Saigon (64 page)

A ripple of astonishment greeted the mention of Colonel Tung’s name; the Special Forces, financed and trained directly by the United States, had been withdrawn from the war against the Viet Cong six months earlier by an increasingly jittery President Diem; since then the elite troops had been deployed purely as a presidential bodyguard, and the news that their own commander was already in the hands of the coup leaders seemed to seal the fate of the president and his brother. Before the commotion among the staff officers died away, Minh held up his hand and pointed towards the silently spinning spools of the tape recorder. 

“Now all of you here are to be offered the opportunity to declare your support publicly for our cause. I want every officer present to step up to this microphone, announce his name, rank and command and pledge his loyalty in his own words, We shall begin broadcasting this recording over the captured radio networks later this afternoon.” He stopped speaking and his round face broke into a smile. “Who will be first?” 

Without hesitation General Tran Van Don, chairman of the Joint General Staff, came forward and spoke his name into the microphone. “I swear to dedicate myself to the overthrow of the corrupt Diem regime,” he said slowly, “and pledge my most loyal support to the Military Council headed by Major General Duong Van Minh He turned and sat down as quickly as he had risen, and one by one the other tense-faced generals, brigadiers and colonels stepped up onto the platform and made similar declarations. Guy Sherman jotted down each name carefully in his notebook, and after they had finished he hurried from the room to the secure telephone that had been set up in the adjoining office; when the acting chief of the Saigon CIA station came on the line again, Guy read him the complete list of names. Half an hour later radio sets all over the capital began broadcasting this same dramatic roll call, which for better or for worse publicly committed the majority of South Vietnam’s senior military officers to the overthrow of their government; a long monotonous tally of individual voices that were clearly recognizable to the listening Vietnamese population, it was broadcast over and over again, sounding through the embattled city like a mournful dirge composed specially in preparation for the passing of Ngo Dinh Diem’s regime. 

in his ornately furnished office on the second floor of the Gia Long Palace, Ngo Dinh Nhu, Supreme Counselor and brother to President Diem, smiled patiently as he listened to the excited jabbering of a Vietnamese voice coming through the earpiece of his telephone. Leaning back in his chair he put his feet up on his black lacquer desk and blew a fine stream of cigarette smoke towards the ceiling. 

“Yes, yes, of course I understand clearly, my dear captain,” he rasped, his smile broadening. “Armored cars and men of the Marine Corps are surrounding your police station — that’s quite natural. They’re doing that because I planned that they should. Try to calm down and don’t worry. Pretend you’re surprised when they come in and just let them take over.” 

Nhu dropped the telephone back onto its cradle, still smiling, and flicked a tiny speck of ash from one leg of his immaculately creased black trousers. For a moment he sat listening to the intermittent sound of gunfire coming from outside the palace windows, then he opened the tortoiseshell box on his desk and lit a fresh cigarette from the glowing stub of the old one. As he did so the door of the office burst open and the short, rotund figure of President Diem appeared; he was dressed in one of his favorite suits of dark blue sharkskin. but the comic eccentricity of his rolling gait was exaggerated by his haste, and his brother’s brittle smile returned as he watched him waddle across the broad expanse of carpet dotted with stuffed hunting trophies. But Diem did not return the smile; he was panting for breath when he stopped in front of the wide desk, and his chubby face was perspiring freely in his anxiety. 

“What exactly is going on out there, Nhu? What have you done this time? Please explain yourself.” 

“Nothing’s changed since we spoke on the telephone fifteen minutes ago,” replied Nhu with an amused shrug. “There was no need to upset yourself and come rushing downstairs like this. You’ve said often enough you don’t wish to concern yourself with what methods 1 use to achieve our ends. Everything happening out there in the street is part of my plan.” 

The roar of one of the palace tanks firing rattled the window frames suddenly, and Diem turned and peered anxiously into the ornamental gardens through each of the windows in turn. The dark outlines of rebel tanks and armored cars squatting in the shade of the boulevard trees were distantly visible through the palace railings, and as the president watched, a slow-moving Air Force C-47 lumbered across the distant rooftops, showering leaflets into the streets. 

“If this really is part of some harebrained scheme of yours, I don’t approve of it,” said Diem turning angrily on his brother once more. “Where precisely is it leading?” 

“To the defeat of all our enemies at one fell swoop!” Nhu flourished his cigarette in a theatrical fashion as if to indicate he found explaining his ingenious maneuvers tiresome. “Because it was obvious some kind of coup would be mounted against us sooner or later, I decided to get in first — that’s all there is to it.” 

Diem stared at his inanely grinning brother. “What do you mean ‘get in first’?” 

“With our own ‘coup’ of course.” Nhu laughed abruptly. “It even has a code name — Bravo Two. At the end of it the likes of ‘Fat Boy’ Minh and the treacherous Tran Van Don will find themselves shackled in irons.” 

Diem drew a long breath, fighting to control his anger. “Those tanks out there with their gun barrels pointing at us look very real to me.” 

“Of course they do, my dear brother, of course they do. That’s the whole point. It’s got to look like a real coup against us. Those troops out there are from General Dinh’s Fifth Division. I ordered him to move four battalions against the palace to make it. look as if they are genuinely trying to overthrow us. I even ordered four of our Special Forces battalions out of Saigon to make it look more convincing 

Diem’s face turned pale. “You’ve sent four battalions of the Presidential Guard out of the city? That means we have only one battalion protecting the palace!” 

“Please relax,” said Nhu in a chiding voice. “General Dinh is awaiting my orders to drive off the attackers with other units of the Fifth Division. But we’ve got to let them appear to succeed for a time — then you and I will reemerge victorious from the beleaguered palace. If we’re seen by the world to put down a rebellion and identify Minh and Tran Van Don as the chief culprits, our position will be strengthened and our enemies will be in disarray, don’t you see?” 

Diem’s anxious expression relaxed slightly. “But how do you know that General Dinh can be trusted to come to our rescue?” 

“You know as well as I how conceited and ambitious the military governor of Saigon is. I promised him promotion and a post in the government as a reward — he’ll do anything I say. 

Diem took a folded white handkerchief from his breast pocket and mopped his brow distractedly. 

“You should have learned by now to trust me,” continued Nhu reproachfully. “I got us out of trouble when they dive-bombed Doc Lap Palace in ‘fifty-nine, didn’t I? And didn’t I find a way of blocking the paratroopers’ coup a year later? Each new attempt to unseat us, don’t you see, requires a different response a different brand of genius.” A telephone began ringing on his desk, but the grinning Nhu ignored it. “We must let them lay siege to the palace for a few hours to allow time for the attention of the country and the outside world to focus on us — then we’ll move to crush the rebellion with great speed!” 

Diem gazed dubiously into his brother’s raddled face, then turned and walked slowly back towards the door. Nhu Picked up the phone and listened without speaking; then he cupped his hand over the mouthpiece. “It’s for you,” he called to his brother. “Fat Boy Minh has something important to say that he won’t impart to me.” 

The president’s face registered his disquiet as he returned to take the telephone, and as soon as he identified himself, Big Minh launched into a prepared speech. 

“As commander in chief of all the military forces besieging the Gia Long Palace, I call on you and your brother to surrender to us,” he said in a belligerent tone. “The people of Vietnam have suffered long enough — now, under the leadership of the Joint General Staff, the armed forces have come to their rescue.” 

The president drew a sharp breath. “You are bluffing. I order you, General Minh, and all senior officers to report to the palace at once.” 

“You must surrender — or we cannot guarantee your safety,” retorted Minh coolly. “The time has passed when you can give me or anybody else orders.” 

“You will be shown no mercy when this is over, general,” said the president in an icy voice. “General Dinh and the Fifth Division are at this moment preparing to counterattack the forces around the palace. When they’ve been driven off, you and your co-conspirators will be dealt with most severely.” 

“General Dinh is here with us at the headquarters of the Joint General Staff,” said Minh’s voice smoothly. “We offered him the post of minister of the interior in a new government, and he has come over to our side. The great majority of the staff officers have also sworn a joint oath to drive you from power.” 

“You lie!” Diem’s voice rose angrily. “1 don’t believe you.” 

“Even Colonel Tung is with us — the commander of the Special Forces that protect you and your evil brother.” 

“Colonel Tung would never betray us!” 

“Perhaps not,” said Minh in a matter-of-fact voice. “But we aren’t giving him any choice. As proof that he’s here, I shall allow him to speak to you briefly—after that he will be dealt with as we see fit. Hold the line, please.” 

Diem turned an anguished face to his brother. “They say Dinh has joined them and they’ve taken Colonel Tung prisoner.” 

Nhu’s raddled features flexed suddenly into an angry grimace and he snatched the telephone receiver from his brother. “Allow me to speak to Colonel Tung,” he demanded in an imperious voice. 

A moment later the nasal tones of the widely feared Special Forces commander who’d led the raids on the Buddhist pagodas, echoed in the earpiece of the telephone. “I’m being held here against my will, supreme counselor,” he said, speaking with difficulty. “I was tricked into coming and have taken no part in the proceedings. They held a gun at my head and forced me to order all Special Forces troops at our headquarters to surrender 

“Rest assured the uprising will soon be crushed,” yelled Nhu suddenly, his voice high-pitched and hysterical. “You’ll be freed unharmed, Colonel Tung, never fear.” 

“I repeat my demand that you and your brother surrender immediately!” The voice of Big Minh cut in again, as calm and controlled as before. “And if you don’t believe the whole army is against you, I suggest you turn on your radio.” - 

The line went dead abruptly, and after staring wild-eyed at his brother for a second or two, Nhu hurried across to switch on a radio standing on a side table; he gazed unseeing at the voluptuous life-sized portrait of his wife on the wall before him as the sound of the staff officers declaring allegiance to the rebel cause filled the room. Both men listened intently for several minutes, then when General Ton That Dinh’s voice finally denounced them, Nhu switched off the set with a muffled curse. “We’d better go down to the communications center,” he said, his voice unnaturally calm again. “Once we contact My Tho, it won’t take long for the Seventh Division to enter Saigon and rout the Fat Boy’s treacherous lackeys!” 

In a corridor at the Tan Son Nhut headquarters of the Joint General Staff, Guy Sherman watched impassively as armed troops hustled Colonel Tung away from the telephone which had been used to call the Gia Long Palace. Still wearing camouflage battle dress, his hands were already manacled behind his back and his ankles were hobbled with ropes. He struggled and dragged his feet as the troops forced him along the corridor towards stairs that led down to a walled courtyard, and Guy stepped aside to let the group pass. As the Special Forces colonel drew abreast of him, his eyes met Guy’s and his narrow features twisted into a sneer. 

“I should have known you filthy American motherfuckers were behind these cowardly traitors,” he screamed in English and loosed a stream of spittle that splashed across the CIA man’s cheek before he could turn aside. One of the soldiers clubbed Tung with the butt of his M-16 and he stumbled and almost fell; half carrying him they bundled him down the stairs, and Guy moved to a window, wiping his face with a handkerchief, and saw the escort drag him into the courtyard below. There Tung stood looking dazedly around the yard, trying to watch a number of exits at once, but he didn’t notice the grim-faced ARVN captain who suddenly hurried from a corner door, drawing his revolver as he came. At the last moment the Special Forces commander turned his head and caught sight of him, but the captain placed the gun against Tung’s temple without difficulty; the instant the trigger was pulled he fell limp in the arms of his captors, and they quickly dragged his lifeless body away through an open archway. 

In the underground communications center beneath the palace the president and his brother worked frantically in their shirtsleeves for the next hour, operating the telephones and radio transmitters themselves behind bolted steel doors. They made repeated efforts to contact those provincial leaders and unit commanders who were based within reach of Saigon, but each time they found they were able to raise only low-ranking aides. After a dozen unsuccessful attempts, Ngo Dinh Nhu made contact with the headquarters of the Seventh Division at My Tho, forty miles south of Saigon, and the president stood by anxiously as his brother listened to the voice crackling into his headphones; but although Nhu screamed arid ranted, threatening and cajoling by turns, he finally broke the radio link without issuing any coherent order and slumped back listlessly in his seat. 

“What is it?” demanded Diem in frightened voice. “What’s happened there?” 

“The top commanders have been made prisoners,” he said dully. “Our enemies have withdrawn all the river-crossing craft to the Opposite bank of the Mekong — the Seventh Division’s out of action.” 

A minute later there was a flurry of knocking on the steel door, and when the president opened it, a flustered aide entered. “The rebels are surrounding the barracks of the Presidential Guard,” he gasped. “They’re moving up artillery and mortars — they obviously intend to begin a sustained bombardment soon.” 

The nervous aide’s hands shook as he handed a typewritten version of the message to the president, but Diem’s face became thoughtful as he locked the door again. “There’s only one last avenue left open to us now,” he said quietly and seated himself beside a telephone once more. Glancing at his wristwatch he noticed that it was four-thirty P.M., and taking out a small private address book, he looked up the home telephone number of the United States ambassador, Henry Cabot Lodge. As soon as he’d dialed, a Vietnamese servant answered, and both men waited tensely until the clipped American voice of the ambassador came on the line. 

“This is the president speaking,” said Diem in English, struggling to disguise the rising anxiety he felt. “Some units of the army and the air force have made a rebellion, and I want to know what is the attitude of the United States.” 

The ambassador didn’t answer immediately, but when he spoke his patrician voice was haughty and formal. “I don’t feel well enough informed to be able to tell you. I’ve heard the shooting, but I’m not acquainted with all the facts. Also it’s four- thirty AM. in Washington, and the U.S. government cannot possibly have a view.” 

“But you must have some general ideas!” The voice of the president took on an incredulous, plaintive tone. “After all, I am a chief of state. I’ve tried to do my duty and I want to do now what duty and good sense require.” He hesitated, summoning a note of pride. “I believed in duty above all.”