Legacy of War

by Ed Marohn

  I picked up my CIA Palm phone and dialed Woodruff. At 4:00 p.m. in Hanoi, Woodruff would be awakened at 4:00 a.m. in DC. I didn’t care; he had the easy part of this assignment. Besides, I now knew he took my calls no matter what time, and I needed to find closure about why I had been sent here. He also obviously needed something that I alone could provide.

  He finally answered, “John! Glad you’re recovering from the wound. You’re some kind of hero. Maybe I will use you on future missions. It seems a psychologist can do a field operation and succeed. Seriously, I’m proud of you—no words can say how I feel.”

  It all sounded like fluff. He wanted to talk through the situation and make me feel warm about my actions, avoiding the complete truth. I didn’t ask him what to do with the IDs and wallets of the two dead Americans. I knew he would hedge on that anyway. It would be my decision, my burden now, and I would use the shredder in the hotel’s business office to destroy all documents. Any cash would be donated to the hospitals in Hanoi to help children born with defects from Agent Orange contamination. It would be a fitting end to their lives.

  Woodruff startled me with his directness. “Did Ramsey have any files?”

  “Not that I know of. Certainly, after killing him, I needed to get medical aid for myself.” I was surprised the lie came so easily.

  Woodruff’s pause worried me. Did he catch the untruth?

  “OK. Just ensuring we have everything cleaned up. Again, great job, John.”

  “Thank you,” I said, refraining from calling out his deviousness. I glanced at the attaché case on the hotel desk and pulled it me.

  “Jim is up to speed also. Look, take a long vacation there. Of course, Tin and other key Vietnamese officials want you around for a while, so I have to honor their formal request. Just let me know when you can leave, and you’ll have first-class return all the way to Charlotte. It’s on the company—you deserve it.”

  “Thanks again. Tell Jim hi for me.” I waited.

  “OK, take care . . . ”

  “How is Sally?” I asked, not giving him an escape.

  “OK. Aww . . . Why do you ask? I haven’t talked to her since I gave her your lists of things for her do with your firm.”

  “No idea what she is doing?”

  “No, say look, when you get back from Vietnam, talk to her. I don’t think she likes us CIA guys.”

  It hurt. I helped destroy her life and any words from me could never make it right.

  “Tell me again why I had to help catch Ramsey?” I said.

  The pause seemed to last forever. “Well . . . John, he did try to kill you. He also orchestrated Reed’s death.”

  I wanted to yell, to scream at him. Call him a damn liar. I believed Ramsey’s dying words: He had nothing to do with Loan trying to kill me and mistakenly killing DuPee Catton instead, nor with Loan manipulating Reed’s suicide.

  I could hear Woodruff’s breathing.

  “I feel somewhat used,” I said, avoiding the ugly confrontation that could ensue. After all, Ramsey could have lied to me as he lay dying. But I doubted that. Ramsey had sought death by my hands for redemption of his sins, his evil actions. His PTSD had conquered him in the end.

  “Now, John, can you see the big picture? We got rid of two bad guys. You did it for the good of the US and our relations with Vietnam.”

  “For god and country, right?” I asked, egging him.

  “Well, obviously that. You did a superb job for your country. You are a true patriot.”

  “You know, I could have gotten killed. You could’ve told me all the truth.”

  “Would you have gone if I did?” he said.

  He had shown a chink in his facade. “To protect Sally . . . but what is the complete truth?” I pressed.

  “John, get some rest. We’ll talk when you return.” The phone’s silence took over. I didn’t expect much more from him anyway. Maybe I would confront Woodruff on his turf after I returned to the States. But then doubt creeped in: Or would I?

  I flipped Ramsey’s attaché case open; the locks sounded gravelly from being in the dirt and mud of that clearing where I killed Ramsey. Strewn throughout its interior I found maps, checklists, and an airline ticket for return to Hong Kong. I ignored the handwritten notes detailing Ramsey’s plans for this excursion. Finally in the bottom of the case I discovered a thick, light brown folder. The file tab imprinted simply, in all caps: WOODRUFF.

  I paused. If I opened the file, I would know more than I probably wanted. I sat there staring at the brown folder. Woodruff obviously wanted this file, to protect himself. He did something that could destroy him, and Ramsey kept it for protection while in the States. But he was dead now. If I opened the file, I would know something dark about Woodruff, placing me in the middle of all this deceit. Woodruff didn’t know for certain if I had the file. I returned the folder to the case, shut it, and put it on the floor by the desk. I needed time to think on this.

  Hanoi, February 1, 2003

  February 1 and the first day of Tet found me waiting for my ride in the hotel lobby, dressed in my only but freshly dry-cleaned suit, the same one I’d worn from LAX to Hanoi a month ago. My tie and the cleaned and starched shirt completed my look. As I stood in the lobby, I tried to rationalize the last thirty days. I was used, and I wanted more answers to justify the three killings. Those killings cost me psychologically. Being close to death again did not differ much from my yearlong tour during the Vietnam War, but this time it had been very personal, and I hoped that I could cope mentally. Time would tell.

  Because everyone celebrates their birthday during Tet, as opposed to on their actual birth date, I had bought gifts for Hieu, her husband, and their three boys: a gold chain with a Taoism pendant with the black-and-white, S-shaped design, representing the Yin and Yang that Hieu so fervently believed and loved; a bottle of Johnny Walker Black Label Whiskey for hubby, his favorite, as I had learned from dinner at their apartment; and plastic airplane model kits for each boy—one Vietnam Airlines jet, one Laotian Airlines jet, and one Cambodian Airlines jet. I figured the boys could pick and choose their own favorites or, as would probably be the case, they would fight over them, forcing Hieu to decide for them.

  I recognized the black Mercedes sedan as it pulled up by the hotel doors, and I walked out toward it, its tinted glass not revealing any of the occupants. Hieu’s driver got out and rushed to open the right-side back door. All smiles and politeness, as only Vietnamese seem to exude, he shut the door behind me. Climbing back into the driver’s seat, he slowly pulled away from the hotel. I had hoped that Hieu would be in the car.

  Hieu’s apartment being only four blocks from the hotel meant a short ride. The driver parked the car and scurried to my door. As he held my door open, he asked, “You need me . . . show way?”

  “No, thank you. I can find the apartment.”

  “I no stay. I go home now for Tet.”

  “OK then, my man, have a good Tet,” I said as he closed my door and walked to the driver’s side.

  “Tet Nguyen Dan,” he said.

  “Yes, Tet Nguyen Dan,” I said.

  He accepted my meager spoken Vietnamese with a big grin, and I waved to him. Carrying my bag of presents, I entered the apartment building. Because I still was weak due to my wound, Hieu’s fourth floor apartment meant that I had to take my time going up the stairs. The exercise felt good after days in the Da Nang hospital. But nevertheless, my shoulder hurt a little more when I reached her apartment door. Its complete healing would take time.

  I heard many voices behind Hieu’s apartment door as I knocked. Moments later, it swung open and there stood Hieu’s husband. He grabbed my arms and pulled me inside. I winced as the tender muscles in my left arm reacted to the sudden pressure from his hands. He yelled to the crowd in the room and they stopped talking suddenly, all turning to face me.

  “John, you are
the first-footing and bring much dignity and honor to our family.” He bowed and took my gift of Johnny Walker Black Label, gleefully showing the bottle to his relatives, who murmured their approvals. It seemed all the Vietnamese in the room moved toward me, congregating around me, talking to me, touching my suit, bowing, and smiling. Some were toasting me with their wine, others with beer.

  The volume grew boisterous as the laughter and happiness grew, overwhelming me. I had to move from the crowd in search of a quiet nook. A delicate touch on my right sleeve made me turn. Hieu stood next to me, smiling, balancing herself with a cane, her left leg in a cast. She looked stunning in her ao dai, an ivory white tunic and light blue pants. Her black hair was combed out to a bright sheen, cascading around her delicate, beautiful face. She reached up and pulled me down, placing a kiss on my cheek, intoxicating me with her delicate perfume. I blushed, worrying that my feelings for her would show. Quickly, I reached into my bag and gave her the wrapped box containing the gold chain. She laughed with delight and I got another kiss on my cheek. She told me she would open it later, whispering her thanks and leaning into me momentarily. I gave her the bag with the presents for her boys. “Please give these to your sons,” I said. Taking the bag, she pulled my head down again to hear her above the noisy room.

  “You should feel honored, John. Remember, I told you earlier that a first-footing is the first invited guest to the family’s Tet celebration, and he or she must be honorable, successful, and professional. You now bring good fortune to my family. My husband is very proud having you here, as you can see from the attentiveness by all the relatives.”

  “Thanks for the honor.”

  “I wanted to say thank you again for protecting me,” Hieu said, stifling a tear.

  Ignoring her emotions, I said, “How are you feeling? Your leg . . . ”

  “Oh—I will be doing light work for weeks, but then my new job is special director to Colonel Tin. Very huge promotion, and I have my partner to thank.” She squeezed my right arm. “Come with me for drinks. You will enjoy tonight, and do not worry; I will be near you. I do not want you to forget me.” She laughed, winking at me.

  I grinned as she dragged me along, holding the cane and my presents in her right hand, her left arm threaded through my right, squeezing me tightly. In seconds, her three boys confiscated their gifts, running to their rooms. She looked happy, and I was happy for her.

  The enormous amount of food and alcohol sitting on the serving tables, kids shouting, and adults laughing and talking overwhelmed me as the day progressed into night. I finally found an empty chair to sit in. My wound ached, taking its toll on my body, and with the sticky rice wine, ruou nep, that Hieu’s husband kept pouring into my glass, I became mildly dizzy. Hieu was a great hostess, and she worked the room, often swinging by, checking on me, a lively glint in her eyes that I took to mean for me alone. By midnight, many of the celebrators had departed to return again tomorrow and the following day, while some remained as houseguests in the crowded apartment.

  Slight twinges of pain continued from my wound when Hieu sat down again to my right, avoiding my left side. “John, tomorrow Colonel Tin is expecting you at his home. I believe the president of our country will be there for a short visit. You must go at ten tomorrow. Tin will send a car to pick you up at the hotel. Here is my present to you.” She gave me a wrapped, shirt-sized box.

  “What is it?”

  “Open it, but I am afraid it is too practical of a gift.”

  As I unwrapped it, I found two white, folded shirts in my size. “So that I can finish the last two days of Tet properly dressed?” I looked at her, appreciating that she watched over me.

  “Yes. I take care of my partner, as he takes care of me.”

  I trusted her, but the empty feeling I’d had since talking to Woodruff forced me to be direct with her. “Hieu, I have to ask something about our completed task.” I looked into her eyes.

  She grinned. “What is it, John?”

  “Do you know why Tin wanted me to pursue Ramsey and Loan?” I asked, still studying her mannerism.

  “Colonel Tin told me you were an honorable man who agreed to help bring Loan and Ramsey to justice. That is correct, is it not?” she said.

  I nodded. It would be better to not taint her view of the operation. We sat silently for a while, and then I said, “Hieu, it is late, and I need to take some more antibiotics and pain pills at the hotel room—I should go.”

  “Wait a moment.” She stood up and hobbled to another room. Even temporarily handicapped, she walked gracefully, broadcasting her beauty, so delicate and sensuous.

  In the center of the apartment, Hieu’s husband teetered, slightly drunk, having indulged beyond rice wine and into the Black Label. His visiting relatives were parading around patting him on the back, building up his esteem.

  Earlier, I’d heard from the various relatives the story of my saving Hieu, as told by her three sons. It seemed the boys found the real event a little mundane and in need of embellishment. They told everyone how I had pulled a wounded Hieu out of the Hummer while dodging a hail of bullets from a hundred Cambodian bandits who wanted to capture Hieu and sell her into slavery. It made me smile.

  Suddenly, Hieu’s husband stood in front of me and shook my hand. “I know I am happy . . . with drink . . . but I owe you . . . forever for saving my wife.” Even though his drinking had claimed his common sense, his seriousness hit home. I noticed his misty eyes and felt a twinge of guilt for thinking of his wife as anything other than my working partner.

  I stood up and bent down to him. “Hieu is a good partner. She protected me. You are a lucky man, and now I must go. Thank you for sharing Tet with an American.”

  He sniffed and then hugged me, emotion flowing from him. And just as quickly, he disappeared into a cloud of relatives happily shouting something. As I neared the door, Hieu intercepted me.

  “Look at me.” She pointed to the gold chain around her neck. “It is so beautiful, and you remembered my belief in Yin and Yang. Thank you, John. You know this represents us—the Yin and Yang complete us. Forever!”

  I nodded, absorbing her perfume, saddened, feeling empty. Her dark black eyes bore into my soul—I understood now whose black eyes I saw in my dream so many weeks ago in Charlotte. I had been destined to meet Hieu!

  Hieu’s eyes continued to penetrate me. I couldn’t explain my feelings, the déjà vu, but I hoped Hieu knew. She understood me, every inch of me, my flaws, my strengths. She had entered my life before I landed in Hanoi. I blinked back to the real world. “Hieu, I have to go . . . ”

  “Let me escort you.”

  “No, you have guests and should also rest your mending leg. But thank you, Hieu, for being my friend and my partner.” She stretched up on her good leg and kissed my cheek.

  “Good night, John. I will call you after your trip to Colonel Tin.”

  “Good night, Hieu. Tell your husband and boys goodbye for me.” I walked out the door as she stood staring at my back until I disappeared down the stairs. Then I heard the door closing like a coffin lid.

  The walk to the hotel was as the last time, quick and pleasant. At midnight, the Tet celebrations were still in full swing throughout Hanoi. I tried not to think about Hieu romantically; it would be the wrong course for both of us. When I entered my room, I looked at it with disdain. Alone again in this world. Three years ago, my wife died, leaving a despondent man who couldn’t get it together. I didn’t know if I could suffer the loneliness and the void from Katy’s death any longer. The emotional roller-coaster ride with Sally left me empty as well. Death joined me as my true companion.

  My mysterious Hieu filled me spiritually with a completeness that I had known only once before, with my wife Katy. Hieu made me feel alive again. We had developed an intuitive and intimate bond unlike any other since my wife died. I sat down on the bed, rubbed my eyes, and stared at the wal
l. Hours passed before I undressed and fell asleep.

  Outside Hanoi, February 2, 2003

  I walked through Colonel Tin’s doorway, held wide open by Tin himself, who shook my right hand while I absorbed the hundreds of eyes staring at me from the doorway to the living room area.

  “I have many relatives and special guests, John, as you can see. Please, I wish to talk to you in private before I introduce you. Come, please.”

  I followed him as many of his guests bowed to him and me on our way to his private office where I had met him a month ago, accompanied by Hieu.

  “Please sit.” He directed me to a seat opposite the desk chair that he eased himself into. Despite his age, his eyes exuded vibrancy and life, full of historical implications for his country. Ho Chi Minh succeeded because of such believers. His field generals took the war to the greatest powers in the world and won. I remember reading that when diplomatic relations were re-established in the 1990s, a US Army colonel sitting with his Vietnamese counterpart stated that the NVA never beat the Americans in any battle during the war. “True,” said the Vietnamese officer, “but we won the war.”

  “How is your shoulder, John?” Tin asked, sincerely studying my left side.

  “It is healing, Colonel Tin.”

  “Good—very good. We were very worried for you.” He paused and then said, “I was hoping that our president would be here, but he is delayed. He wished to personally thank you for your honorable performance.”

  I nodded.

  “So Ramsey is dead by your hand. As well as this other American, the Texan. There will be no record of them?”

  “No. They disappeared into the Southeast Asia jungles, as did the Cambodian I killed.” A dark shadow descended on my mood like a monsoon cloud. I felt Ramsey’s death had some other meaning.

  “Good. I am avenged with Ramsey’s death. I know Colonel Zang breathes easier.” He paused and probably saw my concerned look. “You have a question, yes?”