Up Country (81 page)

I said to him, “If not me, then someone else.”

He glanced at me, and I could see that he understood that I was revealing that I wasn’t alone. This is what he suspected and was happy to have it confirmed, but not too happy about being put on a hit list.

He chose to ignore my statement and turned his attention to the coats, which held nothing of interest for him. He asked Susan, “Where are the photographs I sent you?”

She said something to him in Vietnamese, which is not usually something he wants to hear.

He replied sharply in Vietnamese, and I reminded everyone, “Speak English.”

Colonel Mang said to me in good colloquial English, “Shut your fucking mouth.”

The situation called for diplomacy, so in French, the international language of diplomacy, I said to him, “Mangez merde.”

It took him a second to realize I’d told him to eat shit. He said to me, “You may as well have your fun now, Mr. Brenner, and take this opportunity to act bravely in front of your lady. Later, neither of you will be so brave.”

I didn’t reply.

He opened his attaché case and took out a stack of photographs. He studied a few of them, then threw about six toward us and a few landed on the floor face up. They were, of course, the photographs from Pyramide Island. Colonel Mang said to Susan, “Perhaps I am confused about the issue of Western modesty. You put me in a difficult situation in regard to searching you.”

Susan said, “Don’t touch me.”

Mang looked at me. “Mr. Brenner? Can you help me?”

I said, “You should get a female to do the search in another room.”

“Why can we not all pretend we are on the beach?”

I said, “Why don’t you stop being an asshole?” I stood and felt something cold on my neck.

Colonel Mang said, “Sit.”

The gun at the back of my neck was mine if I wanted it, but I wasn’t sure if the other three guns were drawn and aimed. I sat.

It was time to play the ace. I said to Mang, “Colonel, the American Ambassador, Patrick Quinn, has invited me and Ms. Weber to a reception at his residence at 8
P.M.
The reception is in honor of the Vice President of the United States, Edward Blake, who, as you know, is in Hanoi. We need to be at that reception, which has already started.”

Colonel Mang looked at me, then at Susan. He said, “And what will you wear to the Ambassador’s reception? I see no suitable attire on your person or in these bags.”

Susan said, “Mrs. Quinn has appropriate attire for me. You shouldn’t worry about that.”

Colonel Mang looked at me. “And you, Mr. Brenner?”

“I’m just playing the guitar. And I’m late.”

He ignored that and asked, “Why would either of you be invited to such an affair?”

Susan replied, “I’m a friend of Mrs. Quinn.”

“Are you?” He looked at me. “And you, Mr. Brenner?”

“Pat Quinn and I went to school together.”

“Ah. So many famous people from that class. So, then I am keeping you both from dinner with your compatriots.”

Susan informed him, “Your Foreign Minister, Mr. Thuang, will also be there, and so will the Interior Minister, Mr. Huong, who I believe is your superior. I may or may not mention this matter to them.”

I’m not usually impressed with name dropping, but I made an exception in this case. Of course, Colonel Mang may now have a good reason not to let us out of here alive. I looked at Colonel Mang, but he was being inscrutable, and I couldn’t tell which way he was going to tip.

I said to him, “I sent a telex from Lao Cai to the embassy informing them we’d be arriving by train, checking into the Metropole, and would be at the reception at eight.”

“The post office is not open at the time the Lao Cai train leaves for Hanoi.”

Whoops.
I said, “I gave the message to the Australian lady who promised to send it. The lady who bought my motorcycle.” I’m really glad I was born Irish.

Colonel Mang lit another cigarette and thought this over. Finally, he asked me, “Will this man Blake be your next president?”

“Probably.” I added, “We have elections.”

He thought a moment, then said, “I do not like this man.”

Well, finally, we had something in common.

Mang said, “He was a soldier here during the war.”

“Yes, I know.”

“He makes too many visits here.”

I replied, “He’s a friend of Vietnam.”

“So he says.” He added, “I have heard rumors that he wishes to place American military on Vietnamese soil again.”

Neither Susan nor I responded. Colonel Mang had a lot to consider here, and I didn’t want to interrupt his thoughts with threats, or with promises to put in a good word for him at the reception.

He looked at us and said, “I am still not satisfied with any of your answers. It is my duty to protect my country.”

He didn’t sound real sure of himself, and he knew it. He glanced at his watch, which was a good sign. Yet, he still couldn’t make a decision.

He looked at me and said, “I am going to ask you some questions, Mr. Brenner, and if you answer me truthfully, I may consider releasing you and Miss Weber.”

I didn’t reply.

He asked me, “Are you here to investigate the murder of this Lieutenant Hines by an American captain in Quang Tri City in February 1968?”

“I told you I was.”

“But you indicated you were conducting this investigation on behalf of the family.”

“That’s right.”

“Are you also conducting this investigation on behalf of your government?”

“I am.”

He seemed surprised at the truthful answer. So was I, and so was Susan.
I saw a way out of this building, and the way out had to do with Edward Blake, who in a way got me here in the first place.

Colonel Mang asked me, “And Miss Weber is your professional colleague?”

I wasn’t sure about that, and I replied, “She has volunteered to assist me with the language and the travel.”

He looked at Susan, “What connection do you have to your government?”

“I slept with Bill Stanley.”

“And what else?”

“I’m a citizen and a taxpayer.”

He wasn’t bonding with Susan at all, so he turned his attention back to me and asked, “And what is your connection to your government?”

I’d once slept with a female FBI agent on a case, but I didn’t think he wanted to know about that now. I said, “I’m a retired criminal investigator for the United States Army.” I was also allowed to give him my service number, but I can’t always remember it.

He thought awhile, probably wondering what an army CID guy did. He asked me, “What is your present connection to your government?”

“A civilian employee.”

“Do you work for the Central Intelligence Agency?”

Probably, but I replied, “No, I do not. This is a criminal matter. I’m investigating a murder, not committing one.”

He missed the Beltway humor and continued, “When you spoke to Tran Van Vinh, did you discover the identity of this murderer?”

“Perhaps.”

“Why is this important after so many years?”

“Justice is important.”

“To whom? The family? The authorities?”

“To everyone.”

He drew thoughtfully on his cigarette. The man was not stupid, and neither am I, so I kept quiet. He needed to arrive at the end of this by himself.

He said to me, “So, you have returned to Vietnam after nearly thirty years to find the truth about this murder.”

“That’s right.”

“For justice.”

“For justice.”

“This murdered Lieutenant Hines must come from a wealthy and powerful family for your government to go through all this trouble.”

“It wouldn’t matter if he was rich or poor. Murder is murder. Justice is justice.”

He looked at Susan and asked her, “Where are the photographs you showed to Mr. Vinh?”

“I got rid of them.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t need them anymore.”

He said to her, “Mr. Vinh said you had two sets of photographs. One of Lieutenant Hines, the other of a captain that you suspected was the murderer.”

Susan nodded.

“Mr. Vinh was able to provide you with this photograph of Lieutenant Hines from his wallet, and these items confirm he was the man who was murdered.”

“That’s right.”

“But Mr. Vinh was not able to identify the photographs of the captain as the man he saw murder this lieutenant in Quang Tri City. Correct?”

“That’s correct.”

He asked Susan, “What is the name of this captain?”

“I don’t know.”

“How could that be? You had his photographs.”

I interrupted and said, “Those were my photographs, Colonel. Ms. Weber was just translating.”

“Ah, yes. So, I ask you, what was the name of that captain?”

“I have no idea.”

“You were not told who you were looking for?”

“No, I was not. What difference does it make to you? Do you think you would know him?”

He looked at me and said, “In fact, Mr. Vinh thought about your visit after you left, and . . .”

I could see that Colonel Mang was burning the neurons, and like me a few days ago, he had something almost in his grasp, but it kept slipping away.

I reminded him, “I’ve answered you truthfully. Now you know the purpose of my visit here. We’ve broken no laws. We need to leave.”

He was really in deep thought, and he knew instinctively that he was finally on to something. He asked me, “If you are investigating the murder of an American by an American, why did your government not request the help of my government?” He reminded me, “You pay millions for information about your missing soldiers.”

This was a really good question, and I recalled that I’d asked Karl the same thing, though within the question was the answer. It had taken me about two minutes at the Wall to answer it myself. It was taking Colonel Mang longer, so he repeated the question, as if to himself.

I replied, “As you learned from Mr. Vinh, this captain also murdered three Vietnamese civilians and stole valuables from the treasury at Quang Tri. My government thought it was best to avoid a situation where your government insisted on putting this captain on trial.”

Colonel Mang didn’t actually say, “Bullshit,” but he gave me that look that said, “Bullshit.” He said, “That answer is not satisfactory.”

“Then answer the question yourself.”

He nodded and rose to the challenge. He lit another cigarette, and I thought I heard a game show clock ticking.

Finally, he began studying the personal effects of Lieutenant William Hines. He picked up the MACV roster and looked at it. He said, “Mr. Vinh observed that a document with American names caused both of you to show some emotion.” He read the roster, then looked at me, then at Susan. He said something to her in Vietnamese, and I thought I heard the word dai-uy, captain, and definitely heard a Vietnamese-accented Blake.

Susan nodded.

Colonel Mang had the look of a man who had arrived at the truth. He was pleased with himself, but also a bit agitated, and maybe a little frightened. Like Karl, he could be looking at a general’s star, but if he used this knowledge the wrong way and took it to the wrong people in his government, he could wind up stamping visas on the Laotian border for the rest of his life. Or worse.

He looked at me and asked an astute question. “Are you going to protect this man, or expose him?”

I replied, “I was sent here to find and report the truth. I have no control over what happens to this man.”

He said to me, “You should have said you were sent here to expose him. I told you I did not like him.”

“I know what I should have said. You asked for the truth, and I gave you the truth. Do you want me to start lying again?”

He ignored that and said to us, “Give me your visas.”

This was the best news I’d heard in a while, and I gave him my visa. Susan, too, handed over her visa. He didn’t bother to ask for our passports because all three of us knew that the American embassy could issue two new passports in ten minutes, but without the Vietnamese-issued visas, we were not getting out of this country. But we
were
getting out of this building.

Colonel Mang said something to one of the goons, who left the room. He said to me, “I am going to let you and Miss Weber go to your reception.”

I wanted to congratulate him on a wise decision, but I said instead, “When may we expect to get our visas returned?”

“You do not need a visa to be re-arrested, Mr. Brenner.”

“I suppose not.”

The door opened and the goon returned with a female in uniform. She spoke to Susan in Vietnamese, and Susan let herself be subjected to a pat-down, which seemed to satisfy the requirements of a search without giving Susan too much to talk about at the Ambassador’s reception.

It was my turn, and the male goon patted me down.

All we really had on us were our wallets, and Mang examined the contents of both, then threw them on his desk. He said, “Take your wallets and leave.”

We both took our wallets and began packing our backpacks.

Mang said, “You know you are not taking any of that.”

I said, “We need the personal effects of Lieutenant Hines.”

“So do I. Leave.”

“I need my airline ticket.”

“You have no use for it.”

“We need our jackets.”

“Leave. Now.”

Susan said, “I want my film and camera.”

He looked at her, then at me and said, “Your arrogance is absolutely astounding. I give you your life, and you argue with me about what I have taken in exchange for your life.”

He had a point, and I took Susan’s arm.

He said, “Wait. There is something you can take with you to your party. Take the photographs from the floor.”

I could almost hear Susan telling him to go fuck himself, so I said quickly, “Ms. Weber already sent her set to the commercial attaché at the embassy. Thank you.”

He smiled, “And I will send this set to Ambassador and Mrs. Quinn. They should know they are hosting a whore in their house.”

Susan smiled sweetly and said, “I’ll pass on your regards to the Interior Minister.”

“Thank you. Be sure to tell him that his friend Edward Blake is a murderer and a thief.”

I shouldn’t have replied, but I said, “You should tell him yourself, Colonel. You have the evidence and you have Tran Van Vinh. But be careful. You have a tiger by the tail.”