Saigon (62 page)

Joseph stopped writing, picked up Gary’s letter and scanned it again until he came to the passage describing the death of the ARVN lieutenant. He reread it slowly with a pained expression on his face, then sat and stared blankly at the wall in front of him. After a minute or two he picked up his pen, but it hovered indecisively over the page for a long time before he finally began writing again. 

Your account of the death of the Vietnamese officer was very moving, and thinking back on similar experiences in my own life, I can guess how you must feel. Coupled with that I want to say how well I understand and sympathize with what comes through your letter between the lines as a growing fascination with Vietnam and its people. I’m choosing my words very carefully now and know how Sensitive you would be to my “interfering” again. (I’ve learned my lesson on that by the way; it goes without saying that I admire your courage in choosing the career you wanted and I’m damned impressed by the way you’re getting ahead.) But I find I can’t close this letter without a cautionary word not to let your heart run away with your head. I did, you see, and now I’m going to break another rule — one we’ve only just made — about unburdening myself and maybe I should add that my hand’s shaking a little as I write this. 

What led me to break up the family I now so dearly miss, you see, was an affaire de coeur in Vietnam when I was roughly the age you are now. I fell in love with the daughter of a mandarin. Her name was Lan — which means “orchid” —and in a rash moment I asked her to marry me. She accepted —— then changed her mind later because of her father. I managed after a struggle to put her out of my mind and later met and married your mother — but when 1 found myself in Saigon at the end of the Pacific War I met her again. 

Joseph paused and wiped the sleeve of his kimono across his brow; he found the palms of his hands were damp too and he pressed them against his sides for a moment. 

I never thought I’d be able to say this to you, Gary, and maybe I still couldn’t face to face, but I discovered then to my amazement that I had a daughter I’d never met — your half sister. Her name is Tuyet; she was eight then but she’d been brought up secretly by another Vietnamese family in harrowing circumstances. From then on somehow I could never entirely push from my mind the feeling that I’d failed that little girl very badly indeed. Maybe that accounts for what you once called that “glazed look” in my eyes — my preoccupation if you like. I hasten to add I don’t expect to make you feel less wronged by telling you this — but when [decided to part from your mother I hoped to marry Lan and offer your half sister a home too. In the event Lan died and Tuyet refused the offer I made and I’ve never seen her since. I tried to find her when I was in Saigon the last time but I had no luck. 

All this is very painful to confess to you, Gary, and of course I dolt with no pride. My reason is to try to show you how very badly I need to set the record straight between you and me. I hope I’ll get the chance sometime to get on terms with Mark too. You may have felt that the love of a father like me was never worth very much but it exists nevertheless — stronger now perhaps than ever before. So I hope you’ll accept this baring of my heart in the spirit it’s given. The effort of writing this I should say has left me feeling wrung out and I think I need a good stiff drink now — although it’s four AM. So until I hear from you again, make sure you take damned good care of yourself. 

Joseph thought for a moment before signing off, then added simply: “With love—Dad.” 

Pushing the paper away from him, he pressed his knuckles hard against his eyes, then stood up and headed for the kitchen. As he did so the girl emerged from the shadows again at the side of his desk. For a second or two she stood staring at bins with a hurt expression in her eyes, holding a framed photograph clasped against the front of the embroidered court gown; then she stepped deliberately in front of him, barring his way. “I used to think when I first started coming here, Joseph, that I was happier in this room than I’d ever been in my whole life. But now I know I was wrong to feel like that.” She turned the photograph around suddenly and held it towards him. “Is this who you think about when that strange look comes into your eyes?” 

He stared at the photograph of Tuyet for a moment in silence. 

“If it isn’t, why keep a framed picture face-down in a drawer?” 

“This is my daughter,” he said, taking the picture from her. “I last saw her nine years ago and I find it too painful to see her likeness every day now.” He walked slowly across the room to replace the photograph in the drawer, and when he turned around he found the girt standing with her head bowed. Suddenly her shoulders began to shake arid her hands flew to cover her face; but he watched her, pale-faced and impassive, from where he stood, leaning against the closed drawer, and he didn’t move until she had dressed and left the house. When the sound of her car finally died away he returned to his desk, and in the deep stillness of the night he glanced through the letter he had written to Gary; but suddenly the shaming emotionalism of the final paragraph was too painful to read, and he closed his eyes tight. He remained standing like this for a long time, then he opened his eyes again, picked tip all the pages, tore them through and let them fall piece by piece into the wastepaper basket. 

“I must know what the American government’s attitude would be if there was a change of government in Vietnam in the very near future,” said the tall, burly Vietnamese major general, addressing Guy Sherman slowly and deliberately in French. “My fellow generals and I are more aware than anybody just how rapidly the situation is deteriorating. The Strategic Hamlet program is collapsing in the delta, the government no longer has the support of the people, and unless action’s taken soon, the war will be lost to the Viet Cong.” 

Despite the seriousness of his words General Duong Van Minh’s face broke into his famous cavernous grin; all of his teeth except one in front had been ripped out by a Japanese torturer during the Second World War and he had never made any attempt to disguise the fact; his rawboned figure and his height 

he was close to six feet tall — also made him an unusually imposing figure for a Vietnamese and had earned him the nickname “Big Minh.” He was a graduate of both the French Ecole Militare and the Fort Leavenworth General Staff School in the United States, arid Guy Sherman knew that this big, affable man also responded jovially to his Vietnamese nickname “Beo,” which meant “fat boy.” 

As he looked at him, Guy wondered whether in view of his appearance the general might he grinning at the irony of their secret meeting taking place in a deserted dentist’s office in the heart of Saigon. They had entered surreptitiously by separate doors, and Guy had found Big Minh already seated in the dentist’s chair. “You understand, don’t you, general, that I’m here simply to listen to what you have to say and pass it on,” said the American guardedly. “But before I say anything at all I’d need to know a lot more about your plans. Which other generals, for instance, support you? And how exactly do you plan to ‘change’ the government of President Diem?” 

For several seconds the Vietnamese sat gazing speculatively at the CIA man, who remained standing; then he smiled wryly again. “We have three possible plans, Monsieur Sherman. First, we can assassinate his brothers Ngo Dinh Nhu and Ngo Dinh Canh simultaneously, leaving Diem alone in power. That’s the easiest to accomplish. Second, we could throw a ring of steel around Saigon with various units under our command and move in that way. Or, third, we could bring about a direct confrontation in Saigon between our forces and units loyal to the government. Under this plan we would divide the city up into pockets and clean them out one by one.” Big Minh shrugged his bull-like shoulders. “Nhu could count on perhaps five thousand troops remaining loyal to him and his brother — no more.” Still smiling, he studied Guy Sherman’s face intently as though trying to gauge his reaction. 

“If you’re waiting for me to state a preference for one of those plans,” said Guy Sherman quietly, “we shall both be here a very long time.” 

Big Minh waved a dismissive hand. “My chief concern is to get an assurance from you that the United States government will not try to thwart our plans. That will he sufficient. We do not expect or need specific active involvement from your side.” 

“But you still haven’t told me who’s with you.” 

“Major General Tran Van Don, the chairman of the Joint General Staff, Brigadier General Than Thien Khiem, the executive officer of the Joint General Staff, Major General Kim . … need I continue?” 

Guy Sherman pulled a notebook from his pocket and jotted down the names with slow deliberation before looking up at the general again. “May I ask why you speak again now of a great urgency? Why do you need to know Washington’s reaction so quickly? At the end of August we expected a definite move from you — but for five weeks nothing has happened.” 

Again Big Minh shrugged his ample body in the depths of the dentist’s chair. “There were difficulties. J, for one, was under close surveillance — some junior officers were arrested suddenly. But in these few weeks things have changed. Not only regimental commanders but even battalion and company commanders are now so angry with the regime that they are all working on coup plans of their own. Such rash plots by inexperienced officers could of course be a danger to our own plans — that’s why we must act fast now.” 

“And if your plot’s successful and both Nhu and Diem are overthrown, what then?” asked the American carefully. 

“I’ve got no political ambitions for myself,” replied Minh in a matter-of-fact tone. “Nor have any of the other staff officers. Immediately after the coup there’ll be a two-tiered government structure. I will head a Military Committee as interim president. We’ll oversee a cabinet composed mainly of civilians. My only purpose is to win the war — but to do this, a continuation of American military and economic aid at the present level is essential.” His eyes glittered and he sat up in the chair, gripping its arms tightly with both hands. “At the present rate of one and a half million dollars a day, that is, Monsieur Sherman. Now do you understand the importance of my question to you?” 

The CIA officer studied the face of the Vietnamese intently; laughter lines were etched deep into the round cheeks of the forty-seven-year-old general, but a certain coldness in his gaze gave him an air that was at once cherubic and ruthless. Big Minh, he knew, had made his reputation by crushing the private armies of the Binh Xuyen and the Hoa Han sect for President Diem soon after he took office; he was known to be brave to the point of foolhardiness, a genuinely inspirational officer, and face to face with him alone for the first time, Guy Sherman could feel how that curious mixture of geniality and harshness might bind the men under him to his command. He understood too, suddenly why President Diem, ever conscious of the threat from his subordinates, had ten months earlier appointed Minh as “Military Adviser to the President,” a meaningless desk job in the palace that had effectively separated the charismatic general from a power base of loyal regiments. 

“Since I didn’t know what you would say before I came here today you’ll appreciate I’m not authorized to give specific answers about noninterference in your plans by the United States government,” said Guy Sherman at last, choosing his words with meticulous care. “I’ll report everything you’ve said to my superiors, of course. And you can rest assured this will go right back to the White House” 

“Will it also go right back to that office filled with stuffed animal heads on the second floor of Gia Long Palace too?” Minh spoke in a deceptively mild voice, but his manner had suddenly changed and his eyes had become narrow slits of suspicion in his round face. “It’s well enough known that your CIA chief of station is a close confidant of Ngo Dinh Nhu and his ‘first lady.’” Minh paused significantly. “And other agents have been seen to visit his office frequently too. My fellow generals and myself have even wondered sometimes whether Nhu and Madame Nhu might be on the CIA payroll.” 

“Our present station chief, as you must know, has just been relieved of his post,” said Guy Sherman shortly. “He left Saigon today.” 

“But that doesn’t fully answer my question.” 

“You’re reputed to have an exceptional grasp of politics for a soldier, General Minh. Ambassador Nolting, who was a close confidant of President Diem, has recently been recalled — President Kennedy replaced him with Henry Cabot Lodge the day after the pagoda raids, remember? You surely have noticed that Ambassador Lodge has deliberately kept his distance from President Diem since his arrival. The CIA station chief you refer to who knew Ngo Dinh Nhu well was removed at Mr. Lodge’ specific request — those facts point clearly in a certain direction, don’t they?” 

“You’re still avoiding answering my question, Monsieur Sherman.” 

“Sometimes,” said the American, his face expressionless, “you just have to trust the United States.” 

Minh leaned backwards suddenly in the dentists’ chair and stared at the ceiling, his big hands flexing from time to time on its leather arms. ‘If we decide to take that risk, we shall obviously have to meet again,” he said without looking at the CIA man. “I quite understand, Monsieur Sherman, that for now you are unable to comment on behalf of your government on what I’ve said — hut what is your private opinion?” 

“I’m not paid to have private opinions, general,” said Guy flatly. “Yes, yes,” said the general, grinning broadly again. “I’m well aware of that — but nevertheless, if you were, what would your view he?” 

Guy moved closer to the chair and picked up one of the dentist’s drills; he studied the control panel for a second or two, then touched a button which set the drill in motion. Its high-pitched whine filled the office and Big Minh watched him suspiciously as the American leaned towards him. “To help you, general, I’m going to give you some highly confidential information. I’m going to read you two top-secret telegrams.” He fished in his inside pocket with his free hand and pulled out two folded sheets of paper. “The first one was sent to Washington by the ambassador here on August 29. It reads: ‘We’re launched on a course from which there is no respectable turning back — the overthrow of the Diem government. The chance of bringing off a generals’ coup depen.ds to some extent on the Vietnamese officers concerned — but we should proceed to make an all-out effort to get the generals to move promptly.’ Guy raised his head to look at Big Minh. “Is that clear enough?” 

Minh nodded slowly, then arched a skeptical eyebrow. “That might have been the stand of the United States on August 29. But since then President Diem has sent Madame Nhu abroad, his brother the archbishop of Hue has left the country — and there are signs of confusion in the White House.” 

By way of reply Guy showed the other sheet of paper to the Vietnamese general. “The second telegram bears today’s date, October 5,” he said slowly. “It was sent here to Saigon from the White House only a few hours ago. It reads: ‘The President today approved a recommendation that there should be an urgent covert effort under the broad guidance of the ambassador to identify and build contacts with a possible alternative leadership. But this effort should be totally secure and fully deniable.’” Guy switched off the dental drill and replaced it on its hook; folding the telegrams, he returned them to his pocket. “Does that give you a better idea of the attitude in Washington?” 

Minh’s smile broadened. “Thank you, Monsieur Sherman — but at our next meeting I’d appreciate it if you could give me more concrete assurances on the questions of aid and noninterference. Then perhaps we can also discuss our plans and how we intend to carry them out.” 

“I’ll report everything you’ve said in great detail,” said Guy politely, “and I’ll return with replies as soon as I can.” 

“Then I look forward to another meeting with you soon.” 

General Minh made no attempt to rise from his chair, and the American left the room quietly, unlocked a door in the passage outside with his own key, and let himself out into an alleyway leading to the central market. As he hurried into the square he heard a sudden flurry of screams, and above the heads of a small crowd he saw black smoke belching upwards. When he drew nearer, the charred head and shoulders of a man seated on the pavement became visible, and he realized another Buddhist monk, the fifth since Thich Quang Duc, was burning himself to death in the center of Saigon.