He replied, “He’s out of town.”
Why he would be out of town at the culmination of a very important mission was a little mysterious. It could be that he wasn’t on the Blake team and was unreliably honest and couldn’t be trusted. But I had another thought, and I looked at John Eagan. I asked him, “How long have you been with the FBI?”
“Not long.”
“About two weeks?”
He didn’t reply directly, but said to me, “Paul, I know you have some issues with the world of intelligence, and it all probably seems like silly cloak-and-dagger stuff to a cop. But there are lots of good reasons why nothing is as it seems. It works for everyone, yourself included.”
“It’s not working for me, John.”
“It really is, Paul.”
There was a coffee bar in the sitting room, and I poured myself a cup. Susan went to the bathroom to smoke.
Bill took the opportunity to ask me to step out into the hallway, which we did. He said, “We can get you out of here in a day or two. Susan will be staying a few days longer.”
“Says who?”
“She’ll need some time to wrap up her personal and business affairs in Saigon. From here, of course. Then, we’ll arrange her safe exit from the country.”
“In other words, she’s a hostage.”
“I’m not following you.”
“We’re leaving together.”
“Not possible.”
“Make it possible.”
He told me something I already knew. “You’re on thin ice. Don’t stomp your feet.”
I asked Bill, “How worried are you right now?”
He turned and walked back into the sitting room.
I finished my coffee in the hallway and returned just as Susan came out of the bathroom. She’d found a tube of lipstick somewhere and had repainted herself.
One of the double doors to the Ambassador’s private office opened, and Patrick Quinn exited without his usual smile. He looked around, found his smile, and said, “Bill, Marc, John, Paul, Susan!”
He was into first names, like he’d aced the Dale Carnegie course. He said, “I know you have some business to attend to, so please make yourselves comfortable in my office.”
Everyone mumbled their thanks. I said to Patrick Quinn, “I was to remind you to introduce me to your friend, the Vice President.”
He looked at his watch and said, “I’ll see if he’s available.” He said to Colonel Goodman, “Marc, if you need anything, ring the guardhouse or the kitchen.” He said to everyone, “Thank you all for joining us tonight.” He left.
Whoever he was with in his office was still there, or had exited from the window.
We all moved toward the open door, Susan first, followed by Bill, Marc, and John.
I entered the dimly lit office last, and the first thing I noticed was a man sitting in a leather wing chair in the corner. He bore a striking resemblance to Karl Hellmann.
He stood and moved toward me with a smile. He put out his hand and said, “Hello, Paul.”
He even sounded like Karl, right down to the accent. I took his hand and said, “Hello, Karl.”
We were so thrilled to see each other, we could barely speak. I finally found my voice and said to him softly, “You’re a lying, double-dealing, devious son of a bitch.”
He replied, “I’m glad to see you’re well. I was worried about you. Please introduce me to Ms. Weber.”
“Introduce yourself.”
He turned to Susan and said, “I am K. Karl Hellmann. We’ve communicated by fax and e-mail.”
Susan said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Paul speaks so highly of you.”
“We hold each other in mutually high regard.” Karl said to the others, “Thank you for inviting me.”
Karl shook hands with Bill, Marc, and John, and from the snatches of conversation, I was able to determine that they’d never met, or pretended they’d never met or communicated, and that they were happy to make one another’s acquaintance. Karl said, “My flight arrived only an hour ago, and I haven’t checked into my hotel. So please bear with me if I seem somewhat forgetful.”
Everyone understood that bullshit.
I said to Karl, “Could I have a word with you?”
“Of course.”
We moved out into the sitting room, and I closed the door. I said to Karl, “You almost got me killed.”
“How could that be? I was in Falls Church. You look tired.”
“I’ve spent two fucking weeks in this hellhole, the last few days on a motorcycle on the run from the cops.”
“How was Nha Trang, by the way? Did I tell you I had a three-day R&R there?”
“Why are you here?”
“They asked me to come.”
“Why?”
“So you could be fully debriefed here, rather than Bangkok.”
“Why?”
“They’re very anxious about this.”
I pointed out, “They could debrief Susan here. She’s probably working for the CIA.”
“Well… it appears that you and she have developed a friendship, and they felt they needed to do this here and now.”
“What you mean is that they want to see whose side I’m on.”
“Whatever.”
“Can I assume you know what this is about?”
He saw the coffee setup and poured himself a cup. He asked me, “Do you think I could smoke here?” Without waiting for my answer, he lit a cigarette.
“Karl, do you know what this is about?”
He exhaled a stream of smoke and replied, “Actually, I was the first person to know. When the Tran Van Vinh letter landed on my desk, I thought about who to assign the case to. But the more I read the letter, the more intrigued I became with it. So, I assigned it to myself. I was able to determine the identity of the murdered man from my investigation of army files, combat records, and official unit histories. As you suggested in Washington, it was a fairly simple case of narrowing the list of men who served in Quang Tri City in February 1968. Lieutenant Hines, a MACV advisor, was killed in action at the Citadel on or about 7 February 1968. And his name is on the Wall. And then I came across the name of Captain Edward Blake, and I realized, of course, that I’d possibly found something of immense importance. Captain Blake was William Hines’s commanding officer, and most probably the only American First Cavalry captain he’d be in close contact with. Of course, I couldn’t be sure of that, and in fact, we’re still not sure.”
“I’m sure.”
“Don’t be so sure.” He reminded me, “You don’t convict a man of murder on flimsy circumstantial evidence.”
“No. You blackmail him and let him become president of the United States.”
He looked around for an ashtray as he changed the subject and said, “She’s quite beautiful.”
“You haven’t seen her at 7 A.M. with a hangover.”
“She would still be beautiful. Is Mr. Stanley upset with you?”
“He may be actually relieved.”
“Ah.” Karl smiled, just a little, and flipped his ash in a potted plant. He said, “She strikes me as the type who may be too much to handle for any man. Even you.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“It was meant to be. So, I have just arrived and know almost nothing, except what the Ambassador has just told me.”
“What did he tell you?”
“Only what he knows and what Bill Stanley told him, which is that you were investigating a wartime murder, and that your investigation was fruitful. True?”
“Depends on your definition of fruitful.”
“Have you found Tran Van Vinh?”
“I have. In Ban Hin.”
“And he had some war souvenirs.”
“He did.”
“And you have these?”
“How is Cynthia?”
The shift in the subject didn’t bother Karl. He replied, “She’s well and sends her love. She was disappointed that you chang
ed your Hawaii plans. But I see why you did that.”
“Don’t make assumptions based on flimsy evidence.”
“I never do.” He drank his coffee and flipped his ash in the cup. He continued, “Mr. Stanley told the Ambassador that you had committed some sort of travel violation, and that the police had questioned you.”
“That’s correct.”
“Was this a serious violation?”
“I killed two policemen, and two soldiers.”
Karl didn’t seem shocked or upset. “I assume the police are not sure about this.”
“It really doesn’t matter here.”
“This is true. The Ambassador seems upset about having you as his houseguest, but he seems to look forward to Ms. Weber’s company.”
“I can’t imagine why.”
“We need to get you out of this country before the government discovers that you are in residence here and asks for you to be turned over to the police.”
“Which government?”
“The Hanoi government, of course. Are you having paranoid delusions?”
“No, I’m quite certain some people in Washington want to kill me.”
“If anyone did want you dead, they’re probably all here. Starting with Mr. Stanley, but not for the reasons you think.”
“Karl, your warped sense of humor is not appreciated at this time. Plus, I’m pissed off at you.”
“You’ll thank me for this someday. I see you’ve lost some weight. Did you not eat well?”
“Look, Colonel, I want to be out of here by tomorrow night, latest. I got the short-timer shakes, and the single-digit fidget. Biet?”
“Oh, I remember that feeling too well. Do you think I should go down to Cu Chi and Xuan Loc?”
“Why not? You’re here. Also, I want Susan out with me.”
“That’s not my problem.”
“It is now.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” He asked me, “Is this Colonel Mang the cause of your problems?”
“Well, there are many causes to my problems, but he’s the most obvious, and the most honest about it.”
Karl ignored the innuendo, and asked me, “Where is this man now?”
“About a ten-minute drive from here. Susan and I spent an unpleasant hour with him at Gestapo Headquarters earlier this evening.”
“But if he released you, Paul, then you shouldn’t be too concerned.”
“It’s a very long story, and we shouldn’t leave those people in there alone too long.”
“Why not?”
“Karl. Look at me. Look closely. How stupid do I look?”
He played the game and studied my face. He said, “You look fairly intelligent. Perhaps too intelligent.”
“Why did you send me on this assignment?”
“Because you are the best man I have.”
“This is true. But not the best man for the job.”
“Probably not. But they tried to take this case away from me, and I needed to impress them with my best agent.”
“Who are they?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“What’s in this for you?”
He anticipated the question and replied, “Only the satisfaction of having done a difficult job well.”
“Am I invited to your promotion party?”
“Of course.”
I looked at him a long time and said, “Colonel, do you understand that the next president of the United States may be a thief and a murderer?”
“An alleged thief and murderer.”
“While you and I were getting our asses shot off, this guy is sitting in his office at MACV Headquarters in the Citadel at Quang Tri, wheeling and dealing on the black market, and getting stoned. Then when the shit hits the fan and American soldiers and marines are dying all around him, he finds the fucking time to commit murder and robbery. You’ve read the original of that letter. Doesn’t this bother you?”
He thought a moment and said to me, “I assume Ms. Weber translated this story from Tran Van Vinh.”
“Answer my question.”
He answered, “What’s past is past. We can’t change what happened to us there… here. We did our duty, some did not. We should not hold on to the anger, as you seem to do—”
“You’re damned right I’m angry.” I thought about my advice to Colonel Mang to let go of the anger, but I often don’t take my own good advice. I said to Karl, “You asked me at the Wall if I was angry at the men who didn’t serve, and I told you I was not. I told you I was angry at those who served dishonorably. Do you remember that?”
“I do. That was my first indication that I might be making a mistake by sending you on this assignment.”
“You should have known ten years before that.”
He nodded. “Perhaps I did. I have some ambivalence myself about this.”
“You shouldn’t have any ambivalence, Karl.”
He didn’t reply to that and said, “Your anger shouldn’t affect your judgment. We don’t know, nor will we ever prove, that Edward Blake is guilty of anything.”
“That’s for a jury to decide.”
“No, it’s not. Look at this problem as an opportunity. An opportunity for me, and for you, to belatedly profit from the war.”
“I can’t believe I’m hearing that from you. Colonel Karl Law and Order Hellmann. You’d indict your own mother if you caught her shoplifting in the PX.”
“My mother is not going to be the next president of the United States, and she’s not surrounded by powerful and ruthless people.”
I stared at him.
He said, “You can’t judge a man’s life by a moment in time. If you or I were judged that way, we’d have a lot to answer for. The fact is, Paul, Edward Blake has led what appears to be an exemplary life since the war, and he is what the country needs and wants at this moment in time. What possible difference could it make to you if he became the next president?”
I turned toward the office door, but Karl grabbed my arm. He said, “Don’t make my life difficult, and don’t make your own life more difficult than it already is. We have both escaped many bullets, Paul, and are about to earn well-deserved promotions and comfortable retirements. Our military funerals with full honors will come soon enough. There’s no reason to accelerate that date.”
I pulled my arm away from him and went into the office.
Susan was sitting in a club chair, John Eagan and Bill were on a leather couch, and Marc Goodman had moved the desk chair around to the group. I stood with my butt on the Ambassador’s desk. Karl entered and took the big leather chair he’d claimed earlier.
The room was half lit with two green-shaded lamps, and outside the windows I could hear the sounds of chairs being folded on the lawn.
Colonel Goodman said to me, “It’s been decided that I lead the discussion.”
I didn’t say anything.
Goodman said to me, “While you were outside, Susan gave us a briefing of your travels from Saigon to Nha Trang, to Hue, and then to Dien Bien Phu, and your problems with the police and the soldiers, and your run-ins with this Colonel Mang. We’re up to Ban Hin.” He looked at me and Susan and said, “I commend you both on an outstanding job.”
I didn’t respond.
He said to me, “If it’s all right with Colonel Hellmann, Paul, perhaps you’d like to tell us what happened in Ban Hin.”
Colonel Hellmann said, “Paul is free to speak. But I should tell you at this time that Mr. Brenner has some serious questions about the purpose of this mission and this meeting.”
Everyone looked at me, and I made brief eye contact with Susan. This is what is called a defining moment. My personal life has always been a shambles, and my professional life has been marked by brilliant triumphs that I’ve always managed to eclipse later through some stupid stubbornness, or a run-in with authority. I didn’t see why this case should be any different from any other, so I said, “As Bill probably told you, I’m on thin ice, and all I have to hold on
to is the Vice President’s nuts.”
There was some throat-clearing and a little squirming around in the seats. Susan had her hand over her face, and I couldn’t tell if she was upset or smiling.
I said, “Let me make it clear that Susan Weber did her job in regard to the mission, Tran Van Vinh, and me. I was totally in the dark about the subject of my investigation until the very end when I discovered among Mr. Vinh’s war souvenirs a MACV company roster that listed Lieutenant William Hines and Captain Edward Blake. At that time, I indicated to Susan that I understood what this was about, and that I also understood the necessity of keeping the information secret and limited. She made an evaluation, based on my representation, that I was going to be a team player, though that’s not what I—”
Susan interrupted, “Paul, your memory is not good. You went totally bonkers when you discovered that Edward Blake was a suspect in a murder case. You wanted to blow the whistle, and I told you you’d be nuts to do that. We argued, and you won. I agree with you. We need to uphold the law. It’s really that simple.”
There was a long silence in the room, and I could see that no one was happy, least of all Bill, who’d undoubtedly vouched for Susan. Karl, too, was having disturbing thoughts about his best agent, and both he and Colonel Goodman were waving good-bye to their general’s star. Only John Eagan seemed cool, and by now I was certain he wasn’t the FBI guy sent here to train Viet narcs.
I looked at Susan, who had just put herself in a very bad situation. She winked at me.
I said, “I’m a cop, so I’m going to pretend this is a CID staff meeting, and I’m going to pretend that all of you want me to present my evidence regarding a murder case. There are no personal or political considerations in this case, and no bullshit about national security or anything but the law.”
John Eagan said, “You can present your case any way you wish, Paul. That doesn’t change the reality.”
“In fact, it will change your reality. And you can deal with it. It’s not my problem.”
No one offered any new realities, so I continued, “I was contacted two weeks ago by Colonel Hellman, who asked me to conduct an investigation of a possible wartime murder. During the course of this briefing, I concluded that there was more to this than a thirty-year-old murder. But I took the case anyway, which may have been my first mistake.”
Up Country pb-2 Page 76
