‘Only fifteen miles? Not exactly the Himalayas, are they?’
‘The major mountain ranges run north to south in a huge belt, from here all the way into Laos,’ explained Condley. ‘The Que Sons are like a thumb pointing east toward the coast. That’s why they were so much trouble for us during the war. The North Vietnamese could hump in from Laos along the mountains under a double-canopy jungle and position base camps within a few miles of the coast. They could come down very quickly when they wanted to attack, but it was hell taking it to them in the mountains when they wanted to defend.’
‘And Salt and Pepper operated with them from these base camps,’ reasoned Muir.
‘Maybe Salt and Pepper,’ shrugged Condley, staring up at the rugged blue peaks. ‘Maybe many Salts and many Peppers.’
Colonel Pham had been reticent since joining them at the airport in Sai Gon and had not spoken at all since leaving Da Nang. As they neared the center of the small town of Que Son he seemed to awaken. Looking intensely to their front, he tapped the driver on an arm, directing him to halt at the edge of the road in front of a boxy cement building that housed the Que Son District Headquarters.
Just outside the building, two squat, hard-looking little men were waiting for them underneath a huge red communist flag. The car stopped right next to the two men. Colonel Pham burst from it, leaving Condley and Muir still inside, and began an intense discussion with the district government officials. Watching the older man’s sudden vigor, an enormous respect washed over Condley.
‘He’s taking no prisoners,’ mused Condley.
‘Excuse me,’ asked Muir, ‘but aren’t they on the same side?’
‘Not on this one. This is sort of like “you bet your life” for Colonel Pham, Professor. That’s why he came up here with us. Ha Noi wasn’t happy about our request, and he’s on the hook personally if things go wrong. If we embarrass the government, he loses big face. If we were hiding a second agenda that’s more explosive, he can count on either retiring or going to jail. So he’s got to help us and at the same time not lose face with them.’
‘What’s he saying?’ asked Muir as the two caught bits and pieces of the conversation from inside the car.
‘Basically, he’s telling them he’s in charge,’ said Condley. ‘And that he wants the no-bullshit, exact fucking truth.’
‘Da, honcho obah dare!’ laughed Ngoc the driver, pointing at Colonel Pham. ‘VC khong thick, say America numbah fuckin’ ten!’
‘What does he mean, number ten?’ Muir seemed confused.
‘Number one is the best,’ chuckled Condley. ‘So use your imagination.’
‘Numbah fuckin’ ten thousand,’ decided Ngoc, laughing greatly as he watched the three men conduct their intense debate. Then suddenly he retreated inside his mask, staring straight ahead again as Colonel Pham climbed back into the car.
‘Di theo duong nay!’ said the colonel firmly, pointing straight ahead, and Ngoc immediately pulled back onto the road. Looking behind him, Condley saw that the two men were following them in another four-wheel-drive vehicle.
The colonel remained silent for several minutes as they took the road through Que Son and back into the countryside. His tension was palpable. For a moment Condley regretted having put him into such a dilemma. Then finally Colonel Pham turned back to Condley. His face was determined, his eyes bright with challenge. He gave Condley an ironic but victorious grin.
‘They have something to show us,’ said the colonel, speaking in Vietnamese. ‘But they will want a reward.’
‘Do they have the guy?’
‘One step at a time, Cong Ly. They have something valuable. How much they have might depend on how big a reward they receive.’
‘What kind of reward?’
‘Five thousand dollars. Maybe more.’
‘Five thousand dollars?’ Condley choked back a laugh. ‘That’s fifteen years of income for somebody living back here.’
‘It would not only go to them,’ said the colonel. ‘As you know, there are many people who would be paid. For them, maybe only ten or twenty dollars.’
‘Big problem, Colonel! We don’t pay bribes!’
‘Not a bribe!’ said Colonel Pham. ‘In your country you have what they call a contract. What you get depends on what you give. Am I right?’
‘Services,’ grinned Condley, beginning to understand. ‘They provide a service, and they are paid for the value of that service.’
‘Dung roi!’ exclaimed the colonel. Exactly.
‘They have to show us first.’
‘That might be difficult,’ said the colonel. ‘Because once they show us, the service has been performed whether they’re paid or not.’
‘They can always work with Ha Noi to deny me an exit visa if I don’t follow through.’
Colonel Pham laughed at that. ‘You don’t want to leave anyway. At least that’s what my youngest daughter tells me.’
It was the first time he had mentioned Van. Condley grinned stupidly, fighting back an immediate nervousness, and he could tell that the ever-astute colonel was reading his forced smile perfectly. ‘Sooner or later I will leave, Colonel.’
‘Maybe to Hawaii?’
Another knowing smile. Given their shared cynicism regarding Francois Petain, Condley decided to take both remarks as compliments, even as an encouragement. ‘Maybe to Hawaii, maybe to Da Lat.’ The colonel laughed warmly at that, as if it were confirming some secret expectation.
‘I should show you Da Lat sometime, Cong Ly.’
‘OK, Colonel. And I’ll show you Hawaii.’
‘I would like that. You could buy me a shirt like Professor Muir’s. Then maybe people would think I’m a Filipino.’
Condley grew serious. ‘Please tell them we’re not trying to trick them. But it really depends on what they have.’
‘I think you will be happy with what they have,’ said the colonel. ‘But there has been some resistance to this idea. If you want success you should make sure that they are happy too.’
The driver in the car behind them began beeping his horn, little staccato blasts, again and again. Ngoc slowed, allowing the second car to pass them. After that they followed the second car along steadily worsening roads as it headed up into the mountains. An hour passed. Asphalt gave way to gravel. Gravel gave way to mud. Ngoc cursed and muttered to himself as he fishtailed and slid through vast puddles, ugly craters, and endless washboard gullies. The mountains closed around them and still they climbed. Finally, on a ridgeline two thousand feet above Que Son, the lead car halted. Ngoc pulled up just behind it and turned off the engine.
The narrow road was cutting through a saddle in the mountains. To their right and left, huge crags rose steeply, their peaks lost in the insistent mist. Straight ahead, the road fell down the mountains into a wide, waterous valley. It was so quiet they could hear one another breathe. And stepping out of the car into the silence, Condley fell like a rock into the past.
Hanson Muir had walked around the car to join him. The professor stretched mightily, trying to shake the kinks from the long ride. ‘Do you have your map, Brandon? The old one from the war?’
‘I don’t need it.’ Condley pointed knowingly down into the valley. ‘That’s Antenna Valley. Ninh Phuoc is about five miles from here.’
‘Amazing,’ said Muir, straining to see that far. ‘Beautiful, isn’t it? I’ve never breathed air so clean. And it’s just… right there! It seems like another lifetime that we were in Ninh Phuoc, doesn’t it?’
Condley did not hear him. Nor did he merely see the mountains. At that moment he was inside them, almost a part of them. He stared coolly up both steep slopes, measuring their crags and the tangled jungle foliage, wondering where the trails might open up to reinforced caves or ambush-ready clearings, trying to decide how he would either attack or bypass them and along which rock-strewn ridge he might place his defensive perimeter for the night. It was happening again, the brain trick that he neither desired nor understood. The wa
r was all over him, more real than the thought of pressing into the mountains with three former enemies and this well-meaning but permanently naive scientist who believed the world’s answers turned on the riddles found in bones.
‘Ninh Phuoc’s an easy hike from here. The Marine base at An Hoa isn’t far away either.’ He pointed expertly. ‘Right over there, see the bend in the far river? And Que Son is just down the mountain behind us. Great place for an NVA base camp, huh, Professor?’
‘If you say so,’ said Muir. ‘Personally, I find it unbearably primitive.’
In front of the other car, Colonel Pham and the two district officials were arguing again. Muir watched them quizzically. ‘They’re not happy with this, are they?’
‘I think we need to let them talk with Andrew Jackson.’
‘Are you speaking in code?’
‘Loan me forty dollars and I’ll demonstrate.’
Muir smiled slowly, getting it. He took out his wallet and handed Condley two twenty-dollar bills. ‘Can I put this on my expense account?’
‘Absolutely, Professor. You didn’t notice, but we had a late breakfast in Que Son.’
‘For forty dollars it must have been a feast.’
‘We killed a whole pig, didn’t we?’
Muir grinned. ‘What did we do with the other thirty-nine dollars?’
‘Orange juice is expensive out here.’
Condley approached the three men. They ceased their discussion as he neared, the two government officials eyeing him with unmuted suspicion. He nodded deferentially to Colonel Pham, recognizing his role as the leader of their little delegation, then shook hands with each of the government officials and spoke to them in Vietnamese.
‘Good morning, gentlemen. I’m sorry that I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself before. On behalf of the United States government, I would like to express my deep appreciation for your assistance today. I know that our request has caused many inconveniences in your busy and understaffed headquarters, as well as additional costs for such items as fuel for your vehicle. When we’re finished with this expedition I will work very carefully with you to fill out the necessary forms for a full reimbursement from my government, including’ – he raised his eyebrows a bit, as if telling them a secret – ‘certain administrative expenses, depending on the success of our mission.’
The two officials nodded somberly to Pham upon hearing those words but still remained silent. Condley continued, handing each of them a twenty-dollar bill. ‘For now, since I do not want you to have incurred any expenses from your own pockets, please accept these small payments to cover the costs for the trip this morning.’
They silently accepted the bills, the equivalent of a month’s pay for each of them. Pocketing the money, they glanced quickly at each other and then at Colonel Pham, a signal that the bickering was over. Finally they nodded grimly to Condley, an indication that they were ready to proceed, and began walking toward a thin, muddy trail that disappeared inside the foliage of the mountain on the eastern side of the road.
Colonel Pham gave Condley a secret wink, pulling him aside and speaking quietly before they began to follow the two men. ‘They are both former Viet Cong soldiers. Their families suffered greatly during the war. You must understand that they are not yet over their bitterness. They wish to speak to you only through me. But they have their orders, so they must co-operate. And your little gift was helpful. Go ahead, follow them. They have some information you will find interesting. This way. It’s not too far.’
‘So much for the pure flame of the revolution,’ teased Muir as he began walking behind Condley and Colonel Pham.
‘Greed is its very own philosophy, Professor.’
‘Another little toll booth on the road toward fulfillment.’
Condley chuckled. ‘If you’re going to get screwed, you may as well get kissed.’
They trudged up the narrow, muddy trail behind the two tough former soldiers, fighting rocks and brush as they made their way toward the fog-shrouded crest of the mountain. The cooling effect of the recent monsoon was kind to them as they struggled up the slope. If they had been forced to make this trek during the dry months, it would have been so punishing that Hanson Muir and possibly even Colonel Pham would have succumbed to a blistering tropical heat.
In front of them, a rickety wooden footbridge connected two peaks above a rushing stream. Reaching the bridge, they crossed it slowly, one man at a time. The water in the gorge below was as clear as glass, pouring over piles of rocks and churning into froth as the stream made tight turns. Looking upstream as he walked across the little bridge, Condley recognised a pile of huge, distant boulders. To Condley’s trained eye such rocks and boulders had their own signatures, particularly around stream-beds. In his other life they had provided important landmarks when he was navigating his platoon underneath the blanket-like jungle canopy.
And Condley had no doubt that he knew those rocks. He had waded knee-deep up the same stream a lifetime ago as his company bypassed a piece of jungle too thick to hack through with machetes. The very jungle on the ridge just below his feet. In June 1969.
Reaching the far side of the bridge, he called to Muir, who was now crossing it. ‘I’ve been here before, Professor.’
‘I know, Brandon,’ teased Muir, panting greatly as he walked toward him. ‘I saw your initials carved on the bridge.’
‘There wasn’t any bridge. And the road back there didn’t exist either.’
‘So they didn’t drive you up here in a car?’
‘I remember the rocks. If you follow that stream-bed to the other side of them you’ll find the ambush site.’
‘My best guess is that you’ll drown if you try to walk in that stream.’
Then and now. Now and then. The professor was right. He was living in two worlds again. ‘In December, maybe, but it was late June. The dry season. There wasn’t as much water in it. It was knee-deep, refreshing. We filled our canteens in the stream as we walked. It looked so pure. Later on, half of us caught shrimp fever.’
Muir reached him. They paused for a moment, catching their breath. ‘The rocks are telling you all this?’
‘Bones talk to you. Why can’t rocks talk to me?’
‘I’m fine with that, Brandon. Really. It makes perfect sense.’
‘Liar.’
Muir laughed, his chest heaving as he drew in huge gulps of air. ‘Yes, I am. But only on irrelevant issues.’
‘Rocks are very relevant in the mountains.’
‘See? I’m not very good at it, am I?’
The two district government officials started climbing again. They followed the trail for another fifty meters until it suddenly leveled off, reaching a plateau. The two tough little men stopped for a moment, looking back with satisfaction at Colonel Pham, Condley, and Muir, who was still breathing deeply as he recovered from the climb. Then one of them pointed toward the jungle on the right side of the trail, and they disappeared into the foliage.
‘They could have saved us a lot of trouble by bringing this fellow down the mountain and meeting us on the road,’ sighed Muir, walking reluctantly up the trail.
Condley’s antennae were working too, but for a different reason. ‘Who’s going to take this guy into custody, assuming they actually deliver him to us? It’s a long way back down this mountain, and I don’t see him going quietly.’
‘A scary thought,’ said Professor Muir nervously. He gave Condley an uncomfortable smile. ‘As you know, Brandon, I get involved only after they’ve decomposed.’
They followed Colonel Pham and the others down a narrow passage that had been recently cut through an immense tangle of leaves and vines, as if just for them. The jungle swallowed them as they walked. Thick, reaching trees blocked the light above them. The vines pushed in all around them. It appeared they were moving through a clinging green tunnel, from which there was no clear entrance or exit.
‘Is this what it was like during the war?’ asked Muir.
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p; ‘Try cutting the trail yourself,’ laughed Condley. ‘With fifty pounds of gear on your back and somebody waiting to kill you at the other end.’
After a hundred meters the jungle just as suddenly ended, and they stepped from the vines into a wide, grassy clearing. The five men stood at the edge of the clearing for a moment, uniformly exhausted. They breathed heavily, nodding warily to one another as they rubbed the scratches on their arms and faces, having developed an odd camaraderie through their little ordeal. And then Colonel Pham nudged Condley, pointing across the clearing as if offering him a personal gift.
‘They are coming now. Prepare yourself. You will have only one opportunity to convince them.’
‘Convince them of what, Colonel?’
‘That this is important. And that you are sincere. These are mountain people, Cong Ly. They know nothing since the war.’
In the distance several dogs were barking, and now they heard children’s voices. As Condley looked across the clearing he could see a hundred people emerging from the far trees and walking toward them. A collective, expectant electricity seemed to pulse through them as they walked. They were of all ages. They wore the coarse blue or black pajamas and conical straw non la hats of rural Viet Nam. The little yellow dogs chased among them, yapping at their feet.
‘The village is not far from here,’ said Colonel Pham, as if explaining their eerie approach. ‘We are not invited there. Not yet.’
Hanson Muir’s mouth was agape, his eyes transfixed on the villagers. ‘Brandon, look. There they are.’
Condley followed Muir’s gaze. Walking toward them, mixed among the native villagers, were several half-black children.
The district government officials waved to Colonel Pham and began to walk forward. Condley, Muir, and Colonel Pham followed them to the center of the clearing. They were immediately surrounded by the excited villagers. For several minutes it was impossible to speak. The villagers curiously inspected them, talking to one another about them as if they were frozen statues in a museum. They touched their clothing and their hair and ran their fingers along their skin, conversing in such a thick, slurred rural dialect that Condley had great difficulty understanding their words.
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