Up Country (7 page)

“If you don’t want their cooperation now in finding this guy, why do you think they’re going to cooperate after you tell them you’ve been snooping around their little police state and found one of their citizens who you need for a murder trial?”

Doug Conway looked at me a moment and said, “Karl was right about you.”

“Karl is right about everything. Please, answer my question.”

Conway stirred his coffee a few seconds and said, “Okay, Mr. Brenner, here’s the answer to your questions, past, present, and future. The answer is, We are bullshitting you. You know that, we know that. Every time we bullshit you, you find little inconsistencies, so you ask another question. Then we give you more bullshit, and you have more questions on the new bullshit. This is really annoying and time consuming. So, I’ll tell you a few things right now that aren’t bullshit. Ready?”

I nodded.

“One, there is more to this than a thirty-year-old murder, but you know that. Two, it’s in your best interest that you don’t know what this is about. Three, it’s really very important to our country. Four, we need you because you’re good, but also because if you get in trouble, you’re not working for the government. And if you get busted over there, you don’t know anything, and that’s what you tell them because it’s true. Just stick to your story—you’re on a nostalgia trip to ’Nam. Okay? You still want to go?”

“I never wanted to go.”

“Hey, I don’t blame you. But you know you’re going, and I know you’re going. By now, you’re bored with retirement, you’ve got a deep-rooted sense of duty, and you like living on the edge. You were an infantryman once, you were decorated for bravery, then you became a military policeman, then a criminal investigator. You were never an accountant or a ladies’ hairdresser. And you’re here talking to me. Therefore, we both know that you’re not going home this morning.”

“Are we done with the psychobabble?”

“Sure. Okay, I have your tickets, Asiana Airlines to Seoul, Korea, then Vietnam Airlines to Ho Chi Minh City, known to us old guys as Saigon. You are booked at the Rex Hotel—upscale, but Saigon is cheap, so it’s affordable for Mr. Paul Brenner, retired chief warrant officer.”

Conway took a piece of paper out of the plastic bag and said to me, “This is your visa, which we secured from the Vietnamese embassy with an authorized copy of your passport that the State Department was kind enough to provide.” He handed me a sheet of cheap paper printed with red ink, and I glanced at it.

“And here is a new passport, an exact copy of yours, which you’ll give me now. On this passport is the Vietnamese embassy stamp for your entry into the country, and the other pages are clean because the Vietnamese get suspicious of people who have too many entry and exit stamps on their passports, as you do.”

He handed me my new passport, and I gave Conway my old one. I looked at the one he’d given me. I noticed that even the photo was the same as my old one, plus, an expert FBI forger had been nice enough to sign it for me. I commented, “It’s amazing that you were able to get a copy of my passport made, use it to apply to the Vietnamese embassy for a visa, and have everything ready for me less than twelve hours after I knew about this assignment.”

“It is amazing,” agreed Mr. Conway. He handed me a pencil and said, “Fill out the emergency contact information the way it was on your old passport—your lawyer, I believe.”

“Right.” Actually a CID lawyer, but why bring that up? I filled out the information, handed him back his pencil, and put the passport in my breast pocket.

Mr. Conway said, “Make a few photocopies of your passport and visa when you get to Seoul. In ’Nam, everyone wants to hold your passport and visa—hotels, motor scooter rentals, and sometimes the police. You can usually satisfy them with a photocopy.”

“Why don’t we send a photocopy of me to Vietnam?”

He ignored that and continued, “You’ll arrange your own ground transportation in Vietnam. You’ll stay in Saigon three days, and that’s how long you’re booked at the Rex—Friday night, which is your arrival night, Saturday, and Sunday. You’ll leave Saigon Monday. Do whatever you please
in Saigon, except don’t get kicked out for smoking funny cigarettes, or bringing a prostitute up to your room, or anything like that.”

“I don’t need a morals lecture from the FBI.”

“I understand, but I have to brief you, as per my instructions from my people. I was already briefed by Karl, and I know you’re a pro. Okay? Next, you will be contacted in Saigon by an American resident of Saigon. This person will have no U.S. government connections—just a businessperson who’s doing a little favor for Uncle Sam. The meeting will take place at the rooftop restaurant of the Rex, at or about 7
P.M.
on Saturday, your second night there. That’s all you have to know. The more unplanned it is, the more unplanned it will look. Okay?”

“So far.”

“This person will give you a number. That number will correspond to a map key in your guidebook.” Mr. Conway reached into the plastic bag and put a book on the table. “This is the Lonely Planet Guide to Vietnam, third edition. It’s the most widely used book over there, so if for some reason it gets taken by the customs idiots at Tan Son Nhat Airport, or you lose it, or somebody lifts it, you can usually get another one by buying it from a backpacker, or your Saigon contact can get one for you. You’re going to need this book a few times. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“I’ll explain this number further in a few minutes. After you leave Saigon on Monday, you have until Saturday to look and act like a tourist. Do what you want, but you should visit some of your old battlefields.” He added, “I believe you served part of your tour in the Bong Son area.”

I said, “If that’s not part of this mission, I’ll skip that.”

He looked at me a long time and said, “Well, that’s not an order, but it is a strong suggestion.”

I didn’t reply.

Mr. Conway leaned toward me and said, “FYI, I was there in ’70—Fourth Infantry Division, Central Highlands and the Cambodian invasion—and I went back last year to come to terms with some stuff. That’s why they sent me to brief you. We’re bonding. Right?”

“Not quite, but go on.”

Mr. Conway continued, “During these five days of travel, you will determine if you’re being watched or followed. But even if you are, don’t presume anything. Often, they just follow and watch Westerners for no good reason.”

“Especially Americans.”

“Correct. Okay, after five days on the road, you arrive in Hue on Saturday, which is Lunar New Year’s Eve—Tet—where you are booked at the Century Riverside Hotel. At this time, regarding the number you got from your contact in Saigon, you look at the city map of Hue in your guidebook, which has a numbered key to various sites around the city, and that’s where you go at noon the following day, Sunday, which will be New Year’s Day, a holiday with lots of crowds and few police. Okay?”

“Got it.”

“There are alternative rendezvous points, and I’ll explain that now.” Conway gave me the details of my meeting in Hue and concluded, “This person you meet in Hue will be a Vietnamese national. He will find you. There’s a sign and countersign. He will say, ‘I am a very good guide.’ You will reply, ‘How much do you charge?,’ and he will reply, ‘Whatever you wish to pay.’ ”

I asked, “Didn’t I see this in a movie once?”

Mr. Conway smiled and said, “I know you’re not used to this kind of stuff, and to tell you the truth, neither am I. We’re both cops, Mr. Brenner, and this is something else. But you’re a bright guy, you grew up during the Cold War, we all read James Bond, watched spy movies, and all that stuff. So this isn’t totally alien to people of our generation. Right?”

“Right. Tell me why I need a contact in Saigon if all I need is a number? You can fax me a number.”

“We decided you might need a friend in Saigon, and we need someone there we can be in touch with in case you fall off the radar screen.”

“Gotcha. Do we have a consulate in Saigon yet?”

“I was about to get to that. As you know, we’ve just re-established diplomatic relations with Vietnam, and we have a new embassy building and a new ambassador in Hanoi. The embassy will not contact you directly, either in Hanoi or during your trip. But, as an American citizen, you can contact them if you need to, and you will ask for John Eagan, and no one else. Regarding Saigon, aka Ho Chi Minh City, we’ve recently sent a consular mission there, and they’re located in some temporary, non-secure rented space. You’ll have no contact with the Saigon consulate, except through your contact person in Saigon.”

I said, “So I can’t run into the American consulate in Saigon and ask for asylum?”

He forced a smile and replied, “They don’t have much office space, and you’ll be in the way.” He added, apropos of something, “Vietnam is becoming important to us again.”

I didn’t ask him why, but important to the American government always meant oil, sometimes drugs, and now and then strategic military planning. Take your pick.

Mr. Conway was looking at me, anticipating a question about “important,” but I said, “Okay. What else?”

He said, “Another thing to keep in mind, as I said, it’s the Tet holiday season, Lunar New Year—you remember Tet ’68. Right? So, the whole country is visiting graves in their native villages, and whatever else they do. Transportation, communication, and accommodations are a nightmare, half the population is not at work, and the normal inefficiency is worse. You’ll need to be resourceful and patient. But don’t be late.”

“Understood. Tell me more about the guy in Hue.”

Doug Conway explained, “The contact in Hue will tell you where to go next, if he knows. Tran Van Vinh, if he’s alive, is most probably in the north, so you can expect to travel north from Hue. Foreigners, especially Americans, are not particularly welcome in the rural areas of the former North Vietnam. There’ll be a lot of travel restrictions, not to mention non-existent transportation. But you have to overcome this if your destination is a rural area. Okay?”

“No problem.”

“Well, it is. First of all, it’s illegal for foreigners to rent cars, but you can get an official government-licensed car and driver through the state-run travel agency called Vidotour—but you don’t want that for the secret part of your mission. Right?”

“Makes sense to me.”

“There are private travel agencies, and private cars and drivers, but the government does not officially recognize them, and sometimes in some places they don’t exist, or you can’t use them. Understand?”

“Can I rent a bicycle?”

“Sure. The country is run by the local Party chiefs, like old-time warlords, and they make up the rules, plus the central government in Hanoi keeps changing the rules for foreigners. It’s chaos, but you can usually get around some of the restrictions by making donations to key individuals. When I was there, five bucks usually did the trick. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“There are also intercity buses—torture buses, they call them, and you’ll see why if you need to get on one. And there’s the old French railroad along the coast, which is now up and running. There will be no tickets available on any public transportation during the Tet holiday, but a fiver will get you on board anything that moves, except an aircraft. You should avoid local airports in any case. Too much security there.”

“Did I mention that I had plans to go to Aruba?”

“This is much more meaningful, and the weather will be just as nice.”

“Right. Please continue.”

“Thank you.” He continued, “Regarding travel, bribes, and so forth, you may ask your Saigon contact for advice. This person should know the ropes. But don’t be too specific.”

“All right.”

“By the time you get to Hue, with luck, we’ll have for you at least the location of Tran Van Vinh’s native village of Tam Ki. Because it is the Tet holiday, the chances are very good that you will find many people of the family of Tran in that village.” He looked at me. “Right?”

I replied, “It occurs to me, Mr. Conway, that the information about this murder didn’t come to light a few days ago, but perhaps a few weeks or months ago, and you’ve waited until the Tet holiday to send me to Vietnam because that’s, as you say, when people return to their native villages, and that’s also when the security forces and police are least effective.”

Mr. Conway smiled at me and said, “I don’t know when we got this information, and what your bosses know that you—and perhaps I—don’t know. But it is fortunate that you’ll be in Vietnam at this holiday time.” He added, “During Tet of ’68, the Communists caught you guys with your pants down. Maybe you can return the favor.”

“An interesting thought. Sort of symmetrical, like the balanced Scales of Justice. But I really don’t give a rat’s ass about revenge, or any of that. The fucking war is over. If I’m going to do this, I don’t need or want a personal motive. I’m just doing the job I said I’d do. Understood?”

“Don’t rule out some personal motivation once you get there.”

I didn’t reply.

“Okay, you make your rendezvous in Hue on the Sunday, but if it’s a no-go for any reason, then Monday is the backup day, and you’ll be
contacted in some way at your hotel. If you’re not contacted, then it’s time to get out of the country, quickly. Understand?”

I nodded.

Mr. Conway said, “All right, assuming all is going well, you leave Hue on Tuesday. This is the difficult part of the trip. You need to get to Tam Ki by any means possible, and to be there within two days, three latest. Why? Because the Tet holiday lasts for four days after New Year’s Day, so everyone who has returned to their ancestral homes should still be there before heading back to wherever they live at the moment. This guy Tran Van Vinh may live full-time in Tam Ki, but we don’t know that. Best to be there when you know he’ll be there. Understand?”

Again, I nodded.

Mr. Conway continued, “In any case, win, lose, or draw, you need to be in Hanoi no later than the following Saturday, which is the fifteenth day of your trip. You are booked into the Sofitel Metropole, and I have a voucher for you for one night.” He tapped his plastic bag and said, “You may or may not be contacted in Hanoi. More importantly, you will leave the next day, Sunday, the sixteenth day of your trip, well before your standard twenty-one-day visa expires. Okay?”