Up Country (84 page)

Meanwhile, I kept catching glimpses of Edward Blake getting his butt smooched.

Power.

Edward Blake was soon to become the most powerful man in the most powerful country that the world has ever known. And I had his balls in my hand. But if you’re going to squeeze the king’s balls, you better be ready for all the king’s men.

I glanced at Susan talking to her colleague. She was the wild card in this game.

A man approached me and put out his hand. “Hi, I’m John Eagan. You must be Paul Brenner.”

I took his hand and replied, “How many other people here are dressed like this?”

He smiled, then glanced at Susan and said to me, “Could I have a word with you?”

Susan noticed him, and I said to her, “I’ll be right back.”

John Eagan and I moved off to the far side of the lawn, behind the combo band, who were playing “Carry Me Back to Old Virginia.” I was getting homesick.

Eagan had a drink in his hand, and he touched my glass with his. “ Welcome to Hanoi.”

I said to him, “I’ll bet you didn’t think you’d be saying that tonight.”

He didn’t reply, and we stood there.

He was about forty, too young for the war, but he may have been military before becoming FBI. I had another thought that, if Susan was telling the truth that Eagan was her embassy contact, then he could be CIA. I’d learned not to believe anything I’d been told about this mission.

He said to me, apropos of nothing, “This place sucks.”

“What was your first clue?”

He smiled. “Training Viet narcs. They’re all on the take, and they grow opium in their backyards.”

I said to him, “Okay, you’ve established that you’re an FBI guy training the Vietnamese police. I believe every word of it. What can I do for you?”

He didn’t seem to appreciate my cynicism, and his demeanor changed. He asked me, “How did you wind up here tonight?”

“Where was I supposed to wind up?”

“At the Metropole, tomorrow.”

“What difference does it make?”

“Probably none.” He asked me, “So, how did it go?”

“How did
what
go?”

“Your trip.”

“Fine.”

“Can you be more specific?”

I said to him, “Look, I don’t know what you know, or what you’re supposed to know, or even who the hell you are. I’m supposed to contact you only if I’m in deep shit. I’m in deep shit. The police have my visa, and I want you to get me the fuck out of here tomorrow. I need to be debriefed in another country, and I need a visa or a diplomatic passport, and a plane ticket, and an embassy escort to the airport. Okay?”

He thought about that and asked me, “How did the police get your visa?”

“You’re not helping me with these questions, John.”

“Okay . . . here’s a piece of news for you. You’re going to be debriefed tonight. Here.”

“This is a CID homicide investigation. I only talk to my boss. Those were my last and only instructions.”

“You were told by Doug Conway and your boss that this is a joint investigation with the FBI. You can talk to me. What we’d like, Paul, is for us to meet in the Ambassador’s office at midnight.”

“You’re not listening to me, John.”

“Just be there, okay? We can resolve your exit at that time.”

“Who wants to see me?”

“Me, for one. Plus Colonel Goodman, the military attaché, and a gentleman from Saigon, who you met briefly at the cathedral, and maybe one or two others. We just need a little of your time before we send you on your way.”

I said to him, “I assume the VP is staying here tonight.”

“I can’t say for security reasons, but that would be a good assumption. Why do you ask?”

“I wanted to meet him.”

“I’ll try to arrange that.”

“I’ll also need a room here.”

“Why?”

“Because if I step outside these gates, I could be arrested.”

“Why?”

“I like scrambled eggs for breakfast.”

He looked at me. “Are we having a problem, Paul?”

“We are. And my traveling companion, Susan Weber, needs a room here, too. She’s in the same situation as I am.”

“This should be an interesting story.”

I said to him, “Just get me out of here. Fish and house guests smell after three days.” I turned and walked back toward the pavilion.

I really didn’t know who John Eagan was, but Bill Stanley used to work for Bank of America, and Susan Weber worked for American-Asian Investment Corporation, and Marc Goodman, the military attaché, was actually Military Intelligence, and Colonel Mang was an Immigration cop, and Paul Brenner was a tourist. I should write all this down.

In any case, I got my message across, and at midnight, I’d see what their problem was.

I got another Scotch and looked around for my date. A tall, slim, good-looking woman in an evening dress came up to me and asked, “Are you looking for someone?”

I replied, “I’ve been looking for you all my life.”

She smiled and put out her hand. “Let me introduce myself. I’m Jane Blake.”

I suddenly recognized her face. I cleared my throat and said, “Oh, I’m terribly sorry—”

She smiled again. “That’s all right. I’m totally ignored when Ed is in the room. Or in the garden. Or anywhere.”

“I can’t imagine why.”

She smiled and said, “Let me be very bold. Everyone wants to know who you are.”

Finally, a James Bond moment. I said, “You mean, why am I dressed in dirty jeans and haven’t shaved recently?”

She laughed. “Yes, that’s right.”

“Well, Mrs. Blake, I could be the Count of Monte Cristo returning from prison. But my name is Paul Brenner, and I’ve just come from a remote village called Ban Hin, where I needed to find a man named Tran Van Vinh.” I looked at her, but she showed absolutely no sign that this meant anything to her.

She asked me, “Why did you have to find this man?”

“It goes back to the war, and I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to discuss it.”

“Oh, that sounds intriguing.”

“It was.”

“And who is that woman with you?”

“Susan Weber. My guide and interpreter. She speaks fluent Vietnamese. Lives in Saigon.”

“Oh, this
is
mysterious.” She smiled. “And romantic.”

“We’re just friends.”

“Well, I think you’re looking for your friend. She’s over there, near the pool.” She informed me, “No one even came close to guessing who you were. Ed thought you were a famous actor. They dress so badly. Most of us thought you’d lost a bet, or came dressed like that on a dare.”

“Actually, I did come on a dare. Good luck to your husband with the nomination.”

She smiled, nodded, and moved off to spread the news. I hope she wasn’t measuring for drapes in the White House.

I walked toward the pool where I spotted the woman I’d
really
been looking for all my life. She was talking to her old lover, Bill Stanley, who could possibly be pissed at me for stealing his girlfriend, though he should thank me.

They both saw me coming and stopped their conversation and stood there with their drinks as I approached. I love this shit.

I got within speaking distance and said, “Am I interrupting?”

Susan replied, “No. Paul, you remember Bill Stanley.”

I put out my hand and he took it. I asked him, “How are things at the bank?”

He didn’t reply, and he wasn’t smiling at me.

Dapper Bill was dressed in a dark blue tropical wool suit, which had undoubtedly been tailor-made for him in Saigon, with an extra short trouser rise to fit snugly against his undersized genitalia.

Susan said to me, “I was just telling Bill about our run-ins with Colonel Mang.”

Bill spoke for the first time and said, “I’ve researched this man, and you’re lucky to be alive.”

I told him, “If you’d researched me, you’d know that it’s Colonel Mang who’s lucky to be alive.”

Bill didn’t seem impressed with my macho moment.

I informed him, “Mang thinks he knows you, too. He told me you were the CIA station chief in Saigon. Can you imagine that?”

Again, Bill had nothing to say, but at least Susan was covered regarding how I knew Bill was CIA.

So, we all stood there awhile in a moment of awkward silence. I wondered if Susan felt uncomfortable standing between two men who she’d recently slept with. She looked composed, so maybe this had been addressed in a Junior League meeting. She said, “Paul, Bill tells me you’re invited to a meeting here tonight. He asked me to join you. I think this would be a good idea.”

I said to Bill, “As I just told John Eagan and as he will tell you, I’m not at liberty to discuss anything with you, the CIA, Military Intelligence, the FBI, or anyone here. This is still a CID homicide investigation, so you can’t change the rules or the players.”

He replied, “You can and you will discuss this if ordered to by your boss, or by a proper higher authority.”

I didn’t like his tone of voice, but to be nice, I said, “If and when my orders change, I’ll follow them. However, I’m a civilian, and I reserve the right to pick the time and place of my debriefing. And it’s sure not here.”

Bill Stanley looked at me and said, “It would be a good idea for you to come to this meeting since we’ll be discussing your exit from the country. You don’t have to say any more than you want to say.”

“Goes without saying.” This was a diplomatic reception, and I was trying to be diplomatic, but this is not my strong point, and I asked Bill, “What were you thinking?”

“Excuse me?”

“What were you thinking when you teamed up your girlfriend with me to go on a dangerous mission?”

He seemed to be thinking about what he was thinking. He cleared his throat and said, “Sometimes, Mr. Brenner, matters of national security take precedence over personal considerations.”

“Sometimes. And if this is one of those times, then you shouldn’t have any gripes about what happened.”

He didn’t like that and replied, “To be honest with you, this was not my idea.”

I didn’t bother to ask him whose idea it was, though I said, “You could have said no.”

He was seething, but said nothing.

I continued, “Though that wouldn’t be a good career move.”

Bill may have thought I was implying that he was an ambitious
company man who would pimp his girlfriend to advance his career. He remained politely silent, however, the way people do when they’re speaking to someone with a terminal condition.

Susan thought it was time to change the subject and said, “Paul, I told Bill that we did discover the identity of the murdered lieutenant, but that we still can’t determine the identity of the murderer.”

“Did Bill believe that?”

Bill answered, “No, Bill did not believe that.”

I said to Susan, “Bill doesn’t believe that.”

Susan said, “Well, it’s the truth.” She continued, “I told Bill we’d found Tran Van Vinh, but that we’d decided not to chance carrying those things with us, so we hid everything.”

Our eyes met for a half a second, and I looked at Bill to see his reaction, but Bill was as inscrutable as Colonel Mang.

I really didn’t know if Susan had said this, because Susan says lots of things. She knew the identity of the murder suspect all along, and Bill knew that, so she was trying to protect me, which was nice, but it wasn’t going to play. I said to Bill, “Actually, it would be a good idea if the Vice President attended this midnight meeting.”

Bill looked at me a long time before informing me, “The Vice President has no interest in a murder investigation.”

“He may be interested in this one. Tell his staff that it’s in his best interest to be there.”

Bill reminded me, “You have signed various statements relating to national security and official secrets. Regardless of your present status, they are all still binding.”

“I also swore to defend the Constitution.”

He gave me a long, hard stare and said, “I’m sure you were told in Washington that if you took this assignment, your life could be in danger.”

That was usually the type of statement made before a mission, not after, so in this context, it could actually be a threat.

I said to Bill, “Could I have a word with you alone?”

Before Bill could reply, Susan said, “No.”

I said to her, “Personal only. No business.”

She informed me, “I won’t be discussed like that.”

Bill picked up the theme and said to me, “We’re all mature enough to discuss this together.”

I informed everyone, “I’m not that mature.” I moved off and motioned for Bill to join me. “Guy talk.”

Susan looked pissed, but stood where she was and lit a cigarette.

Bill and I moved out of earshot, and I said to him, “We need to talk about Susan, and . . . oh, one piece of business. If I find out, or even suspect, which I do, that I was the expendable party in this operation, and that you knew of, approved of, or planned that, then I’ll kill you. Now, let’s talk about Susan.”

He stood staring at me and said nothing.

I can do soap opera for about five minutes before I revert to my true self, and I felt I needed to do this, so I said, “On a personal level, I’m truly sorry about what happened. I admit to knowing about your involvement with Susan, and it’s not my habit to chase other men’s wives or girlfriends.” Most of the time. “And as I’m sure you’ve been told, I’m in a committed relationship with someone at home. So I make no excuses for what happened, and you should know that Susan resisted my attentions. The mission is over, and I’m going home. I apologize again for any trouble I’ve caused between you and her, and I hope you both can put this behind you.”

I studied his face as he processed this gentlemanly, man-to-man bullshit. I actually believed some of it myself, and I really was conflicted about Susan. I was fairly sure, however, that Susan had no further interest in Bill, and maybe Bill had no further interest in Susan. But I needed to clear the air, as they say, and give Bill a chance to say his piece.

But Bill had nothing to say, so I continued to take the blame for whatever vague involvement I was admitting to. I told him, “Susan, in fact, kept the relationship platonic and businesslike until we were forced by circumstances to share a room in Dien Bien Phu.” Bill would like to believe that, and I felt I’d done my chivalrous duty toward the lady, and I was ready to get back to the subject of me killing him, and vice versa.