“What, what did you say?!”
“NLF. Can you hear me now? Satisfied?”
Quyen had nothing more to say. Lei pushed her chair back, got up and went into the kitchen to see her sister Mi. The two were probably sobbing in each other’s arms, he thought. Quyen leaned back in his chair, feeling completely drained. He stood up, opened the kitchen door and without looking at his sisters, said, “I’ll speak to Mother, but you both watch what you say outside the house. Especially you, Lei! Be careful what you say to your friends at school!”
Pham Quyen went to his mother’s room and quietly pushed the door open. Had he come late or been unable to come at all that evening, and if his sisters had made a slip of the tongue, that would have been the end of all tranquility in the house. There was no telling what his mother would demand that he do, pestering him relentlessly. If she knew Minh had gone into the jungle, she would lose her wits and plead with Quyen to organize a special commando team to go out and bring him back.
His mother slowly opened her eyes and stared up at him. The lines of her mouth began to twitch in a contorted tick.
“Quyen, you’ve heard, haven’t you? Our Minh is missing. What can we do? You take after your father, so gutsy and clever that I never worry about you, but I’ve always worried about your little brother. Not knowing whether he’s dead or alive . . . shouldn’t we’ve heard some news of him?”
Pham Quyen forced a smile.
“The truth is, Mother, Minh’s joined the army. I sent him, Mother.”
The old woman sat up, straightening her backbone.
“He got a draft deferment, so why should he join the army?”
“He has to, if we are sending him to France to study. He has to finish military service first. If I get him into the medical corps, he’ll be out in eighteen months.”
“Well why did you wait until now to tell me and make me go through all this?”
Then his mother frowned again.
“So, where’s he stationed now? He’s not by any chance with the paratroopers or the rangers or the black leopards, or whatever they call them, is he?”
“No, Mother. I sent him to the Navy. He’s been in the orderly corps since dropping out of medical school. He’s wearing a white gown and working as an orderly on a hospital ship of a neutral country.”
“I see. So he’s nursing people. I suppose there’s not much to worry about then. I thought I would burn up inside.”
“Don’t worry, Mother. Just rest.”
As Quyen turned to leave the room his mother called out to him, “Why do you have that look on your face? Are you angry because I was so anxious?”
“No, Mother. I’m just a little tired.”
“Come home early tonight. We’ll have a family offering.”
“I’m very busy, Mother. You see, the general is going to Saigon. Even if I were ten people I wouldn’t be able to finish all the work that needs to be done. Now, just don’t worry about Minh anymore.”
“Wait . . . you’re not lying to me just to put your mother’s mind at ease, are you?”
Pham Quyen suppressed an urge to shout at the top of his lungs: “You’ve been a lucky woman, Mother, your husband passed away without pain as he slept in a bath; even if you lose one of your children, even if Minh was dead, you’d still be luckier than all the other old mothers of Vietnam.” But he gave his mother a wide smile.
“I’ll bring you his enlistment papers in a few days. You’ll be getting a letter from him before long, I bet.”
“Yes, yes, I’m fine now.”
Mi, who had been eavesdropping, grabbed his hand as he came out of the room.
“Well done. I’m glad she didn’t press harder. And don’t scold Lei too much, please.”
Without replying to her, Quyen walked on into the living room to look for Lei. Judging from the clinks from the kitchen, she was in there eating. He started to say something, caught himself, and walked outside. Mi followed him out of the house.
“Are you coming home tonight?”
“I don’t know. I might be late.”
He drove back to the provincial government offices in a savage mood. Before going in he bought a bánh mì from a vendor out front. As he walked in the door, a lieutenant with a freshly washed face spoke to him.
“A telephone call came for you just now, sir. From the Thanh Thanh.”
Chewing on the bánh mì, Major Pham said to the lieutenant, “Bring me a cup of coffee from downstairs.”
As soon as he left, Quyen picked up the phone.
“Mmm, it’s me. What’s up? What a pleasant surprise, you calling me at the office.”
Mimi gave him the full story on what had happened to her that morning. Pham Quyen almost threw down his bánh mì. She also told him she figured that there might very well be something they hoped to get out of him, since they said they would be consulting with him on the case.
Quyen barely contained his rage. “I’ll have those bastards kicked out of Da Nang. Don’t worry too much, I’ll be over later.”
He slammed down the receiver. Then he wrapped up what was left of the bánh mì in paper and tossed it in the garbage.
“Shit! And they call this coffee. Tastes like caffeine tablets in water.”
“They brought it this morning from the kitchen at the Grand Hotel, sir.”
“I know. The slop they call food . . . why can’t they eat like the French? Ignorant Americans.”
Sensing that the major was not in the best of moods, the lieutenant lingered for a while pretending to thumb through some papers, then at the first chance he slipped out of the room. At that moment the telephone rang.
“Hello, office of the aide-de-camp.”
But the voice on the other end was speaking English. “Excuse me. Is this the aide-de-camp’s office?”
“Yes, who’s this?”
“Ah, is this Major Pham?”
“You haven’t answered me, who are you?”
“Pardon me. I’m an investigator with CID.”
“You son of a bitch. Your name and rank, right now!”
The person on the other end of the line was not so easily intimidated.
“Please, Major, don’t get worked up. I have a signed confession which says you had your girlfriend dealing in C-rations and that both of you are narcotics users. I’m fully aware that you are at a desk where neither your own army nor the police can lay a hand on you. And I suppose the Allied Forces joint investigation team also regards you as untouchable. Are you listening, sir?”
“Yes, I’m listening, you son of a bitch.”
“Ah, thank you. We do, however, have certain channels. We can send these documents directly to the English newspapers and to the Anti-Corruption League down in Saigon. You don’t need to give us an answer right now. We’re at the Sports Club, so you sleep on it and let us know.”
The line went dead. Pham Quyen threw the phone down violently. He began to pace around the office. They had found his weak spot and were stabbing him right in it. What a shitty day! What could it be that they wanted from him? If they wanted nothing, then they would have just gone ahead without bothering to notify him. The League was not much to fear. If he spoke in advance about it to Liam, the general would not care a fish’s tit about it.
But he was worried about the English newspapers. Reporters being what they were, bastards aping the infantile liberals, they were sure to print a few lines that would make him a laughingstock. Or they might simply ignore it. If, by a stroke of rotten luck, the news desk in Saigon decided to target him and had their reporters in Da Nang start poking deeper on him, it would cost him a bundle. He walked over to the telephone, picked it up, and asked the operator to connect him with the Sports Club. To the person who answered, he said in Vietnamese that he wanted to speak with the foreigner who had just made a phone call. In a seco
nd he was put through.
“We were expecting your call. Would you like to meet with us, sir?”
“All right. I’ll see you there when I’m through with work.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Pham Quyen escorted the general to the airport and then went directly to the club. It was still early, so the place was nearly empty. As Pham entered, the waiter frowned at the sight of a Vietnamese army uniform. Madame Lin had invited Major Pham to several of her garden parties, so he was in fact more welcome than most of the foreign officers who patronized the club, but that was true only when he was in civilian attire. In that uniform it was not appropriate for him to mix with the American and Australian regulars.
“Those customers are in the last room on the right,” the waiter said.
Major Pham walked across the floor and into the arched passage. Paper lanterns had been lit in each of the rooms. He reached the room at the end and looked through the colored beads with a butterfly pattern hanging over the door. The two men inside straightened up and rose from their seats.
“You must be Major Pham Quyen. I’m the one who called you.”
Pham Quyen went in and sat down without saying a word. He was scrutinizing them carefully when one of the two pulled out his CID card and showed it to him.
“I’m Sergeant Ahn with CID.”
Pham Quyen did not even glance at the identification. The second man was obviously Vietnamese. He could not exactly place the face, but he had a vague feeling that he had seen him before somewhere. Actually, it was a very familiar face. Yong Kyu felt around in his pocket and produced some documents.
“Please read these.”
Major Pham snatched the papers from Yong Kyu and began to read. The other two men waited in silence. The major showed no change of expression. When he finished, he held out the papers to Yong Kyu.
“Keep them. They’re only copies.”
“What is it you want?” Pham Quyen asked disdainfully. “What is it you think you can do to me with these lousy sheets of paper?”
Then the major took his wallet out from the pocket of his army jacket. He threw down a hundred dollar bill—not a military payment certificate, but an authentic stateside note—on top of the confession documents.
“This is for your drinks. You’ll have to excuse me, I’m a busy man.”
The major was about to get up and leave when Toi quickly uttered a few words in Vietnamese. “Major, the difficulty lies with your lady friend. My friend here can have her forcibly deported tomorrow through the Korean consulate.”
Pham Quyen faltered for an instant and then sat back down on the sofa.
“Our intention is not to blackmail you. . . . We just need your cooperation on something,” Toi said.
“Who the hell are you, anyway? Where are you posted?”
“I work at the same place as this soldier. Discharged. Now I’m a civilian contract employee for the Allied Forces administrative bureau. Temporarily, though. Anyway, I know you very well, Major. My father once worked for your household. We used to collect herbal medicines from the old market in Le Loi Boulevard and deliver them to your house.”
Pham Quyen then realized why the man looked familiar. His father had been one of the suppliers who collected cinnamon and cloves from the Thu Bon valleys. A plumper and more wrinkled face appeared to Quyen superimposed on this man’s. Still, he kept cool as he looked back over at Toi. Sensing the reaction, Toi turned back to the matter at hand.
“If we wanted to, within ten days we could gather complete information on the dealing channels used by the provincial government office. All we want is a little cooperation.”
“What sort?”
“We divide the goods traded in the Da Nang black markets into three categories: luxury goods, daily necessities, and military supplies. With the exception of the last, the dealing of these goods is conducted out in the open. We’re asking for your cooperation in the category of daily necessities. Help us connect with the dealing channels at your office. We can supply you with almost anything. Also, let us use your warehouse and the container terminal at the port.”
“Is that all?”
“One more thing. Get us a vehicle permit authorized by the general himself that’ll let us pass freely anywhere in the city and throughout the Second Army command region. That’s all we ask.”
Pham Quyen lowered his head and thought it over. Then he asked Toi, “These requests, where are they coming from? I understand this sergeant here is with the CID investigation team, but I don’t feel comfortable talking with him about this.”
“The Americans run their own economic operations. This idea is something the sergeant and I came up with ourselves. With your cooperation, the three of us can run the whole thing independently. What his people want is information.”
“So you’ll be dealing in the black market and then reporting on your own activities,” Pham said sarcastically.
Toi waved his hand and said, “That’s precisely the point. We need to get deeply involved in the market. From the various channels, we must single out the line that is funneling military supplies to the NLF.”
Pham Quyen laughed. “And along the way you intend to make some money, is that it?”
“Nobody else is any different. A lot of money is needed to run an operations team. Our reports will be more than adequate as long as we pass along some information.”
Pham Quyen’s mood had changed for the better. He took out a cigar and lit it.
“I also have a few conditions. First, once I plug you into a dealing channel, we will not interfere with one another’s transactions. If you break this rule even once, I’ll see to it that you’ll never be able to buy or sell a single pack of cigarettes ever again in Da Nang. Second, the warehouse and containers will be available, but each time you use them, you will pay a ten percent surcharge on the total value of the goods. Third, I’ll supply you with a patrol vehicle with a special pass. You will pay separately for the use of that pass. If you find these three conditions acceptable, I’ll agree to help you.”
Toi interpreted it to Yong Kyu and then said, “Major Pham, in this war the Vietnamese army is forced into irrational behavior. And there’s always some risk. It’s because the American military support is largely focused on tracking military supplies. If you cooperate, we can help to minimize such risks. We’ll mainly be dealing daily necessities and once in a while some luxury goods. You must allow us use of a special pass without extra charge so that we can have our goods flowing more freely.”
“That may be true. But not, absolutely not, while I’m with the provincial government office,” Pham said, thinking of the three hundred planned phoenix hamlets.
“I can see you don’t trust us. But if you give us free access to a pass, you can still check the warehouse and container terminal every time we use them, can’t you?”
“I’ve got an idea. I’ll have to renew the permit every month.”
Again Toi translated for Yong Kyu. Then Yong Kyu said to the major, “The incident with C-rations was your mistake. It takes time to penetrate indirect dealings, but we can quickly uncover direct transactions in the markets or the satellite villages. Once we gather data from the vehicle logs and identify the buyers and the quantities, it’s not hard to pinpoint the dealer and the source of supply. This time I only confirmed your identity in my report. But I’ll have to speak with my boss about the dealings we’ve negotiated. Any transactions in military supplies will be reported in detail all the way up to the American in charge of the joint CID team. That’s our duty. Business and duty will be kept separated.”
“All right. Is your boss responsible for the black markets?”
“He’s just kept informed about it. I’m the one taking responsibility. Whatever information we dig up in the market will have nothing to do with you. And we won’t interfere with any of your deals, eith
er.”
Pham Quyen was satisfied. He almost beamed as he held out a hand to Yong Kyu to shake on it.
“I’ll vouch for Miss Oh until she acquires a nationality. Let’s include her status of stay in Vietnam in our deal.”
Pham Quyen spoke frankly about the topic which was still of considerable concern to him. Unlike a little earlier, Yong Kyu’s voice was calm when he replied. “The Korean government always gives top priority to the interests of Koreans who hold jobs and earn money. So, provided Miss Oh can obtain employment, her residence in Vietnam will automatically be recognized. In other words, once she has a job, the business of having her visa extended is for the Vietnamese, not us, to decide.”
“You almost fooled me. Employment here is no problem at all. I’ll have her hired at the provincial government office.”
“We didn’t intend to fool you. We just wanted to discuss this idea with you. Besides, if we had wanted to, it would not have been impossible to have her deported.”
They had resolved their differences and lowered their guards and were laughing and slapping each other on the back. Yong Kyu looked at his watch. It was time to call Pointer.
“Excuse me for a minute, please.”
“Calling the captain?” asked Toi.
“Yeah, I told him we were coming here. He’ll be waiting.”
“Give him the details later. Leave me out of this. I’m nothing more than your advisor.”
Yong Kyu stared piercingly at his sunglasses, then smirked. “You’re my partner. And you’re our source of information.”
Yong Kyu left the room. A good number of drinkers had gathered in the main room of the club. It was about half-full with white civilians, soldiers, and bar girls. Music blared. He went up to the bar and placed a call to the Dragon Palace Restaurant. In a few seconds the captain was on the line.
“It’s me, sir. I’m with Major Pham now. I think we should disregard the report, sir.”
“Why? The boss wants the details.”
“Give him a verbal report, sir. The Vietnamese business dealings are more important than that.”
The Shadow of Arms Page 21
