and visa irregularities are serious matters, Mr. Brenner.”

  “They must be to mount a nationwide manhunt for me and Ms. Weber.”

  “Are we finished playing games?”

  “I hope so. Are you Section A or B?”

  He replied, “Section A. The equivalent of your Central Intelligence Agency.”

  “Well, next time I come to Vietnam, I’ll apply for my visa earlier.”

  He smiled yet again and said, “There will not be a next time.”

  “Are we finished?”

  “No. And do not ask again.”

  I would have looked at my watch, but I remembered where it was.

  So, we all sat while Susan, Mang, and the two goons smoked, and I inhaled secondhand smoke, and there wasn’t even a window to open. As if this place wasn’t unhealthy enough, there were old bloodstains on the floor, and the interrogator in the room behind me seemed to enjoy bouncing his guest off the wall, which made the light bulb sway.

  Colonel Mang let us listen to the Vietnamese squash game next door for a while, then turned to Susan and asked her, “Why did you send a telex to Mr. Tin at the Century Hotel in Hue?”

  Susan replied, “Mr. Brenner loaned his guidebook to a tour guide and asked that it be returned by Tuesday morning. It wasn’t, and I sent a telex asking if it had arrived. I’m sure you read the telex.”

  He didn’t indicate that he had and asked Susan, “And what would you have done if the book was returned to the hotel? Drive back to Hue?”

  “Of course not. I would have asked Mr. Tin to send it to us at the Metropole.”

  He looked at me and asked, “And who was this guide you gave the book to?”

  I think I’d run out of Nguyens, so I said, “I think his name was Mr. Han. A student.”

  “Why would you give him your guidebook?”

  “He asked to borrow it. Did I break another law?”

  Even Colonel Mang saw the humor in that and smiled. Usually, though, when he smiled, it wasn’t a good sign. He said to me, “I have a confession to make.”

  “Good, because I don’t.”

  He continued, “I had you followed in Hue.”

  I didn’t reply, and we all sat there awhile listening to someone being dragged screaming down the hallway. It could have been the tour guide.

  Finally Colonel Mang said, “My colleagues lost sight of you, but they did report that your movements were those of a man who thought he was being followed.”

  “What did you expect them to say? That I was sitting on a park bench, and they lost sight of me?”

  He didn’t like that and turned to Susan. “And the same for you, Miss Weber. You moved in a suspicious manner.”

  “I was shopping.”

  “Ah, yes. For your disguises.”

  “For suitable attire to travel to Dien Bien Phu.” She added, “I can tell you about my shopping in great detail if you’d like to hear about it.”

  Neither Colonel Mang nor I warmed to that subject. Also, Mang may have thought he was barking up too many trees. In fact, he wasn’t, but I felt fairly sure that Mr. Anh was safe. But with Colonel Mang, you never knew what surprises he had in store.

  He turned to me and asked, “Where is the motorcycle that you bought in Hue?”

  “I sold it to an Australian in Lao Cai.”

  “What was the name of this man?”

  “Woman. Sheila something. Blond, blue-eyed, nice smile.”

  Colonel Mang suspected I was jerking him around, but he played the game. He asked, “How much did you pay for it in Hue, and how much did you sell it for?”

  “I paid three thousand American, but I could only get five hundred from the Aussie lady in Lao Cai.” I added, “She knew we had to catch a train, and she drove a hard bargain.”

  “I see. And did you exchange any paperwork with this lady, or the person in Hue?”

  “Colonel, I haven’t seen a sales receipt in this country since I’ve been here.”

  He let that go and looked at Susan. “I have found your motorcycle keys in your apartment, but we can’t find your motorcycle. Can you help us?”

  “It was stolen.”

  “I think it is hidden.”

  Susan asked him, “Doesn’t Section A have anything better to do than look for motorcycles?”

  “In fact, Miss Weber, we do, which is why you are here.”

  “I have no idea why I’m here.”

  “You do.”

  Susan told him, “I don’t think you know, Colonel.”

  He informed her, “What I do not know, I always discover from the suspect.” He reminded both of us, “This is only a preliminary interrogation. The next interrogation is what you see and hear in these rooms. The final interrogation is in the basement. At that time, we will return to the subjects of the two policemen who were killed, and the soldiers who were killed, and other subjects, such as motorcycles, which need further explanation.”

&nb
sp; I informed Colonel Mang, “Torture is the last resort of a stupid and lazy interrogator. And the confessions are useless.”

  He looked at me as if he’d never heard this before, which he probably hadn’t. He asked me, “What do you know about interrogation?”

  “I watch a lot of police shows on television.”

  “Actually, I have been trying to find out more about you through my embassy in Washington.”

  “I don’t know anyone there.”

  “I do not like your sarcasm.”

  “No one does.”

  He returned to the subject of my past life and said, “We discovered that you retired from the American army last September, and that you held the rank of chief warrant officer.”

  “I told you that at Tan Son Nhat.”

  “But you were not clear about your job.”

  “No one in the army is clear about their job.”

  “Apparently not, considering your past performance here.”

  “We did fine here, Colonel, and you know it. Ask any of your high school classmates.”

  Colonel Mang totally lost it and started screaming in Vietnamese, pounded the desk and stood. I actually saw spittle at the corners of his mouth. I had the feeling I shouldn’t have mentioned the war.

  He ran around the desk and came at me. I stood, but before I could re-act, both goons had me in an armlock. Colonel Mang slapped me across the face, and I spun out of the grasp of the two goons, who weren’t very strong, and one of them went down. The other came at me again, and Susan stood and kicked my stool in front of his legs. He fell face down on the floor, and Mang and I squared off.

  Before I could take him apart, the two goons scampered across the floor toward a wall, pulled their pistols, and began shouting.

  Colonel Mang said something to them, then unexpectedly left the room. I guess he had to take a piss or something.

  Susan said to me, “Paul, the fucking reception.”

  One of the goons spoke sharply to Susan in Vietnamese, and she said to me, “He says sit and shut up. If we move, or talk, he’ll shoot us.”

  So, we sat with the two goons behind us, holding their pistols pointed at us. If they were closer, I’d have both pistols in five seconds, but they kept their distance.