She puffed thoughtfully on her cigarette, then said to me, “I really wish you hadn’t been so damned nosy.”
“Hey, that’s what I get paid for. That’s why they call me a detective.”
She smiled, then realizing we’d been ignoring our host, she chatted with him awhile about God knows what. Maybe she was asking him where he’d gotten his dirt floor. She gave him another cigarette, then she found the bill from the Dien Bien Phu Motel in her pocket, and wrote something on the back as she spoke to Mr. Vinh. Maybe they were exchanging pho recipes, but then she said to me, “I’m getting Mr. Vinh’s cousin’s address in Dien Bien Phu so we can mail Mr. Vinh’s letter back to him.”
“Why? You or someone else is going to kill Mr. Vinh.”
Susan didn’t reply.
Mr. Vinh smiled at me.
I said to Susan, “Let’s get out of here before the fuzz shows up.”
Susan said to me, “We’re okay. You’re not going to believe this, but Mr. Vinh is the district Party chief.” She nodded toward the poster of Uncle Ho on the wall. “The soldiers won’t come unless Mr. Vinh summons them.”
I looked at Mr. Vinh. My luck, I’m in the house of the top Commie in the county. That aside, he seemed cooperative, and if Susan had translated my questions about what transpired on that day he’d seen Captain Blake shoot Lieutenant Hines, Mr. Vinh would have answered. I asked Mr. Vinh, “Parlez-vous français?”
He shook his head.
“Not even a little? Un peu?”
He didn’t respond.
Susan said, “Okay, maybe we should go, Paul, before Mr. Vinh starts to smell a rat.”
“I’m not finished.”
“Leave it alone.”
“Tell me, Susan, why it’s important that Edward Blake be covered.”
“You should read the papers more, and I told you, Edward Blake is well connected here. He’s made lots of friends in the Hanoi government — the new people who want to be our friends. Edward Blake is close to a deal on Cam Ranh Bay, as well as a trade deal and an oil deal. Plus, he’ll stand up to China.”
“Who cares? It looks to me like he committed a murder.”
“Who cares about that? He’s going to be the next president. The people like him, the military likes him, the intelligence community likes him, and the business community likes him. I’ll bet even you liked him ten minutes ago.”
In fact, I did. War hero and all that. Even my mother liked him. He was handsome. I said, “Okay, let’s give Edward Blake the benefit of the doubt and assume that he killed Lieutenant Hines for a good military reason. Now you ask Mr. Vinh, without any bullshit, what he saw that day. Now.”
Susan replied, “We’ll never know the reason, and it’s irrelevant, and Mr. Vinh doesn’t know.” She stood. “Let’s go.”
I said to her, “You know. Tell me.”
She moved toward the back wall near the roofline, and she was much closer to the gun than I was. She said to me, “I don’t want you to know. You know too much already.”
Mr. Vinh was trying to figure this all out and looked from me to Susan.
I stood and kept my eyes on Susan.
She knew that I knew where she was heading, and she said to me, “Paul… I love you. I do. That’s why I don’t want you to know any more than you already know. In fact, I’m not going to even mention that you discovered the name of Edward Blake.”
I said, “I’ll mention it. Now you ask him what I want to know, or you tell me what you know.”
“Neither.” She hesitated, then said, “Give me the keys.”
I took the keys out of my pocket and threw them to her.
She caught them, looked at me, and said something to Mr. Vinh. Whatever she said caused Mr. Vinh to look back at me and start talking.
I saw Susan reach into the thatch and take the pistol. She held it behind her back. I wondered if a shot could be heard in the village. Or two shots.
I said to her, “I killed people for my country and did all kinds of nasty things for my country. You ever hear that old saying, ‘I’d rather betray my country than my friend?’ There was a time when I didn’t believe that. Now I’m not so sure. When you get to be my age, Susan, and you look back on this, you might understand.”
We looked at each other, and I could see she was near tears, which was not a good sign in regard to my health or Mr. Vinh’s health.
Mr. Vinh was standing now and looking back and forth at us.
Susan said something to Mr. Vinh, and he began gathering up the stuff on the table.
I wanted to stop him, but I didn’t think that was a good idea for several reasons, not the least of which was the gun.
Mr. Vinh gave the photo pack to Susan, which she put in the side pocket of her quilted jacket, then the canvas pack with the letters and the MACV roster, the dog tags, the wallet, the wedding ring, and the watch, which she also stuffed in her pockets.
Mr. Vinh by now realized that Susan and I were not agreeing on something, but polite chap that he was, he didn’t want to get in the middle of a tiff between two Westerners of the opposite sex.
Meanwhile, Ms. Weber was contemplating her next move, which might be a clean exit or a messy one. She’d have to muffle the sound of the gun, and she might be thinking about that. I had trouble picturing Susan Weber killing Tran Van Vinh, or her new lover, but then I remembered her blowing away those two soldiers without blinking an eye. She moved toward her backpack and removed the pelt that the Montagnards had given her. That’s how I would muffle the gunshot. I looked at her, but she wouldn’t make eye contact with me, which was not a good sign.
She hesitated a long time, then made her decision and stuck the gun in the small of her back without Mr. Vinh being aware of what just transpired.
She presented the pelt to Mr. Vinh with a bow, which he returned. She looked at me and asked, “Are you coming with me?”
“If I come with you, I’m taking your gun and the evidence. You know that.”
She took a deep breath and said, “I’m sorry,” and left.
So, there I was in the middle of nowhere in the house of the local Commie chief who didn’t even speak French, let alone English, and my new girlfriend takes a powder with the bike keys and the gun. Well, it could have been worse.
I put my finger to the side of my head and said to Mr. Vinh, “Co-dep dien cai dau. Crazy.”
He smiled and nodded.
“So, any more buses out of here today?”
“Eh?”
I looked at my watch. It was almost 3 P.M. Dien Bien Phu was thirty kilometers. On a forced march, I could make six or seven kilometers an hour over flat terrain. That should get me into town at about 8 P.M.; or maybe I could hitch a ride.
I said to Mr. Vinh, “Cam un… whatever. Thanks. Merci beaucoup. Great tea.” I put out my hand and we shook. I looked into his eyes. This old veteran had survived hell times ten, and he was now basically a poor peasant, an agrarian Communist of the old school, totally uncorrupted and totally irrelevant. If Washington didn’t whack him, maybe the new people in Hanoi would. Mr. Vinh and I had a few things in common.
I took off my watch, a nice Swiss army brand, and handed it to him. He took it reluctantly and bowed.
I picked up my backpack and left the house of Tran. I walked down through the foothills, through the burial mounds, and back into the village of Ban Hin.
I didn’t attract as much attention as last time, or if I did, I didn’t notice.
Bottom line, despite my bravado and my sarcasm, I was still in love with Ms. Bitch. In fact, I felt my stomach turning and my heart ached. I thought back to Saigon, to the roof of the Rex, the train to Nha Trang, the Grand Hotel, Pyramide Island, Highway One to Hue, Tet Eve, and A Shau and Khe Sanh and Quang Tri, and if I had it all to do over again, I’d do it with her.
Then there was the Edward Blake thing. I still couldn’t get it all straight, and I wasn’t ready to analyze it. What I knew for certain was that some power circle or the other had go
tten wind of this letter and intruded themselves into it, or maybe it was the other way around; the letter had come to the attention of the CIA first, or the FBI, and the army CID was only the front. And Paul Brenner was Don Quixote, running around the countryside on knightly errands with Ms. Sancho Panza, who was the real power and the real brains. Of course, I’d figured some of this out a while ago, but I hadn’t done much about it.
In any case, some people in Washington had talked themselves into a deep paranoia, which they’re good at. And Edward Blake was a winner, according to the polls; handsome war hero, beautiful wife and kids, money, friends in high places, so anyone or anything who threatened his coming presidency was dead meat.
That aside, I didn’t think the guy was in trouble, especially if someone whacked Mr. Vinh, and whacked me. Susan, in the final analysis, couldn’t pull the trigger, so maybe I should send her a thank-you note.
I passed through the village square and glanced at the monument to the dead. This war, this Vietnam War, this American War, just went on killing.
I came to Route 12 and looked around for a lift, but it was the last day of the holiday, and I supposed everyone was stretching it out to the weekend, and no one was going anywhere for a while.
I began walking south toward Dien Bien Phu. I passed the military post and noticed that the jeep was gone.
About a half-kilometer down the road, I heard a big motorcycle behind me, but I kept walking.
She pulled up beside me, and we looked at each other.
She asked, “Why are you going to Dien Bien Phu? I told you how to get to Hanoi. You don’t listen to me. You should be hitching a ride to Lao Cai. I’m going that way. Jump on.”
“Thanks, but I’d rather crawl, and I’d rather go where I want to go.” I kept walking.
I heard her call out to me, “I’m not going to follow you, or beg you. This is it. Come with me, or you’ll never see me again.”
We’d already done this routine on Highway 6, but this time I was hanging tough. I acknowledged that I’d heard her with a wave of my hand and continued on.
I heard the motorcycle rev, then listened to the engine growing fainter as she drove off.
About ten minutes later, the motorcycle engine was behind me again. She pulled up to me and said, “Last chance, Paul.”
“Promise?”
“I was afraid you’d gotten a ride, then I’d lose you.”
I kept walking, and she kept up with me by accelerating and downshifting the bike. She said, “You can drive.”
I didn’t reply.
She said, “You have to get to Hanoi, then fly out of here Sunday. I need to get you to Hanoi or I’m in trouble.”
“I thought you were supposed to kill me.”
“That’s ridiculous. Come on. Time to go home.”
“I’ll find my own way home, thank you. Did it twice.”
“Please.”
“Susan, go to hell.”
“Don’t say that. Please come with me.”
We both stood there on the dirt road and looked at each other. I said, “I really don’t want you with me.”
“Yes, you do.”
“It’s over.”
“Is this the thanks I get for not killing you and Mr. Vinh?”
“You’re all heart.”
“Mind if I smoke?”
“I don’t care if you burn.”
She lit up and said, “Okay, here’s what happened. In Tran Van Vinh’s letter, he said that he was in the Treasury Building in the Citadel of Quang Tri City, wounded, on the second floor, looking down. He saw two men and a woman enter, and they opened a wall safe and began taking out bags. They were civilians, and Mr. Vinh, then Sergeant Vinh, speculated that they were either looting the treasury, or they were on official business and were taking the loot to a safe place. Mr. Vinh said in his letter that these people opened some of the bags, and he could see gold coins, American currency, and some jewelry.” She drew on her cigarette. “You see where this is going. Do you want to go there?”
“This is why I’m here. You don’t listen to me.”
She smiled and continued, “This story comports with the fact that the treasury at Quang Tri was looted during the battle. It’s in the history books. I looked it up.”
“Finish the story.”
She continued, “Sergeant Vinh in his letter says that he had run out of ammunition several hours before, so he just watched. A few minutes later, the lieutenant — Hines — came into the building, and he spoke to the three civilians, as though he might be on a mission with them to save the contents of the safe. But all of a sudden, Lieutenant Hines raises his rifle and kills the two men. The woman was pleading for her life, but he killed her with a rifle shot to the head. Captain Blake enters, sees what happened, and he and Lieutenant Hines have an argument, and Lieutenant Hines starts to raise his rifle, but Captain Blake fires his pistol and kills Lieutenant Hines. Then, Captain Blake secures the cash and gold by putting it back in the safe and locking it shut. Then he leaves.” She added, “The loot disappeared afterward.”
She threw away her cigarette and said, “So that’s what happened, and that’s what Tran Van Vinh saw and wrote to his brother in the letter.”
I looked at her for a while, then said, “I think you got the two Americans reversed.”
She sort of smiled. “You may be right. But I think it sounds better that way.”
I said, “So Edward Blake actually killed four people in cold blood and is also a thief. And this is the guy you want to be president?”
“We all make mistakes, Paul. Especially in war. Actually, I wouldn’t vote for Edward Blake myself, but he’d be good for the country.”
“Not for my country. See you around.” I turned and walked away.
She stayed abreast of me and said, “I like a man who stands up for what’s right.”
I didn’t reply.
She said, “So now you know the secret. Can you keep it?”
“No.”
“You can’t prove it.”
“I’ll try.”
“That’s not a good idea.”
I stopped and looked around. There wasn’t a soul in sight. I said to her, “Hey, this would be a good place for you to kill me.”
“It would be.” She drew the .45 automatic out of her belt and very expertly twirled it by the trigger guard and handed it to me, butt first. “Or, you can get rid of me.” I took the gun and flung it as far as I could into a flooded rice paddy.
She said, “I have another gun. Two more, in fact.”
“Susan, you’re not well.”
“I told you, my family is crazy.”
“You’re crazy.”
“So what? It makes me interesting. Do you think you’re completely well?”
“Look, I don’t want to argue with you out here—”
“Do you love me?”
“Sure.”
“You want my help in blowing Edward Blake out of office?”
“He’s good for the country,” I reminded her.
“Not my country. Come on. I’m running out of gas, and you’re too old to walk.”
“I was an infantryman.”
“Which war? Civil or Spanish-American? Get on. You can deal with me in Hanoi. I need a spanking.”
I smiled.
She made a U-turn around me and reached for my hand. I took it, and she pulled me toward the bike.
I got on.
We headed north, past Ban Hin, toward Lao Cai and on to Hanoi.
This would have been a pleasant outcome if I truly believed even half of what she told me.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
We continued north on Route 12, which remained a single-lane dirt road that ran along the Na River to our left.
The sky was heavy with low, dark clouds, which looked like they were going to hang around until spring. I hadn’t seen a sunny day since we’d gone over the Hai Van Pass on the road to Hue.
To the extent that weather affects th
e culture, there really were two distinct Vietnams: sunny, noisy, and smiley in the south; gray, quiet, and somber up here. Guess who won the war?
Susan and I hardly said a word to each other, which was fine with me. I hate these lovers’ quarrels where one person wants to kill someone and the other doesn’t.
I tried to figure this all out, and I guess I understood most of it, at least the political, economic, and global strategy part of it. And as usual, it made about as much sense as how we got involved here in the first place. In the final analysis, it only had to make sense to the people in Washington, who thought differently than normal people.
Regarding Washington’s motivations, this was a mixture of legitimate concern about China, an unhealthy obsession with Vietnam in general, and the deeply held belief that power was like a big dick that God gave you to use and have fun with.
Aside from these profound thoughts were the human elements. For starters, Edward Blake needed to go to jail for murder. Someone else could be president.
Then there was Karl. Colonel Hellmann needed a general’s star or he’d be forced to retire, and a senior colonel trying to get a star was like a high school girl trying to get a date the night before the prom; blow jobs were not out of the question. I didn’t blame him, really, but he didn’t need to drag me into it.
And then there were the bit players, like Bill Stanley, Doug Conway, and who knew who else, who were reading from a script titled, “God Bless America,” which the producers and directors were actually going to present as, “Mr. Blake Goes to Washington,” in which President Blake fucks the Russians out of Cam Ranh Bay, makes Vietnam into an American oil company, thereby redeeming the past, and in the last act, the Seventh Fleet sails out of Cam Ranh Bay toward Red China and scares the shit out of everyone.
Maybe these people should take up tennis.
And there was Cynthia, who was manipulated by Karl Hellmann to suggest to Paul Brenner that Paul needed a mission; that this was the best way to save the relationship. Cynthia’s motives may have been pure, but if she really understood me, she would have been totally honest instead of pretending that she and Karl were not in cahoots. God save me from women who have only my best interests at heart.
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