by Jake Aaron
On my instructions, Aunt Cece wipes tears from hers eyes as she departs her seat, “You!” she shouts at Uncle Walt. “You cheat on me and think this makes up for it. Not on your life, mister!” She wipes her eyes with a hanky.
Uncle Walt runs after her, “Honey, it didn’t mean a thing! Honest!” As you might guess, scientist Uncle Walt is a good actor, but maybe not a great actor. He will do.
The time-pressured stewardess authoritatively closes the aircraft door behind them, feeling sorry for the scorned wife.
Well inside the terminal with no one following them, they walk casually to the passenger services desk to pick up an envelope I have left for them. The note says, ‘Welcome Down Under. If you have been followed in the airport, Uncle Walt, put the beret on now. If you have not, proceed to the parking area. I will find you. Love.”
I see Uncle Walt does not put on his beret. I follow them to the parking area at a good distance, occasionally falling back to check for being followed.
I bring the loaner car around in front of them. I am still trying to get used to driving on the right-hand side of the car. I roll down the passenger window on left side. “You folks looking for a ride?” I inquire with a warm smile — warm for me, anyway. You might have trouble telling, if you did not know me.
Neither recognizes me immediately. I look very different in the black wig and subdued make-up. “This a long way from the Red Rooster, mates!” I give them a clue. “It’s good to see you!”
We have a quick, warm reunion in the car. Both of them look the same. Aunt Cece could not turn off the waterworks. Uncle Walt pokes fun at himself, “You might have said the Chicken Place …”
I laugh. I keep the wig on. After all the hugs, I begin, “I really hated to waste the tickets to Perth, but we have to be careful. I am reimbursing you for that. No discussion! I’m not getting rich in Vanuatu, but I have very few ways to spend my surplus, so there! The airline policy is that your decoy luggage will be returned to Sydney. It will be at the lost-and-found when you go to depart. By the way, do you think you were being followed on the flight legs to here?”
Aunt Cece shocks me. “I think we were. A man flew with us on all the connecting flights from Alamogordo to Sydney. I think he is the same man who made an appointment to come by after my work to check our house’s gas lines a few months ago — only this time he had no beard. In my peripheral vision, I think I saw him try to get off the plane behind us here in the Sydney airport— unsuccessfully. The stewardess was already miffed at accommodating us. Way too many coincidences!”
I feel a cold chill run up my back to my scalp. While I know there is a possibility I am still on a kill list, I realize I have indulged in magical thinking. I have let my wishes shroud reality. This redoubles my sense of caution. I recover my composure and state, “Well, I guess it’s a good thing you mailed some of your clothes down here in advance — Down Under, you might say. Your clothes are in the trunk. I picked them up with this car at your friend’s house. What conference did you meet at, Uncle Walt?”
“It was a conference on plasma —not the blood kind. Turns out there’s a lot we don’t know about the behavior of superheated gases, like those discharged from a rocket nozzle. My friend was glad to accept the packages. I explained we have had such bad luck with airlines losing our luggage, and we save on airline baggage fees.” Uncle Walt went on, “He offered up the loan of his second car without my asking. So far, this James-Bond routine is kind of fun.” He held out his hand, “But I also see how deadly serious it is.”
I answer, “Getting the car is a real boon. Even if I were to switch out the license plates of rental cars, there would be a nexus of data leading back to the driver’s license of whoever rented the car. There are only so many places to rent a car! No, I’m so grateful your friend loaned us this car. Let’s get out of Dodge and head off to Melbourne!”
Walt breathes a sigh of relief, “I’m glad we weren’t followed in the airport. I think your letter said, if we were followed, we’d call my friend for a ride and explain this car had broken down. I don’t want to test my friend’s hospitality further.”
“That’s right, Uncle Walt. I would have called your friend later from a public booth to eventually meet up with you. We’ll all get pretty good at playing James Bond.” I am used to running the show, here or the operating room. Spoken like the surgeon I will be.
*****
Realizing how tired each of us was, we soon change today’s destination to Canberra. It’s toward Melbourne, anyway. The three-hour journey is packed with more catching up. Uncle Walt has got more involved in radio-controlled airplanes, a path Gunnar put him on. He shocks me when he tells me his other hobby is shooting, a path I led him on. I am even more shocked that Aunt Cece has also purchased a rifle. In turn, I think I surprise them with my acceptance of the hand fate has dealt me.
“You are different!” Aunt Cece declares. “You seem so mellow — so much less driven. I like it!”
“It is a shame, as civilized as we think we are, that gangsters can still intimidate us,” Uncle Walt interjects. We think we’re at the pinnacle of Western Civilization, and we have to cower to thugs — barbarians.”
“Uncle Walt, I am at peace with it. Gunnar used to explain how the river of life often takes you down a different channel from the one you intended. I get it. I can’t change the channel, but I can learn to live with it.” I still maintain the fiction of my evading mobsters.
“Alex, on that score, my fellow scientists from Germany secretly laugh at Americans’ naivete about how the world functions. When the Nazis took over their country, it was another form of evil power they had to live with. ‘Evil is always here,’ they tell me. ‘You just sometimes don’t recognize it until it is too late.’”
“I think we Americans may be too judgmental about their complicity with the Nazis. Most professionals have their heads down focused on doing complex jobs. The slowly tightened vice is hard to recognize until it is too late. By the way, how is work going?” I ask.
Aunt Cece smiles, “We both got well-deserved promotions. I can’t go into depth on what I’m working on for the military, but I hope it makes its way into commercial aviation in the near future.”
*****
In Canberra, Australia’s capital, we check into a large hotel using aliases and cash. We spend the rest of the day recovering from jet lag. The following day, the concierge recommends some must-sees to Uncle Walt. We head to Lake Burley Griffen, at the center of the city. We enjoy a casual walk in the cool breeze. Their spring shouts out loudly with new flower blooms. Willows lining the shores bow their limbs in waving unison to honor our vacation. Sailboats and canoes on the lake take our minds away from our workaday cares. Surrounding us is the greenery of farms and outback land reserves.
The next day we drive on to Melbourne. Aunt Cece insists on finding an out-of-the-way bed and breakfast. The couple who own it are the warmest hosts on this green planet. They insist on helping us see the best sights: the Grand Ocean Road of the seascapes, Phillip Island for penguins, and Yarra Valley for its wineries, and the Melbourne Zoo for kangaroos and koalas. We take their advice. On the third day there we enjoy walking around downtown Melbourne, taking in the Victorian architecture of the second oldest city in Australia. Sadly, we spend three more days there as Aunt Cece recovers from food poisoning. As she jokes, “Next time I’ll have them hold the mayo.”
We drive on the next day through the Blue Mountains of New South Wales. We see the wonder of the natural canopy composed of giant eucalyptus gum trees nearly one-hundred-fifty feet high. We see koalas in those trees. Canyons and waterfalls punctuate the spectacular bushland. We eat away from the hotel to avoid attracting a lot of attention. At the end of the day, we find a bed and breakfast that suitably helps diminish our profile. Again, our hosts are wonderful.
*****
Our family reunion is over too quickly for all three of us. Despite our urgency to see everything in reach, each of us falls into a
sense of timelessness that one seldom finds in the fast pace of modern life. As an “orphan,” seeing my second parents again was particularly poignant, especially since I bond with only a few people. I drop Uncle Walt and Aunt Cece off at the Sydney airport and return the loaner car. I catch a taxi to an airport hotel to leave the next day in disguise.
*****
On September 27, 1964, findings of the President’s Commission on the Assassination of President Kennedy, the Warren Commission, are made public. The 888-page report concludes that Lee Harvey Oswald was the one and only assassin. I read the newspaper three times, then throw it to the floor. I wonder whether this apparent conclusion of the investigation somehow lets me off the hook with my pursuers. Magical thinking again, I counsel myself: That’s what I want, not what is. If anything, this outcome only makes it more important for the masterminds of the conspiracy to suppress contradictory evidence, I conclude. The danger to me and my family remains.
Vientiane, Laos
In October, a malnourished, darkly tanned figure in black silk pajamas approaches an American in civilian tourist attire he has been observing on the streets. The haggard man greets the American and asks, “How did the Yankees do this season?”
The American smiles, “They’re playing the Cardinals in the World Series — now. Do I know you?”
The gaunt figure recognizes the apparent tourist, and inquires, “How is the cow?”
“She walks, she talks, she’s full of chalk …” the American answers almost involuntarily. “What class?”
“Class of ’62 — Jim Reeves, you bastard!” The thin man recognizes his classmate and laughs.
Not recognizing his emaciated classmate, the American repeats in astonishment, “What class?”
“Class of ’62. Gunnar Olson, Jim.” Gunnar struggles with word retrieval since it has been nearly a year since he has spoken English. He surprises himself speaking his own name the first time in many months. “‘Of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world …” he quotes hesitantly from Casablanca.
Jim becomes pale and looks as if he’ll faint. He tries to think of options as he overcomes his shock. “Gunnar, you're dead. You died nearly a year ago.” The words show true surprise and are high pitched.
“Not so much, Jim. Do you think we could go get me a shower and a shave? I’d like to clean up a bit.” Gunnar laughs at his understatement.
“Straightaway,” Jim speaks. He surveys the situation all around him with a slow, natural turn of his head. “Don’t walk beside me. Follow at about twenty feet. It’ll be circuitous. Got it, Gunnar?”
Vientiane, a city of three million, has its share of Communists and foreign intrigue. Gunnar’s classmate takes Gunnar to a safe house after stopping at several shops to check for being tailed. He doubles back many times in necessary caution, having advised Gunnar to proceed straight ahead. He finally enters a nondescript building. He holds the door open for Gunnar.
*****
In the safe house, Jim counsels Gunnar on eating and drinking slowly — and in small amounts. He knows he is just reminding Gunnar of something they both learned in Ranger School. A starved body craves lots of food but will react violently if satisfied. To be fair, Jim isn’t at all sure how well malnourished Gunnar is remembering or processing.
“Gunnar, you are a walking miracle, you know that? I get shivers just thinking about what has just happened.”
Gunnar sits awkwardly in a table chair and eats several small bites of rice. He sips his tea. “Been a while since I sat in a chair. Got any of the good stuff, Jim?”
“After you eat some more and keep it down, I’ll get you a little lao-lao, a local rice whiskey. And you really have to watch the quantity you consume. It kicks like an Army mule, if you know what I mean.
“Gunnar, I’m making an assumption here that you’ve been wandering around — navigating the jungle avoiding the enemy since your ‘death.’ I’m assuming you’re not undercover on an op and that I should have you extracted as soon as possible. Do I have that right?”
“Jim, in a nutshell, that’s it. I think I’ll wash up if you don’t need anything else from me.”
“Gunnar, anything serious medical-wise? For months in the jungle, you look remarkably good — a little worse than after Beast or Ranger School, though.” Jim wants to make a joke, but the figure before him is less than pitiful.
Gunnar remarks, “I definitely need some rubbing alcohol to clean these mosquitos bites before I resume my modeling career.”
“I’ll get that out for you. After your shower, I’ll head out to make some contacts to get you back home,” Jim says. He wants to make sure Gunnar doesn’t collapse in the shower or faint getting up or down on his watch. Look out for your classmate!
Fifteen minutes later, Gunnar emerges from the shower. He wears a touristy tee shirt and shorts that are too big for him, as well as new thongs too big for his feet. The safe house has only limited clothing for emergencies.
“Gunnar, we have a cot over there set up for you. For now, let’s keep that beard. I’ll trim it up a little before you leave the safe house. Why don’t you catch up on your sleep? Here’s a .45 to put under your pillow. I have locals on the payroll watching the house, so I don’t think you’ll need it.”
*****
“Gunnar, wake up!” Jim shakes Gunnar’s shoulder for a full ten seconds. Gunnar has not slept so deeply for nearly a year. Jim apologizes for waking him after only four hours of sleep. “Hey, buddy, we need to do a quick debriefing. Higher headquarters, you understand. Here’s a cup of joe to get you going. Not the best coffee, but better than you’ve been having.” He laughs at his own joke. “Remember, take it slow.”
Gunnar is surprisingly quick to shift gears, considering his debilitated condition. That ability is one reason he’s still alive. “I’ll take another cup in half an hour. I hope, anyway.” He moves slowly to a chair. “Let’s do it!”
Jim grabs a legal pad to take notes. “Gunnar, start at the beginning when your position was being overrun.”
Gunnar begins, “The Skyraiders had strafed our perimeter, so the Viet Cong knew they were overhead. Despite the cover, the enemy kept coming. We fought for many hours. When I knew it was over, I called the forward air controller in a Bird Dog aircraft to have napalm dropped on our coordinates. We had no place to hide — no place to hunker down. I ordered the two remaining South Vietnamese to scatter. I hope the South Vietnamese company commander and his radioman made it. I don’t know how I did. Perhaps, a confused enemy, smoke, distraction by the Skyraiders. Luck?
“At that time, I knew where I was on a map. Subsequently, I lost track under the jungle canopy. I took circuitous paths to avoid Viet Cong search teams, patrols, strongholds, etc. I assumed every village was under enemy control.”
Gunnar ate a quarter of a spoonful of hot oatmeal at a time and sipped on his coffee. “Jim, warm anything is such a treat! I dared not give my position away with a fire. Later, when I was captured, the Viet Cong did not want to give their position away with fires either.
“Makes me appreciate this hot food. You probably know that fire was one of the great steps for mankind — a great leap forward. Cooking food makes humans more efficient. With cooked food, our species needed to spend less time hunting, chewing, and digesting. Needless to say, I have not been very efficient.”
Jim smiled to himself: Gunnar probably kept himself sane in the jungle recalling history. He looked up from his pad, “How did you survive?”
“I lied, cheated, and stole!” Gunnar laughed as his referred to the antithesis of the venerated West Point Honor Code. I lived off the land. The rambutan fruit — the hairy lychee — and chuoi rung hoa do — jungle banana — only went so far. You don’t find coconuts in the inland rainforest. You find those mostly along the coastline, where I figured I’d get caught. Whenever I could find a little cooked rice or fish, I was there. With my minimal Vietnamese, I could sometimes get a child to steal some food for me. That was chanc
y. Several times I knocked out lone guards for their rations. That always meant stepped up patrols or discipline for the ‘sleeping’ guard.” Gunnar smiled at the image of the Viet Cong squad leaders thinking their guards were sleeping and lying about being knocked out.
“So you lived by the Honor Suggestions?” Jim smiled at his own joke. “More coffee, Gunnar? Just take it slow. Tell me about being captured.” Jim poured the hot brew.
“Jim, I lost track of time for various reasons. I’ll get back to that. The capture — I vowed never to be captured. Never say never. I was so exhausted one night that I didn’t hear a patrol come upon me. I woke up to a rifle butt in my back and bayonets and AK-47s in my face. I was wearing the austere black silk Vietnamese pajamas that I had stolen. I had to cobble together severals sets to cover me. The Viet Cong thought they had quite a find. They stripped me, threw a rope over a tree limb, tied my hands together behind my back, and were about to pull me up by the bound hands. They threatened to skin me alive. I picked up a little bit of Vietnamese as an advisor.
“Jim, you might say I was divinely inspired to do something. I started speaking in the little Russian I knew. I taught myself a little conversational Russian in high school during the summers. I told my captors that I was a Russian advisor. The Viet Cong squad leader did not speak Russian, but I could tell he knew how it sounded.
“In my sparse Vietnamese, I told him that I was a Russian advisor who had escaped after being captured. That really set him back. As he contemplated that, I reminded him that the Soviets were very unforgiving of those who harmed their troops. Between gestures and words, I communicated that my bosses would not only kill them but also their entire bloodlines.