Up Country (59 page)

Colonel Mang had probably not been lectured on the limits of police power before, so he chose his own option, which was none of the above. He said to me, “If you answer my questions truthfully, you and your companion can be on your way.”

I looked at Susan, who nodded to me. Having her along, as I’ve said, had its pluses and minuses, and right now was a minus. If I wound up in the slammer under interrogation, I could handle it. But if Mang decided to throw Susan in the clink, too, I’d have a problem.

Colonel Mang said, “Mr. Brenner? I have a few more questions for you. May I?”

I nodded.

He smiled and said to me, “Please describe for me the relationship between you and this lady.”

I saw that one coming, too, and replied, “We met for the first time in Saigon—Ho Chi Minh City—and are now traveling together.”

“Yes? To where?”

“To Hanoi.”

“Oh, yes. To Hanoi, and where are you going between Hue and Hanoi?”

“I think I told you, Colonel. Up the coast.”

“Ah, yes. You wanted to see how the people of the former North Vietnam, as you call it, live and work.”

“That is what I said.”

“And how do you propose to get to Hanoi?”

“I don’t know. Any suggestions?”

He smiled and said, “You could come with me. I have a car and driver.”

“That’s very good of you to offer, but I don’t want you to go out of your way.”

“I am going that way. My family home is near Hanoi.”

“I see. So, I suppose I’ll be seeing you again in Hanoi.”

“You can be sure of that, Mr. Brenner.”

“I’m looking forward to it. Perhaps we can meet at my embassy.”

“Perhaps not.” He took out a cigarette and lit it.

Susan took out her cigarettes and said to Colonel Mang, with a bit of sarcasm, “Would you like a cigarette?”

He ignored her, which was a big improvement over a screaming match. He learned fast.

He drew on his cigarette and said to me, “So, you are traveling along the coast to Hanoi?”

“How else can I get to Hanoi?”

“Well, one could take the long route through the hills, toward Laos, then come back to Hanoi via the Red River. It is very scenic.”

“Are there any hill people there?”

He smiled and didn’t reply.

This was too much fun for one day. It was cold and almost dark, I needed a Scotch, and I’m playing cat and mouse with Sherlock Holmes’s evil East Asian twin, standing in a place where a murder had been committed while soldiers and civilians died by the thousands all around the murder scene.
That
was why I was here, and this guy is trying to pin a capital offense on me. I couldn’t wait to see Karl and have a good laugh over this.

Colonel Mang returned to the subject of my love life and said to me, “So, you and Miss Weber are traveling as friends. Correct?”

I replied, “As you already know, we share the same bed.”

He put on an expression of mock surprise. This guy needed an acting coach. He said, “But you had separate rooms in Nha Trang and now Hue. And you share the same bed. What an extravagance.”

I replied, “Americans are extravagant in their attempts at propriety and good taste.”

“In fact, you indulge yourselves in whatever you like or want, then attempt to pretend you are simple, virtuous people. I believe the word in English is hypocrisy. Correct?”

“That’s a very good observation, Colonel. Now can I tell you about the Vietnamese? They are the only people I’ve ever met who worship the American dollar more than the Americans.”

“You are insulting me and my country, Mr. Brenner.”

“You have insulted me and my country, Colonel Mang.”

He drew on his cigarette and said, “Perhaps we should get back to our business.” He looked at Susan and said something to her in Vietnamese. She didn’t look happy with the question and replied curtly.

I said, “This conversation will be conducted in English.”

Susan said to me, “He asked me if American women make a habit of sleeping with men they’ve just met. I told him it was an insulting question.”

I said to Colonel Mang, “Do Vietnamese officers make a habit of insulting women?”

He said to me, but not to Susan, “I am trying to determine the true nature of your relationship.”

“Why? It’s not your business.”

“I think it is. You are aware, of course, that your friend here has been sleeping with the CIA station chief in Ho Chi Minh City.”

I took a deep breath and replied, “I am aware she had a boyfriend.”

“Yes? And you know this boyfriend. You told me so yourself. Mr. Bill Stanley. The CIA station chief for all of the south of Vietnam.”

Of all the names for me to pick when I was telling Mang who booked my train reservations to Nha Trang, I pick the fucking CIA guy. But that’s what happens when the bozos in Washington decide you have no need to know something you need to know.

“Mr. Brenner? Why are you sleeping with your friend’s girlfriend?”

I said, “I only know Bill Stanley as an employee of the Bank of America.”

“Yes? So, you did not know your friend was the CIA station chief ?”

“You say he is, and he’s not my friend.”

“But you said you went to university together. Princeton.”

I glanced at Susan, who looked confused. Someday, my flip remarks were going to get me into trouble; in fact, the day had arrived. I said to Colonel Mang, “How could we have been classmates when he’s at least ten years younger than me?”

“That’s what I wondered, Mr. Brenner.”

“Well, I was making a joke.”

“What is the joke?”

“It’s hard to explain. Colonel, I don’t know Bill Stanley, and he’s not my friend.”

“But he
is
a CIA agent. It is perfectly all right. The CIA knows who our intelligence man is in our embassy in Washington. One cannot hide these things. In fact, Mr. Stanley has nothing to do with the Bank of America and is a consulate officer in the Economic Development section. That is not his real job, of course, but it provides him with the diplomatic immunity he needs to carry out his other work. And yet you, Mr. Brenner, his friend, did not know this. Amazing.”

Truly amazing. And Colonel Mang was a little sharper, and more sarcastic and ironic than I’d thought.

“What am I to believe, Mr. Brenner?”

I glanced at Susan, who looked a little anxious. She could have been pissed off at me for using Bill Stanley’s name, but she was probably more pissed off about how this whole thing had been handled.

“Mr. Brenner? What am I to believe?”

I replied, “I don’t know Bill Stanley.”

“But you told me you did know him.”

“I lied.”

“Why?”

“Well, I’ll tell you why. It was Ms. Weber who arranged the train tickets to Nha Trang, but I didn’t want to use her name, so I used her boyfriend’s name. Biet?”

“No, I do not understand. Why would you do that?”

“Look, Colonel, if I knew that Bill Stanley was a CIA agent, why would I use his name in a conversation with you?”

“That is what I am trying to determine, Mr. Brenner.”

“Right. Well, the answer is, I don’t know Bill Stanley, or who he works for, and I don’t know anyone in Saigon, but I remembered his name and place of employment from something Ms. Weber said, so I gave you his name instead of hers.”

He asked, “But
why?
You have not answered that question.”

“You answer it for me.”

“How can I answer it for you? You should answer it.”

“Okay . . . I didn’t want Ms. Weber’s name to come to the attention of the police in any way, no matter how innocent the context. She lives here, and I didn’t want to compromise her business activities. You understand that.”

“Perhaps. But I do not understand your connection to Mr. Stanley.”

“There
is
no connection.”
Asshole.

“Ah, but there is. You are sleeping with his girlfriend.” He smiled.

I hated to admit it, but this guy was almost as good and as sarcastic as I was on the job. I said to him, “Answer
my
question. If I knew or believed that Bill Stanley was a CIA agent, why would I use his name? I’ll answer for you, Colonel. I didn’t know, and I still don’t know. And why should I believe you that he is a CIA agent?”

He nodded. “Why, indeed?” He looked at Susan and asked her, “Do you know that the man you were sleeping with was a CIA agent?”

She replied, “Why would he tell me?”

“This is a very annoying habit of the Americans to answer a question with a question.”

Susan asked, “Why is it annoying?”

Colonel Mang was losing his patience with Susan, who truly could be irritating. He took a step toward her, and I took a step toward him. We all stopped taking steps and stood motionless, but ready.

Finally, Colonel Mang turned back toward me, lit another cigarette without offering one to the lady, and said to me, “So, you do not know Mr. Stanley.”

“I do not.”

“But you spoke to him in front of the Catholic cathedral in Ho Chi Minh City.”

“Was that Bill Stanley?”

“You know it was, Mr. Brenner. Do not play games with me.”

“I was introduced to Bill Stanley for the first time in front of the cathedral, we spoke for about three minutes, as you know, and we have not seen each other or spoken since.”

“So you say. Why should I believe you? You lied to me about your duties during the war, you met a CIA agent on your second day in Ho Chi Minh City, you show too much interest in the hill people, you are vague about your itinerary, and you told me you were going alone to Nha Trang, but in fact you were not. You went with the girlfriend of a CIA agent. So how many other lies have you told me?”

“Two or three.”

“Yes? What lies have you told me?”

“I think I told you how well run and prosperous Vietnam looks. In fact, it is neither. The people are miserable, and everyone I’ve met in the south hates Hanoi. There are more prostitutes and pimps in Saigon than when I was here, and you’ve treated the former soldiers of the Republic of Vietnam very badly, and I know you’ve desecrated their graves and reduced the survivors to near slavery, and as a former soldier, I find this dishonorable and offensive, and so should you. The Hanoi government has no legitimacy, and is not supported by the will of the people. Now, Colonel, you have the real truth, not what you say or believe is the truth.”

Colonel Mang did not look at me. He looked off into the distance while he hyperventilated. He really had a strange look on his face, and his shoulders were heaving. I didn’t know if he was going to faint, cry, pull his gun, ask me for asylum in America, or what. I was going to suggest the lotus position, but he seemed to be getting himself under control without it.

He took a deep breath and snapped out of his trance, or whatever. He cleared his throat and continued, as though he hadn’t been on the verge of a psychotic episode. He asked me, in a matter-of-fact tone, “Mr. Brenner, the Immigration Police in Hue inform me that you took a bus from Nha Trang to Hue. Is that correct?”

Another question I didn’t want to hear. I replied, “That’s correct.”

He mulled that over a moment, then said, “And you left Nha Trang in the early afternoon and arrived in Hue that evening, before midnight. Correct?”

“That’s about right.”

“I see.” He pretended to be digesting this information, and a look of perplexity, almost worry, passed across his face, as if something was
bothering him. I knew that look because most interrogators use it. Colonel Mang said, “The officer at the Hue Immigration police station said you told him you traveled alone. Is that correct?”

I realized that if these questions had been asked of Susan and me separately, we might have different answers. I replied, “I never said I traveled alone. In fact, he didn’t ask me. But probably you asked him, and so like subordinates everywhere, he fabricated an answer for you.”

He thought about that, then said, “I suppose, then, I must ask him again.” He said to me, “So you and Miss Weber traveled together.”

“Correct.”

“By bus.”

“Correct.”

“And where did you stay when you arrived in Hue?”

“A mini-motel.”

“Ah, yes. That was what I was told.” He smiled and said to me, “The police officer was under the impression you spent the night with a prostitute.” He looked at Susan, then back at me and said, “But he must have mistaken your description of your traveling companion.”

I said, “The policeman in Hue, like Mr. Loc, needs to understand English better if they’re going to question or eavesdrop on English-speaking people. Don’t you agree?”

He probably did, but he said to me, “My English, I hope, is to your satisfaction. I understand English quite well, but I do not understand your answers.”

“I understand them.”

Colonel Mang smiled and said, “Let me ask you a simple question— what was the name of the mini-motel where you and Miss Weber spent the night?”

“I don’t know. Do they have names?”

“They are usually named by their street address. Does that help you?”

“No.”

He looked at Susan. “Can you recall the name of this motel?”

“No.”

He kept looking at her and said, “I am rather surprised, Miss Weber, that you, who have been in Vietnam for three years, would go to such a place.”

She replied, “Colonel, when you’re tired, you sleep anywhere.”

“Is that so?” He turned back to me and asked, “And did you go to the
Century Riverside when you arrived in Hue to see if there was a room available for you?”

“No.”

“And why not? You would have discovered, as I did, that there were rooms available.”

I replied, “I’m on a budget. The mini-motel was very cheap.”

He wasn’t buying that at all, and I don’t blame him. He said, “Mr. Brenner, you say you arrived in Hue Friday evening, and you never bothered to see if your hotel, or any other Western hotel, or even a guest house, had a room available for you and your traveling companion. Instead, you say you went from Hue bus station to a mini-motel frequented almost exclusively by prostitutes and their men, and you took a room there, but you do not remember the hotel. Then at 12:35
P.M.
the next day, you register at the Century Riverside Hotel, alone, then approximately twenty minutes later, Miss Weber arrives and requests a room. Then, at some point, you meet in the lounge, and after a while, you retire to your rooms—or Mr. Brenner’s room. Am I understanding this correctly?”