“We're back in Pleiku now,” she said. “It is worth noting, for the purposes of the trial as well as for my editors back in Kansas City, that the piece of film you have just seen is seamless. We have used one can of film, and there are no splices. What you have seen was shot in Pleiku, Laos, and back in Pleiku again, which is where I am right now. You have just watched the discovery of a shocking piece of evidence, a fifty-five-pound bale of heroin found in the jungle at the end of a grassy strip in Laos. The pilot and copilot of the helicopter can testify as to where we went today. Gentlemen . . .”
Two young flyboys appeared next to her.
“Did you fly us into Laos today?”
“Yeah,” said the pilot.
“It was Laos,” said the copilot. “I've got the whole route plotted on our map.”
“Thank you,” Cathy said.
The flyboys walked away.
“By the time this film is shown, I am certain that tests on the bale will have proven its contents are indeed heroin. But as for me, I need no more proof than what I've already seen today, shocking evidence of apparent complicity of the United States Government in the heroin trade in Southeast Asia.”
The screen went blank and the lights came on.
Repatch was still sitting there, waiting.
“Specialist Fish,” said Captain Morriss, who had stood up and walked around in front of the defense table.
“Specialist, was that a film of the journey you took yesterday in search of this bale of heroin?”
“Yes, sir. Sure was.”
“Your Honor, I would at this time like to introduce into evidence a report from the Criminal Investigation Division lab attesting to the contents of the bale. The report states the contents of the bale are indeed heroin, approximately ninety-two percent strength.”
Morriss handed the report to the judge.
The judge looked over at Captain Dupuy.
“Captain, without further testimony I am inclined to admit this report and to admit the burlap bale as evidence.”
Dupuy shrugged.
“The prosecution would like its objection noted for the record.”
“So noted,” said the judge. “Report is marked defense exhibit E.”
“Specialist, I have one final question for you,” Morriss said. “Lieutenant Blue and you witnessed bales like this one"—he pointed to the bale at Repatch's feet—"being loaded on a DC-3 on the night of October 12. You have testified that it was during the loading of these bales that Corporal Strosher was killed. Is it still your testimony that the man who killed Corporal Strosher was an American?”
“Yes, sir. He was.”
“No further questions. Your witness.”
Dupuy stood up as though he was planning to ask some questions, but then he sat down.
“The prosecution has nothing further for this witness, Your Honor.”
“You are excused,” said the judge.
Repatch exited out the back door. The bale of heroin still sat where it was, at the front of the courtroom, now evidence in the court-martial.
“Do you have any further witnesses, Captain Morriss?” the judge asked.
“Sir, the defense calls Mr. Jacob Rousseau to the stand.”
“Call Mr. Rousseau,” said the judge.
Jake Rousseau strode to the witness chair and was sworn in by Captain Dupuy. He sat down. His hulking figure seemed to fill the front of the court, and the officers on the court leaned forward for a better look.
“Mr. Rousseau, you are the Central Intelligence Agency station chief in Vietnam, are you not?”
“I am Deputy Director of the Agency for International Development,” said Rousseau.
“Do you deny that in fact you are CIA Saigon station chief, sir?”
“I have answered your question. I'm Deputy Director of AID.”
“Mr. Rousseau, is it United States policy in Vietnam to aid Meo tribesmen in Laos in the harvesting and marketing of their opium crop?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
“Are you aware that the Central Intelligence Agency has in fact been involved in the opium and heroin trade in Laos for five years?”
“No, I am not.”
“Do you deny CIA involvement in the Laotian opium and heroin trade, sir?”
“AID has nothing to do with Laos. That's all I can testify to.”
“Are you aware that Lieutenant Blue . . .” Morriss walked behind his client and placed his hands on the Lieutenant's shoulders. “Are you aware, sir, that Lieutenant Blue and his patrol witnessed a heroin shipment from a makeshift airfield inside Laos?”
“I've heard the allegation. I don't believe it.”
“I direct your attention to the burlap bale on the floor beside you, sir. A CID lab test confirms that this fifty-five-pound bale contains pure heroin. The bale was found in the trees at the end of the grass airstrip where Lieutenant Blue witnessed the loading and takeoff of a DC-3 full of bales exactly like this one. Is it still your testimony that you do not believe Lieutenant Blue and his men witnessed the heroin shipment, sir?”
“I don't believe it.”
Captain Morriss looked at the witness for a moment, then shook his head slowly.
“Your witness,” he said.
Captain Dupuy stood up.
“Mr. Rousseau, can you think of any reason you should have been called here today as a witness?”
“No, sir, I cannot.”
“You said you are the Deputy Director of AID. In that position, did you have any knowledge at all of this fantastic scenario the defense has laid out to this court, this nonsense about heroin trafficking and the like?”
“I have no such knowledge.”
“Do you know of any other agency of the United States government that might possibly have engaged in such fantastic behavior?”
“No, sir, I do not.”
“Thank you, Mr. Rousseau, for your forthright and honest testimony.”
“Redirect, Captain Morriss?” the judge asked.
“No, sir.”
“You are excused, sir,” the judge said.
Rousseau stood up and looked over the courtroom for a moment, his eyes finally finding those of the General. He smiled briefly and left the stand and walked out the back door.
“Captain Morriss, call your next witness.”
“Sir, the defense has one final witness who does not appear on the defense list of witnesses. I ask permission of the court to call this witness, despite the fact that his name was not supplied to the prosecution beforehand.”
“Does the prosecution have any objection?”
“Sir, the prosecution objects most vehemently to this tactic.”
“Captain Morriss, can you supply the court with an explanation for your failure to include this witness on your list?”
“Sir, this witness did not become available to the defense until this morning. I recognize that my request is extraordinary, but this witness is essential to our case, Your Honor.”
“This is your final witness, Captain Morriss?”
“Yes, sir, he is.”
“I'm going to allow the witness,” the judge said.
“Sir, I want the prosecution objection to this witness noted for the record,” said Captain Dupuy.
“So noted,” said the judge.
“Sir, the defense calls Mr. Ba Tam to the stand.”
“Call Mr. Ba Tam,” the judge ordered.
The back door opened, and the stooped figure of Ba Tam appeared. He paused at the door and looked around the room. Then he lowered his head and scooted across the floor and stood in front of the witness chair. He was wearing a sharply cut Western-style suit and black shoes. His hair was white and his eyes were sunk deeply within squinty slits. He was bent over, and his shoulders slouched forward like a peasant's. He looked very old and very small on the platform in front of the court and the judge.
“Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?” Captain Dupuy asked.
“Yes, sir, I do,” Ba Tam said quietly.
“Be seated.”
Ba Tam sat down.
“Mr. Tam,” Captain Morriss began, “you have sworn to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, in an American military court of law. Are you aware of the gravity of the oath you have taken?”
“Yes, sir. I am aware.” Ba Tam's deeply lined face was impassive and his voice was level and almost accentless.
“Mr. Tam, the oath you have taken is a grave one for two reasons. The first reason is that you are under penalty of perjury if you do not tell the whole truth. If you are found to have lied to this court, you could go to prison for a very long time. That is the way of American justice. Our system demands of you absolute adherence to its judicial rules, and the rule of law has one absolute above all others, and that is the requirement to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Do you understand what I have said?”
“Yes, sir, I understand this.”
“The second reason your commitment to tell the truth to this court is a grave one is the fact that a young man's life is on the line in this case. He has been charged with desertion in the face of the enemy, and under our system of military law, he can be hanged by the neck until dead if he is found guilty. Therefore, the questions I will ask you must be answered completely truthfully, because your failure to do so may jeopardize the life of this man.” Morriss pointed to the Lieutenant.
“I understand this requirement for truth,” said Ba Tam.
“I will begin again,” said Captain Morriss. He walked around in front of the lectern so that he was only a couple of feet from the witness. He wanted the intimacy of close contact. He wanted the members of the court to watch very, very closely, and to listen even more closely.
“Your name is Ba Tam, and you own a business called the Restaurant Viet-Français on the waterfront in downtown Saigon. Is this correct?”
“Yes, sir, this is part correct,” said the witness. “My name is Ba Tam. But I am not owner of Restaurant Viet-Français.”
“Who owns the Restaurant Viet-Français, Mr. Tam?”
“People's Revolutionary Government owns Restaurant Viet-Français, sir. I operate restaurant for People's Revolutionary Government, sir.”
“Can you tell this court who, in fact, you are, Ba Tam?”
“Yes, sir. I am general of the People's Home Guard for Song Cai Valley, and for Ya Krong Bolah Valley, sir. I am Province Leader for the People's Revolutionary Government. I am VC general, sir.”
Dupuy jumped to his feet screaming, “Arrest him! Arrest him! Objection! Arrest him! Objection!” Several members of the court stood up and started to move away, as if they were afraid the witness would pull a pistol from his suit jacket and start shooting up the court. The judge banged his gavel and shouted:
“Order! Order! There will be order in this court!”
Dupuy remained on his feet, a look of stark terror in his eyes, which were staring at the witness. Morriss remained standing. The members of the court who had moved away from their table eased themselves into their chairs and kept their eyes locked on the witness.
Only Mr. Tam had remained calm throughout the ruckus. He was an old man and he had seen his share of mad behavior on the part of his enemies. They had come and gone over the years, and he had simply exchanged one enemy for another while he continued to run the Restaurant Viet-Français on the waterfront. His face was expressionless. He seemed to be listening to an inner voice that assured him that these enemies, too, would go the way of the French and the others. All you had to do was sit there and wait, so he just sat there at the front of the room, waiting, with his hands folded in his lap and his feet dangling in the air, for his legs were too short to reach the floor.
“This is a court of law and as such it is not a battlefield and the rules observed here are not the rules of engagement, they are the rules of the United States Code of Military Justice. If anyone has any doubts that I mean what I say, they will leave the court immediately.”
He waited for a moment, then he gaveled the court to order.
“Proceed, counselor,” he instructed Captain Morriss.
“Thank you, sir,” said Morriss. He regained his position close to the witness and said:
“Mr. Tam, you have made a serious admission to this American court of law. You have told this court that you are a Vietcong general and that you are a Province Commissar in the Vietcong government in exile. Judging by the behavior in this room when you admitted your true identity, it is obvious that you have put yourself in great jeopardy. You must have a very good reason for having done so. Will you please tell the court what that reason is?”
“Sir, what is said about opium trade in Laos true.” He pointed to the bale of heroin.
“You have information about opium and heroin shipments being made from Laos?”
“Yes, sir. My province on border with Laos. People's Revolutionary Guard tries many years to stop opium trade.”
“So you are saying that you have something of a selfish motive for coming forth with your admission, Mr. Tam, are you not?”
“Yes, is in interest of my nation, the nation of Vietnam.” Mr. Tam looked around the room with steely gray eyes, then he turned his gaze on Captain Morriss.
“Go on, sir.”
“Yes, sir. Every year, in October, American high command has made operation similar to Operation Iron Fist One. Last year, 1968, was Force Field. In 1967, operation was Short Strike. In 1966, Body Blow. In 1965, operation was Bold Bayonet. Each year at same time, same operation. This is why I come here to this court: to tell truth of Operation Iron Fist One. This man, Lieutenant Blue, he discovers truth of the operation, but he does not know that he knows this truth. I am here to tell truth, Captain. You have asked me for truth, and I will tell truth.”
“We are listening,” said Captain Morriss, and it was true. The courtroom was rapt. Not an eye wavered from the face of the slight gray man seated in front of them. Not a single ear was inattentive to the sound of his voice, the calm tones of learning and academia brought home to the reality of a Quonset hut outside Saigon.
“American Colonel Testor makes Iron Fist operation to stop People's Home Guard from making war against opium traders. This American colonel has made such operations before, sir. Many tons of opium, much heroin, leave Laos every year at this time. This American Lieutenant sees American airplane being loaded with opium and heroin. Men he sees are American mercenaries, work for American Central Intelligence Agency. Because he sees this, American Colonel Testor demands Lieutenant Blue make no report about death of his soldier. Lieutenant Blue see something he should not see. Make report he should not make. Lieutenant Blue has much courage to make report. This is reason for trial, sir. Not for desertion.”
“Mr. Tam, you seem to have a sophisticated understanding of these proceedings, and of the matters about which you are testifying. Can you tell this court why this is so, and why this court should believe you?”
“Yes, sir. I am general of People's Army in Song Cai Valley, sir. This is my job, to know American movements, to know American strategy. My soldiers fight soldiers of American Colonel Testor many months. We know purpose of Operation Iron Fist. We know Americans support opium trade in Laos. We know why Meo peoples make war against us. American government makes war against people of Vietnam, sir. People of Vietnam must defend against war. This is why I come today. American Colonel Testor must not succeed to protect opium traders.”
“So despite the fact that you are an avowed enemy of the American Army, you are asking us to believe you because of your motive in coming forward, because you have a vested interest in stopping the opium trade in Laos.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You are a VC general?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you expect this court to believe a VC general?”
“Yes sir. Sir, there is much I admire about United States of America. I graduated in United States fr
om Princeton University. My family sent me to United States to learn great principles of democracy. I admire system of American education. American courts of justice I admire. American Constitution and Bill of Rights, yes. American wars against movements of national independence, no. I must fight against American support of criminal opium trade. I am here as man educated by America. I proudly say my belief in innocence of Lieutenant Blue, my belief in rightness of my cause, cause of people of Vietnam.”
Captain Morriss stood before Mr. Tam for a long moment, then turned and walked behind the defense table and stood next to his client and said:
“Thank you for your testimony, Mr. Tam. I have no further questions for you. Your Honor, the defense rests its case.”
Colonel Kelly took a moment to gather himself, then he turned to Captain Dupuy.
“Does the prosecution have any questions for this witness?”
“Yes, sir,” said Captain Dupuy. He walked to the lectern and faced Mr. Tam.
“So you come into this court and you admit that you're a VC general and a VC commissar, and you tell us this fantastic story about opium in Laos and American involvement in the opium trade, and you expect us to believe a goddamn VC general?”
“Yes, sir,” said Mr. Tam.
“Why should this court believe you, a VC general?” Dupuy asked sarcastically.
“Sir, you should believe because I must know these things I say because my soldiers fight against Operation Iron Fist One. Vietnam my country, sir. You invade my country. I am at war with American Colonel Testor because these reasons. You should believe me because I am your enemy, sir.”
Dupuy leaned over, and Major Thompson whispered something to him. Then he stood up with a smile on his face.
“Mr. Tam, it has come to my attention that you have faced charges of black marketeering in the past. Is this true?”
“Yes, sir. Is true.”
“So not only are you a VC general and a VC commissar, you are a black marketeer. What do you have to say for yourself now, Mr. Tam?”
“Sir, black market is economy of war. When you end war, you end black market. Until war ends, I will proudly continue in black market. It is way of war, sir, and I am warrior.”
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