She laughed. “Yes, that’s right.”
“Well, Mrs. Blake, I could be the Count of Monte Cristo returning from prison. But my name is Paul Brenner, and I’ve just come from a remote village called Ban Hin, where I needed to find a man named Tran Van Vinh.” I looked at her, but she showed absolutely no sign that this meant anything to her.
She asked me, “Why did you have to find this man?”
“It goes back to the war, and I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to discuss it.”
“Oh, that sounds intriguing.”
“It was.”
“And who is that woman with you?”
“Susan Weber. My guide and interpreter. She speaks fluent Vietnamese. Lives in Saigon.”
“Oh, this is mysterious.” She smiled. “And romantic.”
“We’re just friends.”
“Well, I think you’re looking for your friend. She’s over there, near the pool.” She informed me, “No one even came close to guessing who you were. Ed thought you were a famous actor. They dress so badly. Most of us thought you’d lost a bet, or came dressed like that on a dare.”
“Actually, I did come on a dare. Good luck to your husband with the nomination.”
She smiled, nodded, and moved off to spread the news. I hope she wasn’t measuring for drapes in the White House.
I walked toward the pool where I spotted the woman I’d really been looking for all my life. She was talking to her old lover, Bill Stanley, who could possibly be pissed at me for stealing his girlfriend, though he should thank me.
They both saw me coming and stopped their conversation and stood there with their drinks as I approached. I love this shit.
I got within speaking distance and said, “Am I interrupting?”
Susan replied, “No. Paul, you remember Bill Stanley.”
I put out my hand and he took it. I asked him, “How are things at the bank?”
He didn’t reply, and he wasn’t smiling at me.
Dapper Bill was dressed in a dark blue tropical wool suit, which had undoubtedly been tailor-made for him in Saigon, with an extra short trouser rise to fit snugly against his undersized genitalia.
Susan said to me, “I was just telling Bill about our run-ins with Colonel Mang.”
Bill spoke for the first time and said, “I’ve researched this man, and you’re lucky to be alive.”
I told him, “If you’d researched me, you’d know that it’s Colonel Mang who’s lucky to be alive.”
Bill didn’t seem impressed with my macho moment.
I informed him, “Mang thinks he knows you, too. He told me you were the CIA station chief in Saigon. Can you imagine that?”
Again, Bill had nothing to say, but at least Susan was covered regarding how I knew Bill was CIA.
So, we all stood there awhile in a moment of awkward silence. I wondered if Susan felt uncomfortable standing between two men who she’d recently slept with. She looked composed, so maybe this had been addressed in a Junior League meeting. She said, “Paul, Bill tells me you’re invited to a meeting here tonight. He asked me to join you. I think this would be a good idea.”
I said to Bill, “As I just told John Eagan and as he will tell you, I’m not at liberty to discuss anything with you, the CIA, Military Intelligence, the FBI, or anyone here. This is still a CID homicide investigation, so you can’t change the rules or the players.”
He replied, “You can and you will discuss this if ordered to by your boss, or by a proper higher authority.”
I didn’t like his tone of voice, but to be nice, I said, “If and when my orders change, I’ll follow them. However, I’m a civilian, and I reserve the right to pick the time and place of my debriefing. And it’s sure not here.”
Bill Stanley looked at me and said, “It would be a good idea for you to come to this meeting since we’ll be discussing your exit from the country. You don’t have to say any more than you want to say.”
“Goes without saying.” This was a diplomatic reception, and I was trying to be diplomatic, but this is not my strong point, and I asked Bill, “What were you thinking?”
“Excuse me?”
“What were you thinking when you teamed up your girlfriend with me to go on a dangerous mission?”
He seemed to be thinking about what he was thinking. He cleared his throat and said, “Sometimes, Mr. Brenner, matters of national security take precedence over personal considerations.”
“Sometimes. And if this is one of those times, then you shouldn’t have any gripes about what happened.”
He didn’t like that and replied, “To be honest with you, this was not my idea.”
I didn’t bother to ask him whose idea it was, though I said, “You could have said no.”
He was seething, but said nothing.
I continued, “Though that wouldn’t be a good career move.”
Bill may have thought I was implying that he was an ambitious company man who would pimp his girlfriend to advance his career. He remained politely silent, however, the way people do when they’re speaking to someone with a terminal condition.
Susan thought it was time to change the subject and said, “Paul, I told Bill that we did discover the identity of the murdered lieutenant, but that we still can’t determine the identity of the murderer.”
“Did Bill believe that?”
Bill answered, “No, Bill did not believe that.”
I said to Susan, “Bill doesn’t believe that.”
Susan said, “Well, it’s the truth.” She continued, “I told Bill we’d found Tran Van Vinh, but that we’d decided not to chance carrying those things with us, so we hid everything.”
Our eyes met for a half a second, and I looked at Bill to see his reaction, but Bill was as inscrutable as Colonel Mang.
I really didn’t know if Susan had said this, because Susan says lots of things. She knew the identity of the murder suspect all along, and Bill knew that, so she was trying to protect me, which was nice, but it wasn’t going to play. I said to Bill, “Actually, it would be a good idea if the Vice President attended this midnight meeting.”
Bill looked at me a long time before informing me, “The Vice President has no interest in a murder investigation.”
“He may be interested in this one. Tell his staff that it’s in his best interest to be there.”
Bill reminded me, “You have signed various statements relating to national security and official secrets. Regardless of your present status, they are all still binding.”
“I also swore to defend the Constitution.”
He gave me a long, hard stare and said, “I’m sure you were told in Washington that if you took this assignment, your life could be in danger.”
That was usually the type of statement made before a mission, not after, so in this context, it could actually be a threat.
I said to Bill, “Could I have a word with you alone?”
Before Bill could reply, Susan said, “No.”
I said to her, “Personal only. No business.”
She informed me, “I won’t be discussed like that.”
Bill picked up the theme and said to me, “We’re all mature enough to discuss this together.”
I informed everyone, “I’m not that mature.” I moved off and motioned for Bill to join me. “Guy talk.”
Susan looked pissed, but stood where she was and lit a cigarette.
Bill and I moved out of earshot, and I said to him, “We need to talk about Susan, and . . . oh, one piece of business. If I find out, or even suspect, which I do, that I was the expendable party in this operation, and that you knew of, approved of, or planned that, then I’ll kill you. Now, let’s talk about Susan.”
He stood staring at me and said nothing.
I can do soap opera for about five minutes before I revert to my true self, and I felt I needed to do this, so I said, “On a personal level, I’m truly sorry about what happened. I admit to knowing about your involvement with Susan, and it’
s not my habit to chase other men’s wives or girlfriends.” Most of the time. “And as I’m sure you’ve been told, I’m in a committed relationship with someone at home. So I make no excuses for what happened, and you should know that Susan resisted my attentions. The mission is over, and I’m going home. I apologize again for any trouble I’ve caused between you and her, and I hope you both can put this behind you.”
I studied his face as he processed this gentlemanly, man-to-man bullshit. I actually believed some of it myself, and I really was conflicted about Susan. I was fairly sure, however, that Susan had no further interest in Bill, and maybe Bill had no further interest in Susan. But I needed to clear the air, as they say, and give Bill a chance to say his piece.
But Bill had nothing to say, so I continued to take the blame for whatever vague involvement I was admitting to. I told him, “Susan, in fact, kept the relationship platonic and businesslike until we were forced by circumstances to share a room in Dien Bien Phu.” Bill would like to believe that, and I felt I’d done my chivalrous duty toward the lady, and I was ready to get back to the subject of me killing him, and vice versa.
Bill said to me, “I’m staying at the Metropole.”
“Good choice.”
“When I checked in yesterday, there was a sealed envelope waiting for me, sender unknown.”
“Really? You shouldn’t open packages without a return address.”
“Yes, I know that. But I did. Inside the envelope were twenty photographs of you and Susan at a beach, labeled Nha Trang, Pyramide Island.” He added, “All you were wearing were your smiles.”
Whoops. I said, “Well, I remember being at the beach, and we were wearing bathing suits. Those pictures must have been digitally altered.”
“I don’t think so. What the hell possessed you two to cavort publicly in the nude when you knew you were being followed? Did they teach you anything at whatever school you went to?”
The man had a point, so I said, “I admit to a lapse of judgment.”
“And then you tell me you and she had a platonic relationship until a few days ago.”
“Well, we just went skinny-dipping. It was my idea.”
“I’m sure. Haven’t you ever heard of telescopic lenses?”
“I really don’t want a lecture from you.”
“These photographs could be used for blackmail.”
“Actually, I think the police are sending them to everyone, yourself included, to embarrass Susan. So that rules out blackmail.”
“My God . . .” He asked me, “Have you seen these photographs?”
“Actually, I have. Colonel Mang was kind enough to give us a sneak preview.”
He shook his head and seemed lost in thought. He said to me, “You may not care, but Susan comes from a good family with some social standing, and—”
“Bill, cut the Ivy League, Junior League shit, before I lose my temper. We both care about Susan. End of discussion.”
“All right . . .” He looked at me. “Susan told me she loves you. Certainly she told you that.”
“Yes, she did, but this was such an artificial situation. She should think about it.”
“How do you feel about her?”
“Conflicted.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning that I keep discovering new facets of her personality.” I think it’s called bipolar disorder, but Bill already knew that. To be honest, I’m not always sane myself, and that’s when Susan really appealed to me. But to be more loyal to Susan, I said to Bill, “She’s a remarkable woman, and I could easily fall in love with her.”
He mulled this over. My five minutes of “Days of Our Lives” was drawing to a close, so I said to him, “I think this may be Susan’s decision and not ours.”
Bill didn’t really know me at all, and he probably took everything I said at face value, despite what was in his briefing memo about me. He said to me, “I had the impression from Susan that you . . . that you felt the same way about her.”
Before I could reply, Susan joined us and said, “I think that’s enough.”
Time for a commercial break. I said, “I have to insist that nothing further is discussed about this case that I’m not privy to.”
Bill replied, “That’s absurd and outrageous.”
“Nevertheless, I insist.”
Bill snapped, “For your information, you have no say over who speaks to whom. Susan does not work for you, and neither do I.”
I asked him, “Who does Susan work for?”
“Not for you.”
Susan said, “Please, both of you—”
I interrupted, “Look, Bill, it’s time for you to take a reality check. Fate, luck, and hard work have put Edward Blake’s balls in my hand. I didn’t ask for this, and I didn’t want it. But there it is.” I held out my hand palm up and curled my fingers. “Now, I fully understand this is dangerous information, so I really need to be careful about who, what, where, when, and how it’s disseminated. Everyone will thank me later for my diligence and foresight. Including you, Bill. So, we have our choice of all three of us hanging out together until midnight, which is not my first choice, or all of us going our separate ways with no cheating, or Susan and I keeping each other company. Someone make a decision.”
Susan said to Bill, “Paul and I are going to have a drink. We’ll see you later.”
We left Bill Stanley smoking, and he didn’t even have a cigarette.
As Susan and I moved to a bar, she asked, “So, who won me?”
“We’re going to flip a coin later.” I said to her, “Regarding this meeting, I do not want you to back me up. Just stay neutral or pretend you’re voting for Edward Blake in the next election.”
“If that’s what you want.”
We got a drink, and Susan said, “I think my days as a contract employee are over.”
“Is that what you are?”
“I told you, I’m a civilian. No direct government involvement.” She thought a moment and said, “They’ll also get me fired from my day job.”
I said to her, “Look, sweetheart, there are maybe ten people in this world who know what this is about, and we’re two of them. The other eight think we have the evidence and they want it. If we had it, we could cut a deal. Also, if we’d told them there was no evidence, they might have believed us. But you told Bill we found the evidence and hid it. Now, we’re in the worst possible situation in regard to our health. Bottom line, all we have is too much knowledge and nothing to trade.”
“Well . . . that’s one way to look at it.”
“Tell me the other way so I know if I should bother to make my next car payment.”
“Well . . . tell them the truth. Colonel Mang has the evidence and the witness, and he’s put two and two together. They’ll go nuts, but that takes the pressure off us. They’ll have to deal with Mang. Best scenario, Mang blows the whistle, Blake is ruined, the CIA kills Mang, and we live happily ever after.”
“I don’t think life works like that. Look, there were two reasons to use civilians—one was plausible deniability if things went bad, the other was that they rarely whack one of their own. But if they think they have to, they’d whack us in a heartbeat.”
“They’re not that ruthless.”
“The CIA and Military Intelligence assassinated over 25,000 people here during the war.”
“No they didn’t.”
“You want to dance?”
“Sure.”
We put our drinks down and went out to the small dance floor in front of the band. They were playing another American name place song, Ray Charles’s “Georgia on My Mind,” and I pictured Edward Blake tallying electoral votes in his mind.
A lot of people were looking at us dancing, and the public affairs photographer took a picture of us, which I could see in the Washington Post captioned: “Paul Brenner and Susan Weber, Hours Before Their Disappearance.”
I caught a glimpse of Edward Blake looking at us, but he didn’t seem particularl
y disturbed. I was starting to think that he was clueless about his problem.
The band swung into “Moon Over Miami,” where there were lots of votes. I saw Bill talking to John Eagan, and they kept glancing at Susan and me as though they were trying to decide what size air shipment coffins we needed.
Susan said, “I wish we were back in Saigon dancing on the Rex roof, and that I’d told you then all I knew.”
“That would have been a long dance.”
“You know what I mean.”
I didn’t reply.
“Did you tell Bill you loved me?”
“I don’t share my feelings with other guys.”
“Okay, share them with me.”
For some reason, I remembered an old army expression: The enemy diversion you are ignoring is the main attack.
But that was being cynical and paranoid again. I said to Susan, “I do love you. And you know what? Even if you’re still deceiving me, and even if you betray me, I’ll still love you.”
She held me tighter as we danced, and I could tell she was crying. Hopefully, these were tears of joy, and not premature remorse.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
At about ten minutes to midnight, the last of the guests were leaving, the band was packing, and the bartenders were corking the Chardonnay.
Susan and I went into the ambassador’s residence and made our way through the quiet house toward the sitting room.
There were a few Secret Service guys standing around in the salon. I saw my young friend, Scott Romney, near the staircase, and he tensed up when he saw me. I said to him, “There are milk and cookies in the kitchen.”
We entered the sitting room, and Bill Stanley and John Eagan were already there. Also there was a man in an army green dress uniform whose rank was colonel, and whose nametag said Goodman. This was the Military Intelligence guy, Marc Goodman, and he would not normally have any interest in a homicide investigation. I guess it was Cam Ranh Bay that he was interested in.
He was a tall, lanky man, a few years older than me. I remembered seeing him out on the lawn. He recognized Susan from their meeting in Saigon, and they shook hands, and she introduced me.