Abandoned: MIA in Vietnam

by Bill Yancey

  She took his hand with both of hers. “It’s nice to meet a close friend of Jim’s,” she said.

  “Is that you?” Wolfe asked, pointing to the half-page picture in the open high school yearbook. It depicted a well-built blonde high school student with a pixie haircut, standing next to an exceptionally tall, handsome young man. The boy was easily a foot and a half taller than the girl. The caption read, Mutt and Jeff: Editor of the Salvo interviews basketball star.

  “Yes,” Rose said.

  Kimura explained, “The Salvo was the school newspaper. My mother didn’t cut that picture out. They didn’t use Emily’s name in the caption. Guess Mom missed it.”

  “Who’s the tall guy?”

  “That’s my first husband, Max Thornton,” Rose said. “We got married after college. The marriage didn’t last long.”

  “Sorry,” Wolfe said. He heard the toilet in the hallway flush and water run in the sink. No one exited the bathroom, however. Wolfe had a sudden inspiration. He turned to Kimura. “Would you mind if I borrowed that yearbook again, Tammy. I’d like to do some more research.”

  Kimura looked at Rose. Rose shrugged and nodded. Kimura said, “Sure, Addy. Could you bring it back when you come for the funeral, or mail it back if you can’t make it?”

  “No problem,” Wolfe said. “Are you finished with it for now?” Both women nodded. Wolfe pulled out the tri-folded piece of paper he kept in his shirt pocket and placed it between the pages and then closed the book. The plastic book cover stuck to his hands when he picked it up, so he held it by one edge in his left hand.

  Wolfe put his right arm around Kimura’s shoulders and squeezed her to him. “I’ll be here for the funeral,” he said. “Your mom was a nice lady. Too bad I didn’t get to know her better. I’m sure you and Yasuko will miss her.”

  “Thanks, Addy.”

  To Rose, Wolfe held out his hand. He said, “It was a pleasure meeting you, Emily. Maybe we’ll meet again some day.”

  “That would be nice,” Rose said, shaking his hand. “We could talk about Jim.”

  “That would be great,” Wolfe said.

  As Wolfe reached the first floor, he heard the bathroom door open. “Ready to go?” A man’s voice asked.

  ***

  “I don’t know, Dr. Wolfe. What would this request have to do with Ralph Fulton, and whether or not he is fit for trial?” Psychiatrist Yolanda Nichols asked as she shook her head. She held Fulton’s chart on the desk in front of her. “I don’t see the connection.”

  “Chief Fulton says Byrnes told him to inject the bolus of potassium into Clemons, right?”

  “Yeah, but what’s that got to do with fingerprints in a fifty-year-old yearbook?”

  “What if I could prove that James T. Byrnes is alive and living in the United States?” Wolfe asked. “Wouldn’t that change things? Admittedly, Fulton’s mental health is fragile. Seeing a ghost could certainly push him over the edge.”

  Nichols’s face showed her surprise at the statement. She said, “What are the chances? You said it looked like he died in a friendly-fire accident in Vietnam.”

  “I heard recently that he survived the airstrike. He lived long enough for the North Vietnamese to send him to a detention camp near the Chinese border. I met a fellow inmate, a Korean soldier who disarmed landmines with him. That man was repatriated by the Vietnamese after more than ten years as a prisoner.”

  “Was Byrnes repatriated?” Nichols asked.

  “I don’t know. Right now, I can’t prove he was. But if I find his recent fingerprints on that book, that will be a different story. I do know that the CIA threatened me with jail if I pursued my investigation. They don’t want MIAs found, they said. Or, maybe, they want to exploit MIAs in some fashion and they don’t want that exposed.”

  “You realize that you are beginning to sound a bit paranoid, don’t you?” Nichols asked, shaking her head. “Okay, Addy, I’ll see what I can do. The district attorney isn’t going to be happy with the expense, though. This isn’t a murder case. The alleged victim was already dead. It may be an attempted murder case, or a theft of hospital property with unauthorized use of medication case, a competency case, or a purely question of insanity case. The DA has more important legal matters he’d like to send to trial, or close.”

  ***

  “Dad! Watch out!” Kayla Anne yelled.

  While driving, Wolfe had looked down and reached for his cell phone when it rang. He was digging in his pocket for the phone when the Prius rolled up on a man walking toward him in the middle of his lane, on North Legacy Trail in the Cascades. Looking up, he slammed on the brakes, stopping ten feet short of the tall, gray-haired man. The man continued his jaunt, walking around the driver’s side of the Prius.

  Wolfe rolled down the window. “Hey, old man,” he said. “Get out of the middle of the street.”

  Never slowing, the man said, “I don’t like the sidewalks here. They’re uneven. I tripped once and skinned my knees. Nearly broke my wrist.” He continued to walk, skirting the Prius and continuing down the middle of the lane.

  Irritated, Wolfe yelled, “We’ll put that on your tombstone, moron!”

  “Dad!”

  Blushing, Wolfe shrugged. “Well, it would look good there,” he said. “Rather be a hood ornament than have skinned knees. Yeah, that fits.” He shook his head. “We have some neighbors with early dementia. I guess that’s why your mother chooses to spend a lot of time away from home.”

  “She and Junior will be back next week,” Kayla Anne said.

  “Good timing,” Wolfe said. “I’ll be out of town at Mrs. Byrnes’s funeral.”

  When they pulled into the driveway and stopped, Wolfe finished fishing out his cell phone. “Go ahead in, KayLan,” he said. “I have to return this call. Reception’s better here in front of the house.” He pushed the button on the garage door remote. The door slowly retracted into the garage.

  Kayla Anne exited the car. “Make sure you close the door, Dad. We don’t want the cookie zombies returning.”

  Wolfe smiled and nodded. He listened to the message on his phone and returned the call to the fingerprint expert.

  CHAPTER 46

  “Con co!” Vong called to Byrnes as he returned from the terraces one evening.

  Exhausted from a day of harvesting rice and clearing irrigation ditches along the terraces, Byrnes smiled and waved. He needed no excuse to halt his steep climb uphill to the hamlet. “Binh,” he said, sitting on a log at the edge of the forest. He placed his long wooden shovel between his legs. “What brings you to the workers’ paradise? I thought you village administrators couldn’t stand physical labor.”

  Vong surveyed the dry mud caked on Byrnes’s arms, chest, and feet. Bare-chested, he wore only cotton pants, also covered in mud. He said, “I have been looking for you. Have you been working the fields again?”

  “Widow Mai Kim-Ly’s share of the collective rice field needs harvesting. I do what I can for her,” Byrnes said. “It helps me fit in. Also, I learn many customs from her.”

  Glancing around to make certain no one else could hear their conversation, Vong noted the path through the woods was empty as was the trail down the edge of the terrace. “Have you told her you are an American?”

  “No,” Byrnes said, “I told her only what you wanted me to tell people. Like everyone else, she believes that my mother was a French nun raped by the Japanese during the war. That I grew up in an Hanoi orphanage until I escaped and lived as a street urchin with no schooling. Needing cannon fodder, the NVA drafted many of us into the service. All that explains my lack of manners, lack of education, and my inability to read Vietnamese.”

  “You seem awful close to widow Kim-Ly,” Vong said. “Not that it’s a bad thing. A woman needs a man, especially those women whose husbands died in the war.”

  “Another good reason not to tell her I’m American,” Byrnes said, nodding. “She cares for certain of my needs, and I do the same for her. And she’s teaching me
Vietnamese history and to read.”

  “Is she your first woman?” Vong asked.

  “No!” Byrnes blurted, then reconsidered, “Well, yes, but don’t tell anyone. I’m sure many of your comrades were still virgins when conscripted by the army.”

  “Many remained virgins until their deaths,” Vong said, shaking his head. “Many wives became widows. Also, some wives could not wait for their husbands to return. Fortunately, my wife remained faithful.” Changing the subject, Vong said, “I have good and bad news, Con co.”

  “I am sitting. Tell me the bad news first,” Byrnes said.

  “There is an ongoing investigation into your disappearance. My ex-driver apparently asked about you to someone in the Ministry of Defense.”

  Stunned, Byrnes said, “It’s been nearly three years, Binh.”

  “The Party is slow, but it has the memory of an elephant. Three men are on their way here to interview me, to see if I know why you did not return to your re-education camp. There is no record of your execution,” Vong said. He sat on the log next to Byrnes. “We have to go south. I sent a letter to Thien Vu. He should have it in a week or so.”

  “How much time do we have?” Byrnes asked.

  “Transportation has not improved much since our journey here. And the Party is slow, as I said. I assume we have a week to leave the village. Depending on how rapidly security personnel respond to my family, you, and me being gone, we have about that long to depart the country after we make it to the south. We must hope Thien Vu has made sufficient arrangements.”

  “Are you willing to leave the country because of me?” Byrnes asked.

  “Me and my family. Rescuing you always carried a risk. Thien and I both knew that. He will have to come with us, too. All our lives are forfeit otherwise,” Vong said.

  “Your family is all right with leaving?” Byrnes asked. He thought of Vong’s three children, two girls and a boy in their early teens. “What’s the good news?”

  “In his last letter, Vu said he thought he had solved our problem. He knows how to get you out of Vietnam,” Vong said, smiling. Trying to lighten Byrnes’s mood, he added, “It will be a great adventure.

  “Vu and his family have been preparing to leave for years. Except his wife. She died of tuberculosis. The government medical services couldn’t treat her, even though Vu is a Party member in good standing. The government has no money for medications. The harshness of the Party’s oversight and the corruption in the government have discouraged him. Fortunately, he knows all about fraud and bribery, dealing with it on a daily basis. He has helped others escape. Getting his children, their families, and us out should be easy for him. Besides, the government is actively encouraging some people to leave. The Party chased the Chinese out of northern Vietnam and Saigon. They ignore misfits bribing officials to leave. The Party even encourages successful escapees to send money to their families that remain in Vietnam. Without that money the economy might collapse.”

  ***

  Vong let everyone in the village know the Communist Party had summoned him and his family to Hanoi in order to receive a medal from the premier himself, Pham Van Dong. He said he supposed the award was for his work against corruption and the black market. When leaving the village, he wore his faded green major’s uniform. Medals hung on his shirt pulling the pocket almost to his waist. His family followed him down the dirt road to Lai Chau. Twenty or thirty residents lined the pathway near the hamlet to wish him well on his journey. Even the geese seemed to celebrate his departure by honking louder than usual.

  Byrnes left the village two days later. He took the widow Mai Kim-Ly’s Honda motorbike, the widow Kim-Ly, and a small cloth suitcase with all her possessions. They told no one that they would not be returning. He wore everything he owned. In Lai Chau, they sold the motorbike, taking payment in paper Dong and some aluminum coins. With that money, they paid for their seats on the same old bus Byrnes and Vong had ridden to Lai Chau three years before. Early the next morning they arrived in Sa Pa and met Vong in front of the railway station.

  “What’s this, Con co?” Vong asked on seeing Mai Kim-Ly. “Did she come to say good-bye?”

  “There’s a small complication,” Byrnes said, pulling Vong to the side in order to speak privately. “She’s pregnant.”

  “You’re the father?” Vong asked.

  “Do you know anyone else who has slept with her since her husband was killed?” Byrnes asked.

  “No,” Vong said. “Have you told her you are an American?”

  “Not yet,” Byrnes said. “Give me some time. As you know, you arranged this trip suddenly. She’ll know before we reach another country. I promise.”

  “All right,” Vong said. “I’ll procure another ticket. If it is running on time, the train will be here in an hour.” He left to enter the building and to buy another ticket.

  He had not been gone long when the train arrived, an hour early. Byrnes could tell a new engine pulled the passenger cars, although those cars appeared more dingy and worn than they had three years before. Looking as if they had slept in their clothes, three men in wrinkled green uniforms of officers in the Peoples Army disembarked. Each carried a small suitcase and identical briefcases. Byrnes thought one officer was a major. He didn’t recognize the rank of the other two, although the major seemed to defer to them. The three men marched down the street in the direction of the bus station.

  “That’s yesterday’s train,” Vong said when he returned. “The coal burner blew up on the tracks fifty kilometers north of Hanoi. The railroad authority sent this new diesel to finish the trip. The stationmaster gave me a choice: take this train south, or wait for the next one in about two hours.”

  “What did you tell him?” Byrnes asked.

  “The sooner we leave the better,” Vong said. “I told him we’d leave now.”

  “Good. I think the officers on your investigation board arrived on that train. A major and two other officers got off while you were inside. They walked toward the bus station.”

  “Yen,” Vong said to his wife, “I’ll take the children. I can’t do this in my uniform without attracting their attention. You follow those officers. See what ranks they have. Don’t get close enough for them to see you. One of the officers may recognize you from Hanoi. Hanh Ca, bring your sister. Giang Hai, gather the luggage.”

  Byrnes helped Mai Kim-Ly into the passenger car. She wore only a peasant’s black pajama-like pants, black shirt, and a woven bamboo hat. Byrnes stuffed her small bag under their seat. He refrained from holding her hand in public. They sat opposite Major Binh and his family. Vong Yen returned. When the train got underway, she whispered into her husband’s ear. Vong Binh listened to his wife and then nodded in Byrnes’s direction. No obsequious steward or conductor smoothed Major Binh’s way to Hanoi on this trip. The trip took only ten hours with the new diesel pulling the cars mainly downhill from the mountains. Three days later they were in Ho Chi Minh City.

  CHAPTER 47

  Arlington National Cemetery scheduled Mrs. Byrnes’s funeral for a Saturday morning. Wolfe decided to drive to Washington in the Prius two days ahead of time. He left Kayla Anne with her mother’s Subaru. She also had access to the van conversion in an emergency. “Pick your mom and Junior up at the airport,” Wolfe told his daughter as she lay in Junior’s bedroom, hands over her eyes to block the light. 6:00 a.m. was much too early for a college senior who had finished her summer classes. “And don’t let them leave until I get home. Got it?”

  “Like she’d listen to me,” Kayla Anne said. “When will you be back?”

  “Probably Monday or Tuesday. Love you.”

  “Love you, too, Pops. Drive carefully,” Kayla Anne said. “Don’t use the cell phone while you are driving.”

  “What? Am I the kid now?” Wolfe asked, laughing. Twelve hours later, he returned to the same hotel he had stayed in before in Crystal City. Using his laptop and the internet, he had no difficulty finding Emily Rose’s address and telephone
number in Fairfax City.

  The next morning, Friday, he called her to make certain she was at home. “Sure,” Rose said, “I’d love to talk with you about Jim. My husband won’t be home until later, so the neighbors will gossip.” She giggled. “I like being the source of their entertainment.”

  Wolfe found the older, small brick rambler, near George Mason University, without difficulty. A newer VW sedan sat in the driveway. There was no garage. Parking the Prius behind the Bug, Wolfe exited the car. He opened the screen door and knocked on the wooden door, using a brass knocker shaped like a lion with a ring in its mouth.

  In seconds, the inner door swung open. The tiny Emily Rose beckoned him into the living room. She held her hand out to Wolfe and then engulfed him in a hug. “So good to see you, Dr. Wolfe,” she said.

  He returned the hug tentatively and released her. He said, “Addy, please. May I call you Emily?”

  “Of course,” she said. “May I offer you some sweet tea? Some chips? Have a seat on the couch.” She pointed to a leather couch under the front living room window.

  “Tea would be great,” Wolfe said, sitting. “I really am thirsty.”

  She retrieved the tea and chips from the kitchen, and then sat across from Wolfe in a matching loveseat. For about an hour, Wolfe and Rose reminisced, telling each other their favorite James T. Byrnes stories. She told him about the senior class trip to Great Falls. He shared stories about R&R in Hong Kong.

  A motorcycle rumbled into the driveway. “Would that be your husband?” Wolfe asked.

  Rose nodded. She said, “He teaches at George Mason. Actually, he’s a history fellow there.”

  “Teaches about the Vietnam War,” Wolfe said.