“Yes, sir.”
“You cost me a ten-dollar bet.”
More than that, Ed. “Yes, sir. She told me.”
The Veep explained this in a good-humored way, and everyone laughed politely. Edward Blake said to Susan, “And you’re his traveling companion.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Any friend of Pat and Anne’s is a friend of mine.”
The guy was slick, but also charismatic, a man’s man, a lady’s dream, and maybe a nation’s nightmare.
Edward Blake looked around and said, “Well, it was a pleasure meeting you all.”
Not so fast, Ed.
Colonel Goodman said to the Veep, “Sir, this is not purely social . . . could we impose on you to give us a few minutes of your time? A serious matter has come up that should be brought to your attention.”
I studied Edward Blake’s face. The question that had been on my mind since Washington was, Did he know about this? In a way, it didn’t matter, except as it related to his participation, if any, in the cover-up of a crime. My hunch was that he hadn’t yet been told that the past had returned. You do the investigation first, then you tell the boss that you’ve got good news and bad news. The bad news is that we know what you did; the good news is that we can help.
Goodman motioned the Veep to Karl’s vacated chair, and he sat back, crossed his legs, and motioned for us to sit. We all sat, except me, who parked my ass on the edge of the desk.
Colonel Goodman said to Edward Blake, “Sir, this has to do with the reason that Mr. Brenner is in Vietnam, and why Colonel Hellmann is here . . .”
Blake looked at both of us, but said nothing.
Goodman continued, “I can assure you, sir, that everything that has been discussed in this room, and whatever will be discussed is limited to a handful of people, most of whom are here . . . and that anything that is discussed now will be considered confidential and privileged . . .”
Blake said, “Okay, you’ve assured me and you’ve aroused my curiosity. Can we get to the point?”
“Yes, sir. Perhaps Mr. Brenner would like to speak. It was his idea that we ask you to join us.”
Blake said to me, “You’re on, Paul.”
“Yes, sir. It’s my duty to inform you that Colonel Hellmann and I are with the army Criminal Investigation Division.”
This didn’t seem to get any reaction out of him, and maybe it didn’t sink in.
There are two opening questions you always ask in a homicide investigation, and I asked the first one. “Do you know a man named William Hines?”
This caught him completely off guard, and his expression went through a remarkable change, and I swear the color drained from his face. Everyone there saw it, and everyone had to come to the same conclusion.
“Sir?”
“Uh . . . don’t . . . what was that name?”
“William Hines. Lieutenant William Hines.”
“Oh . . . yes . . . I served with him. In Vietnam.”
“Yes, sir.” I asked the second question. “When was the last time you saw him alive?”
“Uh . . . alive? Oh, yes, he was killed in action. That’s right.”
“When was the last time you saw him alive, sir?”
“Uh . . . let me see . . . the Tet Offensive had started in late January . . . I guess I saw him a few days after . . . he went missing . . . our Headquarters was overrun . . . so . . . I’m not really sure, but about February 4 or 5 . . . 1968.” He did what they all do and asked me, “Why do you ask?”
I usually say, “I’ll ask the questions, you give the answers.” But even I’m not that ballsy. I said, “Sir, it’s come to the attention of the army Criminal Investigation Division that Lieutenant William Hines was murdered in the Treasury Building within the Citadel at Quang Tri City, on or about 7 February 1968. We have good reason to believe that his assailant was a United States Army captain. We have some evidence and an eyewitness, and what we’re trying to do now is learn the identity of that assailant.”
He was starting to compose himself, and he looked shocked. “My God . . . are you sure?”
“Yes, sir. We’re sure he was murdered by an army captain.”
“Good Lord . . .” He wasn’t looking at anyone in the room and wasn’t really looking at me. He said, “That was a terrible time . . . I was with the MACV group then, and we were surrounded in the Citadel and fighting for our lives. I think there were only about twenty American officers and NCOs—”
“Eight officers and nine NCOs, according to the unit roster.”
He looked at me. “Is that right? Anyway, I think only seven of us survived . . .” He thought it might be a good idea to change the subject and said to me, “Pat Quinn tells me you saw combat in ’Nam.”
“Yes, sir. First Cav, like you, 1968, like you. I was a rifleman with Delta Company, First Battalion, Eighth Cavalry, First Air Cav, outside Quang Tri City about that time.”
“Really?” He forced a smile and said, “What were you guys doing outside the city? We needed you inside.”
I smiled in return. “Looked too dangerous in there.”
He laughed and said, “Well, if I can think of anything that might help you, Paul . . . and Karl . . . in this matter, I’ll contact you.” He stood, and everyone stood.
I said to him, “Sir, would you like to speak to me in private?”
He replied, “About what?”
“About the incident in question.”
“I know nothing about it. But I’ll think about it.” He moved toward the door.
At this point, I sometimes inform the witness that he’s a suspect, but then I have to read him his rights, and I usually can’t find the little card in my wallet. I said to Edward Blake, “As I mentioned, sir, there was a witness to this murder, and I’ve questioned him.” I didn’t bother to mention that the witness was an enemy soldier, and I let Blake conclude that it was an American GI. I said, “He was lying wounded on the second floor of the Treasury Building, and through a hole in the floor, he saw this army captain murder not only Lieutenant Hines, but three Vietnamese nationals. The murderer then proceeded to loot a vault in the treasury.”
I could see the color drain out of his face again. Not in a million years did he ever think he’d hear an eyewitness account of this story; he thought he’d killed all the witnesses. I could actually see his knees wobbling and he put his hand on the doorknob, which shook audibly. He said to me, “There have been many instances of witnesses coming forward years after the fact, who are suffering from one psychological disorder or another, or who are just plain liars. I’m sure you’re familiar with that.”
“Yes, sir. That’s why we need your help.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t help you. But I wish you good luck with your investigation.” He started to leave, then remembered his manners and said to Susan, “Ms. Weber, a pleasure. Gentlemen, good night.” He started to leave again, then he did something strange and came over to me and shook my hand. He turned and left the room.
Karl and Susan reached for their smokes at the same time and lit up.
I went to a sideboard and helped myself to a Scotch on the rocks.
There was an almost embarrassed silence in the room. I looked at the face of each person there, and I knew that they all believed that Edward Blake had murdered three men and one woman in the commission of a robbery, and one of the men was a comrade in arms, which didn’t sit well with Colonels Goodman and Hellman, nor with me.
But we all knew this from the beginning, and no one was shocked. They were worried. Worried about their careers, about their lives, and maybe even worried about their country. For sure, they were worried about me. In fact, I was worried about me, too.
It was Colonel Goodman who spoke first, and he said to me, “Could you find it in your heart to give Captain Edward Blake a pass on this one?”
I didn’t reply.
He said to me, “I was a young infantry lieutenant during the war . . . I wouldn’t expect everyone to un
derstand that time and that place, Paul, but you and I do, and Colonel Hellmann understands. None of us would want to be called to account for that madness.”
Again, I didn’t reply.
Karl said to me, “The issue here, Paul, is not guilt or innocence, or even justice or morality. The issue here is the past. I told you, the shadows stretch from here to home. We, as soldiers, were collectively reviled and spit on at that time, and we don’t owe anyone any explanation for our actions, or any new revelations about that war. If we have any guilt, it is a shared guilt, if we have any honor, it’s amongst ourselves only. We are bound together for all time by blood and common nightmares. I tell you this, my friend, this has little or nothing to do with Edward Blake; to a greater or lesser degree, we are all Edward Blake.”
I took a deep breath and didn’t reply.
Bill said, “Paul, Edward Blake will be the first Vietnam veteran to become president of the United States. Don’t you want that?”
“Bill, shut the fuck up.”
The quiet room got quieter. I said, “Even if I bought that . . . and maybe I do . . . the other issue is all of you and your ambitions, your lying, your deception, and your bullshit. Edward Blake may have had a bad moment; you’ve had bad careers.”
I put my drink down and moved to the door. I said to Karl, “I told you to find someone else.” To Susan I said, “Come with me.”
CHAPTER FIFTY
At noon the following day, an embassy staff car took me and Susan to Noi Bai Airport, north of Hanoi. We didn’t speak much during the twenty-minute ride.
Two embassy security guys accompanied us into the terminal, and we bypassed airport security and check-in and went straight to the diplomatic lounge.
Mr. Uyen and Colonel Mang had my luggage, so I was traveling pretty light: the clothes on my back, my wallet, my passport, an airline ticket, and a diplomatic laissez-passer.
Susan wore a nice jade green dress, loaned to her by Anne Quinn, and I wore my dirty jeans, but clean boxer shorts and a horrible pink golf shirt given to me by Mrs. Quinn, who indicated that it was okay if she never saw me or the shirt and shorts again. A souvenir from Vietnam.
The diplomatic lounge was a little squalid despite its name, but there weren’t many diplomats or their families traveling that Saturday, so we had the place pretty much to ourselves. The two embassy security guys stayed with us, which wasn’t a bad idea.
The night before, Susan and I had slept on the pullout couch in the sitting room. The upstairs guest rooms had been taken by the Blakes and the Secret Service guys, who didn’t want us upstairs for some reason. As tired and drained as we both had been, Susan and I made love with the knowledge that this could be the last time.
I had my scrambled eggs in the breakfast room with Susan. Only Anne Quinn had been there, and she explained that the Blakes and the Ambassador had gone early to the embassy, and she was just on her way to join them. Susan and I expressed our regrets that we’d missed them, and Anne said she’d pass on our good-byes. We thanked her for her hospitality and a great party, and she left without extending another invitation. I think she knew something was up.
Susan and I stood now in the diplomatic lounge, looking out through a big picture window at the runways and the gray, heavy sky. There seemed to be more takeoffs than landings, like at a resort whose season was ending, though in this case, I thought it was probably the Viet diaspora, here for Tet, returning to the countries of their exile.
I was booked on an Air France flight to Paris, where someone would meet me and give me a ticket to Dulles International. This wasn’t the short-est route home, but it was the first available flight out of Hanoi, and I’d overstayed my welcome.
From Dulles, where this journey had begun, to my house in Falls Church would be a short taxi ride, or more probably I’d be met by people who wanted to take care of me. In any case, the journey home had begun, and like the last two times here, I didn’t know how I was feeling at the moment.
I’d insisted that Susan come with me, but it was Susan herself who wanted to stay in Hanoi; she’d been in Vietnam a long time, and there were many loose ends to tie up with her life, her job, and, I suppose, this mission. As for me, like the last two times, I didn’t need much notice or convincing to get out of Vietnam fast.
In the diplomatic lounge was a white door that led, according to Susan, directly out to the tarmac where a waiting vehicle would take me to the aircraft. The flight left in twenty minutes.
Susan and I didn’t sit, nor did we have a drink or coffee; we just stood there, near the white door that led to Falls Church, Virginia.
Susan said, “We have about ten minutes. Someone will let you know.”
I nodded.
She said, “I’m not going to cry.”
Again, I nodded.
We looked at each other, and neither of us knew what to say, but the time was short.
Finally, she smiled and said, “Well, we had a hell of a two weeks, didn’t we?”
I smiled.
She suggested, “We should do it again someday.”
“It’s never as much fun the second time.”
“Maybe not. But we don’t have a single photograph.” She smiled. “Not even Pyramide Island.”
I didn’t reply.
Muzak was being piped into the lounge, and they were playing tinkly piano music. We stood in silence listening to “Let It Be.”
I said to her, “Thanks for Sunday in Saigon.”
“Hey, you owe me a tour of Washington.”
“Anytime.”
She nodded and looked at me. “I should be out of here in a week or so...”
“Where will you go?”
She shrugged. “Lenox, I guess. Then to New York to see if I still have a job with AAIC. Then . . . I think I’d like another overseas job. I think I was born to be an expat.”
“Pick someplace nice this time.”
“I still have my book of worst places to live.”
I smiled and asked her, “Will you miss this place?”
“Terribly. But it’s time to move on.”
“It is.”
She nodded. “You know, Paul . . . in the Apocalypse Now lounge . . . when I got teary . . . you remember that?”
“Yes.”
“I was feeling awful about everything . . . I had a sudden case of homesickness, and I think it was you that brought that on in some way . . . and I was also thinking ahead to . . . to what I had to do . . . I had trouble lying to you from the minute I met you . . .”
“I know. I could see that.”
“Could you? Good.”
“Let’s forget that part of the trip. Interesting as it was.”
She laughed, then got a little misty and said again, “I’m not going to cry. You don’t like that.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I changed the subject. “Maybe your friends in Langley can use your knowledge of Vietnamese there.” And it’s not far from Falls Church.
She shook her head. “I think I’ve lost that job, too.”
“You did a good job. You’re a natural.”
She ignored that and asked, “How about you? What are you going to do?”
“Well . . . as I said . . . I need to take care of some personal business . . . see how that stands . . .”
She nodded. “You need to do that.”
I didn’t reply.
“Then what?”
“I think that depends on my mission report.”
She nodded. “What are you going to do about that?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe I don’t have to do anything. Maybe I won’t be able to do anything.”
“Just be careful, Paul. I mean really careful.”
“I know.”
“You say you know, but from what I saw, Mr. Brenner, you have more balls than brains.”
I smiled. “Sometimes that’s enough.”
“For here, but not for Washington.” She looked at me. “I’m still on your side. And available.�
�
“I’ll let you know.”
She informed me, “I’m going to speak to Karl. He needs to get on the right side.”
“Karl disappointed me. But I guess when your lifelong dream is in your grasp, you’ll do almost anything.”
She looked into my eyes. “But you have to be able to live with yourself afterward. Sometimes you just have to wait to see if your hopes and dreams come true . . . like the fairy on Nui Co Tien Mountain.”
“That didn’t end too well.”
“It did. She waited for her lover, and he returned as soon as he was able . . . now, they’re together for eternity.”
“Yeah . . . look . . . Susan . . .”
A young Viet guy came through the white door with a piece of cardboard on which was written Brenner Paul. Susan said, “Well, Mr. Paul, you are being paged.”
“Yeah . . .” I tried a smile. “Well, Ms. Susan . . .”
She said, “I am not going to cry.” She took a deep breath. “Take care of yourself. Have a good flight, and . . .” Tears started to form in her eyes.
I put my arms around her, and we kissed. I said, “Susan . . . I need to do this clean.”
“I know. This was too intense. We need a few months to see . . .”
The guy with the sign was holding it up, and he was looking at me anxiously. One of the embassy security guys was signaling me to wrap it up.
Susan said something to the young Viet, then said to me, “Don’t miss your freedom flight, soldier.”
We hugged again and kissed. She said, “Call me . . . whenever.”
“I will. Maybe in a few weeks.”
“Whenever. You have to go.”
“Okay . . .” I moved toward the open door, and Susan didn’t come with me. I turned back to her and asked, “Lenox?”
“Yes. I’ll wait for your call.”
“Wait for a knock on the door.”
She smiled.
I turned and followed the young man through the door.
We descended a flight of stairs, got into an open electric cart, and drove toward the boarding gate and the aircraft.
A yellow police jeep was parked near the aircraft, and as we approached, a man in uniform stepped out of the jeep. It was, unfortunately, Colonel Mang.
Up Country Page 78